Bossy: An Alpha Collection

by Levine, Nina

  There are only three people in my life who get away with speaking to me this way—Jessica, my sister, Alessandra and my friend, Jack Kingsley.

  “For the record, I did not have a bad weekend. But I will tell you what has been bad about my day so far—Lorelei Winters.”

  She frowns. “Really? That’s surprising. From all the stuff I dug up on her for you, she sounded like a good person. I didn’t read one bad thing about her. Hell, she dedicates hours every week to women at a local nursing home giving them beauty treatments.”

  “She was rude and she lied to me,” I snap, not wanting to hear what an amazing woman she is. The fact I will have to deal with her again irritates me, but I want her building more than I want never to see her again.

  Jessica cocks her head to the side. “Tell me what happened, because maybe your Asshole-Monday mood got in the way.”

  “Oh, for fuck's sake,” I mutter. “I wasn’t in a bad mood until after I saw her.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she gives me a blank look that says she’s waiting for me to talk.

  I walk around the desk and sit on the edge of it, resting my hands either side of me. My chest is so damn tight with annoyance. I can’t recall the last time a woman managed to rile me up to this extreme. Men often, but not women. “She told me her building is not for sale and after I suggested she was playing me in an effort to get more for the sale, she suggested I employed idiots because I had the wrong information.”

  Jessica’s eyes narrow at me. “Are you more pissed off that you thought she was lying or that she took a shot at your ego?”

  “Are you sure I’m the one being an asshole today?”

  “I just call it as I see it.”

  “For a start, I don’t hire idiots. If the woman knew anything at all about me, she’d know that—”

  She cuts me off. “Ah, see there’s that ego I was talking about. You naturally assume that everyone knows all about you. From what I read about her, Lorelei isn’t your standard businesswoman. She inherited everything she owns from her grandmother a year ago and has been stumbling her way through the business world since then. She probably doesn’t know that much about you at all.”

  Jessica has this way of pulling my ass into line and it would appear she’s doing it again this morning. I blow out a long breath as I rake my fingers through my hair. “Well, that may be the case, but she still lied to me.”

  She shakes her head. “Ashton, for a smart man, you're obtuse today. Give me one good reason why she’d lie about it? Don’t you think that if she really wanted to squeeze anyone for more cash, she would have let you make an offer and then she would have worked from there to get more for the sale?”

  As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right.

  Where the hell is your brain today?

  “Where did we get the information from that the building was for sale?” I ask.

  “Didn’t Alessandra tell you your father had made an offer on it?”

  Pushing off from the desk, I nod. “Get her on the line for me.”

  She doesn’t move, but rather stays where she is and watches as I walk around my desk to take a seat behind it.

  “What?” I demand.

  “I’m just trying to assess where we’re at with Asshole Monday. Are you good now, or do I need to get you a cup of Get Over Yourself?”

  I purse my lips. Jessica will be the fucking death of me. “Just get Alessandra on the phone,” I snap, my temper fraying.

  She nods. “Good.” And with that, she sashays out of the office.

  “What’s up, Ashton? I’m in the middle of a meeting with a supplier, but Jessica said it was important.” Alessandra sounds distracted, but my sister is exceptionally good at multi-tasking.

  “Who told you that building on Willow Street is for sale?”

  She’s silent for a moment. “Dad. Why?”

  “I just had a meeting with the owner and she told me it isn’t. I’m trying to figure out why she’d tell me it isn’t if it is.”

  “Ashton….” Her voice holds a warning, one I’m not interested in hearing.

  “I want that building, Alessandra.”

  “I know you do, but I worry it’s for all the wrong reasons. Just because it holds sentimental value to—”

  I cut her off, not needing or wanting to hear what she is about to say. “It holds nothing for me. I want it purely to expand my holdings.”

  “Bullshit, little brother. You want it to piss Dad off and because it holds meaning to you.”

  I throw the pen I’m holding down onto my desk and stand. Ignoring what she said, I ask, “Did he give you any other information about the sale?”

  She sighs. “No.” After a brief pause, she adds, “Let this go, Ashton. There’s too much hurt tied up in all this. It’s eaten you up for years and if you buy that damn building, it will keep eating you up.”

