Resisting the Brit
Emelia Blair
Copyright © 2020 by Emelia Blair
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
About the book
1. Oliver
2. Lana
3. Oliver
4. Lana
5. Oliver
6. Lana
7. Oliver
8. Lana
9. Oliver
10. Lana
11. Oliver
12. Lana
13. Oliver
14. Lana
15. Oliver
16. Lana
17. Epilogue
About the book
Being forced to work alongside the new boss—an arrogantly cold Englishman—left me torn between fury and attraction.
When Oliver arrives to take over the company, I’m not about to idly stand by while he lays people off. Instead, I burst into his office to confront him, not expecting the man I encounter.
He’s every bit the asshole I’d envisioned, but I hadn’t realized he’d be a hottie with a panty-melting accent. But that doesn’t matter. I refuse to back down. Refuse to fall for his charm. He has his agenda, and I have mine.
But when my family’s well-kept secret, along with the debt my brother owes, puts my life in danger, there are no other options left.
It’s up to me to pay the price.
But not with money.
Unfortunately, there’s only one person who can help free me from this mess—my new boss.
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1
Oliver
Taking a few seconds, I shake off my tiredness, shoring my resolve before I stride into the massive building. If this meeting goes well, it will be my new home for the next few months.
I’m taken aback by the flashy reception area, gleaming marble floors, overly extravagant fountain in the center of the sprawling room, and the utterly pointless gold chandeliers.
There are already two individuals in the waiting room. They are biding their time with magazines on their laps, their eyes glazed over. As I pass them, I slide my eyes over to the men who are putting up the newly acquired business’s name—the new name. The four men struggle to lift what looks like the letter T.
Starr Enterprise.
Behind carefully schooled features, I manage to hide my disgust.
The company is still struggling to survive, yet the new owner is already making expensive changes. This entire place is starting to resemble a hotel entrance rather than a company. Agitated, I roll my shoulders.
Caleb Starr is going to learn that I often speak harsh truths.
I approach the reception area, my dark blue trench coat flapping at my ankles with a grey suit underneath, perfectly pressed. The receptionist, a cheerful-looking thing, glances up and blinks.
As I reach her, she gives me a polite smile and immediately asks, “Mr. Thornton?”
Surprised and oddly pleased by her efficiency—the first good sign I’ve seen since I stepped in here—I nod.
She gestures toward the elevators at the opposite end of the front entrance, right beside where the workers are struggling. “Mr. Starr is waiting for you. Seventh floor. Conference room one. Someone will be waiting there to guide you.”
Quick and efficient.
“Thank you…” I glance at her nameplate. “Miss Smith.”
If she notices my British accent, she looks unfazed, just giving me a slight nod, obviously pleased by my manners. Then, she frowns, as if battling with herself, before lowering her voice. “Don’t ask for the cappuccino.”
I blink at the sudden change from polite receptionist to this narrow-eyed one who looks as if she’s whispering company secrets.
When I raise a brow, she hurriedly says, “Trust me.”
Regarding her for a moment longer, I incline my head, not saying anything.
The walk to the elevator is short, my briefcase light.
The humming of the cage along with the slight disorientation makes my eyes close. I hold back a yawn, my jet lag still not having subsided.
The seventh floor hums with activity, the scent of freshly brewed coffee jolting my senses and reminding me of the hushed warning from the pretty little receptionist. Stepping out of the elevator, I glance around. There’s a wide expanse of floor divided into two parts, with me standing in the center. One side has been divided into several offices with glass doors. Opposite are rows and rows of cubicles, where people are hunched over their computers, strain on their faces. The other side has rooms to the left and right. People walk about, wearing harried looks.
The atmosphere is tense—almost as if everybody is waiting for the axe to fall.
A hushed silence falls as my presence is noted. Nobody bothers to hide the dread on their faces. My gaze settles sharply on a man leaning against the desk of a pretty blonde, who is flirting in return. They’re the only ones who haven’t registered my arrival.
However, that soon changes. The woman casually glances over in my direction. The flare of interest in her eyes has the man irritably looking over.
He promptly freezes.
“Mr. Thornton!” He scrambles toward me. Eyebrow raised, I note his haphazard appearance and the flare of panic. “I’m Yuki Hagar. How are you?”
Pressing my lips into a thin line, I let him see my impatience. “Running late for this meeting. Where is Caleb Starr?”
Yuki swallows. “Right this way, sir.”
He leads me to the other side containing large rooms with opaque glass that makes it difficult to see through.
Conference room one is at the far end.
I let Yuki open the door for me.
And I walk in.
* * *
Caleb Starr is an impressive man.
I’ve read about him in extensive detail. The man is a mystery, a rising business tycoon, who made his money from the hefty compensation the FBI handed him after he was wrongly imprisoned for a murder he didn’t commit. He’d already served three years.
