“I’ve explained this, darling. It’s the only way we keep the company in the family. I thought that’s what you wanted . . . a chance to run this place someday.”

“I do, Dad,” she says softly. Then her eyes lift to mine. “I just didn’t think I’d be forced into something like this.”

“No one’s forcing you,” I say, keeping my tone light as I lace my fingers behind my head. “The choice is yours, Olivia. I already told you, I’m game.”

She chews on her red lacquered thumbnail for just a second before folding her hands in her lap and shooting me an icy glare. “I’m quite aware of your position.”

Hell, at least she’s willing to hear us all out again. I know that deep down, she understands our fathers’ rationale. We’re stronger together. Our families built this company together. Neither of us can afford to buy the other out, so it needs to stay jointly fifty-fifty within the family. For now.

But for me, it’s about more than just money. Olivia and I grew up together; our parents always envisioned us ending up together. I always knew she’d be somewhere in my future, even if it was just working side by side, with her busting my balls every chance she got. It was something I looked forward to.

Fred continued. “Trust and loyalty are the most important things in business. We can’t go getting into bed with someone we don’t know. We have to keep all of this in this room. Just between family.”

Olivia sighs, giving him a skeptical look. “I’ll think about it.”

At least it wasn’t a flat no this time, even if her tone is still sour.

Prescott lets out an annoyed huff. “We’ll meet again on Thursday.”

She stuffs the contract in her bag and rises from the table, seemingly in a hurry to escape. “Until then.”

“Thank you for keeping an open mind,” her father says. “These things have a way of working themselves out in ways you can’t anticipate.”

I accept Fred and Prescott’s good-bye handshakes. When Olivia’s turn comes, she thrusts her hand at me, clearly wanting to just get this over with . . . and I have a flash of wicked inspiration. Maybe I should shake things up. Test how thick her icy shell really is.

Holding her gaze, I raise her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “A pleasure doing business with you . . . Mrs. Tate,” I tease in a husky voice, letting my lips graze her knuckles.

Her eyes widen and she sucks in her breath. Is it my imagination, or do her cheeks look a little pinker than before? But before I can be sure, her expression hardens into a death glare.

Snatching back her hand, she snaps, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I haven’t agreed to marry you yet, and even if I do, I’m never taking your last name.”

And then she’s gone, leaving me standing there with a stupid grin on my face.

“I’ve seen that look before,” Fred says with a small smile. “You’re in trouble, son.”

I laugh off his warning. There’s no way Olivia Cane will ever have me wrapped around her finger.

Yet her unique sweetness lingers in my nostrils. She must have dabbed that intoxicating scent on her wrist, so close to my nose when I kissed her hand. I can still feel her soft, smooth skin on my lips. Such a small intimacy—just brushing her as I spoke—shouldn’t have spread this tingle over me. But there’s no denying that this room has become a few degrees too warm.

This is going to be interesting. Hell, it may even be fun.

Chapter Two

Olivia

Camryn almost spills her pear mojito and gasps. “You have to do what? With who?”

Nodding grimly, I take a fortifying gulp of sangria. Just explaining this whole harrowing situation makes me feel like I’m going crazy.

We’re eating lunch at a table for two at Banderilla, our favorite tapas bar in all of Manhattan. This restaurant has been our go-to hangout spot since we were college roommates.

We’ve talked over countless decisions here. Whether I should break up with my shitty first boyfriend (I did), whether Camryn should give her anal virginity to her wannabe musician boyfriend (she did), if we should get matching friendship tattoos (I chickened out), whether she should accept Tate & Cane’s job offer after the internship I hooked her up with (she did).

But this decision is probably the biggest of my life. I need my best friend’s coolheaded advice now more than ever.

Camryn heaves a sympathetic sigh. “Jesus. I knew the company wasn’t doing so hot, but I had no idea just how much trouble we were in.”

“Yeah, turns out we should have invested more in social media.”

Like all the other big marketing firms. Dad had stuck to his guns with old strategies, and now clients thought we were a dinosaur.

“So, what do you think I should do about this contract?” I ask her again. I try not to sound impatient, but my head has been spinning ever since Dad announced his retirement—and I learned exactly what I’d need to do to take his place.

“Let me make sure I understand. You need to inherit and unfuck T&C, or else the board will pawn it off. Before the next financial quarter.”

“Yep.”

“But Bill Tate’s will says you can’t inherit until you marry his son.”

“Uh-huh.”

She sucks her teeth. “So . . . down the aisle in a matter of days, huh? Sounds like the board is the rock and Tate’s will is the hard place.”

“Exactly.” Although it’s Noah’s hard place that I really need to worry about right now. “And between the two, my personal life’s about to get smashed into dust.”