Page 25 of Tender Offer (Chance at Love #3)

Preston

A smile finds its way through the iron curtain I wear in the boardroom. I don’t make a habit of showing anything more than contentment or disappointment. Too much emotion gets used against you, even at the hands of my own father.

William slaps the table, his face split into a grin. He sweeps over the results of a year’s worth of work showcased in bold black letters with a nod.

“We fucking did it,” he says. “The board would be foolish not to support your vision based on these projections.”

“ Our vision,” I correct.

My eyes skate over the presentation before landing on the source of our future victories.

KD studies me under long lashes. Her focused stare would scare off the strongest men, who’d crumble under the weight of her brilliance.

The firm lines in her set jaw release her stone mask enough for a half smile to peek through.

“Thank you,” I say.

She traces the necklace I gave her for her birthday ages ago. “Thank you” comes in a smooth, even tone.

Since becoming CEO, I’ve fought to get her a position on the board.

Me and William’s shares are no match for the misogyny upheld by decades of tradition.

Women have never had a place on the Donnelley board, and that includes the first woman CFO, whose own fucking father gave his son the shares reserved for her.

Hugh still holds a grudge that I chose his daughter as CFO and not Michael. KD and I have been friends since we were kids, but she earned her position and proves it time and time again—despite her father’s lack of support.

Her armor is tested under the weight of her father’s shadow.

It’s something we have in common, but for different reasons.

People who’ve attempted to diminish my work ethic because of the melanin in my skin have found themselves on the receiving end of my ire.

KD has fought for visibility and acceptance within a male-dominated industry.

She’s hardened over the years, keeping mostly to Paris and only using her nickname, which has become a permanent moniker.

She has a beautiful mind for mathematics and a scorned heart from the people who should love her the most. It’s why I’m protective of her… not that she can’t hold her own.

“This calls for a celebration.” William rubs his hands together, catching the light of the chandelier in his gold cuff links. “Destin in an hour?”

“I’m down,” I say, packing up the paper version of our presentation.

“I’m open,” KD says. Heels clack across aged wood on her way to turn off the flatscreen hanging between two vintage mirrors.

I gave her full range to decorate the Paris office.

The once-stuffy replica of the CEO suite in Eldridge Court now has life via weathered gold molding and French baroque ceilings.

There are enough crystal chandeliers around the office for a fashion event, one KD and her team could host with their wardrobe alone.

Except for Madison, I’ve never seen anyone so runway ready. The slit in the middle of KD’s thigh stretches up her form-fitting dress when she reaches down to grab her oversized handbag that doubles as a briefcase. She’s a beautiful woman with a toned figure that’s six feet without heels.

Her eyes lift to mine, brighter now that the workday is finally over. “Ready?”

“Would you like to order, or wait for your party to arrive?” the waiter asks in French.

“No need,” KD says. She rattles off her dinner order and mine. “William off chasing tourists again?” She straightens the white napkin in her lap.

“Maybe an ambulance. He has a thing for paramedics.” I return her smirk and settle into the booth’s unforgiving leather.

My brother and I fly out to Paris monthly to review financials with KD. Like clockwork, he suggests a dinner he never attends. I thought he was trying to push me and KD together at first, but he runs after the first woman he sees the minute he leaves the office.

“You look good, Preston.” Her eyes linger on my navy and orange plaid single-breast waistcoat over a white shirt. “Is this new?”

“Trying something different.” I widen my legs to adjust myself under the table. The fit of these trousers is a vise on my nuts.

She sips her water. “Color looks good on you. What sparked the change from a wardrobe full of gray?”

It takes the strength of my grandmother not to scowl at the plate set in front of me. My brother is truly an ass for choosing a restaurant that serves bubbles.

“Tofu and oyster foam,” the waiter says with a proud nod.

At least one of us is safe from eating this infant-size science experiment. Whatever’s on this plate can stay there.

“Try it. You’ll like it.” KD points her knife at the foam sliding off what looks like a glob of mozzarella cheese. She cuts a delicate bite and savors it like it’s the best thing she ate today.

No wonder Ralph Fiennes killed everybody in The Menu . I’ve contemplated murder myself at business lunches and dinners that ran too long with crumbs for fine dining. I enjoy a well-prepared meal, but I draw the line at unseasoned samples that barely fill my thoughts, let alone my stomach.

“Preston.” KD all but laughs in my face. Her eyes crinkle at the giggle she’s holding in.

“Sod off,” I huff, taking a bite that will seal my fate with a toilet.

She rolls her eyes. “This is a five-star restaurant.”

“That’s one star for each sprout on this fucking plate.” I lift the tofu. “Apologies, four.”

