Chapter 3 #2
“Pretty sure you could shatter that shit with one of those pointy heels of yours.” My eyes make the mistake of trailing down her legs.
Her dress is short enough to make her shapely legs look long and soft and like they should be wrapped around my waist, or my face.
Fuck, she’s a goddamned gorgeous nightmare.
“I showed you mine, Olive. Sounds like it’s your turn to show me yours. ”
“You didn’t show me anything, Adler. You told. There’s a difference.”
“Says the lawyer,” I mock as the dealer lays out the cards. “You’re arguing semantics.”
“Yes, says the lawyer.” She shakes her head, like she can’t believe she’s talking to me. Or maybe she’s shocked she’s enjoying it. Who the hell knows? Maybe she’s wondering why she’s wasting her time on a peasant like me. I gave up trying to figure this woman out a decade ago.
She groans and passes on this hand. “I was up for partner.”
“Oh yeah? You getting promoted for how well you’ve done fucking over other athletes in the quest to get your clients a good deal?” I do hear what a whiney bitch I sound like, but I just don’t care.
The sigh that slips past her lips should piss me off, not turn me on, but my body doesn’t get that fucking memo. “It’s not my fault I’m better than your agent. Let me know when you want the best, and I’ll let you know if I have room.”
Fuck, who knew cocky was hot and infuriating?
“I’m with your firm now, remember?”
“You just signed with a man retiring in six months. Did he mention that? You’re going to get passed off to another agent in January.
And it should be me because I should have been made partner today.
But I don’t have a dick or a husband, so apparently, I have to work twice as hard as I already am, which is already twice as hard as those limp-dicked little pricks. ”
“What?” I ask, my mind playing catch up to her words. “He’s retiring?”
That motherfucker didn’t say a word.
“Shit.” She slams her mouth closed as my stomach churns. “I mean—”
“No way, Olive. Don’t do that. You already said it. Now explain.” Pete didn’t mention retiring. Just made promises. Ones he better keep before the fucker steps down.
“They may have mentioned him possibly retiring at the end of this year at our annual meeting earlier today . . . Right before they basically told me I wasn’t ready for partner because I didn’t have a husband and kids already.”
“What the hell? This isn’t Bridgerton. Marriage isn’t supposed to fix everything,” I mumble, trying to figure out what the hell I’m thinking right now because this idea . . . the one that just came to me . . . No way this is a good one. Not a chance in hell it’s the answer.
“I’m sorry, what?” She chokes on her new martini. “You watch Bridgerton?”
“I have a sister. She’s obsessed. Keep up, Olive.” I flip my gray chip forward through my fingers again, then backward as I work my thought over.
“Keep up?” she sputters and points her new olive pic at me. “With what?”
Fuck it.
I lean forward and bite down on her olive with a wicked fucking grin.
This is possibly the worst idea I’ve ever had, but it could work.
I drop my chip to the felt.
“With my proposition.”
Her eyes widen with what looks like skepticism, but if she’s skeptical, at the very least, she’s following my train of thought.
“Not a chance.” Oh yeah, she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Serena leans forward, her strawberry-blonde hair skimming the table. “Not a chance what?”
“No way.” Olivia ignores her cousin, focused on me. “I’m not marrying you.”
“What the fuck?” Rafe groans, finally yanking himself back from the lust-drunk-Serena-Kingston fog he’s been in long enough to pay attention to his surroundings. Horny fucker.
“Come on, Olive. Solves your problem and mine,” I push, still completely sure this is a disastrous idea, even if my gut says otherwise.
“I don’t even like you,” she snarls.
“I fucking hate you, so that works.” I stack my chips, trying to keep count in my head. “You said it yourself. We both need to be married to get what we want. We don’t need to be in love. It’s a business transaction. The fact we hate each other could work for us. No chance you catch feelings.”
“Me—” she screeches, then looks around self-consciously. “Like you didn’t pant after me in college.”
“You’ve always been a hot little ice queen. Doesn’t mean I wanted frostbite.”
“Very funny. Ha. Ha.”
“Those two should seriously just screw and get it over with,” Serena loudly whispers to Rafe, like the rest of the table can’t hear her. Only when I look around, it’s just the four of us at the table now. I hadn’t even noticed when the others left.
“I. Am. Not. Screwing. Him.” Olivia’s voice is low and pissed before she turns back to me. “And I’m not marrying you either. I don’t want partner that badly.” The rise of her chest tells a different story though. Frustration and fury are fucking hot on this woman.
“Wanna bet?” I look down at my stacked chips.
“What?” she snaps, her head swiveling between Serena and me. “Is this happening?”
“I think it is,” the Kingston princess laughs.