Bottles & Blades (Eagles Hockey: Oak Ridge Vineyards #1)

Chapter 18

Eighteen

Jean-Michel

“I’m sorry about this, buttercup,” I murmur as I usher her into my office.

Marie is staring blatantly, mouth curved up, and I know I’m going to be having a long conversation later.

Fun.

“You don’t have to apologize for needing to work,” she says quietly as I nudge her toward one of the comfortable chairs positioned by the window, a small round table next to it. “Plus”—she reaches into her purse, pulls out a stack of index cards—“I have things to keep me busy.”

I touch her cheek. “I’ll have someone bring you in something to eat.”

“You don’t have?—”

I cup her jaw. “I’ll have someone bring you something to eat.”

She sighs. But her eyes are soft and filled with amusement when she covers my hand with her own. “More orders.” A beat. “But thank you.”

“Anytime, baby.”

I start for the door.

“I know your meeting’s important,” she says softly and I pause, look back. “If you need me to go, I can.”

Christ, there’s that pang in my heart again.

“Don’t be sweet, buttercup.”

Her brows drag together. “Why?”

“Because when you’re sweet I have to kiss you, and when I kiss you I stop thinking about business and negotiating with asshole landlords who are trying to fuck with one of my distributors.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, cheeks going the slightest bit pink.

Fuck, I’m going to miss that when she gets more comfortable with me.

I guess I’ll just have to come up with other ways to make her blush.

“Plus, knowing you’re here, waiting for me, being so sweet—it’s going to keep me going through what’s certain to be a lesson in frustration.”

She sets the stack of cards down, pushes up to her feet.

There’s only the slightest bit of hesitation as she comes near, just before she settles her hand on my chest. Then she lifts on tiptoe, presses her lips to my jaw, murmuring, “I’ll be waiting.”

It takes everything in me to not turn my head, to keep perfectly still as she drops back onto her heels and returns to the chair, but I manage it, manage to force my feet to move, to take me out of my office and down the hall to where Marie is waiting.

“Not a fucking word,” I mutter.

“Oh, I have words,” she says, passing me a tablet, “so many words it’s not even funny. They’ll just have to wait until after this meeting. The report is on there, but this”—she tugs on my arm, drawing me to a halt—“this just came in from Pascal’s team.”

I stare down at the phone screen she’s pointed in my direction.

And I feel my rage boiling.

“We have another option?”

“The lease wording sucks. She went through her own attorney and they missed this.”

“Fuck.”

“Yup. We pay to break the lease or keep paying rent.”

“So, there are no options then. Because I’m not paying this fucker for that.” I jerk my chin at the phone.

“What do you want to do?”

I hand her back the tablet. “It’s not so much as want as what I have to do.”

With that, I stride down the hall and push into the conference room.

One look has me grinding my teeth together in an effort to not punch the smug fucker right in the face, but I tamp down my rage and focus on doing what I do best?—

Protecting the people I care about.

That’s Chrissy and her best friend, Rory. That’s Marie and the rest of my team. That’s now…Tiff.

Maybe it’s insane to claim her so quickly.

All right, there’s no maybe about it.

I’ve known the girl all of two days, and I’m desperate to find a way to know her forever.

Insane, certainly.

But I’ve survived this long, become this successful by following my instincts.

And they’re telling me to stick close to Tiff, to ferret out every secret and desire and smile…so I’m riding this through.

I’m just going to do it after I deal with the asshole currently sprawled in the chair at the head of my goddamned conference table like he owns the fucking place.

It’s a move designed to fuck with me, I’m damned sure of that.

I just don’t care.

This man is worse than a pile of dog shit on the sidewalk that someone didn’t pick up.

He opens his mouth, but I speak first.

“I invited you here in good faith, my intention being to negotiate the TIs.” TIs being tenant improvements—the changes and repairs that are in my distributor’s lease, specifically improvements to the heating and air conditioning systems they need in order to produce what I need them to produce. They’re included in the contract and the landlord is supposed to complete them to my distributor’s specifications.

Wanna guess if that happened?

Oh, repairs were made, changes undergone, but are they to the proper specifications?

Of fucking course not.

And when my distributor—a small, locally owned corporation that’s just in the beginning stages of growth—attempted the make that right, he blew them off.

Three times.

Which means their shipment was late, and Marie went searching and…

This fucking shit.

“I completed the TIs.”

“I wasn’t fucking done talking,” I growl stopping in front of him, bending low, my face an inch from his. “I said that’s why I invited you here, but that plan has changed.”

He doesn’t retreat, but a thread of fear slides through his eyes.

Good.

Fucking asshole.

“How has the plan changed?” he asks carefully.

I drag the chair next to him out, plunking it directly in front of him then sitting so that he has to shift back, adjust his position.

So he has to adjust to me.

“I figure,” I drawl, crossing one leg over the other, my foot resting on my opposite knee, “that you have a choice to make.”

He frowns. “What choice?”

“You make the TIs to the specification Mel needs?—”

“I already?—”

“Again,” I growl, leaning forward. “I’m not done talking.”

His teeth click together, his mouth shuts so fast.

“You make those changes and hire a management company so that you are never within a fucking mile of her again.” I move even closer, wanting him to see my anger, coiled like a snake ready to strike. “Or you fucking brace because I’m going to find a way to take every single one of your properties away from you.”

He puffs up like a pissed-off goose. “This is how the great Jean-Michel Dubois negotiates?”

“Still not done talking,” I grit. “That will just be the beginning.”

He goes pale.

Because I don’t stop.

“I will fucking ruin you, Justin. I will do it with the video of you doing that shit to Mel and I won’t stop. I will dig up every bit of fucking dirt on you, will drag that shit far and wide, and I’ll do it so well that you won’t so much as have a pot to piss in.” My face is an inch from his. “And that won’t be the end either.”

“Wh-what will be?”

“Wrong fucking question.” I lean back and slap my hand on the table, making him jump as I climb to my feet, move to the door.

“I-I?—”

I stop, lift a brow at him. “You have something else to say?”

“I’ll do the TIs.” A beat. “And hire a management company.”

Fucking cowardly asshole, crumpling like a cheap suitcase.

I shake my head, keep moving. “Too late, asshole.”

My fingers settle on the handle when he speaks again. “I’ll lower her rent.”

Got him.

I spin around, study him closely, have the pleasure of watching him pale further. “Fine. I’ll run it by Mel. If she agrees then Marie will come in here, and you’re going to sign whatever the fuck she puts in front of you, do you hear me?”

He nods jerkily, words sputtered out and unintelligible.

“And you need to know, asshole,” I say, watching him jump again, relishing in that fear.

Fear he’d given Mel.

Fear he’ll never give again.

“Know that I’ll be keeping an eye on you. And if I hear one fucking whisper of you doing that again, I’ll…”

I let that trail off, know it hits home.

Then I shove through the door.

“He ready to negotiate?” Marie asks.

“He’s ready to roll over,” I mutter then fill her in. “Talk to Mel. Make sure she’s good with that. Then burn the fucker alive.”

She smiles. “With pleasure.”

I nod then turn for my office.

For Tiff.

Only, before I take a single step, I’m dragged into another meeting.