Lots of money, apparently.
More money than I’ve ever conceived of before.
Now I just have to get through thirty days working with him - the man from my one night…whatever back in Houston. Which would be fine, if it didn’t turn out he was such an arrogant prick. Because past that grin, the polish, the manners, and the charm, that’s all he is. And I can’t believe I fell for it that night in Houston.
But I have a rule about arrogant, demanding assholes like Landon Reece, and that rule is “avoid.” I’ve had enough of that type to last a lifetime, thank you very much.
Like when I almost married one.
The thought of David brings a flash of rage to my mind, as it always does, and I quickly shake the thought of him as I step out of the car and make my way into the Rattlesnakes administrative office.
Whatever, I think, as the elevator doors close. I can get through this, and I can deal with Landon. Because however charming, however dangerously attractive, and however wildly out of character and mind-blowing our night in Houston was, it’s time to knuckle down and get serious about this.
This goes beyond my utter confusion about the mystery surrounding Samuel Horn giving me half his team. This is beyond my own embarrassment at my off-the-rails, one-night stand being the man I now have to intimately work with. And this goes beyond dealing with said man’s cocky arrogance.
This is now officially about money.
An obscene amount of money.
For twenty-four and a half million dollars I can definitely forget about our little thing and I can certainly put the awkwardness of having slept with Landon Reece out of my head.
I step off the elevator into the empty waiting room, and move towards the door marked with his name and “Board Chairman.”
Whatever our sordid, embarrassing back-story, there is no way I am going to let it remotely affect the job that I’ve been thrust into.
I reach for the doorknob, turn it, and move to stride inside.
Yeah, this’ll be fin-
Oh.
Landon is shirtless, sweating, and grunting through a sit-up on the floor of his expansive office.
I suddenly find myself frozen in the doorway, swallowing quickly as the heat floods into my face.
His body is as insanely perfect as I remember - hard, chiseled chest, broad, defined shoulders and arms, and a flawlessly grooved abdomen leading into the waist of his gym shorts. There’s the tattoo ink that you’d never imagine was under the expensive suit and the pressed white dress shirt if you met him in a board room.
And for a second, every single dirty, filthy detail of that night comes rushing back, turning my face beet-red and sending a shiver through my body. Every demanding touch, every gasping moan, every thrust of his hips against mine.
Landon looks up at the sound of the door, frowning as he sees me standing there staring at him like a weirdo.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, forcing myself to drag my eyes away from him and look at the wall to the right of me.
“No, it’s fine,” he says brusquely as he stands. “I lost track of time. My secretary is at lunch.”
I clear my throat. “I can, uh, I can come back.”
“I said it’s fine. Have a seat.”
Well, looks like that attitude is still firmly in place.
I scowl at him as he turns his bare, muscled back to me and grabs a towel from his chair. He wipes the sweat from his shoulders, the muscles beneath his skin rippling.
I don’t realize I’m still staring again until he glances back to me and smirks.
Shit.
“So,” I say quickly, shaking my head as he slips a Rattlesnakes t-shirt over his head and sits back into his chair across the desk from me.
“So what’s next?” I say brightly, trying to ignore the way the shirt molds to the contours of his chest and stretches tight across those broad shoulders.
Smile. Be positive. Whatever happened before means nothing in the face of what’s at stake here. Enemies, rivals, strangers who’ve seen each other naked?
Yeah, it’s time to put that all aside and make this work.
But he says nothing, and just looks at me in a way that has me squirming in my seat, so I do what I always do.
Keep talking.
“Do we have some sort of a press conference or something? What’s the first order of business now that we’re both-”
“Who are you?”
His words catch me off guard, tripping mine up.
“Excuse me?”
He nods slowly, clasping his hands in front of him, his elbows on the desk. The mix of the “all business” stance while he’s sitting there dressed like a jock at a sports bar is almost funny. Almost, except for the intense look that’s halfway to “scowl” etched across his face.
“Honestly, who are you to Sam.”