Chapter 10
Angela
I arrive at The Pact twenty minutes early instead of my usual ten. I must be nervous for my meeting with Garrett.
I hate that he does that to me. He leaves me feeling…I don’t know.
I have no words to describe the way he makes me feel.
“Frustrated” comes to mind.
As does “confused.”
Along with “asshole,” “dickhead,” and “Pompous McSmugface,” but whatever.
In my experience, people enjoy being with me and I enjoy being with them.
I don’t think I’ve ever not liked someone before.
But with Garrett? The entire world feels electrified, and I can’t find my footing.
It’s like everything’s twisted a few degrees off normal and what usually works doesn’t.
Being with him breaks all my patterns, all my expectations…
He’s grumpy. And growly. And he might be an evil shit.
Scratch that. He is an evil shit. I have no illusions that he’s a friend. Garrett Cooper is the enemy, all right. I could have seen that without Dad’s prep.
But if we’re going to work together, we need to figure out a way to be in the same room without contemplating felonies.
I wasn’t at my best when we met, and I’ll give him some grace and assume he wasn’t either.
There have been a ton of misunderstandings and miscommunications. This isn’t the way I normally operate.
Surely the same can be said for Mr. Garrett Cooper.
He needs to see me as Angela Hutton, a woman with a strong eye for business and the ability to do more with his money than earn a financial return. We’ll improve the lives of everyone connected to the new hotels. I need him to see that’s the Hutton family purpose. My destiny.
And I need to see him as anything but a selfish prick with the most condescending smug face I’ve ever seen.
As I push through the front doors of The Pact, I bump into Uncle Eli—aka Micah’s dad, aka co-owner of The Pact, aka former erotic dancer…at least according to family legend. I’ve never been sure I believe the stories.
“Sweet Angel!” He wraps me in a warm hug, thumping me on the back before pulling away. “I hate to leave now that you’re here, but I have a big night planned with my beautiful wife.”
“You guys celebrating a special occasion?”
“Every day with your Aunt Hope is a special occasion.” Love radiates off him like a beacon of light. What would it be like to have someone love me that much?
“What are you wasting time talking to me for? Go! Go!” I shoo him towards the door. “I’m here for a business meeting anyway. I won’t be much fun to talk to.”
A smile crinkles Eli’s eyes. “Of all the things I hoped this place would be, I never imagined my fancy pants niece holding business meetings at my bar. Very cool.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, then waves goodbye before stepping through the door.
After a moment’s hesitation, I choose a seat at the bar instead of a table.
It’s a psychological tactic I learned in business school.
Sitting face-to-face can be perceived as combative while sitting side-by-side feels more like partnership.
Tonight, Garrett and I need to focus on getting along.
Just two people having drinks while figuring out how to work with someone they hate.
I even chose my outfit with that in mind, the perfect blend of business and casual.
A little fun, a little flirty, but nothing over the top.
My hair is down, and I let the natural wave take over.
All of which I hope says, “Hello there! I’m friendly and not into doing two guys at a time, so why don’t we call a truce and figure out how to save The Hut. ”
I claim a stool and order a gin and tonic, promising not to drink more than a quarter of the glass before Garrett arrives. No need for a replay of the other night, especially because there’s no guarantee he won’t be late again. I get the feeling he enjoys pissing me off.
Movement catches my attention as someone slides onto the stool next to mine. “This seat taken?” rasps a masculine voice.
I turn, expecting to find Garrett, but my smile crashes to the ground when I find a man I don’t recognize leering my way.
His dyed black hair swoops off his forehead and a black V-neck clings to a chubbier-than-he-thinks torso.
I don’t know what’s worse, his cologne or his slippery grin as he extends a hand.
“Name’s Tank and that drink’s on me.” He clicks his tongue as he finger guns my gin and tonic. “So’s the next one. As if that needs said.”
I blink in shock. Tank? Finger guns? Is this guy a real person or am I hallucinating?
