More Than Hate You (More Than Words)

“But Reservoir is too played out to manage any last-minute tricks, right?”

“That’s my read.”

“Good. Word on the street is that Bruce Rawson made some desperate phone calls last night, looking for emergency funding.”

I figured he’d try. “No lending institution in their right mind will give him a dime. He definitely won’t find enough to save Reservoir before we take over. He’s too underwater. Hell, I expect lots of suits will question our sanity for bailing him out.”

“I’m sure.” He pauses. “You have to get him to sign. Today.”

So he can tell Wynam we’re going to be one happy company. I get it. “Rawson doesn’t have a choice. I’ve got a few aces up my sleeve and a loose end to tie up. Then it’ll be a done deal.” I can’t be more specific than that, and I have to hope Evan will understand when I finally tell him everything. “Why don’t you go to bed? When you wake up, all this should be done.”

Over the phone, he yawns. “Yeah. I’m fucking beat.”

“Talk to you later, buddy.”

“Absolutely. Keep doing amazing things. We’re a great team.”

His encouragement and rah-rah spirit make me feel guilty as hell as I murmur my goodbye and hang up. The day has barely started, and I already want it behind me. Where the hell is Sloan with her answer?

Since I didn’t sleep much last night myself, I worked—on the contract Stratus’s attorney put together, on a statement to all of Reservoir’s employees outlining the upcoming management changes, and on figuring out how to make Sloan my wife ASAP. I’m as prepared for today as I can be, but my nerves are raw. I can’t find my goddamn cool.

Cursing under my breath, I pocket my phone and resume pacing Reservoir’s lobby. I glare impatiently at my watch again. Eight o’clock straight up. For Sloan, this is late. She’s never late. Is this her silent way of not just refusing my proposal but telling me to fuck off for good?

Across the cavernous space, the sound of a woman’s heels clicking smartly over the tile sends me turning in her direction. My jaw drops.

Sloan approaches, hair wound in an elegant twist, revealing her high cheekbones and graceful neck. She’s wearing a black business suit—figuring-hugging jacket buttoned just under her exposed cleavage, along with a sleek pencil skirt that reveals most of her thighs—and a pair of killer black stilettos with gold accents. The coordinating hoops dangling from her ears and the bangles encircling her wrists give her a perfectly polished vibe. She looks amazing. Powerful. Sexy as hell.

But the choker encircling her neck with a dangling ball and chain—and her engagement ring attached to it—pisses me off.

“What the hell is that?” I gesture to the three carats scraping the plastic gag gift hanging as a silent fuck you.

She stops in front of me, brow raised. “What do you mean? I’m wearing the ring.”

“Not on your finger,” I growl.

“You said I had to wear it. You didn’t say where.”

Sloan is trying to get a rise out of me. I won’t give her the satisfaction of showing my temper. “Are you marrying me?”

“It’s not as if I have much choice.”

From behind the desk in the far corner, the security guard watches us. A few employees running late dash to their desks, giving us sideways glances before they disappear into nearby offices or the gaping elevator.

Gossip is going to spread like a cancer if I don’t quash this fast. But I’m aware that isn’t my only reason for stepping into her personal space, teeth gritted. “Take the ring off that ridiculous statement around your neck.”

“How is it ridiculous? I’m about to be shackled for the next year, so I dressed accordingly.”

I have never been so tempted in my life to put a woman over my knee. “We have paperwork to finish and an announcement to make. Put that ring on your finger right now.”

“No. I’m fine with where it is.”

I go from gritting my teeth to grinding them. This woman has always been great at raising my blood pressure, but I swear today she’s shoving me closer to an aneurysm.

I’m calling her bluff. “All right. First stop, we’re visiting your father.”

“Mr. Rawson”—she corrects me—“should understand how I feel about the fact he sold me to you without compunction.”

She’s not wrong. During our brief meeting, Rawson fought for everything but her, which makes no sense. He took all of Sloan’s hard work and loyalty for granted, as if it was his due for the simple favor of providing half her DNA. But he was willing to go to the mat for the worthless son who cost him a fortune.