Page 1 of Declan
1
CARA
T his idiot actually believes he can charm me into lying to my boss. I would be insulted if he wasn't so predictable. I give him a sultry smile. The one I practiced in my room as a teenager. The one that made the high school boys go crazy and the one that still drives men wild. It makes them stop thinking with their big brain. It also makes them underestimate me. And that suits me just fine.
As expected, the stuffed shirt's eyes go hazy. He gives me a smarmy smile and smooths back his hair. "You are a stunner," he mutters, staring straight into my cleavage. There's only a hint of revulsion left in me as his eyes linger. I learned a long time ago to set aside my feelings in the moment. I trade the disgust, the revulsion, and the disappointment, for the satisfaction of taking them down a peg, or twenty, in the end.
He thinks this is his game. He’s wrong.
I've had a lot of practice, first as a teenager with a very healthy curiosity, then as a woman striving to be more in the world. I learned early that most men are simple and I'd have to play the game sometimes to get ahead. But when that gets old? I drop the act and show them the real me.
I’ll admit, that spilled into my romantic relationships sometimes. My itch was getting scratched, and that's all I cared about. Bree would tell me that's fucked up, but I don't really mind. It makes me the odd one out, though. No husband and no babies when most of the women in my high school class have both.
I didn't care. I never wanted anything more. At least until I met him.
I let out a tinkling laugh, leaning forward and letting my blood-red blouse gape open a little more. "So...what am I supposed to do about this?" I ask, channeling my inner airhead, tapping the contract on the boardroom table with a black manicured nail.
He tugs down his tie, loosening his top button. I have no doubt I'm driving him wild. But he's a classically handsome man. He's played this game before. He's used to women falling over him.
He's never played with me, and he's about to discover I always win.
"Just don't mention it, honey. There's a big present in it for you as soon as this deal is signed."
I widen my eyes, batting my triple-thick mascara-coated eyelashes. "Really? How big? I love...big presents."
I let my mind drift as we trade sexual innuendos. Keeping up with him requires only a tiny fraction of my brain power, so the rest of me can think about all the things that really matter today, like the liquor shipment that should be arriving at the club right about now. And the ache in my toes from my stilettos. And the raise I'm going to demand from Ransom when I save him from this fucking deal.
And, of course, as my eyes travel idly over the playboy across the table from me, I can't help comparing this man to Declan and him coming up short. Smooth playboy has never been my favorite.
Don't get me wrong, I like all men. But ever since I met Declan, I'm all about stuttering, nerdy, and playing hard-to-get guys.
Well, guy. It's only him. From the day I started working here, it's just been him.
The energy of the room shifts. Playboy straightens up, unconsciously puffing out his chest in some show of...I don't even know what. Ransom walking into a room has that effect on people. He makes most men feel inferior at six-foot-three, with dark hair and eyes, and cufflinks worth more than most people's cars. The whole package screams successful, cold billionaire. It's accurate marketing, except for the cold part. He may be cold in this room, but for the rest of his life, in this company he built with his brothers, he's anything but.
"Are we ready to wrap this up?" Ransom asks crisply. He has an air of indifference in his voice like he doesn't care if this deal happens or not. Sometimes it's an act. This time, I don't think it is. Sure, he'd like this land, but Ransom always has a backup plan and a backup for the backup. He loves his contingencies. That's one of the best lessons I've learned from him. Never set your heart on one thing. In business, there's always the next opportunity.
Too bad I can't seem to apply that same principle to my love life, or lack thereof.
Playboy shoots a secretive smile at me. I wink back, then turn to Ransom, savoring the twitch at the corner of his mouth as I continue the airhead voice. “On page ninety-six it states Environmental cleanup of the site isn't covered. My guess is he's found out there's some contamination he wants to put the burden on you to handle." I glance over the table at playboy, blinking innocently as his face reddens.
I drop the act, letting my absolute indifference show. "I'm not for fucking sale. Especially not for the kind of present you're offering."
Then I stand, strolling out of the office like I can't hear his cursing and Ransom's evil chuckle as the door shuts behind me.
I stride through the offices on the executive floor, nodding at coworkers as I pass. We're all friendly here, but I haven't made any real friends with any of them. I don't have a lot of friends, period. When you live with your best friend/sister, it's easy to get lazy about trying to make new ones. But that's not why I have no tight relationships here. It's because of Ransom and the boys. They've pulled me into their group, and they're all-consuming. I'm on call 24/7, and sometimes, it can be exhausting. But the payoff more than makes up for it.
I kick off my shoes in my office, flopping into my eight-hundred-dollar ergo chair. I strolled into Ransom's office the day after he hired me and demanded his credit card. No fucking way was I going to work in the old piece of shit chair they had at my desk. He turned it over without a peep, smart man. When my new chair showed up later that afternoon, he spent an inordinate amount of time playing with it. Then he called all the brothers in, and all nine of them tested it out.
When Jonas and Declan started talking hydraulics and plastic molding, my little heart went pitter-patter. I was hooked on them both. Then Declan made eye contact with me, blushed, and fell out of the chair, and I had my new fixation.
Later that month, the entire twelve-story building was in an uproar as nearly a thousand ergo chairs were delivered, all in one day. That's the day I knew I wasn't going to move on from this job. I'm really fucking good at what I do. I get emails and calls from other companies weekly, desperate to hire me. And for a long time, I needed that rush of being chased. But The Brash Group is the first company I've worked for that puts their employees' needs above their own. I don't know where that came from. How did nine orphan men succeed in business and still stay good guys? It just doesn't compute. But they did. They started with a single garage and now have a fucking empire.
It's something I aspire to someday. Oh, I don't need to be a billionaire. But financial security and being the master of my own destiny are pretty powerful motivators. I don't ever want to struggle again.
It's past five by the time Ransom fills my doorway. I saw him coming, of course, because the whole office is glass, but I relax back in the chair, lifting a brow at him. "So? Are we moving on to plan B?"
He smirks. "Nah. He knocked another million off the price, so I wouldn't walk away."
