Page 46 of Learning Curve

Frankly, it’s impressive that they’re this in time, seeing as Ace did no more than a ten-minute briefing of the plan on the thirtieth floor. The fucker had a notebook full of cheers and shit that he wanted them to do, but McKenzie—who is one of Dickson’s cheer captains—told him to shut up and let them handle the cheerleading. It’s beyond obvious now that Ace agreeing to it was the right move.

Ace is so damn amped I can practically see his body vibrating with joy. “Dude,” I comment and grab him by the back of the neck. “Take a breath.”

“Oh, Finnley, I cannot,” he exclaims on a whisper as we walk down the marble hallway that leads to his dad’s office. “I can’t wait to see my dad’s face when I one-up that fucker with something he’d never expect.”

The receptionist waves to Ace as we walk past, not in the least surprised by the Kelly brand of shit, and we follow the cheerleaders down the hall and around the corner to the office he showed them on his hand-drawn map.

When the girls reach the desk in front of his dad’s office door that’s occupied by Thatch’s assistant, the red-haired woman smiles so big it looks like her face might crack. Without hesitation, she gestures for them to go straight into the office behind her. A gold plate on the door reads Thatcher Kelly, CEO Kelly Investments.

McKenzie starts up as soon as she crosses the threshold. “Give me a K!”

“K!” Scottie and the other girls respond as they trail through the door, doing their little ass-kicking run thing again. I watch Scottie for longer than I’d like to admit, only stopping when Ace elbows me to stop at the assistant’s desk.

“Give me an E!”

“E!”

“Tell me you planned this, Acer,” Thatch’s assistant begs, her glee not even remotely concealed. According to Ace’s breakdown, she’s been his dad’s assistant since before he was even born.

“You bet your gorgeous ass I did, Madeline.”

Madeline falls back into her chair, a fit of giggles consuming her, and Ace leans forward to high-five her when she puts a hand in the air.

“I’ve been warning him for decades that he would reap what he sowed with you and your brother. Goodness, I’m so thrilled to see it playing out in real time.” She smiles at Blake and me before glancing over her shoulder into the office and then back at us. “Grab some popcorn, boys. This is going to be good. He’s in the middle of a call!”

Ace’s eyes widen in fear for half a second before Blake shoves him into the office and points the camera at Thatch, who’s sitting behind a giant mahogany desk while all six cheerleaders dance in front of it, shaking their pom-poms.

“I looked at the projected reports, Thatch, and I can’t deny they’re good. Real damn good. But what are you going to offer us that our current investment firm isn’t?” a male voice questions from the computer.

“We love Kelly Financial. Yes, we do! We love Kelly Financial. How about you?” McKenzie cheers, and Scottie and the other four girls don’t hesitate to respond.

“We love Kelly Financial. Yes, we do! We love Kelly Financial. How about you!” They point their poms directly at Thatch at the end of the line, shaking their ribbons until the noise of it is so much, I almost have to cover my ears.

Thatch leans closer to his computer, trying to block it out and save the call. “Bradley, you need your money at Kelly Financial. I know it, and you know it—”

“Stronger than steel!” Kayla exclaims as she jumps in the air.

“Hotter than the sun!” Emma cheers and does a fucking backflip.

“Thatch won’t stop!” McKenzie shouts, shaking her pom-poms.

“Until he gets the investment job done!” Scottie yells and jumps up to stand on Tonya’s and Olivia’s prepped hands. A second later, they toss Scottie into the air, and she does the fucking splits before landing perfectly in Tonya’s and Olivia’s outstretched arms. Thank fuck Thatch’s office has twelve-foot ceilings.

I’d be lying if I said I’m not mesmerized or that I can keep my eyes off Scottie after that.

She smiles and cheers along with her friends, and the amount of pride I feel for her talent is insane. She’s not my girl—I made damn sure of that. But she is that girl.

“Thatch?” a booming male voice echoes from the speakers of the computer. Thatch waves commandingly at the girls to stop, but they’re ready for it, continuing anyway just as Ace’s briefing suggested they should.

More voices filter from the speakers.

“What is going on?”

“Do we have a bad connection?”

“I can see him sitting there. I’m positive we don’t have a bad connection.”

“Then what is he doing? Some kind of gesture?”

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