The Dare Page 16

  Interesting. I would’ve thought he’d have his pit bulls do his dirty work, but I’m rather delighted that he’s gone so far as to do it himself. It actually bumps him up a few notches in my estimation.

  “I swear to fucking God, Wolfe . . . if you hurt or take advantage of my daughter, they’re going to ship you back to London in a fucking box. Understand me?” The words are spat into my face with a sneer.

  I have no doubt that he would quite literally kill me, maybe not by his own hand, but perhaps so. His daughter is his weak point, but also his greatest strength, as it so often goes. He does what he does for her, and he will literally do anything for Elle.

  If I’m honest with myself, I find it a rather beautiful type of love, to be willing to go that far for someone.

  Using a nifty little trick from my boxing days, I break his grip on my lapels and push him back in one sweeping move. I hold up a hand to stop his coming back at me again, sensing that Billy and Ricky are on edge and wanting to jump into the fray.

  “Stop before this escalates to foolish levels. Daniel, I have no ill intentions toward Elle. I plan on kicking your arse professionally. May the best man win.”

  The lift dings for the fifth floor before Daniel can reply, the doors opening and revealing two people waiting. Unwilling to make a scene in front of others, Daniel and I exit with Billy and Ricky hot on our heels. We strut down the hallway like royalty, two princes making a play for the crown. Power crackles in the deafening silence between us.

  Just as we pass his office, Daniel stops and turns back to me. Framed by menacing glares from his security, Daniel’s is equally robust and hate-filled.

  “Remember, Wolfe. Shipping’s cheaper than plane tickets.”

  Having gotten the last word, he goes into his office, and I head down to my suite, shaking my head. It’s such an obvious weakness . . . but a man who’s been cornered, especially both personally and professionally, will most definitely attack viciously. He’s off balance, just as I wanted, but I hadn’t planned on being this intimately involved with Elle myself.

  My great plan may be twisting and morphing, making me equally off kilter. I’ll have to play each of the angles carefully or the whole house of cards may come crashing down around me, leaving me the loser in the race to HQ2 and alone without my fun she-devil.

  “Whoa . . . you look like your breakfast came with a side of UFC,” Helen says as I enter the outer office. “Everything okay?”

  “Hmm?” I ask, looking down and seeing my lapels out of place and feeling my hair a bit mussed. “Oh, nothing to worry about. Good morning, Helen.”

  I make a quick decision to not tell Elle about her father’s ambush and threat. I know that she would take it as a lack of faith from the most important man in her life, and I find that I want to protect her from that pain. Working to please a harsh critic can be motivating, at least at first. But it can also be a self-fulfilling prophecy, leading to failure or at least the sense of it, regardless of actual success.

  I double-check my lapels once more and straighten my tie as I choose to release the anger of this morning’s arrival. Once I’m sure not a single tell remains, only then do I open the door to my office.

  “Elle.” The barest of greetings, but just her name on my lips is enough to make me feel like all the stress of the last few minutes is worth it. That she’s worth it.

  “Good morning, sir,” she says. If Helen was paying any attention, it’d sound like a perfectly reasonable and professional greeting. But I know her well enough to hear the beaming grin even before I lay eyes on her. “I hope you had a great night and are ready to get to work this morning? I know I am.”

  I can’t help but grin at the instant reminder of just how much I want her. Not just my cock, especially knowing I have hours left on our latest no-touch dare, but maybe even other parts of me too.

  I’m suddenly really looking forward to today. I don’t bother stopping my answering smile from stretching my lips. “Slept like a baby, actually.” The lie is smooth but she smirks knowingly.

  Twenty-four hours have never seemed so long or so fun.

  Faster than I would’ve imagined, the day passes. Though Elle and I make significant headway on improving the details of my proposal, we have an amusing time while doing so.

  Elle keeps up her sexy teasing in anticipation of the end of the twenty-four hours. And we add more dares too.

