“I’ve got this.” I stand taller and lift my chin, presenting it for him to smack. I know he’s tempted, and I refuse to cower. “Do you have a meeting with someone from Monaco, Bryan?”
“Yeah.” He smiles cruelly. That’s the only way I could describe his expression. “With you.” He looks at his watch. “Eleven a.m. Just on time.”
He begins walking toward the hall, like he knows my office is back there. “Shall we start?”
To save face, to not look completely inept in front of my staff, I merely nod and move past him to lead the way.
I pass an open office space where I have twelve other staff members working at their computers. Most have design software open. Others have social media platforms humming with company promo. I don’t slow for them, I don’t introduce our guest. I simply ignore their curious gazes, and keep going.
Stopping at the end of the hall, I curse the wall-to-wall windows that lead straight out to the stair landing. If I’d been sitting at my desk, I would have seen Bryan a full minute before he stepped inside. Instead, I’ve been caught off guard. Thrown into a tailspin on the inside, though I show complete control on the out.
I stop at my doorway and stare at him with pure… passivity, when I know he’d rather something else. Anything else.
Bryan Kincaid would be used to either anger or love. Rage, or women falling over themselves for him to notice them. I give him nothing but a lifted brow and a waving hand to usher him into my office.
I close the door in hope that my staff won’t hear a single thing we say, then I turn back and watch as he shoves his broad hands into his pockets and wanders toward the glass doors.
I move behind my desk, my power move, and watch as he slowly comes back and flops into my visitor chair. He opens his legs wide. Lets his hands dangle. Then he grins.
His power move.
“What do you want, Bryan?” I sit in my leather chair, roll it in close to my desk, and fuss with my mouse, like using my computer will make me appear less welcoming. “We had no meeting. In fact, you and I never have need to speak. Ever.”
So fucking at ease, so relaxed, he only grins and watches me fake-work. “Wanted to check in on our investment.”
My eyes whip to his. “Your investment? We’re the ones providing the finances in this deal. You seem to be confused on who is investing in who, Mr. Kincaid.”
“Whom.”
No anger. No passion. He only gives a gentle shake of his head and chuckles.
“Money doesn’t mean shit to me or mine, Madilyn. We have enough to last, and we were long ago bred to live on baked beans. We’re the ones risking our brand on your inferior car products. Your company is a hundred years old, and yet, you come to us.” He tilts his head. “That right there,” he bites his tongue in what I’m certain he thinks is a sexy look, “well, that’s the writing on the wall, ain’t it?”
Clenching teeth, racing heart, I release my mouse and sit back to study his face. His arrogant smirk. I frown at the coloring beneath his eye, the scuffing along his jaw, and wonder who he fought since I saw him at his gym.
They hurt him. Whoever they are, they left their mark.
“First of all,” I start. “Monaco’s brand is solid. Having a hundred-year-old company is the writing on the wall, Bryan. We’ve been here a long time. We’re evergreen. And we’ve a track record of success and profit. Secondly,” I lift a brow, “inferior products?” I actually scoff. “If Monaco was inferior, then explain to me why you drive on Monacos? Why does your exhaust have our stamp? Why was your steering wheel swapped out for ours?”
Now it’s my turn to smile. “I saw it. I saw your steering wheel. Your gear stick. You’re a loyal customer, Kincaid, so don’t come at me about ‘inferior products’. Speaking of which…” I point at my jaw. “You losing your touch?”
His lips twist into a snarky grin as he clasps his hands. “I’m good with my hands, Madilyn. But I’m hardly the best fighter on the planet. Fortunately for me, I only have to be better than Jackson Price.” He chuckles. “Which, frankly, is hardly a tall order. I suspect his ineptitude in the octagon translates to bed, which…” He looks me up and down. “Your taste in men surprises me. Did he buy you?”
“You despicable prick,” I snap. “I’m not for sale. Jackson’s skill in bed has nothing to do with you. And you’re completely delusional if you think I’m going to entertain this discussion for a minute more.” I push to my feet. “You can leave. If Stacked Deck would like to speak with me, then have one of the important members call.” I flick my wrist. “At this juncture, you’re simply a seat-filler. Nothing more. Leave, walk straight to your car, and stay off every property connected to me, my family, and my friends. We no longer need to communicate.”
“Why did you seek out my family?” No longer carefree, he sits forward and shows off dark, dangerous eyes. “Why, Madilyn? I’m gonna be like a dog at a fuckin’ bone over this until I know your motives. You should have left this,” he throws his hands up, “whatever this is, between us. But you couldn’t help your damn self. You had to involve those I love.” He grits his teeth. “Men have died for less.”
“Oh, you’re going to threaten me now, too?” I thrust a hand in his direction. “Super classy, Bryan. But I shouldn’t expect anything else from someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” he shoots back. “You don’t even know me! You take one sentence, one douchey thing I say, and figure you know me. I’m a good man with a bad rep. I live my life without apology, I treat people well until they give me reason not to.”
“You don’t respect women!”
He scoffs. “I treat women how they treat me; my mother, I treat her with the utmost respect. My grandmother. My sisters and cousins. I treat them like gold. Girls at the track?” He lifts a brow. “They come to me, they ask for a fast fuck. So I oblige them. That doesn’t mean I mistreat them. It means I give them exactly what they asked for, then I make sure they get home safely. Explain to me how that makes me a bad person?”
“Every woman I’ve ever come into contact with says the same thing about you.” My eyes wheel around in search of… something. A savior? A hole to hide in? “The proof that you’re a dog is everywhere. You’re the only one claiming innocence.”
“You call me a dog,” he snaps. Loud. Too loud. “But you hang with the likes of Price, and ignore the fleas he’s giving you.”
I jolt back with a kind of hiss, and think of my best friend’s brother. “You have no clue who I am, or my relationship with Jackson Price! You make assumptions about my life.”
“Doesn’t feel nice, does it?” Point one, Bryan Kincaid. “You ride with him, you arrive in his car, you stand behind him when he’s squaring up to me.” Finally, he stands. “If you’re standing on his side of the line, then you and I cannot be friends. If we can’t be friends, then that means we have a fuckin’ problem when you’re signing my family into multi-million-dollar contracts.”
“Your family members are grownups, Bryan. They’re free to make business decisions without your input.”