Battle of the Sexes

Chapter Two

Carver

One week later

"I'm not here."

The little plastic ball cracks as I tap it with the mini-club. It rolls down the short greenway, making one full, crisp circle around the cup. It sinks in the hole with a flourish.

"Um, Mr. Jones, sir?"

"Yes, Marissa?"

"But you are here. Mr. Salvo knows that."

Tossing the club on the brown leather sofa across from my desk, I yank on my tie. The early afternoon sun showers my corner office with so much light I consider pulling the blinds. "What's your point?"

"You want me to lie to him, sir? He said he saw you walking in after your lunch meeting with Marcus Abrams."

"We aren't lyingto him."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Jones."

"It's not lying, Marissa. It's called 'keeping the balance.' Salvo thinks he's going to fuck with me over this CEO position? Fuck him. Let him consider what they'd do if I decided to walk away."

"They'd be in trouble, sir."

"Damn right they would."

"With that being said," she says carefully, "I was just notified a few minutes ago that Ms. Gallum is set to arrive at any minute."

Groaning, I look at the ceiling. Her entrance will start the ball rolling on this absurd situation. It's not that I'm not ready to fight for this position, one that is inarguably mine. I've never been readier for anything in my entire life. It's just that I have to is asinine.

It's also not that I think it'll be difficult because it won't. I crush men daily in business meetings and negotiations. Simply put—I'm a winner. And little Amity Gallum with her timid personality and plaid cardigans doesn't stand a chance. It's a waste of my precious time.

"Let me know when she's here," I tell Marissa. "Until then, hold all my calls."

"Yes, sir."

The line clicks dead. I stare at the phone, wondering what Salvo wants. He is a cockroach—aggressive, quick, and when you see him, it's a sign you need to clean house.

With a quick glance at the clock, I drop into my seat. The sunshine lures me in and taunts me. I haven't had a full day in the sun since I took this position. I hopped a plane with Marcus and Shepler and arrived in Vegas at three in the morning over three years ago. I don't remember all too much of that weekend. The pink, lacy thong in my suitcase and the imprint of what I believe were handcuffs left around my wrists makes me believe it was probably pretty epic.

There won't be any sunny vacations in my foreseeable future, not with Dennis Gallum trying to ruin my life. I get that he wants his daughter to benefit from all the work he put into this company. I don't hold that against him. But if he thinks she's going to waltz in here with her meekness and wallflower mindset and bring this company success, he's not nearly as smart as I gave him credit for.

"Mr. Jones? You have a visitor," Marissa chirps through the line.

"Send her in."

Swiping a set of files from the corner of my desk, I spread them in front of me in a haphazard, I've-been-doing-this-all-day kind of way. Not that I haven't been working since before the sun came up. I have. That's not the point.

The point is this: first impressions matter most. It sets the stage for every other interaction, regardless of the relationship. The relationship I'm about to have with Amity Gallum as opposition in some fucked up competition to win the CEO title of our fathers' company will be the most important one of my life.