Page 32 of Secret Offer
I arch a brow in amusement. “I’m meeting my parents for dinner in about twenty minutes.”
“Yeah. You don’t want the Goombay unless you plan on being wasted at that dinner. But you do you! This is a judgment-free zone. I’m happy to make you whatever you want.”
I’m about to order a limeade when a tall, dark-haired man slides onto the stool next to me and interrupts.
“That drink sounds like exactly what I need after the day I’ve had.” He flicks his AmEx across the bar and shoots me a wide grin. “And I’ll pay for her drink, too. Put it on my tab.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Taken aback, I force a polite smile in return and then address the bartender again. “I’ll have a switcha. Non-alcoholic, please.”
“You got it.” She gives me a little wink and then moves away to make our drinks.
At my side, the dark-haired man clears his throat and messes with his tie. His cologne is overpowering. It smells expensive and spicy, the kind of scent you can’t ignore. I can see him staring at me from the corner of my eye, and though I’d like topretend I don’t notice—or just walk away—my good-girl training is strong, and my manners win out.
Resisting a sigh, I turn to him and play along, giving him the attention he so obviously craves. “Rough day, I take it?”
“You have no idea,” he says with another bright-white smile.
Now that I’m looking at him straight on, I realize that he’s younger than I thought—maybe late twenties—and extremely handsome. Handsome in the way of an Armani underwear model. Handsome in the way where I wonder if that jawline hasn’t had a bit of surgical enhancement. Handsome in the way where he absolutely knows it and is used to getting exactly what he wants from women because of it.
Not only that, but judging by the cut of his suit, the flashy diamond watch peeking out of his sleeve, and the way he threw his credit card around, he’s also filthy rich on top of having the classic “tall, dark, and handsome” trifecta working for him. Not surprising. He wouldn’t be at this resort if he wasn’t.
Unfortunately for him, not all women appreciate arrogance. But I’ll bet he doesn’t know that.
“This asshole,” he goes on, “pardon my French, but this asshole thought he could screw me in an acquisitions deal. Guess he didn’t realize I’m the kind of CEO who reads the fine print on every single contract. Especially when we’re talking multimillion-dollar agreements. Which, all of my deals are.”
“Wow,” I say, nodding along as my eyes start to glaze over. “Sounds intense.”
“It is. Some people think I’m too young to basically be running this company on my own, but there’s not a single detail I overlook, even though I have an entire legal department whose job it is to go over the jargon for me. That’s what makes me so strong in a leadership role. See, I don’t just sit in my office all day with my feet up and wait for everyone else to do the work.I’m down there in the trenches right next to them, which is how it should be.”
“Of course. How can you be sure they’re doing their jobs the right way if you don’t look over their shoulder all the time and correct them?” I say seriously, even though I mean it sarcastically.
“Exactly!” he says, thumping a fist on the bar top and looking pleased that I’m apparently on the same page. “You don’t just delegate and then walk away and leave the responsibility to someone else.”
I have to bite my tongue hard, because walking away and leaving the responsibility to someone else is actually thedefinitionof delegation. This guy sounds like a nightmare of a CEO. A micromanager from hell. I feel bad for his employees.
I’m grateful to see the bartender returning with our drinks.
“Here you go,” she says. “One Goombay, one switcha.”
We thank her and she walks away again, leaving us to our mostly one-sided conversation. I immediately take a long gulp of my limeade, already starting to regret going the non-alcoholic route. Next to me, the man takes a few swallows of his Goombay Smash, seeming unbothered by the amount of booze in it. I can smell the rum from here. It almost covers up the fog of spicy cologne, but not quite.
“Like I was saying,” he continues, “there’s nothing about my company that I don’t know inside and out, top to bottom. A good CEO doesn’t just spend his time flying all over the world in his private jet all the time, you know? Although I suppose that’s exactly what I’m doing right now. Ha ha!”
“Ha,” I reply, subtly checking the time on my phone.
“Anyway, the moral of the story is, you can’t expect someone with as much money, power, and experience as I have to miss something like an underhanded clause in a business contract. You know what I’m saying?”
“Yep. Can’t believe anyone tried to put one over on you,” I reply, hoping I sound impressed enough for him to decide he’s finished talking about himself. Clearly he’s not going to stop yammering at me until he’s 100% certain that I realize how incredibly rich and powerful he is. I know his type.
He thrusts out a hand at me. His fingers are long and delicate, a thick gold ring on his pinkie.
“Sorry. I’m Mason Sharp, but I’m sure you guessed that.” His piercing blue eyes drill into me, a look of concentration on his face, and it takes a second for me to understand that he’s trying to smolder.
I shake lightly, but he almost crushes my hand in his iron grip, and I can’t hold back a wince.
“Of course,” I say as I try to rub the feeling back into my hand, even though I have no idea who the hell he is. I’ll definitely remember the name, though. I can’t wait to call Brooke later and tell her all about this ass hat.
Over his shoulder, I spot my parents walking into the dining area of the restaurant, and I swear I’ve never been so relieved to see their faces before.
