Page 4 of Money Reigns
“No,” I manage to say, waving my phone at him. “I got a ride share.”
“Cancel it,” he says smoothly. “Just let me take you.”
That glowing smile, theimpeccablegolden brown hair… Broderick is easily the prettiest man I’ve ever seen, and boy does he fill out a suit.
I hesitate. Ishouldsay no. I need to be independent. But my ride share won’t get here in time, and I can’t risk missing this interview.
With a sigh, I relent. “Alright. Just this once. But if I get the job, I can’t rely on you for rides every day.”
“Of course you can.” He smirks, effortlessly taking my purse from me as he leads me to his car.
“Broderick, I mean it,” I say as he opens the passenger door for me. His black BMW is sleek and immaculate. He’s the kind of man who takes care of his things, probably because he worked hard to get them.
I slide into the car, the leather cool against my skin. The interior smells like new car with a hint of his musky cologne. I inhale deeply, probably a little too deeply, because when I glance over, he’s smirking.
“Okay, sure,” he says with an unconvincing nod, sliding into the driver’s seat beside me. The engine purrs to life, and we’re off.
The drive is… disconcerting. It’s not that Broderick is a reckless driver, if anything he’s annoyingly cautious, but the tension between us is palpable. His gaze lingers at stoplights a little longer than necessary, and every so often, I catch him stealing glances at me.
“Wesley’s cool. You’ll be fine, I swear,” he reassures.
“It’s Wesley I’m meeting with, but there’s two others, right?”
“Yeah, War and Wilder,” he answers as we pull up to Beaumont Enterprises.
“War?”
“Warren,” he clarifies. “But friends call him War.”
Broderick turns off the ignition and shifts toward me with a grin. “Nervous?”
“I’d be lying if I said no,” I admit with a shaky laugh.
He reaches out and gives my knee a reassuring squeeze. An unintentional shiver races through me at his touch, but I shove it away and focus on his words instead.
“Just remember,” he says seriously, holding my gaze. “You’re more than capable for this job, Olivia. You’ve got this.”
His warmth steadies me. I take a deep breath, offer him a grateful smile, and step out of the car. With my shoulders squared, I stride toward the entrance of what willhopefullybe my new workplace.
Taking the elevator is easy enough, until the doors slide open.
I step forward and freeze.
Standing directly in front of me, about to enter the elevator, is Santo Amato—owner of NovaRael and grade-A asshole who denied me even an interview.
His sharp gray eyes lock onto mine, cool and unreadable. My stomach tightens.Of all people.
For a second, I wonder if I walked into the wrong building, or straight into a trap.
“Am I in the wrong building?” I mutter.
He doesn’t say a word.
Beside him, two men I don’t recognize step into the elevator with him, and the doors begin to close behind me. I shake off the thought, push down the unease, and head straight for the receptionist.
“Hi, I’m Olivia Baker. I have a meeting with Wesley Beaumont.”
Chapter three
