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I’ve never been, but Trent is a regular. According to the pictures posted to his Instagram account, he’s there at least once a week.
A soft knock at the door saves me from having to bluff my way through a conversation about Mysa.
Just as my dad pushes to his feet, Mitchell shouts, “Why the hell are you knocking? Just come in, Hal.”
Fighting off a grin, I drop my gaze to my lap.
No one can ever accuse Mitchell of being a top-notch professional. I’m hopeful Trent is keeping a running tally of my performance versus my stepbrother’s, so when we do land this account, I’ll be the one spearheading it.
The door opens before my dad is halfway around the table. He stops in place as Mitchell hurriedly rises to his feet.
“You should always knock before you open a door.”
My head shoots up at the sound of the masculine voice. It’s not Hal’s. This voice is deep, raspy and achingly familiar.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not Hal.” He adjusts his silver necktie. “I’m Jeremy Weston, the owner of Rizon Vodka.”
Holy shit, it’s him.
The man I slept with in Las Vegas is standing in the doorway.
He’s as gorgeous as I remember.
Everything about him is insanely sexy right down to his dark brown eyes. He’s surveying the room, taking in each face. When he reaches mine, he stops to stare.
“I didn’t know you’d be joining us, Mr. Weston.” My dad rushes toward him with his hand outstretched. “I’m David Faye.”
“It’s a pleasure, David.” His mouth curves up in a smile as he glances at me again.
“I brought the vodka.” Hal appears behind West with a wooden tray in his hands. “Should I get another glass?”
“Yes,” Mitchell hisses as he pushes his hand into West’s. “I’m Mitchell Bilton. I’ll be taking the reins on this project, Mr. Weston. I can assure you that I’m going to make certain that every person in the Tri-State area knows about Rizon Vodka.”
Since the launch is nationwide, I should be thrilled that Mitchell has put his foot in his mouth again, but I don’t feel anything but shock at the sight of the man I spent the most memorable night of my life with.
“You arrived just in time for our toast.” Mitchell takes the tray from Hal. “As I was telling Trent, Rizon vanilla is the best vodka I’ve ever sampled.”
West doesn’t acknowledge him at all. He stands in silence with his gaze pinned to me.
How is this real?
I never thought I’d see him again after our night in Vegas.
Mitchell places the tray on the table and starts pouring out shots. When he reaches the last glass, he holds the open bottle in his hand.
“Where is Hal?” he asks impatiently to no one in particular. “We need another glass.”
West looks around the room before his gaze falls back on the glasses on the tray. “There are enough.”
“We’re one short.” Mitchell points at everyone as if he’s counting to himself. “Five people. Four shot glasses. We need another.”
West rests both hands on the conference table and locks eyes with me. “You haven’t changed your stance on day drinking have you?”
Shit.
Faye & Sons has a strict policy that prohibits anyone in the company from being romantically involved with a client. My dad put that in place after Mitchell fucked up. He literally fucked the wife of a major client. We lost the account, but my stepbrother managed to hold onto his job by his fingernails.
After that disaster, everyone who works at Faye & Sons had to sign an amendment to their employment contract that stated that they would be subject to significant repercussions if they engage in a sexual relationship with a current client.
