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My workday was over, but my staff knew they could call me at any time if there was an issue with the business.
"Yeah," I barked into the phone.
"Mr. Steele." It was Jonathan Alistair, one of my executive assistants. "There is an issue with one of the tenants of Dover Mall."
"Fuck." I sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of my nose.
This project felt never-ending. All store owners must agree to the contract terms for the project. I spent months researching the perfect shops for the mall. They catered to the broader Dover community. I spent loads of money getting geo-location data and social media stats.
This project couldn’t fail.
"What's the issue?"
"Th-the updated contracts were sent out on time, and the store owners are supposed to send the signed contract back tonight by eight tonight. And-uh …” Jonathan sniveled.
"Get on with it! What's the issue?" I hated it when people didn’t get to the fucking point.
"Well, Mr. Quinn from Mysterious Pages did not sign,” Jonathan whispered the last part. I resisted the urge to throw my phone onto the sidewalk as my stomach lurched.
"Was it an error on his part? Contact him to see if he got the date wrong," I immediately went into problem-solving mode.
"I already did, and he did not get the date wrong. He isn’t signing," Jonathan groaned.
I took a steadying breath in an attempt to control my temper. Anger clouds judgment, and I needed to use my best judgment to get out of this mess. After countless hours of research by both myself, and my team, we’d concluded that Mysterious Pages was vital to our operation.
The people of Dover loved books, especially mystery books. The town of Dover and the surrounding area had the most profitable bookstores in the state. I needed Mysterious Pages to sign.
"What does he want now?" I moaned.
"He wants out," Jonathan’s voice cracked.
I nearly dropped the phone.
The passenger door opened, and Rebecca slid into the passenger seat.
"Okay, I can't deal with this right now. I'll speak to Mr. Quinn tomorrow and convince him to sign."
"He said he didn't want to talk with you again," Jonathan insisted. That was when I lost it.
"Well then, if he doesn’t fucking want to talk to me, make him! Handle it, Jonathan!" I snapped.
I ended the call, and my hands quivered with rage as I put the phone in my jacket pocket. I'd come too far for this project to blow up in my face, especially since all of Boston knew my family's company was leading it.
"Rough day at work," Rebecca prompted.
"You don’t know the half of it. I need a fucking drink,” I grumbled.
I pulled away from the curb and drove off.
When we reached a red light, I glanced over at her. My body hummed with anticipation. She wore a seafoam green dress that flared out at her waistline and showed off her delicate collarbone. The back dipped low enough to show the gentle curves of her shoulder blades. Her hair fell past her shoulders in golden waves.
My heart started to pound as I took her in. This woman was mine, and I'd fight any man who dared try to take her away from me.
"You look good."
"Thank you," she replied, not looking at me.
"Is there a reason you don't want to look at me?"
