45. Is This A Negotiaton?
Chapter 45
Is This A Negotiaton?
HUNTER
W eddings are just another kind of negotiation.
At least, that’s how I’m approaching this conversation as I sit across from Megan at the kitchen island, our wedding guest list spread out between us like a battlefield. Deuce is downstairs at Lena’s place, so we have plenty of time to hash this out.
Megan is armed with a pink highlighter and a glint in her eye that tells me I’m about to go toe-to-toe with my favorite opponent.
And me?
I’m just trying to keep some of my more questionable business associates from being blacklisted.
The reality is that there’s a certain cache in being an invited guest to anything I’m hosting, and a lot of people want to be seen at our wedding—most of them unsavory.
“This is ridiculous,” Megan mutters, crossing out another name with zero remorse.
I glance at the latest casualty. “Ben Pierre? Really? He sent a gift for Deuce when he was born.”
Megan snorts. “Hunter, he sent a hand-embroidered bulletproof vest for a newborn. That’s not a gift—that’s a threat wrapped in cashmere.”
I smirk. “It’s called being practical.”
“It’s called being insane.”
“It was a joke, Megan.”
She gives me a look. “There’s nothing funny about that shit.”
I take a slow sip of my favorite whiskey, leaning back in my chair. “I’m just saying, cutting him from the list might come off as…disrespectful.”
Megan narrows her eyes. “Is this a business negotiation or my wedding day?”
“The sooner that you understand that it needs to be a perfect balance of both, we’ll both be able to get some sleep tonight.”
She lets out an exaggerated sigh, rubbing her temple. “Is this up for negotiation?”
I grin.
There it is…that word.
“You know there’s nothing more that turns me on than negotiating with you, baby.”
“Is that right?”
She twirls her highlighter, chewing on the end of it for a moment before speaking again.
“Okay then, I have a request. Well, actually, two of them. If you accept my terms, then you can add whoever you want to the guest list.”
“Whoever I want?” I raise a brow. “Uh-oh, do I need to be worried about these requests?”
She hesitates, and that alone tells me I should be.
Then she meets my gaze, voice softer. “I want to invite Lars’s daughter.”
I sit up straighter, my amusement fading slightly.
“Elsa?”
Megan nods. “Yes.”
I take a measured breath.
I can already see where this is going.
“Megan,” I say slowly, choosing my words carefully. “Lars and his daughter don’t exactly have a good relationship. We’d be sticking our noses in where they don’t belong.”
Megan folds her arms, her expression stubborn. “Exactly. And I know Lars—he won’t reach out himself. He won’t want to make her feel obligated. But if we invite her? Maybe it’s an opening.”
I tap my fingers against the counter, thinking.
Lars rarely talks about Elsa, but when he does? There’s regret there. A deep, aching kind.
I’m not against the idea. But…
“You’re assuming she’ll come.”
“I’m assuming she’ll at least have a choice,” Megan counters. “Especially if you send a private plane for her.”
I lean forward, studying her.
She’s so damn sure.
So determined.
And that’s one of the things I love about her—how fiercely she cares.
But still…
“She lives in London,” I remind her. “That’s a long way to travel for a man she barely speaks to. A man she barely knows.”
Megan shrugs. “Then she’ll say no. But at least she’ll know Lars wants her there.”
“But he doesn’t want her there, you do.”
“You don’t know that he doesn’t want her to come.”
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “You really want this?”
Her eyes soften. “I do.”
I run a hand down my face, then point at the list.
“Fine, then Pierre stays.”
Megan groans. “I can’t believe we’re negotiating wedding guests like it’s a damn business deal.”
“You started it.” I grin. “I guess I taught you well.”
She leans forward, propping her chin on her palm, studying me.
“You taught me a lot of good things.”
My dick immediately hardens.
I want to get this damn negotiation over with so I can get her pretty ass underneath me pronto.
“What’s the second part of the deal?” I ask so we can get this over with and get to more important things that involve zero clothes.
“Naomi’s father.”
I take another swallow of whiskey because it sounds like I’m going to need it.
“What about him?”
“I can’t even say that I completely understand your business, so this might be a hard ask, but if you were considering hurting Naomi’s father in any way as retribution for what he did, I don’t want you to do it.”
