Page 10 of Mending Our Chance

While Marcus went off on his tangent, I realized something else. One more thing that this meeting was making very clear was that Harold was neither the brains behind the business, nor was he that useful—at all. He tried to flirt with the general counsel for the client. Flirt! And it was horrid.

Harold could never have known what my skills were, or even if they were needed. Marcus must have been the only one to seek me out. Pride filled my mind at the revelation. Still, Marcus’ detour in the conversation had been inexcusable, and after the meeting, I would give him hell. I refused to be reasonable and recognize that Marcus was just building rapport with our clients. I was too angry at his defiance of my plan.

Thankfully though, it was time to sign the contracts and make some much needed money. Shifting the pile of folders in front of me, I took a deep breath and contemplated if I could take the high road and give Marcus the silent treatment, instead of a blast of fiery ire if we nailed these clients.

But just when I thought it was over, Harold, in all his ignorant glory, blurted out, “We don’t have to sign today.”

Marcus and I froze in our seats. I could feel mirrored fear coming off the giant Southern man. We both knew this meeting had just taken a disastrous turn. Unity was paramount and unless we could undermine Harold’s outburst with a good counter, we were fucked. I desperately tried to think of what to say next.

Unfortunately, Harold persisted. “Let us take you to dinner. We should woo you with food and drink, and you should get to know us more so that you will feel more assured in your decision to sign with us.”

As Harold then went on to describe the merits of the five-star restaurant he had read a review about in the New Yorker, my mind reeled at the recent turn of events. The contracts had been just under my fingertips, ready to pass out and be signed. Now, my hand hung suspended in mid-air, and I wasn’t sure what to do.

Harold finished with the most damning faux pas of all. “And why not let the wooing company pick up the tab—any excuse to try something fancy for free, right gentlemen? We can even sign the contracts there.”

I was horrified. I contained my shock by pursing my lips. Before he rose, Marcus reached under the table to press his hand into my thigh. It was both reassuring and sensual. Drawing it back, Marcus pushed to his feet beside me. With his well-bred manners coming to the rescue, he jumped in to save the day and backed up Harold’s invitation to dinner, exclaiming that it would be our treat, of course. Harold laughed and I decided it would be justifiable to kill him. I knew I could do nothing but let this all play out.

With contracts unsigned, poor breeding displayed, and anger flowing off me in sheets, the meeting mercifully ended and Marcus walked them to the door. I hung back and tried to keep Harold in the conference room by the sheer force of my glare. But as the door was closing on the clients, Harold mumbled an excuse about a dentist appointment and slipped out on their heels. I dashed into the reception area after him, my fingers grasping at thin air. Harold had bolted.

Two hands came down on my shoulders, holding me back. “Don’t make a scene out here,” Marcus hissed.

Wrenching out of his grip, I turned to watch Marcus shrug and retreat into his private office.

Working my jaw back and forth, I fought my conflicting desires. Did I rush after Harold and give him a solid lashing? No—fight the battles that matter. Harold’s disaster was completely fixable, and I knew that when I stopped being so angry, I could solve it with a level head. No, the real reason for my anger was directed elsewhere. I became aware that we were alone in the office suite. It was time to unleash hell and get some of these emotions out of my system. Years of resentment were clawing at my throat. I could feel myself about to explode. My lust for this man be damned.

I stormed into Marcus’ office where he had barely had the chance to sit down. The taunt came unbidden to my turbulent mind: Any excuse to be near him? I wanted to slap myself. How could I think such things? So I shouted, “What the fuck, Marcus?”

He lifted both brows. In that bored, lazy way of talking, he leaned back in his chair and said, “Oh, whatever do you mean, darlin’?”

“How dare you start talking sports to the man? What a great way to open the door for Harold to invite that client to dinner!” My hands were waving about to add emphasis to my shouts. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“My friendliness worked, didn’t it? And Mr. Stonewell likes sports, so it was the perfect filler conversation to get personal.” Marcus shrugged; he wasn’t the least bit sorry. “Clearly you saw Harold in there? I needed to fix his impression and make myself desirable. I am the face of this company and I needed to put on a good show.”

Those were all good points, but I pushed forward. There was too much pent up feelings inside me and if I didn’t get them out, we would never, ever, be able to work together—let alone anything else. “Harold still managed to screw things up, despite all your rapport building efforts.”

“What do you want me to say, Felicity?” This time Marcus’ voice raised a touch.

Good, I was getting under his skin. “I want you to understand that you just pushed a client back onto the fence when I was ready to sign him.” When there was still no remorse in his handsome face, I threw out a verbal slap. “Stop thinking that what you are reading is good and leave the actual workings of this business to a real professional.”

I was shaking, and I could taste the tension on the air. It felt so good to yell at him, and I was only half aware of what I was saying. All I knew was that I was hurt, my insides raw. And I needed him to hurt, to understand these scars laying across my heart.

In the middle of my tirade, Marcus leapt to his feet, and came around the desk, closing the distance between us. “So, is this how it’s going to be?” He loomed over me and I swear the oxygen left my body in a rush. “You’re only going to speak to me again when it’s volatile?”

“Fuck you, Marcus.”

I expected him to make some masculine comeback, something sexy and filled with promise. Instead, his voice sounding broken to my ears, he said, “What did I do to you, Felicity?”

I pushed him. The moment the pads of my fingers came into contact with that hardened body, I knew it was a mistake. The sizzle was too much. Thankfully, he stepped back out of my reach, but it did little good. Thoughts of running my hands over his chest and capturing that hard jaw flew through my mind and I knew that I had to get out of here before I did something utterly stupid. “This is a place of business. I won’t discuss the personal matters. Ever.” I bit the words out, trying to remedy the situation.

“You can’t take what we have out of the business. Because we have that personal connection, that’s why this is going to work, Felicity. Our history gives us the push we need to succeed; our bond strengthens what we are building. And if we are personal and authentic, it will radiate to our clients. They’ll want to do business with us. Didn’t I prove that today?”

“Go to hell, Marcus. You will never make this work without me. You’re just a spoiled rich boy, building castles in the sky.” I ripped the door open, preparing to rush out of his office. However, I’d seen the pain that rippled over his face at my final parting shot. Shit, that was low, I admitted to myself as I punched the elevator button and escaped.

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