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We’re here on a Saturday to discuss a new major client who reached out to our firm last week.
“I asked Linny to join us.” My dad stands as I approach him. “I want all hands on deck on this one.”
Mitchell rolls his blue eyes.
I’m used to it. I’m used to everything about him since we met ten years ago when my dad started dating his mom.
Back then, Mitchell was a lost twenty-year-old. He had a high school diploma and no direction. My dad’s influence was enough to persuade Mitchell to go to college to study advertising.
I focused on a marketing degree and ever since we’ve been in a silent battle to earn a seat behind the desk in my dad’s office once he celebrates his sixty-fifth birthday next year and jets off to retirement in Florida with my stepmom, Diane.
My dad takes me into his arms for a quick hug. “Thanks for coming, sweetheart.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Dad.” I drop my purse on the table and settle into one of the chairs.
“Me either, Dad,” Mitchell drawls. He conveniently refers to my dad that way only when it benefits him. The rest of the time he calls him Dave.
“Alright, team. Let’s get to work,” my dad says, taking the seat at the head of the table.
We’re far from a team, but I’ll play nice if it’s good for the company since I know that one day soon, Mitchell Bilton will be answering to me and me alone.
Chapter 9
Jeremy
“I’m tapping out, Rocco.” I rest my hands on my knees. My leg muscles are on fire. “For fuck’s sake you win, alright? You win. Dinner is on me.”
Rocco turns to look at me.
He’s as worn out as I am, but he was determined to win our bet.
We made the wager right before we started our run through Central Park. Whoever quit first had to cover the cost of dinner tonight. I knew before we crossed the street in front of his apartment that I’d be the one pulling my wallet out at the end of our meal.
“We’re eating at Nova. It’s that place in Greenwich Village. You’re heard of it, right?” He lifts a hand to wipe away the sweat pouring down his face and onto his bare chest. “I’m ordering the most expensive dish on the menu.”
“You’re an asshole.” I laugh. “If I would have won, we’d be eating a BLT and fries at Crispy Biscuit.”
“You order that every time we meet there for lunch.” His hands drop to his hips right above where his black shorts are sitting.
I stand straight and suck in a few deep breaths. “We’re not going to Nova. It takes weeks to get a reservation. Pick another place.”
“We have a reservation for tonight.” He approaches me, his gaze drifting over my shoulder.
“You made a reservation?” I huff out a laugh. “When?”
“Four days ago when you invited yourself along for my Saturday afternoon run and told me that you could beat me in distance.”
“Cocky bastard.” I rub my hand over the back of my neck. “What time are we doing this?”
“Eight.” He tilts his chin up. “You down for double or nothing?”
I cock a brow. “Now?”
“Right now.”
We’ve been tossing bets back and forth since he signed on as a partner in my business. I’ve yet to turn one down. “I’m in.”
“If I win, we drink a bottle of their most expensive wine with dinner. If you win, we’ll go to Crispy Biscuit.”