  We get silly, using the space by the long wall of windows as a catwalk. Elle does her best model strut, and I use my phone to snap picture after picture, telling her to ‘hit me with your best shot’, an American phrase I heard on the telly as a child.

  I don’t mention that I have very filthy plans for the photos. At least not until she dares me to play model as well, taking pictures of her own. Then, the tease is too tempting, and I wonder aloud why she would end our twenty-four hours with pictures of me when she can have the real thing. The resulting smile is full of heat and barely bridled lust that has me adjusting myself in my slacks. She snaps a picture of that too.

  After this morning, I take an additional angle on our game of dares too, daring Elle to tell me things she might not otherwise offer. She seems to enjoy the idea and does the same to me.

  Her favorite childhood memory? Christmas morning when she was thirteen because she got her first cellphone from Daniel. Mine? Sleepovers alone at Nan’s home, complete with English breakfast mornings, just the two of us.

  Her most embarrassing moment? Giving a speech in high school and being hit with a sudden case of nervous belly gurgles so loud the whole class heard them.

  “They called me Nervous N-Elle-y for months after, never letting me forget it. And every single time I made a move toward the bathroom, just to pee, mind you, everyone would hold their bellies and yell to get out of my way. The girls would exit as soon as I came in, holding their noses like I let loose a lethal nuke of fart gas.”

  She laughs as she says it, but I can read in her eyes that it had bothered her back then. It makes me want to track down each and every one of those shit stain kids and teach them a lesson.

  Her greatest fear? Not being good enough.

  “Elle, you are already good enough, and you’ll only get better from here because you’re willing to work hard and take risks.”

  Her shrug says that she’s heard that before and doesn’t really believe it, which I find hard to reconcile with the powerhouse in front of me.

  She redirects the conversation, asking me the same question. “Not being good enough.”

  Though the answer is the same, there are layers of meaning beneath mine, ones I’m not prepared to delve into today when we’re supposed to be having fun.

  “Don’t make fun of me,” Elle charges, her nails digging into my lapel where her father grabbed me not so long ago. Like father, like daughter, it seems.

  “I’m not. I swear it.”

  I’m being honest, which paints her answer in perhaps a more truthful light as well, because from the outside looking in, we’re both successful in our own ways, but I still fear not being good enough.

  My phone rings straight through, not going to Helen’s line as a gatekeeper. Only a select few people can do that, so I answer quickly.

  “Colton Wolfe speaking.”

  “Colton? Can you come to my office, please?”

  There are few voices that command instant respect and attention from me, but Allan Fox’s is one. Standing up, I’m already grabbing my jacket to slip it on. “Of course, sir. I’ll be right there.”

  Elle’s eyebrow raises in question and I explain. “Been called to Allan Fox’s office.” Impossibly, her brows arch even higher. “I don’t know. Could be good news or bad news.”

  I walk down the hall with haste, ready to meet my reward or my doom but praying it’s the former. It’s late enough that his assistant has already left for the day, so I knock once on Mr. Fox’s door and he calls out,

  “Come in.”

  I take one last breath for stead
iness and open the door to see a mishmash of years surrounding the man at the desk in the middle of the far wall. There are golf trophies next to magazine covers with Mr. Fox’s face on them, the abstract art over the bar is an original piece Mrs. Fox painted for her husband, and the overwhelming theme is eclectic, or even eccentric, billionaire. A lifetime of items he’s accumulated during his tenure at the helm.

  “Allan?”

  “Yes, Colton. Come in, please. Have a seat.” He gestures to one of the leather seats in front of his desk. “I wanted to talk to you about your proposal.”

  My chest pains with the breath I suddenly realize I’m still holding, but I don’t dare let it go now. Did I win the race already? Has Daniel? I don’t consider that anyone else has. I know who the front-runners are. I know who my competition is.

  “Yes, sir. I’m happy to share further details or address any concerns you may have.”

  Allan waves his hand dismissively and my heart tries to sink, but I buoy it, not giving up just yet.

