I bark out a mirthless laugh “Oh please, get over yourself.” I roll my eyes as I shake my head at him.
His face doesn’t flinch. “I’m quite serious.”
“So am I.”
Landon moves closer to me. I take a step back and find myself bumping into the conference table, and I swallow thickly as I drag my eyes back to his face.
“You’re in over your head here, Ms. Roth.”
“Well yours is inflated enough for the both of us, so looks like I’ll be just fine.”
His eyes narrow at me. “Last chance.” His eyes hold mine. “Last chance to walk away from this.”
It’s the utter arrogance that finally does it for me. Maybe it’s also a little of that competitive spirit I inherited from my dad - my inability to say no to a challenge. And it’s certainly has more than a little to do with the insane amount of money on the table with this whole thing.
But mostly, it’s Landon Reece’s arrogance.
No, I will not be walking away from this, because walking away means he wins. And I will not let a smug, cocky prick like Landon win.
“Got a pen?” I say, my voice suddenly sweet, my face neutral.
Landon raises a brow at me. “For?”
I force a smile to my face.
“Oh, I just have some papers to sign.”
Our eyes lock for one more second before he whirls, strides for the door, and storms out of the room.
But though I may be the last one standing in this conference room, I know it’s not a win. Worse, deep down, I know he’s absolutely right.
I am over my head here - way over my head.
I’m over my head with him, but there’s no turning back.
Chapter Four
Landon
The ringing in my ears finally goes quiet as I slam the door to my car shut with a satisfying chunk sound.
What the fuck just happened.
I let the air out through my lips in a thin stream. My fingers push through my hair as I glare out the windshield at the front door to the offices of Standish, Lehman, and Harris. She’s in there right now with Robert Lehman and probably Standish and Harris too at this point, signing whatever they need her to sign. Just nodding away, and taking what’s mine with a damn smile on her face.
That was a goddamn ambush.
I crank on the engine, jam the manual transmission into drive, and peel out of the parking lot.
This isn’t me. This version of me right now isn’t who I am or how I act. I don’t get mad, or emotional, or thrown off like this. Not in years at least. I’m collected, I’m cool, and I am always in charge of the situation.
But I got blindsided in there.
I can’t think straight. I have no idea what the hell just happened, and I have no idea what in God’s name she’s doing here.
Serena Roth.
The enemy.
My mind flashes back to that night in Houston as I roar through the streets of Denver back to my office at the stadium. Houston, the night of my failed attempt at poaching London Jacobs - the head talent scout from the Bulls. It was supposed to be retaliation. What better way to punish the Bulls for stealing our star quarterback right before the start of the season than by stealing their head talent scout and negotiator - the very one who poached our player - out from under them?
Except it didn’t pan out. London Jacobs said no to my offer, leaving me sitting at the fanciest damn restaurant in Houston sipping champagne by myself.
The dive bar next door seemed much more appropriate after that - a place where I could loosen my tie and lose myself in a sea of neon anonymity.
Until, of course, I saw her.
And then there were rounds after rounds of drinks, the weirdest non-date of all time, and staying up all night with the semi-cold champagne up on the balcony of my hotel room.
There was watching her face as she came, just as the sun came up.
Except that was all another place and another time. That was four weeks ago. That was a one-night thing that was supposed to stay a one-night thing.
That wasn’t supposed to show up at Sam Horn’s estate hearing today receiving half of this damn team.
The storm clouds follow me through the stadium parking lot, out of the elevator, and down the hall to my office.
“Oh, Mr. Reece!”
Lydia, my secretary, jumps from her desk as I come storming down into the waiting room.
“I’m so sorry, but she-” Lydia bristles, drawing up her full five-foot and half inch frame and scowling over the marbled rims of her cat-eye glasses.
“She would not take no for an answer, Mr. Reece,” she huffs.
Goddamnit.
This day keeps getting better.
“I can call security if you-”
“Thanks, Lydia, I’ve got it.” I barely stop to flash a quick ‘help me’ look at my secretary before I swing open the door to my office and stride inside.