Page 10 of Ms. Fortune

“Randall said you asked him to, quote, “watch over me.”” I lean back and cross my arms over my chest. “Are you saying your employee would lie to me?”

Color drains from his face, and he swallows hard. He’s on the verge of glaring at me now, but at the same time, I catch a fire behind his eyes, expressing something completely different. Something entirely carnal is going on there, and a shiver rushes through me.

“What would you like me to say, Normandy?” He crosses his own arms, matching my annoyed stance. “Yes, I asked him to ensure you weren’t harassed today. It was mostly to keep the press away, but apparently, there were assholes allowed in here today too.”

“I can deal with assholes.” I raise an eyebrow at him, indicating I might be doing that right now with him, considering I just caught him in a lie.

He nods and smirks as if he just told himself a joke. I’m not amused. I’m not seeing how any of this is funny. Not today of all days. He composes himself, and his jaw sets in a hard line. A muscle twitches as though he’s steeling himself for what he’s about to say.

“Of course. I’m sure you can.” He pulls on his tie, dragging my eyes to his chest, and I have to snap my eyes up to his quickly to stop myself from envisioning the buttons of his shirt coming undone.

What the hell? One minute I want to strangle him with his own tie, the next, I want to rip it off him. I need to keep myself in check.

“And can I ask what you were doing with my sister?” I’m honestly more curious than anything. I try to sound more protective than jealous.

He eyes me before answering, measuring me. I can’t help but squirm internally under the weight of his gaze. It’s as though he can see through me, right into me, and I can’t hide. I don’t like the sensation.

“She was showing me some cars that were being liquidated, so I purchased a couple that have been favorites of mine over the years.” He hesitates, then asks, “Is that alright? She made it sound as though it was your directive to sell some of the inventory. If that isn’t the case, I’m fine with--”

“No. That’s great. She is in charge of the inventory and can do what she wants with it.” I try to sound indifferent, but inside I’m doing cartwheels that Chelsie pulled off a sale so fast. “I hope you’re satisfied with the vehicles you’ve picked.” I try to manage a smile, but it’s an effort. I’m so damned exhausted, and this entire conversation has been a roller coaster. I can’t do much more verbal sparring with him.

“I’d like to repay the favor.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his stare intense. “Are you sure I can’t take you to dinner while I’m in town for the next few days? I know things are pretty crazy for you right now, and I realize asking you the other day was inappropriate. But I really would like to get to know you, if you’d let me.”

I can’t believe this man. How can he look at me in my current state and think I even have the slightest interest in dating anyone? And how does he know I don’t already have a boyfriend? Is it that obvious I don’t? I must have ‘spinster’ etched on my forehead or something.

“What makes you think I want to get to know you?” I try to sound bored, but inside, my blood is pumping hard, and I can’t tell if it’s from anger, anxiety, or plain old attraction. Brandon seems to force me to feel every single emotion all at once, confusing the shit out of me.

He looks surprised but then smiles to himself again. I want in on these inside jokes of his. They seem so entertaining.

“Wishful thinking, I guess.” He stands, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. He gazes down at me with his dark but amused eyes, and I’m exposed again. “I can take a hint, though. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I couldn’t read the room.” He smiles, and sure enough, there are dimples. God damn it, there are dimples.

I stand and hold a hand out to him, forcing a smile of my own I don’t feel. I don’t feel anything right now, to be fair. That’s not his fault, though. This day is just catching up with me.

“Thanks for coming today, Brandon.”

He shakes my hand with a nod and a small smile before leaving. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he even blushed a little bit.

I don’t know what to make of him. If I’m being honest with myself, most of my hesitation is because I have no clue what a handsome billionaire like Brandon Carmichael would ever see in someone like me. I’m not a celebrity or anything; I’m sure he’s got a laundry list of more qualified candidates. That fact alone is what makes me utterly suspicious. It must be some sort of game for him, like a cat playing with a mouse. And I don’t want to play.

Chapter 7

BOILERMAKER

BRANDON

When we arrive at my home on the furthest western edge of Las Vegas, where my property is next to the Red Rock Canyon National Reserve, I find a note from my local house manager, Sophie, letting me know the refrigerator has been stocked and other various house-related nonsense I have zero interest in. I love Sophie, she’s worked for me for years and has run this house impeccably, but she can be a bit much. I’m surprised she didn’t remind me to brush my teeth and turn out the lights before I go to bed.

I am being such a dick. I don’t know why I’m so annoyed tonight. Being angry at Sophie for doing her job? That’s so unlike me. I think Normandy Blake has a lot to do with it. She’s gotten under my skin but obviously wants nothing to do with me. I don’t know what to do with that. It sounds shitty and self-centered, but I’m not used to women rejecting me. It’s just a fact of my life. Women see me, and they see dollar signs, and any potential ‘no’ becomes a ‘yes.’ It’s not my fault, but it’s also why I haven’t even been close to marriage. If anyone is interested in me, there is no way for me to know they’re not just after my money, and so far, they have been.

Normandy is very different from any other woman I’ve met. It’s more than clear she doesn't want me, let alone any of my money. And that is God-damned attractive. She did seem to have a tinge of jealousy in her voice, though, when she asked what I was doing with her sister. That was interesting. Or did I imagine that? Again, more wishful thinking. She was annoyed with me for some reason, but I wish I understood what the reason was. Could she hate people with money that much? I suppose it’s possible.

I take off my suit jacket and tie, pour myself a couple fingers of bourbon, and open up the back terrace doors. I start up the crystal firepit in the middle of the patio, warming my hands near the flames briefly. Sitting on one of the lounge chairs, I lean back and take in the fantastic sunset. I haven’t done this in a long time. I don’t usually have a completely clear schedule like I did today. My days are typically booked solid end to end, but I haven’t even looked at my phone. I’ve been so preoccupied all day with thoughts of Normandy that I didn’t miss it. I still don’t, but then I’m also still preoccupied.

I’m betting my clear day is about to come to a screeching halt. While sipping my whiskey, I spy Taylor, whose security company I recently hired to replace my old one, approaching me with his cell phone to his ear, apparently in an intense conversation with someone. I take a deep breath before he gets to me, steeling myself against the oncoming tidal wave of whatever-the-fuck has gone wrong now.

“Mr. Carmichael, I have LCC’s VP of PR, Maggie, for you. She says it’s urgent.” He holds the phone out to me.

“That’s a lot of initials, Taylor. It must be important. Thanks.” I smirk as I take the phone from him, and he returns the smile and nods in agreement at the ridiculousness of it all. He’s been with me for a few months and seems like a down-to-earth guy. I lean back again, close my eyes for a second, then get to it. “What’s up, Maggie? Isn’t it past your bedtime in NYC?” I just had to throw in a few more initials.

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