Page 44 of Tender Offer (Chance at Love #3)

Preston

“ S orry to cut this short. Do you have what you need?”

“It’s good insight our coalition can use,” Jewel says in a blur of curls under a beanie. Glass buildings flash in the background. “I’m on my way to a rally but can share out.”

“Please don’t get arrested.” Madison will eviscerate my balls more than she already has if that happens.

Jewel snorts and glances at the camera. “Like I told auntie, I’m grown. I have class in two hours anyway. You just worry about not showing your ass again.”

Since the unfortunate encounter Jewel has yet to let me live down, we’ve developed an unlikely alliance that’s slowly becoming a friendship.

I pay for it, through regular investments in coalitions, mutual aid, and direct services that help people on the ground. I wouldn’t expect anything less from this wide-eyed climate activist.

This is our second week of one-to-ones, as Jewel calls them. I pick her brain on climate initiatives and answer questions about billionaires to sharpen her strategies against oligarchs in the fossil fuel industry.

We’re in agreement that grassroots leaders from frontline communities should be at the center of the climate movement.

My role is that of silent accomplice, funding coalitions with solutions to address the climate crisis.

Jewel is educating me on the importance of direct investment in the most impacted communities and the harm of the nonprofit industrial complex.

Many well-intentioned organizations take space and resources away from frontline leaders and allow foundation support to dictate decision-making, not the people with lived experience.

Our check-ins, while brief, have been eye-opening. It’s one of the few meetings I look forward to on a calendar that’s become too crowded for me to think, let alone breathe.

“Same time next week?” Jewel navigates through signs about funding climate resilience.

“That should work, but I’ll let you know,” I say.

“Okay, Richie Rich. See you around.”

“How many votes have we secured?”

“Not enough to neutralize your father,” KD says from behind her computer. Her eyes soften in apology. “At best, three. My father and brother won’t veer from Victor.”

“What about the trust instrument?”

I sigh at her headshake. “The trust your grandfather set up overseas doesn’t grant beneficiaries automatic access to all administrative information,” she says. “You must request it directly from the trustee or seek court action, which doesn’t guarantee disclosure.”

“Fucking hell.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes to ward off another headache. We’ve been at this for hours.

Outside of calling my cousin Sal to stop my father’s heart, any attempt to end my father’s stronghold on the company is a hopeless pursuit.

My grandfather ensured that, shifting Donnelley Brand assets into an irrevocable trust. He was so focused on maintaining the grip on his legacy that once he retired, he never cared about the implications of a sole custodian overseeing the billions in our family chest.

Company shares.

Every piece of real estate we own.

Bonds.

Brokerage accounts.

As successor trustee, my father manages it all.

William and I are beneficiaries of the trust but have no control over it.

Our father keeps us in the dark and only provides minimal documentation when I threaten legal action.

Even then, I’d have to fly out to Anguilla with time I don’t have to get a court to rule in my favor.

Between the sustainability audit on our properties and a deep dive into our finances, I don’t know up from down anymore. Only one person is enjoying trips to the Caribbean, and I’ll be damned if he pulls off what I think he’s trying to.

“Maybe there’s a way to work with Victor. A resort in Anguilla is a lucrative investment.” If it wasn’t for KD living a life of compromise to appease her father, I’d wonder if she were working for mine. The only reason he wants a property there is to move our headquarters.

It’s criminal how simple it is to stash wealth by parking it offshore in jurisdictions with lower tax rates—or none at all—except it isn’t.

“I will not help my father shift our profits to dodge fucking taxes. Is that the kind of man you think I am?”

It’s a serious question, because I don’t know who I’m looking at. KD has been one of my closest friends since our nannies set up playdates when we were younger. We both want to do more than our fathers did and use what we have to leave the world better than we found it. Or so I thought.

Her shoulder lifts in a resigned shrug. “All I’m saying is, choose your battles carefully, Preston. Why make an enemy who will stop your projects every step of the way? Tax havens aren’t illegal—”

“They’re immoral.” My tone leaves no room for discussion.

