The Billionaire Next Door (Billionaire Bad Boys #2)(95)

“You answer to me,” he told her point-blank. “I don’t care if it’s a memo from the pope. I asked not to be interrupted. I expect not to be interrupted.”

“But the board meeting…” Melanie trailed off, her eyes blinking faster as if staving off tears.

Tough shit, sweetheart.

The sooner word reached his brothers that the ninth—or was Melanie the tenth?—PA to set foot in Eli’s warehouse left in tears, the better. He didn’t want to be bothered with Crane business. The thickheaded men in his family didn’t listen when he’d clearly and concisely said no to a pencil-pushing position at the Crane home base, so he’d resorted to showing, not telling.

“Mr. Reese Crane said all you need to do is read and give your opinion. I can reiterate on the conference call for you,” she squeaked.

He elevated his chin and stared her down. She didn’t hold his gaze, her eyes jerking left then right and very purposefully avoiding dipping to his missing limb for a second time. Sucking in a deep breath, he blew out one word.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Melanie’s eyebrows lifted, her expression infusing with hope. She was a sweet thing…Who was about to get a lesson in hard knocks.

“Fine. I’ll give you my opinion.” He lashed a hand around her wrist, snatched the folder from her hand, and tossed it into the fireplace. They were mostly embers now, but a single flame crawled over the edge of the folder, where it fizzled, then smoked instead of igniting.

Well. That was unimpressive.

“You-you’re…” Melanie’s fists were balled at her sides, her eyes filling yet again.

“Spit it out. I don’t have all day.”

“You’re a monster,” she said, then turned and ran—yes, ran—from his office, through his living room, and to the warehouse elevator. He stepped out from behind his office wall to watch the entire scene, arms folded over his chest. There were only a few doors and walls in his place, so not much hampered the sight of another victory won by Eli “Monster” Crane.

He walked back behind the wall of his office and stomped on the smoking file folder at his feet. Once he was sure he wouldn’t burn down his house, he chucked it into the wastebasket on the side of his desk.

“Sorry, Reese,” he said to thin air. “You’ll have to manage without me.”

They’d managed without him for the years he was stationed overseas, so he didn’t see why they couldn’t put one foot in front of the next now. God knew being away for years hadn’t improved Eli’s ability to weigh in on financials.

His cell phone buzzed with a text—not from one of his brothers, but from a contact he’d made earlier this week. He felt a real smile on his face as he lifted the phone and walked smoothly from his desk to the kitchen.

Yep, still in business, it read.

He tapped a reply. Let’s talk more next week. Give me a choice of dates.

Then he pocketed his phone and opened a beer, feeling a charge shoot down his arms. This was what he was supposed to be doing. Real work. Work that would change the worlds of men and women who’d made sacrifices. For their country, for their families. Men and women who’d returned home with less than they’d left with and were expected to drop back into the flow of things seamlessly.

Whenever Eli thought of the opening for chief operations officer of the gargantuan Crane Hotels, he felt two things. One, he had no time to trifle with meetings and operations of a hotel chain that had been humming along for decades without him. Two, his oldest brother had COO on lock. There was nothing Reese couldn’t do, and the last thing Eli needed was to be in a position of power when he did not give a shit about it.

Eli’s answer was a solid, resounding no. And if Reese and Tag—and hell, even his retired father—continued to push him about COO? No problem. Eli had become adept at running off PAs. In fact, he’d become more inventive about the ways he could get them to quit.

He covered his smile with the tip of the beer bottle and drank down half the contents.

Next, he’d move to a creepy mansion atop a hill so the villagers could murmur about the beastly man no one dared bother lest they suffer his wrath. He let out a dry chuff.

Sounded like heaven.

*



The phone was ringing off the hook today, which normally would be a good sign. But the caller on hold sent Isabella Sawyer’s stomach on a one-way trip to her toes.

“Isa?” her assistant asked from her desk. “Do you want me to take a message?”

“No, Chloe, I’ll take it.” She didn’t want to take it, but she’d take it. She shut her office door and in the minimizing crack watched as her best friend’s face morphed into concern. Isa gave Chloe a thumbs-up she didn’t quite feel.

Isa lifted the handset of her desk phone. “Bobbie, hello,” she said to Reese Crane’s secretary.

“Hold for Mr. Crane,” Bobbie said in her usual curt manner.

She’d had similar conversations with Reese several times already. Ten of them to be exact. Isabella was pretty sure this was the “you’re fired” call she’d been expecting three personal assistants ago. But that was okay, because she had prepared a response.

“Isa. Here we are again,” came Reese’s smooth voice. She’d met him once in passing, at an event she’d attended on behalf of her personal assistant company, Sable Concierge. Reese Crane was tall, intimidating, handsome, and professional. And married.