Chapter 10 Foreplay vs. Rivalry
FOREPLAY VS. RIVALRY
DYLAN
Slow It Down By Benson Boone
“You went around me.” The accusation crackles through my phone speaker. Ivy’s manager’s voice is tight with barely contained rage.
I lean back in my office chair, unapologetic. “The opportunity presented itself. We talked. She’s interested.”
“You slid into a dinner you weren’t invited to and cornered her.”
“I saw potential and made a pitch. It’s called initiative. You should try it sometime.”
Ivy would be a major win for Stonewall—exactly the kind of rising star who could boost our quarterly numbers and impress the board.
“You think this is funny?” he snaps.
“Not particularly. What’s funny is pretending Ivy doesn’t have a mind of her own. She liked the duet idea. All that matters to me.”
“Of course she liked it. She’s twenty-three and optimistic. That’s why she has me—to protect her from suits like you.”
“Good thing I rarely wear suits,” I reply dryly. “More of a jeans guy.”
The way he talks about her makes my skin crawl. “She’s not some starry-eyed kid who wandered in from a mall audition,” I say coolly. “She’s smart. Talented. She knows what’s good for her brand. And so do I.”
“You don’t get to make that call.”
“I’m not making a call. I’m offering a collaboration, putting her in front of an entirely new audience that gives both artists a boost.”
“Yeah, sure,” he says. “Because your no-name rocker is doing her a favor.”
“Felix might not be a household name yet, but he’s the real deal. You’ll see.”
“You think this makes you clever?” he sneers. “I know all about your reputation, Dylan—cutting deals behind closed doors, stepping on toes to get what you want. You play nice in public, but the rest of us know who you really are.”
My jaw tightens. He’s trying to rattle me—but I don’t know if he’s wrong. I’ve stepped on toes before. Closed deals fast and clean. But that doesn’t make me the villain he’s painting. Does it?
I lean forward, voice low, dangerous. “If you spent half as much time managing your artist as you do running your mouth—”
“Dylan.”
Rachel’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed.
“Morgan’s waiting for you up front.”
The line goes dead, sharp and final. Fuck!
I set the phone down slowly, the unease still buzzing in my jaw. That could’ve gone worse.
I narrow my eyes, studying her expression. Something’s off.
“If Morgan were here,” I say slowly, “she would have already barged into my office. What do you want?”
Rachel’s lips twitch. “You’re welcome.”
“Don’t you need to go home to your fifty kids?” I dismiss her.
She ignores the jab, leaning against my desk with none of her usual attitude. The serious look in her eyes makes me uncomfortable.
“You tried to snatch Jaxson right out from under Morgan’s nose,” she says quietly.
“I didn’t know Morgan was staying.”
Rachel continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “Then you go after Ivy because you don’t like her manager.”
“He’ll exploit her, take all her money, and dump her the minute she gets bad press,” I try to explain, running a hand through my hair in frustration.
“And you’re different because you care about her?” Rachel says mockingly. “You’re gonna take her money too, but a reasonable cut. Do you think it matters if you have good intentions?”
I sigh, slumping back in my chair.
Rachel’s words hit harder than I expected. I think of Morgan—of the way she looked at me across the table at the restaurant, like I was everything she despised about the industry. Is that how she sees me too? As just another shark in the water? The thought stings in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“You don’t think I can run this company, do you?”
Rachel pushes off the desk, crossing her arms. “I never said that.”
“But you act like it. You question everything I do.”
A smile spreads across her face—not mocking this time, but almost fond. “It’s why I’m here, Dylan. To make sure you don’t fuck up what your fathers built.”
I drag a hand over my face and start to laugh. “I’m being punished for something I did in a past life.”
“Very funny.”
“You had to use Morgan to distract me from telling off Ivy’s manager?”
She laughs. “You should have seen your face. For a second there, you were salivating. There was a little drool… right here.” She reaches out to touch my face and I swat her away.
“Do I need to search your desk for empty vodka bottles?”
“Hmm,” she purses her lips. “Oh by the way, I signed you up to paint the new youth center downtown.”
“You did what?”
“It was either that or planting trees in the park, and you don’t like nature.”
“I never said I hated nature,” I complain.
“I remember something to the effect of you never wanted to see nature again for the rest of your life.”
“I didn’t know I was allergic to oleander.”
“I had to take you to the urgent care for the rash,” she reminds me.
“I couldn’t drive myself.”
Rachel snorts. “You cried in the passenger seat because you thought the bushes were trying to kill you.”
“I couldn’t breathe!”
“You made me call Adam from the parking lot because you were ‘too young to die.’”
“I stand by that. I was fifteen, I was itchy, and I was going through stuff.”
She grins. “You were going through a full-blown tantrum in flip-flops. And I still had to cover your ass when Wade asked why the company car smelled like Benadryl and regret.”
I roll my eyes at her.
“You still never told me how you landed in the bushes in the first place.”
A smirk creeps across my face but quickly shuts down. “A gentleman never tells.”
“Good thing no one’s ever mistaken you for a gentleman.”
“We’re getting off track here. Why the fuck am I signed up to paint a youth center?”
“Every year the company does a volunteer day, and I picked the youth entrepreneur program.” She smiles annoyingly.
“I don’t have time on Monday. I have to get the details of the duet ironed out.”
“Okay, I’ll just tell the director you’re too important to help the next future CEO.” She turns on her heel, and I groan.
“You get four hours.”
She smiles sweetly.
“Don’t forget to wear your overalls,” she teases.
“Not a chance.”
Rachel laughs. “That’s okay. I have volunteer t-shirts, anyway.”
I hate to see what she’s going to embarrass me with.
She turns to leave.
“Before you go. I need you to order two dozen chocolate donuts with sprinkles.”
“Thanks, but I like jelly donuts.”
“They’re not for you,” I say with annoyance, already picturing Morgan’s reaction as I pick up the pen again and tap it to my lips. “They’re for Morgan.”
Rachel narrows her eyes. “Last time I checked, Morgan wasn’t a garbage disposal.”
I smile, warming to the plan.
“Add a note that says, ‘victory is sweet.’”
“You’re impossible.” She shakes her head as she leaves my office.
“And tell them to take a picture!” I call after her. “I want to see her face when she gets it.”
Rachel’s muttered response is lost as she disappears down the hall, but I catch something that sounds suspiciously like “running a daycare.”
I spin in my chair to face the wall of platinum records, my fathers’ legacy staring back at me. All I see are expectations—and everything I could still screw up.
It’s easy to brush off Rachel’s commentary, or some bitter manager calling me a shark. I’ve been called worse.
But Morgan? That’s different.
My mind drifts to her in the emerald dress at the restaurant, all fiery passion and pushing my buttons. The way she defended her artists, her company, her father’s legacy—it made me want her even as it complicated everything.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Rachel: Donuts ordered. You’re ridiculous.
A smirk tugs at my mouth as I picture Morgan opening the box, reading the note. This feels more like foreplay than rivalry, an excuse to stay on Morgan’s mind.
The board wants an update on the Left Turn acquisition by Friday. They’re expecting me to move forward with a more aggressive offer after Morgan refused our initial one. It’s what I’d do with any other struggling company—raise the stakes, apply pressure, find leverage.
The numbers make sense. The strategy is sound. If this were any other company, I’d have already pulled out the big guns—approached their artists directly, leaked something to the trades about their financial troubles. I’d be ruthless, because it’s business.
So why am I hesitating?
Because it’s Morgan’s company. And for the first time in my career, I’m wondering if winning might actually mean losing something that matters more.