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CHASE
Drake and I spend our second day of “vacation” drowning in numbers and presentation material in preparation for our meeting with Mr. Carver the next morning.
Prescott Enterprises is one of four companies putting together a bid to work on a small but elite resort being put up on the Never Summer Mountains. It helps that we’ve worked with Mr. Carver multiple times over the years, but that doesn’t guarantee we’ll win the contract. Especially with the estimated cost my father threw at us.
It’s an important move for our company, and we need to bring our A game to the meeting.
“I’m not doing it,” I say in a huff. Drake looks up from his laptop, where he’s running through the slides of his presentation, and raises an eyebrow. “Fifty mill? For a resort of this size? There’s no fucking way I’m presenting that number.”
Drake sighs and shuts the lid of his laptop. He crosses his arm over his chest and pulls at his bottom lip in thought. “I dunno, man. I think Rudy’s right in overestimating the cost of materials. We’ve seen how much they’ve been fluctuating over the past eighteen months. Mr. Carver only pairs himself with knowledgeable investors. They’re going to know where costs have been, and I think they’re going to appreciate the foresight we’re bringing to the table.”
“We’re going to be at least five mill higher than all the other bids.”
Drake shrugs. “That’s chump change to these guys.”
I scowl at him. “Why the hell aren’t you taking this bid more seriously? This is a big fucking deal for us, Drake.”
“You know as well as I do the bid is ours. All of this”—he waves around the room—“this dog and pony show? It’s just us playing the game. Those other companies can’t compare to the work we’ve put out the past five, ten years. They’re in way over their heads thinking they can crank a project of this size out in two years, and they sure as shit can’t do it as flawlessly as we can. We’ve got the manpower, we’ve got the experience, and we’ve got the skill. The resort is ours, man. The numbers don’t matter.”
I let my head fall back on the top of the plush leather chair and nod a few times. He’s right. And this is why Drake presents our bids. I’m only here because of my last name, to be the face of the company, but he’s here because he knows his shit. And because he’ll walk into that room with as much confidence as he’s giving me now. He doesn’t need me planting my seeds of doubt in his mind.
“Chase,” he starts back up, “I know you’re stressed, but if you don’t take a breather these next twenty-four hours, then we will be fucked. You’re going to walk in there tomorrow and blow it. And then where would that leave us? All of us?”
He’s right. Again. The fucker.
“You wanna go get a beer?” I ask him, smacking my hands on the chair’s armrests before hopping to my feet.
“Do I ever not want to get a beer?”
We drive out to The Tap House, order a couple of local IPAs, and mindlessly watch a Rockies game on the TV in the corner of the room.
Without work distracting me, I’m finding it hard to keep my mind from wandering back to the woman in cabin three and our brief encounters the day before.
I’m not an asshole. In fact, I pride myself on not being an asshole. But yesterday, I let my shitty mood get the worst of me and, in turn, treated her like crap.
After I wrangled the snake, I retreated into my cabin, leaving Drake to calm the girls and smooth things over. Obviously, he’s better at handling the opposite sex than I am—hell, he’s better at handling anyone than I am—but to say I’m out of practice at meeting women would be a major understatement.
“Holy fuck,” Drake suddenly mutters. I follow his gaze over to the front door, my eyes landing on the sexy dark-haired woman from the cabins. I blink slowly, unsure if my mind conjured her up or if she’s really standing just twenty feet away from me.
She’s dressed in simple jeans, knee-high brown boots, and a flowy pink top. One bronze shoulder peeks out from underneath, and my mouth instantly waters at the sight. Who knew a shoulder could be so damn erotic.
She carries herself with such confidence, her easy smile lighting up her face, and to be honest, she looks even sexier now than when she was half-naked yesterday.
Her friend is dressed like she’s on her way to the runway rather than a dated bar and grill in the middle of Colorado. But it works for her, made obvious by Drake salivating like a dog beside me.
I laugh at my long-time friend. “Pick your damn jaw up off the floor, Drake. She looks like she would chew your ass up and spit you out.”
He chuckles as he smacks the back of his hand to my chest while turning around on his barstool. He’s not even trying to hide his gawking. “The gentlemanly thing to do is buy them a drink and offer to keep them company.”
“Do you see the way she’s dressed? Now take a good look at yourself. I’d say she’s not interested in some small-town-Colorado pretty boy.” I turn back to the TV, watching their reflection in the glass as they make their way to an empty booth. I also watch the head of every guy in the place follow along.
Fucking great.
“First of all, I’ve yet to find a woman not interested in these,” he says, flexing his biceps at me with a wink. “Second, if we don’t go talk to them, someone else will. And by the look of your knuckles on that glass, I know you see these assholes eyeing them.”
I slowly relax the fist on my drink, unaware that I was gripping it so tightly. “Yeah, well, count me out,” I state curtly, taking a pull from my beer.
Drake sighs, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice his shoulders drop a notch. After a few seconds tick by, he turns back around, folds his arms in front of him, and leans forward on the bar.