“That is not something that can be negotiated.” My hard-on quickly deflates.
“Why not? You’ve taught me that everything is up for negotiation.”
“Not this.”
“Explain.”
“Do I really need to, Megan?”
“Yes.”
“He kidnapped you, and he tried to kill me. To many in my circle, it’s already a mistake that I’ve allowed him to continue breathing this long, but I have my reasons.”
“And I can’t imagine what those reasons are, but you’re not a cold-blooded murderer, Hunter.”
I love the way Megan sees me, although it’s highly inaccurate.
“I don’t have to be the one to slit his throat in order for him to be gone,” I tell her, although a part of me knows that I’d rather be the one holding the knife if and when it happens.
“He’s Naomi’s father.”
“And?”
“And, if I have any hope of Naomi and I reconciling one day, I can’t be the one responsible for the murder of her father.”
“And you won’t be responsible.”
“If you’re involved, I would be.”
“Megan, that fat fucker is the head of a major crime organization. It’s a miracle he’s lived this long. His elimination would be about business, not personal.”
“I’m asking you not to make it your business. It’s my second request, and it’s what I want. Hell, we can even call it a wedding gift. Give me that, and you can invite whoever you want.”
“Sorry, baby, but that’s not enough of an incentive for me. I’ll marry you butt-ass naked with no fucking guests before I agree to those terms.”
She sighs with exasperation.
“Let me change the terms then.”
“New terms?” I raise an eyebrow. “What are they?”
“I’ll agree to us moving to the Middleton Estate.”
“You’ll move in the house?” I ask skeptically.
“Yep.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, but I can feel it.
There’s a power one feels when you have the upper hand in a negotiation, and that power is oozing out of her damn pores right now. Damn, the student has surpassed the master.
And it’s sexy as fuck.
Megan’s still watching me, but now there’s something else in her eyes.
Something dangerous.
Something tempting.
I arch a brow. “What now?”
She shrugs one shoulder, eyes dancing. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
She grins. “About how attractive you are as you consider how to counter my offer.”
I smirk, standing from my chair and rounding the counter, moving toward her at an unhurried pace.
“Oh yeah?”
Megan tilts her head up, still seated but completely unfazed by the predatory way I’m closing in.
“Yeah.”
I place my hands on either side of her, trapping her between me and the counter. “You like it when we negotiate?”
Her breath catches slightly. “Mm-hmm.”
I drag my lips along the curve of her jaw, letting my hands skim down her arms before resting on her hips.
“What else do you like, baby?” I murmur against her skin.
She exhales, her hands sliding under my shirt, nails dragging lightly over my stomach.
“I like it when you listen to me.”
I chuckle. “I always listen.”
Megan hums. “And I like it when you let me win.”
I pull back, grinning. “You didn’t win, though.”
Her eyes flash, challenging. “Didn’t I?”
And just like that, I scoop her up off the chair, making her yelp in surprise before she laughs, wrapping her arms around my neck.
I carry her toward the bedroom, her laughter dissolving into something softer, heavier.
Something charged.
I set her down, pinning her beneath me, pressing my weight against her dampened core as her flowy blue skirt pools around her waist.
“You like winning, huh?” I murmur, tracing the neckline of her tank top with my fingers.
She gasps slightly, arching into my touch.
“I love winning.”
I smirk. “Then let me make you feel like a fucking champion, baby.”
Megan doesn’t argue when I take one of her nipples into my mouth.
Not this time.
The only sounds from her now are gasps of pure pleasure until she bends one of her legs underneath me, pushing a knee into my chest.
“Wait,” she says in a breathy voice.
“What is it?” I ask as I press my lips to the skin of her thigh.
“Do you accept my terms?”
“I should bring you to all my meetings,” I smirk proudly.
“Do. You. Accept. My. Terms?”
Pussy is a wild motivator, and I can see I’m not going to get any until I agree to these insane terms of hers.
“You’re entirely too soft for this life you’re about to marry into.”
“Yeah,” she grins. “But it’s too late to turn back now.”
Her leg relaxes.
Then, she spreads open for me.
And the only answer I could ever give flies out of my mouth.
“Terms accepted, baby.”