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That was one of the many thoughts that pounded through my head as I read the email that had just come through my inbox. With each word that my eyes scanned, my teeth ground a little more, my jaw locked, my fingers clenched into a fist.
I was squeezing the damn mouse so hard that the fucking plastic top cracked.
The sender was, no surprise, Rhett fucking Cole.
If he weren’t Rowan’s brother, I would have strangled the motherfucker by now.
And this email was the last straw, which was something I would have said to his face, but when my assistant had come in about an hour ago to deliver another cup of coffee, he’d rushed past my open door with his bag and jacket.
Man, he had balls to send the entire executive team this email, an outline of why Rowan and I were idiots to purchase the land in downtown Banff, how the contractor we’d hired—the contractor who had replaced Rhett because the asshole had bailed on us—was a moron and his findings were incorrect. According to Rhett, a special foundation could have been poured that would have held the weight of what we wanted to build and it would have strengthened the soil, allowing us to move forward with our original plan.
But it was an opinion that no longer mattered—that wasn’t even relevant at this point.
Because Rhett knew it was impossible to revert back to our first concept.
We were now under contract with the Westons for Charred and Toro. We’d also signed with three additional restaurant brands to build Italian, Mediterranean, and Mexican eateries within the two hotels. Since the Coles used a different contractor than us, we had both working on bids for the properties. We’d submitted our blueprints to the governing officials of Alberta to begin the permitting process.
There was no backing out.
Rhett had sent that email in an attempt to get under my skin.
And it fucking worked.
Jesus Christ.
I rolled my chair back, getting my ass up, and I pulled open the door, walking down the hallway to Rowan’s office. As I approached her doorway, her light was off, and she wasn’t inside.
When the hell had she left?
She never took off before me. I always went to her office and forced her to shut down for the night, and she’d either come to my place for the evening or I’d go to hers.
I pulled my phone out from my pocket, checking the notifications, looking for a text from her that I’d missed.
And, fuck, there was one.
Rowan
Leaving a little early. I came by to tell you, but you were in a meeting.
Rowan didn’t leave early ever.
Something was up.
I typed my reply as I walked back to my office.
Me
Are you all right?
Rowan
Eh.
Eh? What the hell iseh?
Had she gotten into an argument with Rhett? Was the tension he was creating becoming too much?
I knew shit was intense with the build-outs. We were doing double the work. Our vendors were blowing up our emails and calling relentlessly. The interior designer was inundating us with questions. We were working hard to incorporate a feel that represented both companies—something that had never been done before, so there was no baseline; we were creating our own. And this was the first time Rowan had ever worked on a build-out, so each step was completely new to her.
