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  The smug grin on his face morphs into a scowl.

  “I’ll see you at three, Mitchell,” I say cheerfully. “I overheard you asking Hal to make coffee for the meeting, but Mr. Morrison prefers a particular green tea that is only sold at a café on Fifth Avenue. I’ll call there myself and have it delivered piping hot.”

  “It’s all about attention to detail.” My dad squeezes my shoulder. “You always know exactly what our clients want.”

  I know that Trent Morrison stops at that café regularly to get a large green tea brewed at precisely one hundred and seventy-five degrees.

  He’s documented it enough times on social media that anyone who follows his account would think he’s getting paid to promote their product.

  I turn back to my dad. “I’ve got to get back to my office, but I’ll see you at the meeting.”

  His gaze volleys between Mitchell and me. I know that look. He’s contemplating not only his future but my jerk of a stepbrother’s and mine too.

  That’s why I need to shine at this meeting. It’s a chance to show my dad that I’m the best choice when he appoints a new CEO.

  Chapter 13

  Jeremy

  “Today?” I glance down at the watch on my wrist. “You booked that meeting for today?”

  Trent Morrison, the Brand Manager for Rizon, gives me a curt nod. “You said to set it up as soon as possible. I reached out to David last week and he blocked out two hours at three o’clock today.”

  “As in forty-five minutes from now?”

  I know he can hear the irritation in my voice. I don’t fucking care. I’ve had one issue after another thrown at me since I got to my office this morning. Having to abandon the fires that are already burning so I can trek across town to sit down with David Faye and his team isn’t part of my plan.

  “You can’t reschedule?” I ask with a brisk brush of my hand in the air. “I’m up to my neck in bullshit today. Make it another day this week.”

  “No can do,” he says cheerfully. “Faye is booked up solid for the next six weeks. You don’t want to know what I had to do to get this meeting.”

  He’s right. I don’t want to know. I did tell him in no uncertain terms to get us some time over at Faye’s office and he delivered that.

  It’s impressive given the tight time frame I gave him to make it happen.

  I brought Trent on board a year ago when our last Brand Manager jumped ship and took on a prominent role at Estey Vodka. They’re our biggest competitor and slowly but surely they’ve been plucking away all of my valued employees, leaving me with no choice but to replace them with new hires.

  Trent claims his strong suit is social media engagement. He’s offered no proof of that yet and with the vanilla vodka launch looming, I want more hands on deck, which is why I told him to call David Faye.

  David’s name is gold in New York advertising. My first choice was Rocco’s brother, Nash. He’s done good work for me in the past but he just landed a high-profile tech client. He’s focused on the promotional campaign for the worldwide launch of a new smartphone and doesn’t have time to devote to Rizon.

  My plan to build an in-house marketing team hasn’t happened yet. I make a mental note to put that at the top of my priority list once our new vodka hits the market.

  “I can handle it on my own.” Trent makes himself at home by taking a seat in one of the chairs on the opposite side of my desk. “Send me over there by myself and I’ll come back with a kick ass advertising plan in place.”

  Tension tightens my shoulders. “That’s not an option.”

  His head pops up. There’s no surprise in his expression. He knows that I lack confidence in his abilities. I remind him often enough.

  “You don’t need to be there, Jeremy,” he stresses as he adjusts the collar of his light blue suit jacket. Combined with his curly blond hair and freshly shaved jaw he looks like he just stepped off a college campus.

  He’s my age, but you’d never know that by looking at him.

  “This launch is huge.” He spreads his arms apart to reinforce his point. “We can’t skip this meeting and if you’re too tied down with other stuff, I’ll take the lead.”

  “There’s no way in hell I’m sending you over there on your own.” I lean back in my chair. “I need to be there.”

  I also need to meet with my lead attorney in ten minutes. I told him to get his ass down to my office for two-thirty sharp. I can’t blow him off.

  I stand as a signal for Trent to leave. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “We can ride over together in the company car.”

  “The company car?” I knit my brow. “We don’t have a company car, Trent.”

  “We don’t?” His gaze scans my face. “Blythe calls for the car whenever I need it.”

