“You’d be correct. Very perceptive, Lottie.”

She pretends to bow. “Thank you.” And then she turns to me. “Are you ready, sweet cheeks?”

Don’t care for that nickname, either.

“I’m ready.” I stand from my chair and hold out my hand, and she takes it so I can help her up as well. I then turn to Dave and offer my hand for a shake, realizing this is the end of the night and we haven’t discussed a goddamn thing. “Dave, thank you for having us over tonight. It was a pleasure getting to know Ellie.”

“So glad you two could make it.”

They lead us through the house, and when we reach the door, Ellie gives Lottie a hug and Dave offers me another handshake. It’s all so domestic, so . . . suburban. And it makes me feel claustrophobic. My throat closes up on me, and while Lottie gives them another goodbye, I just nod and walk to my car to open the door for her. My hand falls to her back as she gets in, and then I shut the door once she’s settled.

I round the hood and then get in. Dave and Ellie stand at the door, connected at the hip as they smile at us. If that is what having a fiancée involves—that domesticity, docility—I’m so glad there will never be anything like that between me and Lottie. Never be anything like that, period.

I start the car and offer one more wave before I round the circular driveway and head down the gravel path, finally able to let out a deep breath.

So does Lottie, but she slouches in her seat and says, “I feel as if I can finally unclench.” A smirk pulls at my lips. “That was . . . unreal, that entire experience. I felt as though I transported into another body and that body controlled my every word and action. Because if I would’ve been in my own body, I would’ve snatched Ellie’s shortcake right out of her hand after giving her a knee to the head to make sure she doesn’t take it back. That shit was good. Really good. I felt feral eating it. And the fact that Ellie said she’d share the recipe with me? No, I don’t want the recipe, I want someone to make it for me.”

“I’m glad you didn’t knee her in the face for more.”

“She was eating it so slow. I swear they were doing some sort of sexual game in front of us.”

“They were not performing a sexual game in front of us,” I say, debunking that thought quickly.

“Are you sure about that? Were you paying attention? Because you really felt like a robot back there. She was totally licking the spoon sexually and then glancing at him. I saw him shift in his seat a few times. Bet you anything they’ve already stripped out of their clothes and are fucking against the entryway door right now. Although, Dave doesn’t seem like the type that fucks against the door.” She considers this and then adds, “But it’s actually usually the silent ones who are total freaks in bed.” She turns toward me. “You’re silent—are you a freak in bed?”

“Not something you need to worry about,” I answer.

“God,” she groans in frustration. “Thanks for the evasive answer. I’ll draw my own conclusions then, and I’m guessing you have a teeny weenie and don’t know how to use it.”

I grip the steering wheel more tightly. “How about we don’t talk?”

I need to sulk, stew silently on the drive. Because here I was, going to a business meeting, thinking I’m about to score a deal, and not once did we speak about business; instead, we spoke about the different variations of the color cream, the impact a simple rug in a dining room can have, and the different ways to serve avocado toast. Christ.

“Oh, I struck a chord. You do have a teeny weenie. That’s probably why you’re single and spend so much time in the office, why you didn’t have a catalogue of girls to ask to help you out, but had to find a random girl on the streets. This is all making so much sense.”

“Lottie, enough.”

But she doesn’t stop.

“You realize you can catch more flies with honey, right? You can adjust your attitude. We’re partners in this endeavor, after all. How would you like it if I took you along to a function of mine and spoke to you the way you speak to me?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I think back to the way Dave seemed so comfortable. So . . . in his place. Not that he’s awkward at meetings, but he doesn’t seem comfortable, ever. Almost uneasy, untrusting. But sitting in his backyard, with Ellie right next to him, he let down his guard.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t take kindly to such an attitude. You should really speak to others the way you want to be spoken to. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for. And while you’re at it, treat others the way you want to be—”

“Can you just shup up for a goddamn second?” I ask, my mind racing, trying to put together the pieces.

“Excuse me?” she asks, folding her arms. “Would you care to rephrase that? Because unless you want me to march back to their house and flash them a negative pregnancy test, I’d change your attitude.”

“You’re in contract.”

“And guess what? I think my family would rather us lose everything, than for me to be verbally attacked by an asshole. I’m a human, Huxley, treat me like one,” she snaps at me and then turns in her seat so she’s not looking at me at all, but rather out the window.

Fuck.

Guilt swarms me, because she’s right.

She is a human and she did a fucking great job today. I’m not generally an asshole. I know how to be civil, so why have I thrown out all decorum when it comes to Lottie?

I glance over at her. She’s closed off; there’s nothing I can say right now that will penetrate the wall she’s erected, so instead of trying to deliver some half-hearted apology, I stay silent for the rest of the car ride, stewing in my own thoughts and reliving the night.

Dave seems to be his most receptive when at home, when with Ellie, but he also clearly won’t talk business then either. So how can I combine the two?

Normally I wouldn’t chase a deal like this. I never have, really. In fact, I’ve never had to lie nor be a complete asshole to anyone to achieve my goals. But with my eyes set on the ten-million-dollar profit this deal will procure, there’s no stopping, as far as I’m concerned. Cane Enterprises needs those properties. That is the priority.

They will be mine by the end of this, I guarantee it.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Eight

LOTTIE

I hate him.

I hate him so much.

Here I am, performing my ass off, caring about the difference between frozen spinach and fresh spinach as Ellie tells me all about her spinach balls that Dave likes so much. I listen with a smile, respond with thoughtful questions, and even delight in exchanging emails so she can send me, as she said, “all of the recipes.”

And what do I get at the end of the night from Huxley?

Are you thinking a thank you?

Possibly a good job?

I’m not looking for a celebration of my accomplishments, but I’d appreciate a little bit of kindness.

But it seems as though kindness isn’t part of Huxley Cane’s repertoire.

That’s fine. Totally cool. Because, guess what? I know what to expect now.

Which would be nothing.

I should expect nothing from him.

Silence fills the car as we make our way through Beverly Hills. Huxley flies through the streets, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gearshift, disregarding every speed limit stated on the side of the road. And when I glance over at him, I notice the tight grip of his hand on the finely conditioned leather, the steel of his jaw, and the pinch between his brow. What the hell is he so disconcerted about? I’m the one who has been thrown through the wringer today.

He just sat there and dictated.

Annoyed with him, I keep my eyes forward as we begin to slow down. We pull up in front of a large, wooden gate. He presses a button on the visor of his car, and the gate slowly opens to the right, into a white stone wall covered by vines. Of course.