Irresistible (Underneath it All Series: Book One) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (3 page)

I was being petty, but I'd be a liar if I said watching one of the most powerful men I’d ever known sweat didn’t bring me immense pleasure. I was the righteous hand of karma, the sum of all of his chickens coming home to roost.

I wasn't Lazarus Crowe, and I wasn't talking about the horrible comb over and his overly-tanned skin. When he was on my side of the table, the winning side, he laughed when asked for mercy. He scoffed at appeals to look out for the employees and their families. I could burn his entire legacy to the ground, and it would be exactly what he deserved. It was how the game was played. That’s what separated me from the Lazarus’ of the business world. Yeah, I could ruin him and toss aside everything that had his name on it, including his employees. I wouldn't.

I'd tried the asshole route. To numb myself to the realities of being a driven businessman. It didn’t stick. I remembered every email from ousted employees who couldn't make their mortgage payments. Scanned images of medical bills for sick children were burned onto my brain. The lives turned upside down by forces outside of their control haunted me. They did their job, and the reward was a stock letter telling them they were no longer employed. Collateral damage.

Not today.

There would only be one casualty, and it was Lazarus Crowe's massive ego.

“First off, thanks for making time for us this morning. I know time is money, so I won't waste another minute with beating around the bush.” I pulled out the chair beside Joe. He was nodding silently, twirling a Colt Enterprises pen between his fingers. It was a show of support, gratitude that I wasn’t milking this opportunity for all it was worth. He'd wanted to do this all over the phone, but then again, he was always the good cop in this partnership. He was the forgiving one. I was the muscle.

I unbuttoned my jacket and leaned back into the leather cushion. I looked right at Lazarus's face, his head slated to combust at any moment. Torturing him for a few more minutes would be just what he deserved, considering our history. Ten years ago, when I was just starting off and laying the groundwork for what I thought would become Colt Enterprises, he’d almost ruined me. My former company hit a rough patch and I had no idea Lazarus had been plotting a secret takeover. Before the ink was dry, he fired all my employees, just because he could.

It was time for me to welcome Lazarus to his new reality. “I brought you here today because I wanted to offer you the opportunity to formerly resign as CEO of Crowe International—or you can be ousted publicly.”

Lazarus didn't blink. In fact, it looked like he wasn’t breathing at all. The world was still turning around us. Art nervously massaged his hands, hunched over the table. Joe’s face was chiseled stone as he put down the pen and reached for his phone. He scrolled his thumb across the screen and broke the silence.

“Mr. Crowe, I just forwarded a prepared statement to your inbox for you to tweak as you see fit-”

“You haven't earned the right to even address me,
boy,
” Lazarus seethed.

The venom and disgust he hurled at Joe hit him right where it hurt the most. The 'boy' comment was engineered to strip him of everything he'd worked hard for. He deserved a seat at the table, deserved respect, but men like Lazarus treated him like he was less than, because he was black.

I felt the white-hot anger radiating from my best friend, my brother in every sense of the word but blood. He was too classy to call the disgruntled man on his shit, but I sure as hell wasn't.

“If you ever disrespect my friend in my presence again, you'll be taking a very special ride in an ambulance,” I blazed.

Art and Lazarus's eyes bulged in unison.

"Did you-did you-I-did you just threaten me?" Lazarus sputtered, his eyes glazed with shock and a fear that I knew he was unaccustomed to.

"Damn right," I answered smoothly. I rose to my feet, officially done looking at his face. "We're very busy, and you have a choice to make. You have until the end of business today to give us your answer, or we'll choose for you."

Joe followed suit, and I couldn't help but feel a fresh wave of anger when I saw he was grappling with being the bigger man. He shouldn't have to be. He shouldn't have to put up with racist rich pricks who thought their wealth entitled them to treat people like shit.

"You know what? You don't need hours. The offer to resign is only good until we leave this room."

"You son of a-"

"He'll resign!” Art cut in, leaping to his feet. That made Lazarus follow suit, his chair slamming into the wall.

"Like hell I will!" Lazarus roared. He looked ready to burst from his pinstripe suit and fashion a shank out of something, anything, so he could murder us all.

