Great.
He sits back, relaxed and confident, cool and calculating. “How has your week been?”
“Fine, thanks,” I reply, my patience being tested. “Let’s just cut to the chase, Mr. Miles, shall we?”
“Tristan,” he corrects me.
“Tristan,” I reply. “Why do you want to meet with me so badly? What could possibly warrant you calling me five times a week for the last month?”
He brushes his pointer finger over his big lips, as if amused, and his eyes hold mine. “I’ve been watching Anderson Media for some time now.”
I raise my eyebrow again. “And do tell—what have you learned?”
“You are letting staff go every month.”
“I’m downsizing.”
“Not by choice.”
Something about this man rubs me the wrong way.
“I’m not interested in what you’re offering, Mr. Miles,” I snap. I feel a sharp kick under the table to my ankle, and I wince in pain. Ow . . . that hurt. I glance at Marley. She widens her eyes in a shut-up-now signal.
“How do you know I want to make you an offer?” he replies calmly.
How many times has he had this conversation? “Don’t you?”
“No.” He sips his coffee. “I would like to buy your company, but I’m not offering a free pass.”
“Free pass,” I scoff.
Marley kicks me again . . . oh shit, that hurt. I throw her a dirty look, and she fakes a broad smile. “Happy, happy,” she mouths.
“And what do you mean by a free pass, Mr. Miles?”
“Tristan,” he corrects me.
“I’ll call you whatever I want.”
He gives me a slow, sexy smile, as if loving every minute of this. “I can see you’re a passionate woman, Claire, and that’s admirable . . . but come on. Let’s be serious here.”
I roll my lips, willing myself to stay silent.
“The last three years your company has run at a massive loss. You’re losing advertising accounts left, right, and center.” He steeples his hand on his temple as he stares at me. “I’m guessing the financials are a nightmare.”
I swallow the lump in my throat as we stare at each other.
“I can take everything off your hands, and you can take a hard-earned break.”
Anger begins to pump through my blood. “You would love that, wouldn’t you? Play Mr. Nice Guy and take everything off my hands . . . come in on your horse and save the day like a white knight.”
His eyes hold mine, and a trace of a smile crosses his face.
“I will hold on to my company if it’s the last thing I do.” I again feel a swift kick, and I jump, losing the last of my patience. “Stop kicking me, Marley,” I splutter.
Tristan breaks into a broad smile as he looks between us. “Keep kicking her, Marley,” he says. “Kick some sense into her.”
I roll my eyes, embarrassed that my assistant is kicking the shit out of my ankles.