I swallow thickly as he flips through the profiles. “Not me personally, no, but they’ve all been cleared as good potential plus-ones.”

He pauses at an attractive brunette. “Five-eight, blue eyes, brown hair, breasts are natural. Well, that’s a real bonus, isn’t it? Oh, and look at this, she was a cheerleader in college, and she has a degree in interior design. Looks like her dad owns some big company and has a giant bankroll. She sounds perfect for me, don’t you think?”

“Sounds like an excellent fit,” I grind out. “Her contact information is right there.” I stab at the phone number.

Lincoln regards me with narrowed eyes. “Do you have a plus-one?”

“I’m sorry?”

“A plus-one? Are you bringing someone?”

“I don’t see how—”

“Has he been vetted? Maybe I need to do my own background check. Make sure you’re not bringing some douchebag to my family’s fundraiser.”

Great. For some reason he’s pissed off, and now so am I. It’s bad enough that I’ve been told it won’t look good for me to bring a date, but the way he’s acting is full-on jerk. “My dates are none of your business.”

He slams the folder shut and pushes it toward me. “I don’t need help getting a date.”

“I’ll still need to vet whoever you’re bringing.” I nearly choke on the words.

Lincoln scoffs. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Wren. I won’t screw up this precious fundraiser and ruin all your hard work making me look like the perfect CEO. I have shit to do. Close the door on your way out.”

I don’t know how to respond to his abrupt dismissal, so I stand there for a few more seconds and stare. My throat feels tight, and my eyes burn.

“You can go now, Wren,” he barks, eyes still on his monitor.

So I leave, because for some reason I’m at risk of shedding tears over Lincoln having a date. Which tells me something important. He’s not just my job anymore. If I can’t have a date, I don’t want Lincoln to have one either.

And more than that, if he’s going to have one at all, I want it to be me.CHAPTER 11SOMETIMES IGNORANCE IS BLISSLINCOLNI’m in a foul mood. Like the worst. I’m Oscar the Grouch and Scrooge’s angry hate child rolled into one. I’ve been like this ever since Wren came into my office and offered me a list of prospective plus-ones.

And now I’m in the middle of a meeting, absent of Wren—she’s been scarce since yesterday’s conversation—and all Armstrong can talk about is letting go of the employees of the two digital publications to free up more funds.

I rub my temples, trying to stay calm and not bark at my brother every time he throws out the phrase the bottom line.

“What about Williams Media?” I ask.

“What about them? They’re our competition,” Armstrong sneers, as if I’m stupid.

What I wouldn’t give to go a round with him strapped to the side of a punching bag. “Yes. And their magazines with similar content are selling four times what ours are. According to our records, there was a proposed merger in this particular division a while back, but it fell through. Would you happen to be able to shed some light on that?”

Armstrong adjusts his tie and looks anywhere but at me. “I guess it didn’t work out.”

“Hmm. Well, it looks like there’s talk about hiring more staff over there to facilitate expanding that division, so it seems like it wasn’t a bad decision for them, and it sure as hell didn’t work out well for us.” I’ve done the research. I’m aware Amalie confronted Armstrong in the middle of a meeting with Wentworth, which is the reason they have her and we have tanking sales. “I’ve arranged a meeting with Wentworth to renegotiate.”

It doesn’t take long for what I’ve said to sink it. “What? You can’t get in bed with the competition.”

“Don’t you get in bed with everyone?” I wave him off before he can open his mouth and spew more nonsense. “Dad was more than willing to make a deal with them before you screwed it up, and now that I’m here, and in charge, I get to make the decisions, regardless of whether you like them or not.”

“Our division is failing because Amalie sabotaged it!” Armstrong shouts.

I really wish Wren were here to put him in a headlock. “Our division is failing because you cheated on your wife at your wedding, and multiple times prior to that, and then you went and demoted her. Williams was right to snatch her up because she’s an incredible business asset, and you screwed that up. So if anyone’s to blame for the failure of anything, it’s you, brother.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “Of course you’re going to blame me.”

I slam my hand on the table, rattling the glasses, and likely the board members who are bearing witness to this family drama. “Can you get your head out of your own ass for five seconds and look at the bigger picture, here, which is not a mirrored reflection of your face, Armstrong? Firing twenty employees is not in our best interests, not fiscally, and certainly not when it comes to drawing negative media attention. Merging this division with Williams means we don’t have to let them go. It will save money and bad press down the line.”