One Bossy Offer (73)

I nod.

“But what’s the one truth in media?” he asks.

I wait for him to tell me.

“You’re only worth as much as your reputation, sir. The truth doesn’t matter nearly as much as how believably you can sell it. Once you’ve lost your audience’s trust, you’ve lost your audience. Period. No audience means no ad sales, and no ad sales—”

“Means no revenue. I know that much.”

“So, we’re looking at the same problem. Either your tourism project goes viral before Suffocating Grandma, or it’s a total loss.”

“I’ll take care of it, Bradley. Thanks.”

“Please keep us in the loop,” he says as he stands. “My department needs to be ahead of this, whatever you decide. I’m telling everybody to stand by for a late night.”

“Absolutely. On your way out, tell Louise to assemble creative in the conference room right now. I’ll call Miss Landers.”

“Will do. I’ll be there too,” he promises.

Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with this unexpected dumpster fire.

What the absolute shit?

What am I dealing with?

What does psychobitch possibly think she has to gain by trashing Pinnacle Pointe?

Does she know I’ve already scuttled her from buying Bee Harbor, and now she’s nuking the whole place?

We’re not shelving the project. Besides being a sunk cost, I’m a man of my word, and I promised the mayor and the council I’d come through for them.

This is personal now.

I’m the first and last reason Simone is going after the town, and I’m not fucking having it.

I just need to figure out her game plan.

Is the inn still a factor?

If tourism tanks and Jenn winds up left with a bed and breakfast in a dead little town no one visits, that’ll definitely hurt her own prospects. It’ll hamper her ability to make repairs, too, and the place has a list of those a nautical mile long.

I pick up my phone and hit Jenn’s contact, the mess I made this morning already a distant memory.

“Hey,” she answers cautiously. “If this is about earlier—”

“I need you in the executive conference room in ten minutes.”

The long pause tells me she’s blindsided.

“Is something else wrong?”

“I’ll explain once we’re settled. For now, help round up everyone from creative you can.”

“Miles—”

“Mr. Cromwell in the office. In front of others, I’m still the CEO, and you’d be wise to—hello?”

She hung up on me.

Fuck!

I slam the phone down in its cradle.

I know, I know.

I’m being an ice-cold bastard and I probably deserved it, but I have an entire town and a lot of livelihoods depending on me right now.

I have to get in front of this ASAP, personal consequences be damned.





15





No Exception (Jenn)





“What were you thinking?” I ask myself as soon as I end the call and drop the phone on my desk.

I knew who he was all along.

But I still slept with him.

Multiple times.

More orgasms than I can count.

Screaming, breathless, bone-rattling finishes I thought only happened in spicy novels and never real life.

This isn’t exactly a new pattern for him, or us—and I have to remind myself there isn’t an us.

This is exactly what he did after he kissed me.

A huge flapping red flag I just straight-up ignored as soon as I saw him in his office with that hangdog look and a few rough words inviting sin.

You know it’s bad when you don’t even wait for a real bed with a man you shouldn’t be screwing.

God help me, I’m the dumbest woman alive.

Waldo, please call me today. I need to be done with this man and his company.

Tell me there’s some magic clause where I can sell to the realtor after all and get on with my life.

Yep. I’m at the point of thinking about pulling up stakes and asking Gram for forgiveness for the rest of my life.

But not really.

Sigh.

I glance at the computer screen.

Six more minutes to make it to the conference room without the world’s hottest mistake tearing my face off.

At least the dogs made it home okay, though, courtesy of Benson. Unlike me, they’ll have sweet memories of their time in his palace looking over Lake Washington.

After wasting a couple more minutes browsing cottages in Pinnacle Pointe I don’t have the gumption to rent with my make-believe money from an imaginary sale, I take the private elevator up.

Maybe he’s so pissed at what we did that he’s going to terminate my contract, and we can just be done.

Yeah, no.

Or he’ll just berate me about how unprofessional it was, like it was all my fault, and send me off on my merry heartbroken way.

He’s right about one thing—it won’t happen again.

Not unless he gets bored and I get a lobotomy. Or horny.

Or whatever blow to the head made him say the crap he said yesterday.

Ugh.

He’d better hope he has Louise in the room if he even so much as makes a snide comment. Otherwise, I’m going to knee him square in the balls.