1
JENNA
“Iknow it’s upsetting to have someone in your space, but let’s look at the bright side! I think that working together, we can—”
I scream as a huge fist shoots out and punches a hole though the wall beside my head.
My client is really freakin’ hot and super freakin’ pissed.
Well,he’s hot to other people.
Me?I don’t do blonds.
“I don’t know who sent you, and I don’t fucking care, but get the fuck out of my house,” he says.
I scrabble backward, tripping over my dachshund, who is burrowing under the expensive carpet, and bang my hip on the cold slate floor.
In one fluid motion, he reaches down and drags the rug back, the muscles under the charcoal-gray suit rippling.
My wiener dog barks at him, shocked and offended that his makeshift den has been destroyed.
Wrong move, Truman.
My client makes a disgusted noise. “Take your rodent dog and your crap and all your plans”—he throws the papers at me—“andget out,” he yells as I scramble upright.
“There is no need for name-calling or tantrums. I understand this is going to be a big adjustment for you, and change is scary.”
He takes two steps, then he’s on me, backing me up against the wet bar in the massive living room.
I have my professional, bubbly, public-relations face on, sure, but let’s be honest—it’s hard to smile when you have six feet, five inches, and 230 pounds of angry male bearing down on you.
“I am not letting some little PR princess tell me how to run my business.”
“I’m here as a friend and an ally. People are concerned.”
Recognition flashes in his gray eyes. “People? My brothers aren’t concerned about me,” he snarls.
“They’re concerned about the money you’re costing shareholders. Think of me as a spiritual guide to help you navigate these trying times. You’re clearly an industry titan. I want to be here to support you and help you be the best CEO that you can be!”
He closes the inches between us. “Your little techniques don’t work on me. You girls are all the same. You think you can manipulate men, manage them, make them feel like they’re in charge and like all your senseless whims are their idea. I bet you told my brothers that you were good with handling difficult men, didn’t you?”
My too-bright smile stays firmly on my face. Even though that was exactly what I’d assured the Relentis Defense Corp board when we met yesterday.
“Guess what?” His deep voice drops an octave. “I’m not difficult. I’mdangerous. And I will fuck you up. So I suggest that you quit and go back to your bosses and whatever traitors are on my board and tell them that it’s not going to work out after all.”
McCarthy Svensson might be the god of war, but I am a woman with student loan debt and a shopping addiction. I will not be quitting. Not today.
“If you could just take a look at the ten-step plan I’ve created. It’s color coded…”
The deep voice lowers to a growl, and he leans over to whisper in my ear. “If you don’t get the fuck out, I’m adding you and your stupid little dog to my trophy case.”
I gulp, my smile wilting, and look over his shoulder. There on the wall hangs the faded sign of the former Haven Foundation that I tried to save and couldn’t, no matter how many late nights I put in, how many protests I organized, how many social media campaigns I created, or how many petition signatures I collected.
Like one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, McCarthy rode in, scorched the earth, then built a sea of glass and steel towers in the wreckage with his name on the tallest one.
Two fingers rest on my chin, tipping my head up. “What’s she going to choose?” His smile promises pain.
Swallowing another gulp, I duck around him, feeling the cold gray eyes on me as I snatch my bags and my binders off the island in the kitchen and walk quickly but withpurpose—instead of sprinting like I want to—toward the door, wiener dog at my heels, barking behind himself at McCarthy.