He vanished for an entire year after. When he emerged, it was as an up-and-coming businessman. He was ruthless in his undercutting deals as he seized one successful company after the other, creating a portfolio that many envy. Even now, he holds seventy percent of this failing company’s shares.
When he contacted me out of the blue a few weeks ago, I recalled seeing him at a gathering a few months back. He had watched me carefully over the wineglass in his hand while probing me with questions that had had me curious, but he hadn’t cared to expand.
When I heard he’d bought Yulan Enterprise, it had started making sense.
Right now, he’s watching me from a corner of the room with a small smile that gives off the vibe of one predator measuring up another. His voice is cold, like frosted glass. “Mr. Thornton. How was your flight?”
I put my briefcase on the glass table. It’s expensive and surrounded by comfortable seats, which are usually filled by executives but are currently empty.
“Uneventful,” I say shortly. “I was expecting your lawyer at least.”
Caleb appears amused. “Lucas is running late. That’s normal for him.”
“And unprofessional,” I add. Shrugging out of my coat, I drape it over the back of one of the chairs, revealing my sharp grey suit. I tuck my hands in my pockets.
“He’s one of the best corporate lawyers I have come across. If securing him means ignoring a few quirks, I don’t see a problem.”
/> I raise a brow, “Lucas Black? He’s your lawyer?”
“I see you’ve heard of him.”
I approach Caleb. He’s standing in front of a glass window, which looks out over Washington D.C. The view is stunning. I can see the FBI’s office in the distance. It makes me wonder whether this man deliberately chose to situate most of his businesses under their noses to taunt them after they’d paid him money to disappear.
“Lucas Black is a shark.”
“Thank you,” comes an amused voice from behind us. Unperturbed, I glance over to see a grinning man. He closes the door behind himself. “I was told the meeting was half an hour ago.”
The new entrant is tall with mussed light brown hair and sharp blue eyes. He’s wearing a long brown coat, which he shrugs off and carelessly throws over the back of a chair.
“I had to keep up with your schedule,” Caleb calmly responds.
The two share a look. It’s obvious they’re good friends—or as close of friends as the elusive Caleb Starr is capable of being with another human being.
Lucas rubs his hands together, his grey eyes gleaming. “Let’s get to work.”
An oddly friendly person for a lawyer who has been dubbed a shark in business circles.
But this man seems to be hiding a dangerous energy under his smiling veneer.
Not that it bothers me.
We’re all predators here.
Amused, I allow my lips to curve. “Yes, let’s.”
Contracts are drawn, terms discussed, disbanded.
I threaten to walk out.
Caleb threatens to fire me before he has even hired me.
When we finally settle on terms that suit us both, Caleb calls in his assistant.
After knocking on the door, Yuki peeks in, his exotic features forced into a calm façade. “Mr. Starr?”
“Would anyone like a drink?” Caleb asks.
“Coffee for me,” I say immediately. I roll my shoulders again, wishing for a bed.
“We have—” Yuki offers, but I cut him off.
“Not a cappuccino.”
He stiffens in surprise. Lucas gives me an odd look, and Caleb just watches me.
“Would you like a latte instead?” Yuki asks, and I nod.
“I’ll have sparkling water,” Lucas says. Yuki’s features rearrange into a genuine smile. It tells me that Lucas is liked by the employees, or at least this one.
Caleb murmurs, “Snob,” to Lucas before he addresses his waiting assistant. “Nothing for me, Yuki.”
As the door shuts behind the younger man, I lean back in my seat, “So, you want me to act as a Crisis CEO. You know I’d have to make major changes. It will leave me free to fire anybody I deem unable to do their job.”
Caleb mirrors my gesture. “That’s why I asked for you.” He pauses before continuing with a strange undertone in his voice. “I usually do this myself, but I am pursuing another matter at the moment. I can’t afford distractions.”
I raise my hands, palms facing him, “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Mr. Starr.”
“Caleb,” the man says with a faint smile. “I’d prefer to be on a first-name basis. Also…” He discreetly coughs. “You can’t fire Lucas.”
When I toss him a look, Lucas bares his teeth in a shark-like grin, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Nothing personal.”
“Monthly meetings,” Caleb says. “You can have the CEO office. The building has been restructured, redesigned.” His upper lip curls. “Crawford’s tastes were questionable.”
Yuki returns with our beverages. As soon as he leaves, the conversation resumes as Lucas chimes in, “He was an old bastard, but he had a thing for the female employees. Liked them wearing short skirts.” His grey eyes darken as he twists open the water bottle. “Even tried to make it company policy. Lana threw a fit.”
“Lana?” I ask, soaking in this information.
