More Than Hate You (More Than Words)

I refrain from pointing out that it’s five a.m. in Dallas—and the middle of the night back home—and sigh. “She figured me out. I tried to do damage control, but…there’s no reasoning with that woman now.”

“Seriously? I thought you were going to wine, dine, and recline her.”

“I did my best, but she knew before I even reached the city that I work for the enemy. After that, nothing I said was going to matter.”

“Well, fuck. The great Sebastian Shaw struck out? This is a first.”

He’s not totally wrong. I’m not used to hearing no. It blows. “I wish I had better news, boss.”

“We’re going to have to double-down to secure this Wynam deal because whatever you did lit a fire under her. She hates you.”

“Oh, she made that abundantly clear.”

“She’s already called Michael Astor and told him we’re black hats playing dirty pool. I don’t like this attached to our reputation.”

In other words, he’s not happy, and I need to fix it. “I’ll do my best. You do damage control there and—”

“Believe me, I am. After Wynam’s executive team here in London heard my presentation, they’d decided not to even hear Reservoir’s—until Sloan called. After she tattled to Astor, they invited her in on Tuesday.”

No wonder he’s pissed. My feet haven’t even hit the floor, and my day has already turned to shit. “Sorry. I underestimated her. I won’t make that mistake again.”

And I must be a sick fuck because my respect for Sloan has only grown. Her savviness, her moxie… I really can’t think of her equal. So I can’t stop wanting her. And I’ll be damned if I give up before I have her.

“Good. Unfortunately, there’s shit going on at home. Someone broke into our house—”

“A burglar?”

“A killer. He tried to off Amanda,” he says of Nia’s half sister. “And her son. But—”

I sit straight up. “Why? She’s sweet as pie, and that kid is just a baby.”

“Yep. But Amanda’s ex has powerful enemies. Nia has the situation under control, and Amanda is with a bodyguard now. Until I get home, my wife will stay with Maxon and Keeley, who had a last-minute cancelation at their bed-and-breakfast, thank God. Maxon said that’s what family is for, and I’m grateful. My brother’s help allows me to stay here until late Wednesday, so I’ll do my best to mitigate whatever inroads Sloan makes in her upcoming pitch.”

Unless I get to her before she flies out. But I won’t make promises to Evan that I can’t keep. “Sounds good.”

“Be back in the office on Monday. And when you get there, you explain to my wife how this deal got fucked up. I’m not touching that…”

Because Evan doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. Right.

I sigh tiredly. “I’ll take care of it.”

We ring off. After I call Jeremy to apologize and do damage control, I arrange both a car and a flight back, which doesn’t leave for twelve hours. That leaves me a lot of time to find Sloan. It might be a long shot, but I need to talk to her and undo whatever damage I can.

I’m not sure where to find her on a Sunday. A phone call, if she even answered, would only piss her off more.

This is going to require face time.

After I hit the gym downstairs, I clean up and check out. Thankfully, the hotel will hold my luggage until I’m ready to head to the airport. But locating Sloan’s home address proves impossible. It probably doesn’t matter, anyway. With a presentation of this magnitude coming up, I bet she’s in the office.

After grabbing a quick coffee and a protein bowl from a to-go restaurant downtown, I hail a taxi and take it the few miles to Reservoir’s offices. The building is older but pristine and clearly built when construction was short on chrome and long on charm with towering Doric columns, a sturdy portico, and dark edifices around the big windows. Despite the fact the sun has barely been up for twenty minutes, there’s a sedan in the lot. Just one, and I’m sure it’s Sloan’s.

When I test the front door, it’s locked. But that won’t stop me.

I trek around the building, testing a door here, a window there. All secure. Damn it, I know she’s in there…

Just before I come full circle to the front again, I see a computer glare through a big picture window—and fiery hair twisted into a fat bun on top of her head.

Gotcha.