Chapter 3
JACE
“You’re telling me there’s absolutely nothing we can do?
” I kept my voice low, but the edge in it could’ve cut glass.
The August heat pressed against my skin as I paced outside a Chicago bar, my running shoes hitting concrete that was still radiating the day’s warmth.
My workout hadn’t done a damn thing to burn off this tension.
“Not until Monday,” Finn said, maddeningly calm.
“Monday is the announcement.”
“I’m aware.”
I clenched my phone harder than iPhone standards would advise and glared into the night.
Skyscrapers stood with a plethora of lights still on, all of them having teams of people working until whatever hour they demanded, while here I was, cut off at the knees.
And it wasn’t like it was the middle of the night.
Hell, the sun had just set. It was eight o’clock on a Friday.
No way I’d tread water for two entire days.
“Have them fire up my jet.” I turned to the direction of the hotel I was staying at during this deal.
One might argue staying at a hotel saved me commute time, and it did. But the honest answer was that when I was in the final weekend of a merger, I always chose a hotel right next to the building for last-minute issues. Last-minute fire? I walk over.
“He’s at his daughter’s wedding.”
“If he didn’t want to be interrupted, he should have dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s before he left.”
“Jace.” Finn’s voice took on that particular tone he used when he thought I was about to do something monumentally impatient. “It’s one page he failed to sign. Page sixty-seven of ninety-nine.”
“Might as well be all of them. The purchase isn’t legal without all pages signed. And frankly, I’m surprised I have to tell you to get worried here. With all the complications going on, this is the last thing we can afford.”
“The purchase will go through.”
“You’re presuming he did this by accident.”
“Ziegler has every reason to sell. If he doesn’t, he’s so far underwater financially, he’ll need gills to breathe.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yeah, well, hostile takeover doesn’t have the word hostile in it for decoration.
” A blast of cold air hit me as someone opened a bar door, carrying the scent of beer and the buzz of Friday night freedom.
“This is the most important acquisition Lockwood Holdings has ever pursued.”
Lockwood Holdings was a well-run and highly regarded private equity firm that purchased, renovated, and either sold or held the previously struggling businesses.
With a fresh surge of cash and operational expertise, we turned the companies around and not only gained a hefty profit doing so, but also saved the jobs of people who would otherwise have been unemployed.
But our business wasn’t without problems. Acquiring companies in massive debt or operational chaos came with, well, problems. There was no such thing as an easy acquisition, and we’d had a string of bad luck recently that left my board of directors worried.
Losing this deal, or delaying it, could jeopardize the board’s confidence in me.
Freaking ironic. The board I established, for the sake of expanding equity partnerships to bring in more cash, might have the power to decide I wasn’t fit for this job.
“My father’s best friend started that company before Ziegler bought it,” I added, the words tasting bitter. “My father would roll over in his grave if he knew it was about to go under.”
“Jace.” Finn’s sigh crackled through the phone. “It’s done. The deal is solid. This is a technicality. Monday, you’ll have the metaphorical keys. Until then, find a way to … take the edge off.”
“I want to see the paperwork again.”
“You’ve memorized it. Hell, you probably recite it in your sleep.”
“Why can’t he sign remotely?”
“Because he won’t sign anything without his lawyer present, and his lawyer is out of state for the weekend, probably thanking God he’s not dealing with you right now.”
“So, we just sit here with our dicks on the table,” I snapped.
“Why don’t you leave town for the weekend? Fly to a sandy white beach and sip a cold beer, or go snorkeling, or—I don’t know—build a snowman in Antarctica for all I care, just get off the grid before you do something unwise, like crash a wedding.”
“You’re making me sound like a loose cannon.” A siren wailed in the distance, and I had to raise my voice. “Need I remind you whose name is on this company? I didn’t build it by being reckless.”
“Reckless isn’t the word. You’re wound tighter than a virgin at prom, and you need to stay away from temptation. Why don’t you take a mini vacation?”
“I’m not leaving the city.”
“If you stay here, you might do something impulsive. Like fire up the jet in the middle of the night and crash his daughter’s wedding weekend.”
“That’s not reckless; it’s business.”
“You do that, then we do have a big problem. Ziegler’s been acting in good faith, but if you interfere with his only daughter’s dream wedding, his mood will sour, and he might invite one of the other private equity firms who he kicked out of the bidding process back in.”
“I wouldn’t crash the goddamned wedding. Showing up to his hotel or rented house with one sheet of paper that he failed to sign isn’t—”
“Do you want this purchase to go through or not?” Finn interrupted, his tone curt. He was one of the few people who could get away with talking to me like this.
