Tangled (The Tangled Series)(17)

I wish.

“Nice comeback, Kate. Very mature.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“You’re a…an Alexandra.”

She pauses a second and looks at me blankly. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Think about it. It will come to you.

I rub my hand down my face. “Okay, look, this is getting us nowhere fast. We’re screwed. We both still want Anderson, and the only way we’re going to get him is if we somehow get our shit together. We’ve got…thirty hours to do that. Are you in or not?”

Her lips come together in flat-out determination.

“You’re right. I’m in.”

“Meet me in my office in twenty minutes, and we’ll get to work.”

I expect her to argue with me. I expect her to ask why we have to meet in my office—why we can’t work in her office—like a nagging housewife. But she doesn’t.

She just says, “Okay.” And leaves the room to get the rest of her things.

I’m surprised.

Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.





“That is the stupidest f*cking idea I have ever heard!”

Nope, it’s much worse.

“I’ve researched Anderson. He’s the old-fashioned type. He’s not going to want to go blind staring at your laptop all night. He’s going to want something concrete, tangible. Something he can take home. That’s what I’ll give him!”

“This is a multibillion-dollar business meeting—not a fifth grade science fair. I’m not walking in there with frigging poster board!”

It’s after midnight. We’ve been in my office for a little over twelve hours. Except for these few minute details, every aspect of our presentation has been banged out, negotiated, compromised.

I feel like I just bartered a goddamn peace treaty.

By now, Kate has released her hair and lost her shoes. My tie is off, the top two buttons of my shirt open. Our appearance could make things feel friendly—intimate—like an all-night study session in college.

If we weren’t trying to rip each other’s throats open, of course.

“I don’t give a shit if you agree or not. I’m right about this. I’m bringing the poster board.”

I give in. I’m too tired to fight about paper. “Fine. Just—shrink it down.”

We ordered food a few hours ago and worked through dinner. I had pasta with chicken, while Kate preferred a turkey club with fries on the side. Much as I hate to admit it, I’m impressed. Obviously, she doesn’t subscribe to the “I can only eat salads in front of the opposite sex” rule of thumb a lot of chicks swear by. Who gave women that idea? Like a guy’s going to say to his friend, “Dude, she was one fugly chick, but once I saw her chomping that romaine, I just had to nail her.”

No man wants to f*ck a skeleton—and nibbling crackers and water like a prisoner of war at dinner isn’t attractive. It just makes us think about what a cranky bitch you’re going to be later on because you’re starving. If a guy’s into you? A cheeseburger deluxe is not going to scare him away. And if he’s not? Ingesting all the greens on Peter Cottontail’s farm isn’t going to change that, trust me.

Now back to the battle royal.

“I’m doing the talking,” I tell her firmly.

“No, no way!”

“Kate—”

“These are my ideas, and I’m presenting them!”

She’s purposely trying to make me nuts. She’s deliberately trying to drive me off the deep end. She’s probably hoping I’ll throw myself out the window, just to get away from the annoyance that is her. Then she’ll have Anderson all to herself.

Well, her evil little scheme isn’t going to work. I’m going to stay calm. I’m going to count to ten. I won’t let Kate get to me.

“Saul Anderson,” I say, “is an old-fashioned businessman—you just said it yourself. He’s going to want to talk to another business man, not someone he sees as a glorified secretary.”

“That is the most sexist comment I’ve ever heard. You’re disgusting!”

Calm goes straight out the window and down about forty stories.

“I didn’t say I thought that way—I said he thinks that way! Fucking Christ Almighty!”

And it’s true. I don’t care what you’re packing in your pants or which way you roll. A pecker, a cooch, or both—it’s all the same to me. As long as you get the job done right, that’s all that matters. But Kate seems determined to think the worst of me.

I push my hands through my hair in an effort to vent some of the frustration that makes me want to shake the shit out of her.

“Look, this is the way it is. Trying to pretend certain biases don’t exist won’t make them go away. We have a better shot at signing Anderson if I do the talking.”

“I said no! I don’t care what you think. Absolutely not.”

“God, you’re so f*cking stubborn. You’re like a menopausal pissed-off mule!”

“I’m stubborn! I’m stubborn? Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t King of the Control Freaks!”

She’s right about the control thing. But what can I say? I like things done the right way—my way. I won’t apologize for that. Especially not to Ms. Stick Up Her Ass.