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“Well, Amos is in the kitchen with Greg and Tony”—Colby lowered her voice—“and now he wants to know what bullshit means.”
“Fuck,” CC muttered as she dragged a hand down her weary face.
“Let’s not add that one too.” Colby handed Al Tony’s key ring. “Take it to the office and give me a few minutes to get the mixer going before the cursing starts again.”
She marched back to the kitchen, and Al swiveled on her stool, an arm out for CC to lead the way. It was a tense couple seconds—would CC hear her out or storm away?—but eventually she stepped back and turned toward the office.
Al downed the rest of the cocktail, then followed in CC’s wake, admiring the view of the gorgeous, pissed-off woman she’d hoped to finally get in her bed this weekend. Her red curls swayed like flames against the midnight blue of her sweater, her strides were long and determined, and today’s charcoal pencil skirt perfectly framed her ass and thighs.
She unlocked the office door, then cut a sharp glance over her shoulder. “Stop staring at my as—bottom.”
Al shrugged on her way into the office. “It’s a fine tush.”
“You’re not going to flirt your way out of this.”
She waited for CC to close the door, then raised both hands, palms out. “I didn’t know about Rob’s plan to sell the real estate until this afternoon.”
CC leaned back against the closed door. “Rob’s plan?”
Al circled one of the visitor chairs and nudged it with her toe to angle it in CC’s direction before sinking into it. It was a negotiation tactic Ezra had taught her—if you were negotiating from the position of power, make yourself physically smaller or lower to get the other party onto your side. Less threatening was better. In this case, she’d gladly give all the power back to CC if it were in her hands to do so. “He’s been working with Kip, Dotson’s in-house counsel and his old frat buddy, behind my and Bo’s backs. And it might interest you to know Kip and Rob are also in the same fraternity as your boss and with one of the higher-ups at Mosley.”
One of CC’s brows raced north. “Ted?” Al nodded, and CC’s other brow raced to match. “Ted told them?”
“Someone put a bug in their ear. I only found out about it this afternoon when the title agent called me about issues on the second deed from Dotson to Mosley.”
“And then what happened?”
“I called Bo immediately.”
“Doesn’t Bo have the final say?”
“He wants the whiskey.”
“At what cost?”
Al leaned toward Tony and Greg’s ever-cluttered desk for a pen and paper. She jotted down the figure, tore off the corner of paper, then held the slip out to CC. “I’m authorized to negotiate up to that amount.”
CC’s eyes flared wide—Bo was offering almost double the original offer—then narrowed as she shifted her gaze back to Al. “Is this for real?”
“I’m not going to”—she lowered her voice—“bullshit you. I do understand what this deal means to you and to Jen and Etienne. That’s the ceiling of what Bo will pay. You have to take it to your client.”
CC stared at the slip of paper again. “You’re asking them to make an impossible decision.”
“I’m not the one asking.”
CC’s gaze shot back to her, harder even than when she’d first walked through Dram’s door. “Fuck you.”
“CC—”
She pushed off the door and stood directly in front of Al, glaring down at her. “I trusted you. With this deal, with my friends, with my associate, with my hope. I wanted—” She cut off her words and spun in the other direction, lunging for the door.
Al shot out of her chair. “If I’d known—”
Then rocked back on her heels when CC rounded on her. “You would’ve done what? Just offered sooner? Your client doesn’t intend to stick around. They’re just going to take what they want and leave.”
Like you. CC didn’t have to speak the words for Al to hear them.
And Al didn’t have to be a genius to know CC needed time and space to process. This wasn’t just any client, it wasn’t just any deal, and it wasn’t just a professional relationship between them anymore. In truth, it never had been.
