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Rhett tenses, like he’s about to launch into a passionate defense of himself, but he catches himself in time. He smooths his dark gray tie in a flippant gesture. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he says. “But a man like me catches a lot of attention. I return it when I want to, but usually not for very long. This can cause some heartache, and sometimes that leads to rumors.” He shrugs. “I try not to take it personally. Part of the deal when you have money, looks, and power.”
Okay, this time I have to laugh. I just can’t contain it. Thankfully the release means that I can look at him again. The irritation on his face is enough to make me laugh harder.
“Oh, man,” I say, wiping an eye. “That’s too good.” Another explosion of giggles rocks me before I finally calm down. “Thanks, I really needed that today.”
“Can I ask what exactly is so funny?” Rhett asks. There’s zero humor on his face now. He’s stiff, and there’s a hint of a flush on his neck. Is he embarrassed? God, he should be.
“You,” I say flatly. “Come on, is this for real? Tell me women don’t fall for this.”
“Just being honest,” Rhett says.
“You’re not though,” I say. “Okay, okay, I’ll give you the looks. But money and power?” I cock my head. “Isn’t that technically Mom’s?”
There’s a stretch of silence after my words. Rhett is staring at me in outright disbelief, and it’s enough to make me realize that maybe, just maybe, I’ve gone a bit too far. To my boss’s son moments before we both go and speak with her. I rarely want to jump out a window to get away from a situation, but suddenly I consider that the time it takes me to drop sixty-five stories is exactly how much longer I want to live with this memory in my mind.
Then a snicker breaks the long, cold moment of awful, and Rhett and I both rip away from our dead-eyed deadlock. Wallace pretends like he’s typing on his computer, but he can’t hide his undulating face muscles as he tries not to laugh harder.
Rhett glares ice at him before turning his winter storm back onto me. I’ve used the brief distraction to consider apology. I decide yes, now, immediately, but Rhett beats me to the first word.
“Well I hope you enjoy whatever Brooklyn shithole you work in because you’re not getting hired here,” he says. “Not that your chances were good anyway. You may have been able to bat those pretty eyes on your way up the ladder, but Mother doesn’t fall for that. And neither do I.”
My open mouth, primed for an apology, switches tactics before my brain can so much as protest. “Oh you don’t, do you? So then what the hell do you call this?”
“This?”
“Uh, the fact that there are two sofas and six chairs here and you chose to sit where our knees are practically touching?” My face is as cutting as my words. “Tell me, Rhett. Did you take one look at these ‘pretty eyes’ and figure you could promise a few perks to add along with the job? Oh, but that’s right. You have power, don’t you? See I thought you meant getting shit done, but you just meant over all the girls at this bank who you find hot.”
Rhett’s mouth actually hangs open. Wallace is no longer pretending to work, and is definitely not laughing. The silence, so excruciating before, has only gotten worse.
Then Rhett says something I don’t expect at all. He says, “I’ve never dated anyone who works for the bank. Ask anyone here. Any woman. Hell, any man. I’m not like that, and I don’t appreciate you implying so when you don’t even know me.”
“First impressions can be unforgiving,” I say. I don’t stammer, but my words come out in barely more than a whisper.
Rhett nods slowly, looking at me like he’s memorizing my face. As someone to watch out for. As someone to hate.
“That they can be,” he agrees.
Then, like an old-world god, Sloane Westing’s voice cracks through the office. “Wallace? Send Rhett in. Now.” She sounds vengeful.
Rhett stands stiffly and takes one last look at me. Then he turns and walks straight into Ms. Westing’s office without giving anything or anyone a glance.
The door shuts behind him like a judge’s gavel. My chest compresses and I slump in my chair. What the hell was that? What have I just done to my career? Why was I so rude to him?
But I know why. It was his smug certainty. It was his open flirtation. It was the fact that I’m on edge and overworked. That I got basically zero sleep last night as I tried to land a major deal and my fear of whatever Sloane Westing has waiting for me inside. It’s the fact that no matter how hard I work, Rhett Fucking Westing is going to be my boss one day. Assuming, of course, that I’m not cleaning my desk out in an hour.
I sink back into my seat and try to manage my dread. Whatever test Ms. Westing has for me might not matter at all.
I may have already failed at the Westing Bank.
CHAPTER TWO
RHETT
Mother is speaking to me, but I’m not listening.
That, in and of itself, is not rare. Typically while she drones on about spreadsheets and client mergers or whatever the hell this place actually does, I’m in another world entirely.
Sometimes I pretend I’m riding out of the city in the middle of the night, letting my bike rip down the highway at top speed without any other people on the road. Other times I’m doing tricks on my dirt bike, somewhere far in the west where there’s only endless skies and dusty plains.