  “No, it’s more than that, you see. I’ve had off-table discussions with most of the board, and I think we all know that it’s down to you and Daniel. Those two proposals are by far our best options, though going global is a large undertaking. One I hope you’re prepared for . . . if the board votes your way.” There’s a glint in his eye that almost makes it seem like he’s telling me more than he’s saying.

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence that the board feels my proposal has merit. I truly believe a global presence would move Fox into the next phase of growth.”

  “Yes, well . . . the board is rather champing at the bit to make the decision final with the shareholder report coming up. An announcement of a secondary headquarters would boost share prices considerably at a particularly convenient time. So . . .”

  We’re both tossing about corporate babble, the dance as old as time between reigning king and up and coming prince. Once, it was for the monarchy. Now, it’s in a corporate arena.

  “Yes?” I try to hurry his big reveal along, having zero patience for the dramatics.

  “I’m sending you to London and Daniel to Tennessee for in-depth, hands-on investigations on your proposed sites. I want it all . . . seller’s willingness to negotiate, tax breaks and laws that would benefit or limit Fox, and a projection of one, five, and ten-year situations if we go with that site.”

  What he’s saying hits me like a ton of bricks . . . that fell from a crane . . . sitting on top of a building . . . with me down in a hole. That much weight, responsibility, and pressure stack on my chest at once.

  “Of course. I’d be happy to travel to London and get a deeper insight into my proposal for the board’s consideration.” Shockingly, my voice sounds energized, not panicked.

  Because inside? I’m, to borrow a phrase from Elle, freaking the fuck out.

  “Good, good. I knew you’d be up for the challenge. But make no mistake, Daniel is too.” Allan dips his chin, eyes narrowing as if he’s evaluating me down to the very depths of my soul. “You’ll both be announcing your go-teams at tomorrow night’s dinner, if you can be ready?”

  The question hangs, and I realize that Daniel has already had this conversation with Allan today. Daniel already knows that we’re competing head to head, and he has at least an hour’s advantage on preparation.

  “I can certainly be ready to make that announcement tomorrow. When are you thinking we should depart for our site visits? It will take a bit to arrange everything on London’s end—”

  “Monday.” Allan’s jaw is set in stone, his lips lifted ever so slightly as if he’s hungry for my answer.

  A test, then, to see how well I think on my feet and adapt? Or to see if I bend and break under pressure?

  Good thing I’m quite adept at dodging and juking, I think, proud of my usage of American football slang. See? Even with that, I am constantly learning, integrating, growing. Exactly how I want to lead at the helm of Fox.

  I offer a congenial smile, not letting him see even the slightest bit of ruffled feathers at his proclamation.

  “Hmm, it is a tight timeline, a team announcement in twenty-four hours and a departure just over forty-eight hours from now, give or take a few hours here or there.” The summary is to emphasize exactly what pure madness they’re asking of me, that I know it and he knows it. “Tight, but certainly doable.”

  Lines bloom on Allan’s face as he smiles smugly. “Knew you could handle it, Colton. You’ve always been one to enjoy the pressure of a good challenge, and Daniel’s got one in mind for you. But I think you’ll rise to it.”

  It feels like he’s telling me a secret, but I’m well aware of how skilled and intelligent Daniel is, and right now, just how on edge he is as well.

  He leans forward and offers me a hand across his desk. I shake his firmly. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir. I won’t let you or Fox down.”

  “Remember, eight thirty tomorrow night. And when you come by, can you spare a few minutes for my missus? She always loves when you come by and call these things garden parties in that accent. Gives her a kick.”

  His smile is warm and genuine now, forecasting exactly how in love he is with his wife. They are two peas in a pod, all fancy and upper crust chic on the outside but real and as humble as can be on the inside.

  “Of course, sir,” I reply, thinking of Allan’s wife. She’s funny and a good balance to the old man. Giving her a few jollies by simply calling her husband’s corporate dinners ‘garden parties’ would be a pleasure.

