Page 8 of Bossy Trouble

That was until I opened the door and was greeted by a speedy ball of yellow-covered delight racing right into my arms.

“Mommy!” she screamed as her spindly five-year-old arms squeezed around my waist. “You’re home.”

And just like that, my bad mood dissipated. It was hard to stay down for long when you had your very own personal ball of sunshine waiting for you at home.

Avery, my daughter, gave me a toothy grin that showed off her missing front tooth, and her dimples popped into her cheeks. “I missed you.”

“Aw, I missed you too, honey.” I leaned down and hugged her, allowing the smell of daisies and innocence to wash over me.

Ah, at least it wasn’t all bad. At least I had Avery.

I glanced up at the sound of footsteps, seeing my best friend and occasional babysitter emerging from the kitchen.

“How was she?” I asked.

Macy cocked her eyebrow. “A terror as usual.”

“That’s a fib,” Avery announced, frowning at Macy before turning back to me with a glowing smile. “I was good, Mommy, I promise.”

“Uh-huh, I’m sure you were.” Luckily, Avery didn’t note the sarcasm in my voice and smiled regardless.

I knew my daughter had a mischievous trait that she liked to keep hidden from me. It usually showed up in little things. She wasn’t the type of kid to steal peanut butter from the jar or throw a tantrum when she didn’t get her way. She was, however, the type to turn back the clock by exactly one hour so she could be strategically late to school and blame it on a dog we did not have.

Regardless, I hugged my daughter again, lifting her into my arms and giving her a shake, which she giggled at. Betsy regarded me closely after I put Avery down and asked, “How did it go?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I gave her a wry smile to smoothen the words. “But about as well as you can imagine.”

Luckily, Macy wasn’t the type to gloat or persist on an issue. Instead, she gave me a sympathetic look, patting my back.

“Come on,” she said. “I made lasagna.”

Later that night, as I lay in bed, I continued to think.

What next? What could I do now? Here are the facts: Red stole millions of dollars from the company and disappeared, never to be found again. The company was on the verge of bankruptcy, and I had to sell some shares to keep us afloat. Of course, news of what happened spread, so we lost some of our most loyal clients, and the bank was threatening to mark our insolvency.

And now, Donovan, who was my last hope, denied me.

Even amidst the despair of the entire situation, hope persisted.

Donovan had not looked at my business plan before turning me down, nor had he considered the significant profit margin and how much he stood to gain. Garrett already told me that Donovan specifically did not make deals with people he considered close to him, and I could understand that. But I also knew Donovan. I knew his greed could win against his code, especially if he thought the deal was worth it.

And Moniche was.

Somehow, I had to convince Donovan of that, I decided. I needed to convince him to break his rule and take a chance on me.

4

DONOVAN

Ibore the beginnings of a migraine when I walked into the clubhouse the next afternoon, but I ignored it, pasting a smile on my face as I strode toward the VIP table. The Oval was an exclusive members-only restaurant in the Sea Port district overlooking the waterfront. It wasn’t truly a country club in essence, but it was a place where the movers and shakers met to discuss business.

I walked in with ease, nodding to the waitstaff who greeted me.

“I see you two already started without me,” I commented glibly to the two occupants of the VIP table: Sasha and her bald frowning father who, with his mustache and eyebrows, bore a striking resemblance to the Lorax. Both of whom already had plates of appetizers in front of them. Sasha’s plate, as usual, was untouched, and she looked up at me with her trademark coquettish smile.

I returned it automatically.

Her father was not as humored.

---