What he’s saying hits me like a ton of bricks . . . that fell from a crane . . . sitting on top of a building . . . with me down in a hole. That much weight, responsibility, and pressure stack on my chest at once.

“Of course. I’d be happy to travel to London and get a deeper insight into my proposal for the board’s consideration.” Shockingly, my voice sounds energized, not panicked.

Because inside? I’m, to borrow a phrase from Elle, freaking the fuck out.

“Good, good. I knew you’d be up for the challenge. But make no mistake, Daniel is too.” Allan dips his chin, eyes narrowing as if he’s evaluating me down to the very depths of my soul. “You’ll both be announcing your go-teams at tomorrow night’s dinner, if you can be ready?”

The question hangs, and I realize that Daniel has already had this conversation with Allan today. Daniel already knows that we’re competing head to head, and he has at least an hour’s advantage on preparation.

“I can certainly be ready to make that announcement tomorrow. When are you thinking we should depart for our site visits? It will take a bit to arrange everything on London’s end—”

“Monday.” Allan’s jaw is set in stone, his lips lifted ever so slightly as if he’s hungry for my answer.

A test, then, to see how well I think on my feet and adapt? Or to see if I bend and break under pressure?

Good thing I’m quite adept at dodging and juking, I think, proud of my usage of American football slang. See? Even with that, I am constantly learning, integrating, growing. Exactly how I want to lead at the helm of Fox.

I offer a congenial smile, not letting him see even the slightest bit of ruffled feathers at his proclamation.

“Hmm, it is a tight timeline, a team announcement in twenty-four hours and a departure just over forty-eight hours from now, give or take a few hours here or there.” The summary is to emphasize exactly what pure madness they’re asking of me, that I know it and he knows it. “Tight, but certainly doable.”

Lines bloom on Allan’s face as he smiles smugly. “Knew you could handle it, Colton. You’ve always been one to enjoy the pressure of a good challenge, and Daniel’s got one in mind for you. But I think you’ll rise to it.”

It feels like he’s telling me a secret, but I’m well aware of how skilled and intelligent Daniel is, and right now, just how on edge he is as well.

He leans forward and offers me a hand across his desk. I shake his firmly. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir. I won’t let you or Fox down.”

“Remember, eight thirty tomorrow night. And when you come by, can you spare a few minutes for my missus? She always loves when you come by and call these things garden parties in that accent. Gives her a kick.”

His smile is warm and genuine now, forecasting exactly how in love he is with his wife. They are two peas in a pod, all fancy and upper crust chic on the outside but real and as humble as can be on the inside.

“Of course, sir,” I reply, thinking of Allan’s wife. She’s funny and a good balance to the old man. Giving her a few jollies by simply calling her husband’s corporate dinners ‘garden parties’ would be a pleasure.

I head back down the hallway, excited to share the news with Elle, but my office is empty. I look at my watch and realize it’s after six.

She must’ve gone home already. I know her day of work was over, and she has to take Tiffany home, but my office feels empty without her. Actually, more than just my office. My gut feels alone without her here. I’m disappointed at not being able to share the leap of progress we just made on the HQ2 proposal.

But I shake it off, not willing to be distracted as I head to my desk. I have waited so long for an opportunity like this. It’s everything I’ve been working for my whole life, and I won’t fuck it up now over a bit of fun with Elle, because that’s all it is. Right? A dig at Daniel, a way to lighten my days, a way for her to show off her skills a little too.

That’s all. It has to be.

I don’t have time for anything more. Especially not when I have a long night of work ahead of me, a proposal to win, and if all goes according to plan, a new HQ2 to run as Regional President.

Focus, Colton. Eyes on the prize, man.

Chapter 15

Elle

“Come on, girl, we gotta go!” I holler, leaning on the horn. I’m encased in Cammie, with her air conditioning blowing so fiercely that my hair looks like I’m in the middle of filming a White Snake video, so Tiffany can’t hear me. But I yell again, all the same. “Come on, come on, come on!”

My fingers are tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel as I wait impatiently. It’s not White Snake on the radio. I only know who they are because Dad went through a hair band phase when he was young and liked to torture me with 80s rock ballads, but rather Lizzo, because I know it’ll irk Tiffany.

“Feeling good as hell,” I sing, agreeing with the lyrics because right now, they’re true. If only Tiffany would move her ass.

When she doesn’t appear, I get out and stomp my way to the front door, my flip-flops slapping with every step. Not everyone can make flip-flops sound angry, but I’m one of the rare breeds who can. It probably helps that I’m looking fit for People of Walmart in sweatpants, a tank top, a bare face, and wild hair, but picking up Tiffany is only stop one in our day. We’ve got mani-pedis this morning, blowouts this afternoon, and then we’re hitting my place for makeup and to get dressed for Mr. Fox’s dinner tonight.

I knock on the door, praying that it’s not Ace causing Tiffany any more headaches, but when she opens it, I’m startled by what I see. “What the . . . you look like She-Hulk! No, scratch that . . . because this is not a good look at all.”

I point at her face and grimace. “You look like . . . Shrek! What the hell, Tiffany?”

It’s pretty appropriate. Tiffany’s hair is pulled into a loose ponytail and the front part is held back by a large headband to keep it out of the green goop she’s got smeared all over her face.

As if that’s not bad enough, she’s not even dressed! She’s still in her black silk bathrobe, which normally makes her look ready to unleash sexy ass kickings, but right now, it just looks all kinds of wrong with her face covered in moldy swamp mud.

“Oh, shut up and come in!” Tiffany’s tone is sharp, her bite letting me know that her goopy face is the least of our problems for today. “I woke up this morning with a breakout. Hence the avocado mask.”

She pulls a Vanna White, making a circle around her face with one hand. “We’ve got a half-hour before our mani-pedis, and I trust that you and Cammie will get us there on time.”

Sensing the danger in the air, I baby-step through the minefield. “Anything else you need to do to get ready? How can I help?”

I step inside, carefully avoiding the mess of pizza boxes, beer cans, and trash that have seemingly grown in a semicircle around the couch. The cause is clear as Ace sits slumped on the cushions, a game controller in his hands while the sound of video-game battle fills the room from the too-loud television. It’s a small favor that it’s not rap music this time.