  I head back down the hallway, excited to share the news with Elle, but my office is empty. I look at my watch and realize it’s after six.

  She must’ve gone home already. I know her day of work was over, and she has to take Tiffany home, but my office feels empty without her. Actually, more than just my office. My gut feels alone without her here. I’m disappointed at not being able to share the leap of progress we just made on the HQ2 proposal.

  But I shake it off, not willing to be distracted as I head to my desk. I have waited so long for an opportunity like this. It’s everything I’ve been working for my whole life, and I won’t fuck it up now over a bit of fun with Elle, because that’s all it is. Right? A dig at Daniel, a way to lighten my days, a way for her to show off her skills a little too.

  That’s all. It has to be.

  I don’t have time for anything more. Especially not when I have a long night of work ahead of me, a proposal to win, and if all goes according to plan, a new HQ2 to run as Regional President.

  Focus, Colton. Eyes on the prize, man.

  Chapter 15

  Elle

  “Come on, girl, we gotta go!” I holler, leaning on the horn. I’m encased in Cammie, with her air conditioning blowing so fiercely that my hair looks like I’m in the middle of filming a White Snake video, so Tiffany can’t hear me. But I yell again, all the same. “Come on, come on, come on!”

  My fingers are tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel as I wait impatiently. It’s not White Snake on the radio. I only know who they are because Dad went through a hair band phase when he was young and liked to torture me with 80s rock ballads, but rather Lizzo, because I know it’ll irk Tiffany.

  “Feeling good as hell,” I sing, agreeing with the lyrics because right now, they’re true. If only Tiffany would move her ass.

  When she doesn’t appear, I get out and stomp my way to the front door, my flip-flops slapping with every step. Not everyone can make flip-flops sound angry, but I’m one of the rare breeds who can. It probably helps that I’m looking fit for People of Walmart in sweatpants, a tank top, a bare face, and wild hair, but picking up Tiffany is only stop one in our day. We’ve got mani-pedis this morning, blowouts this afternoon, and then we’re hitting my place for makeup and to get dressed for Mr. Fox’s dinner tonight.

  I knock on the door, praying that it’s not Ace causing Tiffany any more headaches, but when she opens it, I’m startled by what I see. “What the . . . you look l
ike She-Hulk! No, scratch that . . . because this is not a good look at all.”

  I point at her face and grimace. “You look like . . . Shrek! What the hell, Tiffany?”

  It’s pretty appropriate. Tiffany’s hair is pulled into a loose ponytail and the front part is held back by a large headband to keep it out of the green goop she’s got smeared all over her face.

  As if that’s not bad enough, she’s not even dressed! She’s still in her black silk bathrobe, which normally makes her look ready to unleash sexy ass kickings, but right now, it just looks all kinds of wrong with her face covered in moldy swamp mud.

  “Oh, shut up and come in!” Tiffany’s tone is sharp, her bite letting me know that her goopy face is the least of our problems for today. “I woke up this morning with a breakout. Hence the avocado mask.”

  She pulls a Vanna White, making a circle around her face with one hand. “We’ve got a half-hour before our mani-pedis, and I trust that you and Cammie will get us there on time.”

  Sensing the danger in the air, I baby-step through the minefield. “Anything else you need to do to get ready? How can I help?”

  I step inside, carefully avoiding the mess of pizza boxes, beer cans, and trash that have seemingly grown in a semicircle around the couch. The cause is clear as Ace sits slumped on the cushions, a game controller in his hands while the sound of video-game battle fills the room from the too-loud television. It’s a small favor that it’s not rap music this time.

  “Watch out for Kevin. He’s a crotch sniffer and will get right up in your business, so keep your legs closed.”

  “Uhm, excuse me . . . what?” I look around for one of Ace’s friends, ready to enact the concept of ‘touch me and die.’

  “Him. Can you do something with that?” Her finger points toward Ace, and I cringe, knowing there’s not a whole lot anyone can do with that. But then I see what she’s actually pointing at when Ace leans forward.