“She’s the head of HR,” Caleb fills in, his demeanor quiet. “She’ll fight you tooth and nail over each and every person you fire.” The fury that had been present in his face moments before evaporates in sardonic amusement. “She’s been with the firm for five years.”
I frown. “If she’s going to be a hurdle, she can be removed just as easily.”
“No,” Caleb responds. It’s barked sharp and sudden.
It’s eerie how he doesn’t fidget at all. There’s an unnerving stillness to him. Had I been a lesser man, it would have made me nervous.
“She’s excellent at her job. You’ll need her help to understand the previous culture of this company and how to reform it. She’ll be your guide as you weed through the individuals to decide who needs to be let go.”
Lucas nods. “She’s not unreasonable, but she’s necessary. I’ll also be around whenever you need me. I’ve set up an office on the floor below yours.”
I glance between the two men before focusing on the lawyer. “I didn’t know you worked exclusively for Caleb.”
Lucas grins. “I don’t. I have other clients. However, until this project is completed, I am solely attached to Caleb.”
“Don’t make it sound too romantic, Lucas,” Caleb drawls. “You’ll give our friend here the wrong idea.”
I shrug, feeling the exhaustion creep up on me as I sip at the latte.
It tastes like crap.
“You need to do something about the coffee here.” I glare at the offensive cup.
Caleb gives me a sharp smile. “It’s your problem now, Oliver.”
Scowling, I take another drink of the murky coffee.
It is the first thing that has to go.
* * *
When the company offered me an apartment, I turned them down. I already have a penthouse in D.C., in the heart of the district.
I walk into the building that will be my home for the next year or so. The ding of the private elevator grates annoyingly, and I try to bury the dread that is rising with every heartbeat at the thought of returning to this place after all these years. Every step across the spacious entryway feels as if it takes too much effort. I ignore the polished marble floor and the decorative embellishments Nyla had once chosen with great care.
My heart tightens as the entryway opens to the main living area, eyes scanning the tastefully decorated room my wife had spent hours arranging. Dropping my briefcase to the ground, I remove my jacket and shirt. The floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the stunning city skyline. Rain lashes the pristine glass, portraying my own inner grief.
Not grief, I muse as I fold my shirt and set it on the cheerful sofa. A muted pain I now carried with me everywhere.
Against my better judgement, I make my way to the bar, grab a bottle of scotch, and head toward the sprawling master bedroom. Standing in the doorway, I kick my shoes off, gazing blindly at the luxurious red carpet that is so plush it feels like walking on clouds.
Our first night here, we never even made it to the bed.
The tightness in my chest intensifies as I take in the Emperor bed Nyla had insisted we buy. It dominates the room, the sheets reminding me of times when I had been my happiest.
I take a step back, ignoring all the pointless furniture, and quietly close the door with soft snick.
I won’t be sleeping there.
Padding over to the living area, I feel a twang of hunger, which I shrug off. The pantry is probably stocked. Ray, the housekeeper, had probably taken care of all the necessities.
I change into sweatpants, the rough cotton an odd comfort against my skin.
It doesn’t take me long to fall asleep on the sofa, but I’m haunted by dreams of a redheaded Scottish woman who kisses me in delight and curls up on my chest to read a book.
When I wake up to silence, I stare at the dark ceiling, my eyes tired and uncomprehending, suddenly missing the familiar weight on my chest.
There’s no one there.
I’m alone.
Nyla left me… and then she left the world.
Feeling the wetness slide do
wn the sides of my temples, I throw the back of my arm over my dampened eyes, willing myself to fall asleep.
Two years later… and the loss still hurts more than the betrayal.
2
Lana
“You know I can’t give you a month’s leave, Aaron.” I study the letter again with a frown. “All vacation days have been put off with this temporary CEO’s arrival.”
Aaron, one of the IT guys, sighs. “But it’s my sister’s wedding.”
He doesn’t seem too disappointed, though. I narrow my eyes when he says in a more cheerful tone, “Can I have that in writing?”
“I guess,” I say slowly.
“An official stamp would also be nice.” He shuffles his feet, looking everywhere but at me.
Rolling my eyes, I sarcastically say, “Would you like me to call your sister as well?”
He brightens up immediately, his brown lighting up. “Could you?”
“What? No!” I frown, wincing at the same time. “I’m not going to call your sister. That’s a family issue.” I draw out the last two words, watching him deflate.
Aaron sighs again. Looking like a kicked puppy, he gives me a mournful look. “She’ll kill me.”
I relent. “I’ll send you an official stamped email.”
When he leaves the office, almost skipping, I lean back against my leather chair, wondering why I’m so soft with them.
Because I tried to create an open atmosphere when I started working here. Now, where employees usually shun HR, mine seek me out every time there’s a problem. There’s little resentment when I give them unhelpful answers because they can see me working tirelessly to provide a healthy atmosphere.
Resisting the Brit Page 1