More Than Hate You (More Than Words)

“Seriously? I assumed—”

“Nope. Since I’ve been here, we’ve been all business.” Well, until last night.

“So she’s not sleeping her way up the ladder. That’s hardly a glowing recommendation.”

I understand his skepticism, but it’s making me grit my teeth. “Give her a month. If her job performance doesn’t blow you away, then you can let her go with the rest of the Reservoir staff you shit-can. But if you’re half as impressed as I think you’re going to be, let her stay. Or better yet, make her an offer to work for Stratus.” One I hope she won’t refuse.

But I’m not ready to divulge how I’m going to make all this come together. Evan will think I’ve gone crazy.

“All right. One month. She better be amazing.”

“She is.”

“Are we ready to propose terms, then? How much money do you need? What are the parameters?”

I cover the basics. We negotiate most everything in less than three minutes.

“Sounds good,” he says finally. “Get it done before close of business on Friday.”

“It might take another week.” It will probably take me at least that long to convince Sloan to agree to my plan.

“By your own admission, they don’t have more time. Apply whatever pressure you need to get this done by the end of the week. Then—” He pauses. “Hey, I gotta go. Nia is calling.”

“Sure. Talk to you soon.”

Then he’s gone. I set my phone aside with a sigh.

I should be happy. I got everything I asked for. The timetable is aggressive, but I can make that work…except Sloan. She’s going to fight me tooth and nail.

Maybe if I sit her down and explain the situation. She’s been wanting that. I’ll finally give it to her, show her in black and white that her illustrious half brother has nearly destroyed her father’s legacy in a short handful of months. Now, only she can save it…with my help.

It sounds reasonable—in my head. But I doubt she’ll see it the same way.

Less than ten minutes later, I hear tires screech in the parking lot and glance out to see Sloan sling her car into an available parking spot, then stomp out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind her.

Even from here, I can tell she’s furious.

I think through my interaction with Shane last night. Did I say or do something I forgot to tell her about? Something that would make her this fucking angry?

When Sloan says something clipped in response to the receptionist’s greeting, I stand, watching through the glass double doors as she thunders up the stairs, her face a flushed glower.

She shoves the door open, sending it banging against the opposite wall. “Pack up and call a taxi.”

Oh, shit. Did she somehow guess my plan already? “Where am I going?”

“To see Shane.” She marches away, then bangs her laptop shut, sticking her computer, her notes, and everything she brought here—down to the last pencil—into her briefcase.

“And where are you going?”

Finally, I see a crack in her facade. Pain settles into a crease between her brows. Her chin trembles like she’s using every ounce of her will not to cry. “Home. I’ve been fired.”

“What?” I knew Shane would punch back, but I didn’t think he’d KO her in one swipe.

“Somehow, someway, Shane discovered your identity, and it’s now apparently my fault that I hired the enemy.”

Son of a bitch. “I’ll set him straight.”

“How? Not that it matters. I’ve had all the contact with you. I brought you in to look at our financials. According to him, if I didn’t know you were Sebastian Shaw, I should have and I should be fired for dereliction of duty.”