  “She what?” I fist my hands by my sides. “What kind of car is it?”

  “Cadillac,” he says confidently. “The driver’s name is Con.”

  “As in I’m being conned into paying for your ass to get around Manhattan in a car?”

  He laughs. “Conrad is the guy’s name.”

  Conrad.

  I scrub the back of my neck with my hand. “Get yourself a MetroCard. You can expense the cost. Your free ride is officially over.”

  “Seriously?” His brows shoot up. “You want me to take the subway today?”

  “Unless you’d prefer to run.” I point to my office door. “You need to be uptown in thirty-five minutes. Get moving.”

  “Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath as he opens the door and walks out.

  “Blythe,” I yell her name through the open doorway. “I need you in here now.”

  I watch as she lazily closes the distance from her desk to my office doorway. I wait until she’s stepped over the threshold before I say another word.

  “Shut the door behind you.”

  She gives it a push with her foot sending it slamming shut. “I pissed you off again, didn’t I?”

  I stare down at her. She’s wearing a yellow dress with white polka dots. The woman has no shame when it comes to her wardrobe choices. “What’s your grandson been up to lately?”

  She looks at me. “Conrad?”

  Nodding silently, I shrug into my black suit jacket.

  “Oh, you know,” she pauses. “Con is always doing a little of this and a little of that.”

  That’s the main reason why I didn’t hire him when he applied for a junior position in accounting a year ago. He may have finished college with a degree, but his head is in the clouds.

  I turned him down, listened to Blythe bitch about it for a month and then forgot the guy even existed, until now.

  “From what I hear he’s doing a lot of driving for Rizon.” With a sigh, I look toward the door. “That stops today.”

  “You know?” There’s a hint of resignation in her voice. “You told me I could do whatever was necessary to keep things running smoothly. Con’s an Uber driver. There are places our people need to be. It seemed like a great idea at the time.”

  “People?” I glance at the clock on my wall. My attorney should be outside my door in less than a minute if he’s still as punctual as I remember. “I know about Trent. Who else was getting a free ride?”

  Her gaze drops to the floor. “Me.”

  “You?”

  She nods slowly. “I only did it a few times last winter when we were hit with those storms. I didn’t think my arthritic knees would make it through the snow to the subway stop, so I called Con.”

  I should fire her, but I won’t. I can’t. I’m holding onto her until she decides she’s done with the job.

  “Trent’s not getting in Con’s Cadillac again.” I cross my arms. “If you need him to drive you to work and back home, we can set something up. That arrangement only applies to you.”

  “Are you serious?” She reaches toward me but stops herself. “I thought you were going to fire me.”

  I contain a smile. “I should. No one else would
get away with the shit you pull, Blythe.”

  “I’ll behave,” she lies.

  I laugh. “You won’t. Get back to your desk. My attorney should be out there looking for me by now.”

  “Thanks, boss.” She grins. “I know you’ll never admit it, but your heart is made of gold.”

  I drop my gaze to the floor.

  She knows what to do. She leaves my office, softly shutting the door behind her as I ready myself before I face my attorney and an issue I’ve pushed to the side for far too long.

  Chapter 14

  Linny

  I gaze across the conference table at Trent Morrison. He rushed into the office at three o’clock sharp with his suit jacket in his hand and his tie hanging loosely around his neck.

  He was muttering something about hating the subway and the asshole that took his car away.

  I ignored all of that as I approached him at reception and introduced myself.

  Before I could ask him if he needed a few minutes to compose himself, Mitchell appeared and took Trent’s sweaty palm in his own for an overzealous handshake.

  As the two men made their way down the long corridor to the conference room, I followed in silence.

  I know from experience if Mitchell talks long enough he’s bound to say something offensive.

  He did when he introduced Trent as Trent Morris to my dad.

  Trent jumped in to correct him with a scowl and an eye roll.

  Thankfully, the sight of the large green tea I had delivered for him was enough to bring a smile back to Mr. Morrison’s face.