Joe and I exchanged a look, smiling because we'd taken on guys like this man. We walked away bruised, a little bloody, but with our heads held high.

"Think about your legacy, Laz," Art pleaded with Lazarus. "This is more than saving face. This is an opportunity to control the narrative."

Any other day, an appeal to his rationality may have worked. Today was an extraordinary day. Lazarus Crowe was too blindsided to think rationally. He was still frothing at the mouth, practically baring his fangs.

Art stepped in the line of fire, moving between me and his former boss. "You were the one that taught me that business is a game. And sometimes you have to cut your losses and play the hand that’s dealt to you. We lost. But the world doesn't have to know that.”

Lazarus finally aimed his bloodshot eyes at his associate. "You want me to concede? To them?!"

"I want you to resign so we can live to fight another day," Art answered calmly. "We can rebuild." The defeated man that couldn't look me in the eye had been replaced by the businessman I knew from before. Shrewd. Emotionless. Cold.

Good. It erased any lingering bits of conscience I had left about kicking the two of them out on their ass.

Lazarus was silent, but he'd stopped hyperventilating.

This was a man that would never admit defeat, even when it was staring him right in the eye.

Joe reached into his briefcase and retrieved a slender manila folder. He dropped it on the conference room table, along with two ballpoint pens. “I printed out some physical copies, just to be thorough. You can leave the letters with the secretary on your way out." He turned on his heels and metaphorically 'dropped the mic' in a way that my admonishment and threat couldn't. Any choice words I could have shared paled in comparison to the pleasure I got from watching Art shuffle toward the folder to claim their consolation prize.

I wanted them to rebuild so I could take it all away again.

Lazarus was saving face when I turned to follow Joe, muttering about how he'd made billions and revenge.

Come at me. I dare you.

I drew the door closed behind me, bumping fists with Joe. I couldn't help but make sure he was okay.

"I'm sorry about that in there, man."

"It's cool.” Joe shrugged his shoulders, but I knew him well enough to know those wounds ran deep. "I've been called worse."

I stopped walking, the pit of my stomach balling into a fist.

He paused, throwing a sad grin over his shoulder. "Let's not ruin a victory with heavy shit, okay?"

That just made me frown, so he changed the subject instead.

"Drinks after work? First round on you, of course."

He was practically to the elevator, booking it as far from Lazarus and his BS as he could. I decided to let it go too. "Of course."

He let out a joke about me throwing in a woman or two, just to be thorough, and I shook my head with a laugh. Partly because he never had nor would need my assistance in the woman department. The rest was unfamiliar to me. It was a longing that started where lust begins and radiated outward until I knew. I wouldn't be on the prowl tonight because there was one woman I was still reeling from.

I didn't even have to close my eyes to remember the taste of her on my tongue. Her moans vibrating over my skin. Her wetness gripping my cock so tight that my whole world was her pleasure.

I slid into the elevator beside Joe and hit the button for the executive offices. "Drinks sound good. Not too late though, it's a school night for me."

Joe rolled his eyes and huffed, "Old man."

I took the dig gladly, because whatever array of women strutted across my path that evening, I knew I'd be counting down the minutes until I could make an excuse to get back to The Tower.

I had to see her again.

O
ut of all the things I should be doing right now, thinking about him was unacceptable.

From the scowl on my manager's face, she agreed.

"Sadie!" Gail Winters beckoned me with a French tip nail, like her screeching my name wasn't embarrassing enough. Even with the music pumping from the speakers and the bass dulling much of the sound from the back, her Jersey accent carried to a couple of people at the bar who craned their necks toward her wail. My fellow employees averted their eyes, just grateful they weren't the target of her ire.

It was hard to miss the spray-tanned woman with pageant hair that barreled through wait staff carrying drink trays. It was clear she didn't care if she took one of them out because it would be worth getting a few jabs in and berating me for a few minutes.

I steadied my drink tray and forced my lips into a smile. "What can I do for you, Gail?"

The woman barely missed Shonda, one of our newer waitresses, who was precariously balancing a tray full of drinks. Shonda let out a squeal that earned her a growl from Gail. Luckily, the moment gave Shonda time to avert disaster and she skittered to her section without another peep.

