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I grip the phone.
This deal is falling apart.
Without the assurances, the banks won't guarantee any loan. They won't guarantee our deposits.
Without those guarantees, my shareholders will never let me fucking invest in Natalie's company.
Without my investment, or Drake buying her out, Natalie's company won't fulfill it's order and will probably get fucking sued for taking partial payment in bad faith.
Most likely go out of fucking business.
Fuck.
I need to go see Drake Carlton.
I knew what we had was too good to be true.
If Drake did screw us, then I'm going to fucking kill him.
Drake
I'm drinking my morning coffee when I hear a loud voice.
"It was you, wasn't it?" The door to my office flies open with one quick thrust, and the gust of wind from its sudden movement causes the paperwork on my desk to flutter. A few sheets slide to the ground.
Sloane marches over to my desk, pointing at me. He's livid, his nostrils flaring like a bull in a ring. His tie is crooked and he looks as if he's rushed over here.
Sloppy, I think to myself, and impulsive, per usual. But there's something animalistic and raw that makes my cock pulse. Not now … why is my mind going there?
"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply, keeping my cool.
"The fuck you don't!"
"Calm down; have a seat. Can I offer you a drink?" I ask.
"Are you fucking listening to me, Drake?" He's now pacing in front of my desk, clenching one fist.
"I'm listening, but I've got to be honest with you. I'm not following."
"That's funny, real funny," he says, glaring at me with daggers behind his eyes. "One minute, banks are drooling over Dirty Lil' Angels, they literally can't fucking wait to throw money at the company's feet, and the next minute, well, I'm sure you know all about this, but not a single fucking bank is interested. Poof. Gone. If you tell me you're not behind this, you're a fucking liar."
I'm watching his fist, and daring him to come at me. I'm daring him to come closer and make the first move. I can only maintain my cool for so long before he pushes me over the fucking edge. He better watch himself.
I just shake my head, and he laughs. "That's funny … real funny. Give me a break."
I stand up and walk around my desk, meeting him at eye level. I can no longer take his presence sitting down.
"You're not ready for the truth," I say.
"I knew it. I'm not a fucking kid anymore, so stop treating me like one," he growls, the pulse in his neck quickening. I can't help but watch it flutter, and watch the way he's breathing, quicker now, and ragged.
"I never said you were … although you barging in here like this sure makes you look like one. You should really try to outgrow these temper tantrums of yours."
With that small dig, he glares at me, and I continue, "Like I said, you aren't ready for the truth."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he snaps, and I watch the chords of muscle in his neck flex and twist.
"It means you just need to wait."