“How the hell will I get through the entire weekend without working?” I demanded.
“Just … find a way to blow off steam until Monday.”
“I don’t blow off steam.”
“I know. Go find some steam. Blow. See you Monday.”
Two days. Bloody hell, how would I endure two entire days of a ticking clock?
I ended the call, glaring at the city skyline like it had personally offended me. Two days. Over forty-eight hours of watching the clock and hoping Ziegler didn’t get cold feet or another offer.
I swiped open the group text with the men I considered my brothers: Blake, Axel, and Ryker. Knox was one, too, but he was in prison, not available by phone. Maybe the rest of us could meet at the mansion we’d dubbed the Sinners and Saints Club for an impromptu game of poker.
SINNERS AND SAINTS GROUP CHAT
Me: Anyone up for a game of poker? My brain’s about to crawl out of my skull.
Axel: Did I just have a stroke? Did Jace Lockwood, corporate overlord who schedules bathroom breaks, just suggest spontaneous human interaction?
Blake: Check his location. Someone’s stolen his phone.
Ryker: Or his identity. Quick, Jace, what did you say when Axel lost five grand to Blake last poker night?
Me: *middle finger emoji*
Axel: It’s him. Unfortunately.
Me: The board meeting today nearly ended with me committing multiple homicides. Need a distraction before I make national news.
Blake: Sorry, man. Elbow deep in engagement ring shopping.
Me: You’re what now?
Blake: Repeat that to Tessa, and I’ll personally replace your car’s custom leather interior with a bed of surgical needles while you sleep.
Ryker: Wait, you’re seriously proposing? To my sister?
Blake: No, I just spend my rare free time jewelry shopping for fun. Yes, to your sister.
Ryker: And this is how you’re telling me?????
Blake: I told you at poker night.
Ryker: I thought you were JOKING. You’ve been dating for five seconds.
Blake: We’re in love. And we’ve known each other for years. Stop being so dramatic.
Axel: Marriage? Voluntarily? Did we not vaccinate against this?
Blake: Unlike you, some of us aspire to relationships that last longer than a carton of milk.
Axel: *coffin emoji* *headstone emoji* Here lies Blake’s freedom, dignity, and the last known evidence of his spine.
Ryker: Fine. I guess if I had to pick one person to protect my sister for the rest of her life, you’re … marginally acceptable.
Blake: Your flattery is making me tear up.
Ryker: Though, as her brother, I’m legally obligated to threaten your life at least once before the wedding.
Me: Can we get back to MY question? Can you guys meet?
Ryker: Buried in case files. Starting your own law firm has its downsides. Like explaining to a prospective client that stabbing your neighbor with a fondue fork over a property line dispute isn't self-defense.
Axel: Currently entertaining a woman who thinks NFTs are designer handbags. But she has 3 million Instagram followers, so …
Me: Your dating algorithm remains catastrophically broken.
Me: I need to blow off steam before I commit a felony involving my board of directors.
Axel: Says the workaholic who hasn’t seen sunlight since flip phones were still cool. When’s the last time you did anything fun that didn’t involve a spreadsheet?
Ryker: Why don’t you grab a drink somewhere?
Me: I don’t do bars alone.
Axel: Then enjoy your breakdown.
Me: Fine. If I end up on TMZ, I’m blaming all of you.
Axel: That’s the spirit! And if you see any models there, tell them you’re my much less attractive and far less successful friend.
Me: I’m worth more than the GDP of several countries.
Axel: Yes, but can you touch your toes? No? Sad. *flexing emoji*
Ryker: I’m muting this before I throw my phone into traffic.
Axel: Finally. Now go drink something that costs more than my first apartment and stop bothering us with your human emotions. It’s unsettling.
I shoved the phone into my pocket and ran a hand over my face.
Option 1: I could go home, stay at my penthouse.
No. Even outside of this bigger paperwork issue, there could still be other last-minute fires that popped up, and I needed to be close in case they did.
I’d seen too many deals fall apart over a weekend.
If I was at my penthouse, I’d be at least twenty minutes away from fixing whatever went wrong.
Besides, if I went home, I’d spend the entire weekend staring at my phone.
Plus, going home felt like giving up, and I didn’t do that.
The bar’s sign flickered again. Maybe the alcohol would give me some ideas about how to survive the weekend without completely losing my mind.
When I yanked the door open and stormed inside, the universe crashed my perfectly molded distraction into my chest. And then a tangle of limbs and blonde hair yelped and fell to the ground.