Briggs (Carolina Reapers 7)

“Babe,” Grace groaned. “How many times must we go over this? You thought he knew you were a month shy of eighteen. You had no idea your brother would react the way he did. It’s. Not. Your. Fault. He. Got. Traded. Briggs didn’t have to kiss you—”

“Didn’t he?” I teased, trying like hell to switch my mood. “I’m pretty irresistible.”

Grace snorted. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

We both shared a laugh, but mine ended on kind of a whine. “What am I going to do? What’s the right play?” When I purchased Lusso, it wasn’t about Cormac. It was about applying my design knowledge with my business savvy and finally making something for myself. Something not connected to my family, or my brother or anyone else. Just mine.

And then, when we started looking for the face of the new line, I couldn’t see anyone but Cormac. I hadn’t followed his career religiously or anything, but I’d typed his name into Google a time or two—usually after a few glasses of wine on a late night.

The second I envisioned him as the star of Lusso…it fit. It felt right. I thought it would be my way to apologize for the past, to make amends, and quite possibly earn a friend in the process.

I’d been a fool.

Of course, he’d hate me. Blame me.

Of course, he’d want nothing to do with me.

Of course, he’d still see me as that seventeen-year-old girl with stardust in her eyes at the sight of him.

“Only you can figure that out,” Grace said.

“Thanks for your help,” I teased.

“Hey, you know what I’d do if I were in your shoes,” she said.

I laughed, and the headache flared to life from the motion. “Offering him a sex contract was so not an option. This isn’t Fifty Shades.”

“You are the CEO of a company,” she said. “And you have unlimited funds. You even rock the power suit like no one’s business. If anyone can pull off a Mr. Grey, it’s you.”

I laughed harder. “Stop, you’re making the headache worse,” I said through my giggles.

“Well, it would’ve been way more interesting than just having him take some pictures. Despite how good we both know he’ll look.”

“At least I’m certain of that,” I said, shaking my head. “He was livid, though. I don’t know how I can hold him to it.”

“Maybe he thinks you have the wrong intentions,” she said. “Like this is another way of controlling him.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “So not what I was going for.” God, the ink had barely dried on the contract and I’d already messed this up.

“I know,” she said. “And whatever you decide, I’ve got your back. You know what you’re doing. He doesn’t. Maybe he just needs time—”

“Bristol!” My name being shouted from my office door in the penthouse I currently occupied—followed by a barrage of pounding—cut her off.

My heart leaped to my throat, and chills skirted my skin. “Want to bet on that?” I asked toward the phone, then shook my head as I pushed from my desk. “I’ve got to go.”

“Remember, the sex contract is a solid backup!” Grace yelled before I hit the end button.

“Bristol, I know you’re in there!” Cormac pretty much growled from the other side of the door.

I rolled my eyes, straightening said power suit jacket Grace had mentioned earlier. As much as I felt guilty for everything that had happened four years ago, I certainly didn’t appreciate him trying to break down my office door. It was brand new for fuck’s sake.

“You don’t have to scream,” I said as I opened the door. “I was on a call.” I arched a brow at him, trying like hell to slow down my heart. Sure, he looked downright edible in the jeans and white T-shirt combo he donned as he stomped into my office, but it didn’t excuse his Neanderthal behavior. “You also could’ve called first. My assistant would’ve been happy to pencil you in.” There, I sounded a little more like myself—like the businesswoman I’d busted my ass to become. He may remember me as a buzzed seventeen-year-old girl, but I was a grown woman now, dammit.

I walked around my desk, taking the opportunity to inhale some much-needed deep breaths before I dropped into the chair behind my desk.

Bad idea. The air was filled with his scent—all verbena and honey with just the hint of leather. It swarmed me, stealing my breath and taking me right back to that night—his lips on mine, his taste in my mouth, his strong hands on my hips—

“You made the contract where I couldn’t get out of it,” he said, sinking into the chair across from my desk.

His deep brown eyes were molten, not even an attempt to hide his anger.

Well, fine then, two could play that game. “I don’t write the contracts—”

“No,” he cut me off. “You just sign them.”