I startle at the bark of KD’s laughter. Her head tips back, angling her forehead to the ceiling. The snort that escapes her tempts me to check her temperature for a fever.

“Preston, you are something else.” She dabs at her eyes with a content sigh. “I missed you last month.”

All playfulness leaves the table. The air thickens, smothering what was once a lighthearted exchange between close friends.

I crossed the line with KD, breaching a boundary we have yet to reestablish.

Our sex is casual, without expectations.

William put two and two together when I stopped in Paris after Christmas.

I never travel alone to meet KD—I’ve had no reason to, outside of our monthly meetings.

He never picked up on the fact we’ve been fucking on and off for over two decades.

We only have sex when the mood strikes, and we never let it cloud our work.

KD checks all the boxes. She’s a knockout, a tenacious businesswoman, and she has a drive that exceeds mine.

Our fathers pushed for everything but an arranged marriage.

They wanted to unite London’s most prominent families.

I have love for KD, but I am not in love with her.

My affection never grew to anything deeper, not that I tried. The spark just isn’t there.

Only one woman claimed my heart and kept it with her.

My phone chimes with the melody I saved for Madison. I’m six hours ahead since she went back to New York, and I find myself smiling the same way I did when I read her emails fifteen years ago.

Madison

I got in trouble when I was little for telling my grandmother in church I was tired of eating coochie.

My laughter spills out in a half cackle, half cry. The force collapses my chest over the table. Had I not pushed aside the tofu foam, I would be wearing it on my face.

Please explain before they cart me off for laughing too loud inside this restaurant. Remind me to tell you about the food.

KD clears her throat.

“Apologies. One sec,” I say.

Madison

Couche couche (sounds like koosh koosh) is a Cajun staple. Mawmaw cooked it all the time. It’s a fried cornmeal mush she’d make with bacon fat and sugar. I struggled with certain words when I was little and called it coochie.

I crack up again. We’ve been sharing random facts about ourselves, and this is the wildest one to date.

Stares from nearby patrons burn my cheeks. But none are as intense as the woman across from me, who’s ready to scorch my ass with the fury set into her glower.

KD looks from me to the phone in my hand. “New friend?” Her curt voice delivers its first lashing.

“Rekindled love,” I volley back.

Her brows smooth under the press of her manicured nail. “Love.” The word trickles through her lips before they press into a stubborn slit. “Since when do you care about love?”

“I never stopped with her.”

If I hadn’t known KD since we were little, I’d miss the pained look she quickly chambers. It’s not my intention to hurt her any more than it is to pretend sex between us would lead to forever. We both agreed, no feelings. Other women never bothered her before.

“I see,” she says, slowly counting back to the four days we spent under each other. I left for the States right after, and I suspect one of us developed feelings. “How quickly things change. Should we be picking out china while you’re here?”

I lift my scotch for a sip. “We’re not there yet. Far from it.”

“So it’s not serious?”

“We reunited unexpectedly during my holiday. We’re friends for now, but I’m fighting for more.”

Something flashes in KD’s eyes, but she quickly extinguishes it. There’s never been a reason for her to be jealous. We’ve both been with other people, which shouldn’t make Madison an issue.

“Ready for a nightcap? I’ll grab the check,” she says.

I spoke too soon.

“I have someone in my life.”

She waves me off with a scoff. “You said yourself, you two are friends. Friends fuck, Preston. You’ve never been monogamous with any woman you’ve dated.”

“Except for her, but you know that.”

She and my father are the only people who know about my time in Paris. KD saw me at the height of love, and when I fell apart in the aftermath.

“It’s her,” I reiterate.

Her slight gasp is audible among the clatter of plates and chatter from nearby tables. My head cants to the side in search of a reasonable explanation for why my friend is looking at me like a scorned lover.

She forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Good luck with the long distance.”

“She’s moving to London on Monday, for three months. To be my stylist,” I say.

KD’s fingers squeeze her glass. Her gaze swipes over me in disapproval of the outfit she praised only minutes ago. “How wonderful.” Her eyes snap to mine. “She has great taste.”

After dinner, I walk her back to her place a few blocks away. The food was awful, but at least we rerouted our conversation away from my personal life after I told her to let it be.

I reach my next destination and sit at a small table in the corner. Then I take a selfie and text it to Madison.

I still have a double cheeseburger at the McDonald’s you took me to whenever I’m in Paris.

She hearts the photo of me damn near gnawing off my fingers after that scarce and undercooked dinner.

Madison

Eating among the commoners looks good on you.

We text for over an hour before she’s off to style a photo shoot. I loathe this form of communication, but I would be lying if I said I’m not enjoying our exchange.

This time around, I’m showing Madison all of me.