“That’s your opinion, love doctor. Leave my name out of it.”
“Fucking pussy,” Brance spits.
“I don’t need to hear about your dinner plans, but thanks for sharing.”
That earns me a smirk. “Cocky little shit, huh? I hope that woman trains you to behave better in public.”
I pin him with a glare of my own. “And how’s that working out for you? That collar around your neck looks uncomfortable.”
He tugs at his tie, entirely for my benefit. “It’s better than going off the deep-end from your own doing.”
“Barking up the wrong tree, man. Relying on others can be a real letdown. My condolences on your missing balls, though.”
His palm smacks the glossy counter with a thwack. “You better fix that chip on your shoulder before someone discovers the crack.”
“Oh, yeah?” I turn on my seat and posture like a douchebag dude-bro who just scored in beer pong. “How do you recommend we settle this? You look like the type to engage in an arm-wrestling match. Bet I can take you.”
In his defense, Brance barely blinks at my stupid boasting. I’ll admit, this isn’t my finest moment. “A bit childish for my taste. I typically save those games for my nine-year-old. There’s probably a college bar down the street where you can find a fuckboy to slap around, though.”
Damn, this guy is sharp. No wonder he made partner at his firm before hitting thirty. His shark mentality isn’t solely reserved for the courtroom. I could almost applaud his tenacity if he wasn’t aiming those ruthless barbs at me.
I raise my drink in a mock salute. “Nice burn, but too cheap for my palate.”
“I’m not your enemy, Winters. That’s all on you.”
“More words from the wise.”
If I didn’t know better, I might assume the furrow in his brow is from disappointment. “You’d be smart to listen. It’ll save you from making costly mistakes.”
“I’d say thanks, but lying at a professional level is your job. You get paid pretty handsomely for that, right? I have no interest in following your footsteps.”
“You couldn’t fill them.” His gaze bores into mine, willing me to back down.
I’m the least likely candidate to submit. “Whatever makes you feel better, pops. I’ll just let the chips fall as they will.”
The ferocity in his glare puts Vannah’s to shame. “That sounds an awful lot like fate.”
Or a poker match. Whatever. “Then peer into your crystal ball and tell me how to end this worthless conversation.”
“Fuck you too.” Brance tears his glare off me to focus straight ahead, ignoring me with a force I don’t plan to reckon with. “Good luck beating yourself up until clarity strikes.”
“All right, kids. Let’s reel it in. We’re supposed to be having fun.” Jordan sliding in as mediator has less impact than Brance’s transparent jabs to best me.
“Is this not how male bonding works?” I jut my chin while leaning against the bar.
He teeters a palm in a seesaw gesture. “Not quite so hostile.”
As if I’m capable of anything else. Jordan should expect no less from me when faced with a rival ready to bear arms. Why I remain plastered to this stool is anyone’s guess. Perhaps the whiskey is finally making a dent in my steely tolerance. But no, my vision isn’t swimming and I’m able to process the stupidity of this exchange without battling a fog. Dammit. This is a rare event that I curse my iron stomach. Maybe he’s right, but that doesn’t change the facts.
Piss and vinegar flow through my veins on the regular. Thanks to a certain redhead, that ire happens to be spiking to astronomical levels. This pointless bickering is pouring gasoline on the flames. Rather than losing my temper on the man determined to belittle me, I resign myself to stew in silence.
Directing my frustration to Vannah is a reflex I don’t bother fighting. She has no concept of my blistering contempt for her. Fuck remaining civil. We’ve been engaging in playful banter until this point. With that offhanded comment she flung at me earlier, a battle has been launched. It will be brutal and bloody with only one of us coming out victorious.
Now this, I’m willing to wager millions on. Vannah Simons will curse the moment she decided to take me on. Her recent attack might have hit the intended target, but it was a lucky shot. I’m done going easy on her. She won’t land another hit without feeling the backlash.
With that in mind, I drain the whiskey in my glass and bid my so-called company a silent farewell. I have a hellion to capture.
The navigation system squawks from my dashboard as I steer into the abandoned parking lot. At least three warehouses in this area of north Minneapolis lay vacant. It’s the prime section to begin our search for Landon’s precious expansion. Multiple options in a single, convenient location. It’s a win in my book, and I’m looking to rack up as many of those as I can in this case.
I pull in near the front office door and cut the engine. A blinding glare off my windshield reminds me to grab a pair of sunglasses as I mentally prepare for battle. When I step out, a low whistle escapes me from the barren sight. Each direction shows the same—empty structures with zero activity across the commercial landscape. Talk about desolate. Even the air smells void of energy. Maybe he’ll get a discount—buy two, get one free.
After the way we parted yesterday, I have an added bounce in my stilettos. I’ll admit to being a bit stunned at receiving an email from Landon last night. He wanted to visit several properties from the list I’d sent him, at my earliest convenience. Shock dropped my jaw while I read his message. I’d almost convinced myself that he planned to get me fired for stabbing at an obvious sore spot yesterday. It wouldn’t have surprised me to receive a call from Vince demanding my resignation. But I’m not complaining about remaining gainfully employed.
A glance to my left reveals the man himself, in all his tailored-suit glory. Sunlight glints along Landon’s hair, making the strands appear more golden. The morning rays bathe him without judgment as if he’s ethereal. I’m well aware of what’s hiding beneath that surface beauty, though. That doesn’t stop me from pasting a smile on my face.
In return, he shoots me with his signature scowl.
Ah, there’s the asshole I’ve learned to deflect shit from. Damn him for looking more delicious than fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon rolls.
I wave at him for professionalism’s sake—and for the ingrained desperation for a promotion. That doesn’t mean I can’t needle him a little. “Good morning, Lannie.”
“It certainly is, Savannah. Doesn’t this gorgeous weather just scream success?” His voice is flat as ever, but the greeting is horrifically too cheery for him.
Suspicion rises before I can snap my fingers. “Um, what?”
Landon stretches his arms out. “Just soak in all that vitamin D, sugar. It’ll do wonders for your mood.”
I nearly gouge my heel on a dip in the pavement as his words register. “Did you spike your coffee this morning?”
“Alcohol before noon isn’t my style. No offense, of course. Some people need that boost to get going.”
I slant my lips in a crooked grin. “Are you suggesting I fall into that category?”