An estimated half-trillion in corporate tax revenue is lost every year.

Funding for public services gone so the super-rich can line their pockets.

Many of these tax havens lack the proper transparency and financial reporting, exacerbating economic inequities to the detriment of everyday people who are left footing the bill.

KD’s sigh comes with a look that says she doesn’t give a shit regardless.

Her office chair creaks when she moves from behind her desk to sit on its glass surface.

She shifts her weight and crosses her legs, inching the slit of her black pencil skirt further up her thigh.

Her palms rest behind her to prop herself up, and her breasts are crushed to the deep V of her silk shirt.

“I’m sorry,” she says to a spot on my tie. Chestnut eyes take a slow drag up my suit. “We’ve been at this for a week straight. Why don’t we take a break?”

Her expectant look is one I know well. Months ago, I’d have lost myself in her soft flesh. Hope sparks desire in her gaze, parting her long, toned legs.

My cue to leave.

“Where are you going?” She frowns when I pull my coat over my suit.

“Home to Madison.”

“Madison.”

“Yes, my lady,” I reiterate. The few hours I get to spend with her before I’m back out the door aren’t enough. I check my phone and curse—it’s in airplane mode again. Odd.

Thinking of you, Puff. Can’t wait to see you.

“So that’s it?” I glance up from the emails and messages flooding my screen to KD’s glower. Her arms are crossed over her chest.

“That’s what?” My brows dip at her question and the flare in her tone. “We’ve been here for hours. I’m going home.”

“Home,” she scoffs, trying on the word before she spits it back out.

“Yes, home,” I repeat.

“And our arrangement?”

“KD,” I call for my lifelong friend. “We spoke about this; we knew what it was. Casual. Nonexclusive. No feelings.”

“Except your feelings are involved with someone else.” She wipes away a stray tear.

“Madison is the love of my life. I lost her once, and I’ll never put myself in a position to lose her again,” I say. “You need to respect her and our relationship.”

“You can’t trust her,” she states, matter-of-fact. “She lied to you once. She already broke your heart.”

“And that gives you the right to act like a child?”

“I was protecting my friend.”

“You were protecting dick you no longer have access to,” I say. “Don’t bullshit me with your fake concern. A friend would have spoken to me about her fears. Not do what you did.”

I didn’t want to believe that KD, of all people, would go so low as to hire Madison to play games. It’s out of character, but so is her crying. She’s never reacted this way before.

“I care for you. We’ve been like family, but I will not tolerate any disrespect to Madison. She’s not going anywhere, and if problems persist, we’ll need to discuss your time here at the Donnelley Brand.”

“Preston.” KD trembles. Her shoulders slump, and her hands fall to her lap. “How could you say that to me?”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I say, my tone soft. “But if you put me in a position to choose, you won’t like the outcome. It’s her, every time.”

Had I known KD would develop feelings, I would’ve cut off our casual arrangement before it started. William always joked she was in love with me. I never believed him because of our mutual aversion to romantic commitments, something we once shared.

It would sting to lose her as a friend and CFO, but I meant what I said.

“I’m heading out,” I say, two steps closer to her office door.

“Stay,” she pleads.

“I’m serious, Bellamy.” I slice open a new wound using her name. “Will this be a problem?”

“Of course not.” Her expression is a mask of stone. “We’re professionals. We have a business to run. I just don’t want to see you hurt again.”

“My relationship is for me to worry about. Understood?” I’ve never meddled in who KD was or wasn’t fucking. I didn’t care one way or the other and assumed the feeling was mutual.

She nods. “Understood. We still have a lot to cover.” Gold bracelets chime with a flick of her hand. “Why don’t we order in and give it two more hours?”

“Thirty minutes. I need to make a call.” I’ll take Madison out tomorrow and try to fix the strain taking root in us.

I’m halfway to the door when KD calls my name.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful,” she says. “Some women don’t appreciate feeling strung along.