“I see I’ve stricken you senseless with my charm.” He takes the hand I didn’t offer and plants a sloppy kiss on the back.
“You’ve stricken me senseless with something.” I pull my hand from his grasp and wipe it on my pants. “And that seat’s taken. I’m meeting someone.”
“It’s your lucky night, baby girl. Fate intervened and sent me instead.” His grin says he thinks he’s marvelous while he manages to invade my space even further.
“No, see, I’m meeting—”
An arm slips around my shoulder. “Me,” growls a familiar voice. “She’s meeting me.”
I turn to find Garrett Cooper looking murderous as he stares Tank down. Garrett’s got a good three inches on the guy and after seeing that picture of his bare chest, he has the body to back up the threat. One look at Tank’s face says he knows he’s beat.
“Sorry, man.” He holds up his hands and removes himself from my personal space. “But you can’t fault me for trying.”
“I do fault you for trying. She’s clearly out of your league.” Garrett lifts one unimpressed eyebrow. “And I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”
Tank’s shoulders droop as he mumbles an apology to me and slinks away.
Garrett watches as he leaves, still holding me close.
His cologne is subtle yet delicious, and I inhale deeply to wash away the stench of cheap pickup lines.
As soon as the coast is clear, he releases me and claims the vacant stool.
He’s wearing a white button down with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of black slacks, and an air of indifference that makes my blood boil.
“I was handling that.”
“Is that what you call it?” Garrett orders a whiskey and casts an amused smile my way.
“That’s exactly what I call it. I made it very clear I wasn’t interested.”
If there was a picture next to the word “underwhelmed” in the dictionary, it would be the look on Garrett’s face as he folds his arms on the bar.
“Guys like that don’t care if you’re interested or not, Angel.
It’s a numbers game. He knows if he talks too long or gets you to drink too much, there’s a chance you’ll give in out of sheer exhaustion. ”
“That’s a despicable way of doing things.” I glance across the bar and sure enough, Tank has another woman cornered. “And don’t call me Angel,” I say as the bartender arrives with Garrett’s whiskey.
He takes a drink, his eyes meeting mine over the rim of his glass. “I hope you didn’t have to wade through that shit too long before I got here.”
The intensity in his gaze has my entire body on alert but I refuse to let him see that. What is this? Some kind of intimidation tactic?
With my sweetest smile, I sip at my gin and tonic. “I would’ve been wading a lot longer if you showed up late again…”
“As I said the other night, I didn’t think I was late.” I start to protest, but Garrett holds up a hand. “Let me explain before you jump down my throat.”
I huff but lift an eyebrow and gesture for him to continue.
“I was…indisposed…when you texted, but I’d been waiting for hours and didn’t want to miss the chance to make plans with you. I suggested we meet at seven, considered it a done deal, and turned off the phone. I didn’t see your reply.”
“Suggested?” I laugh, crossing my legs and twisting to face him. “You mean ordered.”
Garrett’s brows draw together. “As I said. I was—”
“Indisposed.” I tap a finger to my chin. “How very vague of you.”
“So you see,” Garrett says as he turns his full attention to me, “from my point of view I arrived on time, but I understand now why you thought I was late. I tried to explain, but I don’t think you were listening.”
A hazy memory of me screeching about being left alone with my good friends, gin and tonic, surfaces, and I inwardly grimace. I could concede his point, but where would the fun be in that?
“I didn’t just think you were late.” A smile tugs at my lips. “You were late. You can’t demand people show up on your time and consider it done without waiting for confirmation.”
“I’m trying to apologize here.” Garrett tosses back the rest of his whiskey.
“You’re right. Silly me for making it hard.”
A strange look crosses his face. There’s this intense moment of eye contact while his gaze sears mine and my brain helpfully serves an image of something else I’d like to make hard.
Shit. Where did that come from?
And why do I get the feeling he’s thinking the same thing?
Uncomfortable, I look down, then cover my embarrassment by taking a drink.
So much for finding my footing.