  “We can get started whenever you’re ready, Trent.” My dad taps the palm of his hand on the top of the wooden conference table. “We’ve got some ideas for the launch that we’re looking forward to sharing with you.”

  Trent looks at my dad. “I take it you all sampled the product.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Mitchell nodding his head. “Thanks again for that bottle you sent over this morning, Trent. I poured a shot for almost everyone in the office. The consensus is that it’s the best we’ve ever tasted.”

  Almost everyone?

  The jerk didn’t include me in his pre-meeting drinking party.

  “I admit that I’ve been a fan of your traditional vodka for years,” my dad says with a grin. “I’ll be switching to this new one as soon as it hits store shelves.”

  Trent turns his attention to me. “What about you, Linny? What did you think of it?”

  I feel Mitchell’s gaze burning into me, but I ignore him and focus on Trent. “I wanted to wait for you to arrive before I took my first taste. I’d love if you’d join me in a toast to the future of Rizon.”

  “I’m up for that.” He scans the room. “Where’s the bottle?”

  I’m already texting a message to Hal, Mitchell’s assistant, asking him to bring the bottle to the conference room along with four shot glasses. His response is instant. He’s on his way.

  “It’s arriving at any moment.” I place my phone back on the table. “If we had some caviar to go with it I’d be in heaven. I wish that place on Amsterdam and Seventy-Eighth delivered.”

  “Mysa Caviar Bar?” Trent flashes me a wide smile. “You’re a fan too?”

  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.

  I can’t tell my dad I know West. I sure as hell can’t confess to sleeping with the man in Las Vegas, not after what happened the last time I was there.

  I push back from my chair and stand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Weston. As much as I hate admitting this in front of my father, I’m not opposed to day drinking.”

  My dad and Trent both let out a laugh.

  West doesn’t.

  He doubles down. “We’ve met before.”

  I shake my head and lie through my teeth. “We haven’t.”

  “I have the extra glass,” Hal announces as he steps into the conference room. “You’re all set.”

  West looks back at Hal before he turns toward me again. “I didn’t get your name.”

  “Linny,” I say quietly. “I’m Linny Faye.”

  West reaches out his hand. “I look forward to working with you, Linny.”

  I hesitate before I take his hand in mine, knowing that my body is going to react. My nipples are already hard and aching from the sound
of his voice and the look in his eyes.

  The moment I feel my hand brush his, wild desire races through me. I pull back and close my eyes to try and quiet the need to touch more of him.

  “It’s time to toast. Everyone grab a glass.” Mitchell’s voice cuts through the air.

  I take a deep breath and open my eyes to find West smiling with two shot glasses in his hands. He offers one to me. I try to calm my shaking hand as I reach for it but it’s futile.

  He lifts his glass in the air, clinking it against mine. “To Vegas nights and New York days. Both are better with…”

  “Rizon vanilla vodka,” Trent interrupts.

  I bring my glass to my lips and down the vodka in one swallow.

  West watches intently, waiting until I place the glass down on the table before he leans closer and whispers, “Both are better with an angel.”

  My heart thuds as I look past him to where my dad, Mitchell, and Trent are gathered in a huddle pouring another round.

  “I know it’s you,” West says smoothly. “You’re a woman no man could ever forget.”

  Chapter 15

  Jeremy

  She’s ignored me throughout this meeting.

  The beautiful woman I fucked two months ago in Las Vegas is acting like she doesn’t know me.

  She’s doing a piss poor job of it.

  Her hair is a shade darker than it was the night we met and the eyeglasses she’s wearing shield her gorgeous green eyes and long lashes, but I’d know her anywhere.

  Everything about her is unforgettable. I have zero doubt in my mind that my Vegas angel is sitting across this conference table from me chewing on the end of a pen while Mitchell Bilton lays out some bullshit, lackluster plan to launch my vanilla vodka.

  “I’m interested in hearing Linny’s ideas,” I interrupt Mitchell mid-sentence because I know what a goddamn television is and I’m not interested in paying hundreds of thousands of dollars to produce a thirty-second spot to air on a network channel during a game show that most of the population has never tuned into.