I just blinked up at Gail, wishing I could tell her that she wasn't the first asshole boss I'd dealt with and she wasn't going to break me. It would have been a dumb move. The kind of move she kept hoping I'd make. Her steely blue eyes and earring-lined ears didn't miss a thing. If I went off on her, it would give her the ammunition to go to Javier, the owner, and say that I was more trouble than I was worth. Considering Javier had his eyes glued to his phone for 99% of my interview, I knew that he'd just tell her to deal with it and I'd be out of a job.

So instead of pretending I hadn't stepped away for a moment, checking my other work schedule to see if I had a client request from the man from last night, I went with the truth. Well, the only truth she was looking for.

“I just wanted to check my phone real quick.” I hung my head. “My bad.”

"'What can I do for you, Gail?'" she mocked my voice, adding in her signature neck roll. It made her sky-high, bleach-blonde hair shudder precariously. "How about the job we hired you for? A job that doesn't include being on your phone? Who is so important that you're not out there doing your job?" She stopped right in front of me, close enough that she was too close, forcing me to take a step backward.

I clenched my teeth, my smile becoming something downright painful. It took every ounce of self-restraint to hold back questions like: why did you get a job in the service industry when you so clearly hate working with people? Or: what makes you think that a title gives you the right to treat your staff like they're your minions, there to do your bidding? And, the most important question of all: was it a fireable offense if I tell you to take the finger you love to stick in my face and stick it up your ass?

Grin and bear it, Sadie. You need this job.

I knew the smile on my face looked like the fake grin of someone who'd been told to 'smile for the camera!' for the hundredth time, but it was the best I could do. "I'm sorry, Gail. Won't happen again."

Her finger was still in full effect. It flew from an inch from my nose and stopped where I'd tucked my phone out of sight. "You
kids
think you're so slick." She said 'kids' with all the condescension of a person who was secretly still chasing their youth, but there was no going back. "You can't get a thing past me, girl."

"You caught me!" My lips barely moved since my fake smile was still glued to my face and I knew if it wavered, I'd lose it. "Now, if I could get back to work-"

"Who were you talking to, anyway?" Gail prodded. I took a measure of relief in the fact that she finally moved her finger, but it was short-lived. She just decided to dial up the obnoxiousness by stroking her chin, feigning contemplation. "Boyfriend?" She snorted as soon as she said it, like she'd just told the punch line of a joke.

I knew what they called me here. Why I had clients at The Tower cut our sessions short. They called me ‘Ice Queen’, and it wasn't because of my pale skin and fiery red hair. I didn't let anyone close enough to have any friends, and I hid my smile, any beauty and gentleness that my mother had given me, behind a carefully constructed ‘Don't fuck with me’ mask. And it worked, most of the time. Maybe too well.

Clearly my reputation preceded me because Gail was still laughing. The staff area behind the main bar wasn't that expansive. There was just room for lockers, a small break room with a few tables and chairs, and the chrome metallic doors that led to the kitchen. Even if Gail was at her usual post, which was in the office out back watching Netflix, we still kept our conversations hushed because any noise carried. She seemed oblivious to that fact, and her laughter filled the tiny space and reverberated in my ears.

I couldn't stop the heat from booking it to my face. I hated that I couldn't help but give her a reaction, and that was exactly what she wanted. Red faced or not, I dropped my smile and looked her dead in the eye until her laughter tapered off.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” She patted my shoulder. "Probably not a boyfriend. Family stuff?"

This woman was a walking billboard for what
not
to do when managing a business. Things like crossing lines into personal territory and airing my shit to anyone within earshot, considering her volume was stuck on full blast.

The part of me that believed she felt so little in every other part of her life that she needed to belittle every one else was silenced. Everyone had an Achilles heel, skeletons in their closet that they wanted to keep buried. My family, and the reason I worked two jobs (one of which wasn't technically legal) and put my education on hold, were mine. I hadn't shared every detail in my interview, but I had gotten emotional when they asked why I needed the job. The afternoon before my interview, my little sister Rose told me a man had tried to pick her up from school, claiming he was a friend of our mom's. Our mom didn't have any friends. She had boyfriends and debts, and not the kind of debts where bill collectors blew up your phone. Hers were the kind where they took cash...or blood.