Cindersmellya 2(90)

Fuck, she's sexy when she's mad. The way her chest heaves, and she crosses her arms, pushing the tops of her breasts closer to me. The way she purses her moist lips.

"Think about your company," I say. "Dirty Lil' Angels could use this funding; it will take you to the next level, but I'm not prepared to hand over that kind of investment capital when I can't trust you."

She looks at me for a moment without speaking, and the word trust hangs in the space between us like a dare.

"I have … alternate sources … of funding," she says, slowly, knowing that if she isn't careful, her words can change the course of everything.

Alternate sources. I roll those words around my mind for a second. I wasn't fucking born yesterday. I know what that means. That's the real reason she wasn't home.

Sloane.

"Would you trust the future of company on that alternate source?" I ask.

"Stop, I know what you're doing."

But the truth is, I can't stop. There's no way I'm allowing Sloane to have the upper hand in this. So I continue, "And is that alternate source of funding prepared to give you what I can?"

She looks up at me. "You know what you're problem is?"

"Enlighten me," I say, trying not to roll my fucking eyes.

"You think you can have anything you want."

I laugh. "Think? I know. I do get what I want, and I wouldn't be standing here in front of you if that wasn't true."

"Arrogant," she murmurs, almost under her breath. I barely catch the word before it's carried off in the wind.

"When you're older, you'll realize …" I begin to say, and then realize that I didn't mean to use that tone; I didn't mean to make it sound like she was a little girl, so I correct myself. "By that I mean, when you've been in business for as long as I have, you'll see that it's not arrogance; it's confidence. There's a difference. When you want something in business … in life … if you don't go out there and get it, you'll never have it."

Natalie stares at me, her blue eyes brewing a storm. She's refusing to hear a fucking word I say.

"I think you should be ready to not get everything you want," she says with finality, and without allowing me to get another word in, I watch as she turns on her heels, and walks away. I stand on the sidewalk, watching her hair dance in the tendrils of the wind, giving me a mocking wave.

Fuck.

I look out across the sidewalk, at the throngs of people shuffling across the intersection, and I decide to go back to my apartment. There's no fucking sense chasing after her right now. Right now, I need to decide what to do about Sloane.

I dig into my pocket and take out my cell phone. I text my driver, and he immediately responds, letting me know he's on his way and will be here in a few minutes.

Just as I'm about to shove my phone back into my suit pocket, I see a new text, and this time it's not from my driver. It's from a name that puts my mind into overdrive.

Linda.

What does my ex want?

I click the message, and realize it's a group text. I begin to read it.

"We all need 2 have dinner tomorrow nite. 6pm. The Oak Room. I've made reservations."

Great, I think sarcastically. Fucking wonderful.





Natalie





I look at my smartphone as I climb out of the taxi, realizing that I’m already half an hour late. Crap! I bet they’re already at the restaurant, and I really didn’t want to be the last one in today. Oh well, there’s nothing I can do now.

I stroll inside of The Oak Room with my head held high, ready to face the scrutiny of my oh-so-friendly family. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought this dress, low cut and tight fitting, but I couldn’t help myself. Sloane and Drake are going to be here, and I have to dress to impress. Besides, my mother hardly approves of anything I do, so why bother?

The three of them are sitting at a table on the far end of the room, and that’s where I head to. “Sorry I’m late, the traffic was --”

“Of course you’re late,” my mother tells me, turning her bright eyes toward me. Her lips are pursed, and there’s a frown on her face; she hates people who are late with a passion, and I guess that hate extends to her own daughter.

“Well, you know me,” I shrug, taking my place at the table without looking at either Drake or Sloane. I don’t want them to think I’m playing favorites.

“I do know you, Natalie,” she says with a faux sigh, and I almost expect to add an ‘unfortunately’ at the end of her sentence. That’s my mother, always eager to praise her daughter. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate my mother; it’s just that she’s hard to love.

God, I need a drink.

I reach for the bottle of red wine sitting on the table and fill my glass. I take a gulp out of the wine, it’s oaky flavor coating my tongue, and take a deep breath. Let’s see what this is all about.