One Bossy Offer (52)

Let’s talk. Anytime.

Simone



I’ve been telling her to fuck off for years.

Why is she still sniffing around?

It can’t just be the charity magnet for good press Louise mentioned. Simone wouldn’t be so bold.

The witch wants something. I just don’t know what.

Balling her letter up, I toss it across the room like an abandoned wasp’s nest. It stops on top of my discarded canvas.

“Mr. Cromwell,” Benson starts, “if there’s anything I can do—”

“Is she coming to Seattle?” I ask sharply.

“That depends,” he answers slowly. “Any hint what she wants?”

“She didn’t say. Only that we should forget the past and cooperate.”

Benson frowns, his silver hair duller in the evening light.

“With all due respect, this is above my pay grade. Do what feels right.”

Good advice, except for the fact that everything involving Simone Niehaus always feels wrong.

“I need to know if I should watch my back,” I say, turning my glass.

“It sounds like you’ve made up your mind, but for the record, suspicion is warranted where she’s concerned.” He pauses. “And as a bonus, the sooner you return to the city, the faster you’ll see a certain redhead.”

I glare at him until he smiles.

“Get the yacht ready. It’s due for servicing over there soon, anyway. We’ll return by sea tonight,” I say.

“On it.”

He leaves me alone with my thoughts, something I’ve had too much of lately.

I fire another text to Jenn asking for a status update on the project.

It’s the last thing that should be on my mind, but the way she tastes undid me. I’m not really expecting a response.

The way her leg crept over mine.

The way her hands gripped my hair.

Everything about that moment—until the fucking Playing Card ruined it—was perfect.

My phone pings. I smile when her name flashes in the notification.

Jenn: You’ll get an update when there’s something new. Now let me work.

Yep, she’s still pissed, and she has every right to be.

My fingers move to the screen and type.

Miles: Daily updates.

Jenn: Noted.

Miles: Do you put a lid on updates for all your clients?

Jenn: Yes, actually.

Damn. Her cold responses are driving me mad.

Miles: Elaborate.

Jenn: It’s best to set expectations up front, and chasing micromanaging emails eats up time that could be used on the project.

Miles: This isn’t an hourly project. You know that.

Jenn: My rates reflect your estimate.

Miles: $150K should ensure all the time required to complete the project and update the CEO.

Jenn: Should. I’m happy to reimburse you and terminate the contract so you can find a better option if I’m not a good fit for you.

Fucking hell.

She’s not playing around.

Miles: Put your claws away, kitten. That’s not what I’m saying at all.

You’re doing a great job. I’m just saying I’d like to hear from you more.

Jenn: And I’m saying I agreed to get the job done, not entertain you.

Miles: And I agreed to your outrageous premium for having to deal with me.

Jenn: My bad. It’s not nearly enough.

How the fuck am I smiling?

Normally, I like to dole out punishment, not take it until I’m turning blue.

Before I can respond, my phone pings again.

Jenn: You don’t dictate how I work.

Miles: And you dictate too much. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re an aspiring CEO yourself.

Jenn: And you’re just a dick. No sane person would ever want your job.

That last line almost seems like things are back to normal with the feisty exchanges we’ve had before.

Almost.

Then another text lands.

Jenn: You know what really sucks, though? I see you as a person now. I’m less willing to sell you my property than I was the first day you came knocking.

Miles: For the last time, after everything that’s happened, I don’t care about the damn land anymore. I try to delete it, but it’s too late and my finger slips.

Sent.

Fuck.

No one else makes me lose my head like this. How does she do it?

Jenn: Then why the games? What do you want?

Miles: What games?

Jenn: Never mind. How about you just let it go and let me get these videos your team butchered unedited enough so they’re usable?

Miles: Because I told you I don’t want your land? Is that the game you think I’m playing?

Jenn: Then you won’t mind me talking to a realtor.

My blood heats.

Miles: What realtor? You got another offer? When did that happen?

I don’t even care that she’s breaching contract.

Jenn: See my point? I’m turning my phone off. Goodbye, Dracula.

Miles: Wtf? And you tell me I’m playing games?

When she doesn’t answer, I call her, but she wasn’t bluffing. It goes straight to voicemail.

I barely refrain from whipping my phone at the wall.





Later, on the yacht, I ask Benson, “How do you win a woman back after you’ve pissed her off?”