Chapter Ten Max
Chapter Ten
Max
I’m working out my frustrations in the gym.
Chadwick dropped the bomb three days ago that Louise and Theo had prepared their own pitch, which they presented to me this afternoon.
He claimed he “wants us to have the full Prestige Partners experience and see everything we have to offer.” My money’s on him finding out about Gemma’s impromptu show and wanting to give us an escape route.
Honestly, I’m pissed that he’s making me choose.
It’s what we’re hiring Prestige Partners for, for God’s sake.
But when I mentioned the competing pitch to Grayson yesterday morning, he was impressed—asked me to hear out the other team and think about it carefully.
Of course, I did what he instructed me to.
But there’s more at stake here than just the launch.
It’s not that simple anymore.
To a certain extent, this is personal. Gemma’s my sister’s best friend.
I need to keep Gray Hotel’s best interests at heart, but I can already imagine Anna’s reaction if I don’t choose Gemma and Henry.
My sister is a ballbreaker at the best of times—she’ll rain down on me if I go with the other team.
And then there’s the little spitfire in question herself, who I’m sure will have plenty to say if she gets me alone.
The thought shouldn’t intrigue me as much as it does.
Not that I’m too worried about that happening—Louise has been circling like a shark ever since she presented, making sure Gemma can’t get within ten feet of me.
As much as I hate to admit it, Louise and Theo came up with a solid pitch. Was it exceptional? No—Theo’s about as sharp as a butter knife—but Louise had points Gemma and Henry missed, and vice versa.
Louise and Theo have opted for a safer, proven approach, which I can certainly appreciate, whereas Gemma and Henry are willing to take risks with potential for higher reward.
I meant what I said about Gemma’s conduct being less than satisfactory, but I can’t fault her work. Henry clearly runs a tight ship and knows what he’s doing. If they can get their shit together, they could be exactly what we need.
If only I could get the image of her in that lingerie out of my head long enough to think straight.
And that’s part of the problem. She’s a beautiful distraction.
Sweat gathers at my temples and my muscles burn as I grunt through one final chest press.
All week, Gemma’s been parading around the office in heels that make her legs look even longer, low-cut tops and—the thing that kills me the most—tight little skirts that hug every delicious contour and curve. It’s driving me mad.
Even her laugh is sexy. And I hear it all. The. Time.
I’ve even noticed that she has a laugh which she only reserves for Henry, and it makes my blood boil.
I’m not a man who gets jealous. I’ve never been that guy. But the way she smiles with Henry is enough to change me. To make me want things I have no right to want.
I pat my forehead with a towel before stalking to the kitchen. I finish my glass of water in three gulps, chased with a shot of Macallan that drags a path of fire down my throat.
I slap my palms against the stone countertop and drop my head, attempting to ground myself. The workout helped, but it’s not enough. Not when every time I close my eyes I’m haunted by blond hair and those jade eyes.
I need something stronger than endorphins and whisky tonight.
I need to rein in what I feel is slipping—self-restraint.
Ruby Lounge has always been good for that. It’s exclusive, discreet, the perfect place to clear my head and relieve my stress.
At Ruby Lounge, anonymity is sacred, and complications don’t exist. It’s a sanctuary where indulgence is currency and members can unleash their reckless desires.
A place where I can forget about creative directors in tight skirts.