One Bossy Offer (61)

“Titans don’t need a hand, Simone.”

“Well, I tried. But you can’t tell me being a player in bigger markets like LA has never crossed your mind...”

Fuck, I barely care about the Seattle market anymore. Why would I want to expand, inviting new headaches and double the bloodthirsty sharks just like her?

“To think you used to tell me your dreams,” she whispers.

I wince, holding my breath.

I fucking hate that she’s right.

There was a time when I would have jumped at the chance to take the world by its tail with the devil’s own daughter by my side, but it’s not just the prospect of business with this treacherous snake that’s stopping me now.

“You know I won’t give up easy, Miles. I still have my pride. So I’m offering you one last chance, and I won’t let you squander it—”

Let me? She’s not going to let me?

Who the fuck does she think she is?

“I don’t need your permission to do jack shit.”

“By working together, we can—”

“Never. Never. Get it through your fucking head now so we can avoid having this conversation a thousand more times.”

Icy silence.

“You pretend you’re a force of nature, Miles, but sooner or later, you’ll reap the whirlwind.”

“What?” I snort. “Is that a threat?”

“I don’t think you understand. If I want an alliance, we’ll have one, and you’ll change your mind sooner or later. The only sure thing about emotions is that they aren’t fixed. They’re shifting constantly,” she says matter-of-factly.

“You’re psychotic.”

“I prefer determined.”

“Is your company in trouble?” I press the phone to my ear. “Is that why you’re doing this?”

“Oh, please. Why would you even ask? I’m sure you have spies combing over my revenue reports. They’ve never been stronger.”

“Why are you so desperate to work with a man who hates your fucking guts then?”

“I’m not desperate,” she clips, the first time she’s sounded angry. “I just know my own worth, my dreams, and maybe I know yours better than you do. You can’t turn that down based on some accident a million years ago in business terms.”

I wish it was that long.

I wish a cosmic timescale would heal the scars she left behind.

“Simone, it’s not the history. I just know what a conniving, two-faced bitch queen of knives you are.”

I hang up.

There’s nothing gained in continuing this call, a circular firing squad that never reaches any understanding.

I look at the clock on my computer.

Shit.

It’s not even ten a.m.

I finally understand why everyone hates Mondays.

I pick up my office phone and dial Louise.

“Yes, Mr. Cromwell?”

“Start digging into Simone Niehaus’ company and all her recent ventures.”

She goes quiet. “I haven’t heard you use that name in a while—”

“And I thought I’d never have that pebble in my shoe again. I want to know how their business is trending and as much about their debts and assets as you can find out.” She’s been quiet for years. If she wants something now this bad, there must be a deeper reason for it.

Maybe if I can figure out what it is, and find her soft underbelly, I can be done with this madness once and for all.

“I’ll get started right away and send you what I find,” she promises.

“Thank you, Louise.”

I slump back in my chair, swiping a hand over my face.

I need a contingency plan in case this doesn’t work out. My next call is to my personal attorney, Martin.

He picks up on the first ring. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Cromwell?”

“What does it take to get a restraining order?”

“...from a disgruntled former employee?”

“More like a psychotic ex-partner,” I snap.

He chuckles with surprise.

“Well, we’ve all been there, haven’t we? What’s she doing?”

“Trying to buy the property next door to mine, for one,” I grind out.

He clears his throat and takes his sweet time answering.

“Regrettably, buying real estate next to yours isn’t illegal or threatening, and the standard for a restraining order that would restrict that activity can be rather intense. Courts don’t like to limit people’s freedoms, so without a real threat, you’re unlikely to get one. I’m sure there must be more going on?”

Where do I fucking start? I’m not even sure what to tell him.

The harder I rack my brain, the less I come up with that’s illegal.

That’s the sickening part.

No court in the world would hold her responsible for what she did, taking something precious I can never get back. If she did more—if she drugged me like I always suspected—I was too blasted out of my mind with shock and grief to get proof.

I must take too long to answer because he says, “Miles...are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Has she done anything else besides pursue this property deal?”