  I’ve made my way out to Jessica’s office and motion for her to stop what she’s doing. Ignoring Alessandra again, I mutter, “I’ll see you tonight, Aly.” Before she can reply, I end the call and give my attention to Jessica. “What meetings have I got today?”

  “You’re back-to-back from ten until three, and then you’re free to go and apologise to Lorelei.” The look of expectation on her face makes it clear she wants me to do what she has said.

  “Block off the rest of my day,” I direct. “And phone Lorelei to arrange another meeting, please.”

  “Are we sure your mood will have improved by then?”

  I turn to head back into my office. Calling over my shoulder as I leave, I say, “No one likes a smartass, Jessica.”

  Her laughter floats through the air between our offices. “You do or else I wouldn’t still be here.”

  The knots I’ve felt in my neck for days ease a little. If there’s one thing Jessica does well besides organising me, it’s snapping me out of a bad mood. And God knows I could do with it today. After the weekend I’ve had and Lorelei Winters putting me off my game this morning, I need Jessica to work her magic.

  3

  Lorelei

  Resting my head on the table, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to block the world out. Over the course of seven hours, this day has gone from bad to worse. First, I discovered one of my Willow Street tenants is going through a nasty divorce, and her ex is causing her all sorts of trouble, including vandalising her shop. Today we had to deal with graffiti all over the building. Then I found out the roof on the building is in urgent need of repair. The storm we had two nights ago revealed some damage and the repairs can’t wait. After that, I had Ashton Scott’s assistant harassing me to hold another meeting with him. The highlight of my day was telling her no. And now I’ve just discovered some of my shares took a dive overnight.

  On top of all that, I never made it home to shower and change, so I’m still wearing the red dress from the wedding that flashes my cleavage in a very unbusinesslike manner.

  “I want a do-over,” I mutter to myself while I wallow in self-pity.

  “Bad day?”

  My head snaps up at the sound of that voice.

  Sugar… sweet, delicious sugar.

  Bad, bad sugar.

  Ashton Scott stares down at me with amusement in his eyes, and I don’t fail to notice the way his gaze sweeps over my dress.

  As much as I want to stand and tell him where to go, I can’t summon the energy to do that. “If you’ve come to issue threats again or to call me a money-grabber, I don’t want to hear it.”

  He holds his hands up as if he’s surrendering. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Nodding at the chair next to mine, he says, “Mind if I join you?”

  I exhale my frustration. “I told your assistant that I didn’t have time for another meeting.”

  Ignoring me, he sits. “Looks like you can squeeze me in.”

  “So when you asked whether I minded if you joined me, what you really meant to say was that you were joining me.”

  His eyes capture mine in a way th
at doesn’t let go. “I’m not a man who usually asks, Lorelei.”

  There’s no denying the dominance surrounding this man. Everything about him declares control and power— from the way he stands tall with his shoulders back, to the deep, commanding tone of his voice, to the way he watches me with complete self-assurance. I imagine he doesn’t ever have to ask for anything.

  “I bet you aren’t.”

  He doesn’t react to that except to wait a moment before saying, “I want to apologise for the way I spoke to you this morning. I was out of line with what I said and I’d like us to begin again.”

  His voice is oh-so-smooth as if he expects for this to go his way. “I also bet you don’t usually apologise.”

  Again, no reaction.

  Except for the vein that twitches in his temple.

  His emotions are contained; it makes me want to push him to see if I can provoke a response. I don’t cope well with people who hide what they’re feeling or thinking. They make me second-guess myself more than I already do.

  “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

  “I’m not a woman who makes things easy for any man, Ashton.”

  The hum of the offices around us fades into the background as a new tension settles in the room. Ashton’s body tenses and he takes a deep breath. His eyes never leave mine, and I do my best to hide the way he unnerves me. I might have said what I did, but that doesn’t make it true. As much as I don’t make things easy for men, I’ve never met one like Ashton Scott.

  I’ve never met a man who turns me on, frustrates me and flusters me all at once.

  After a few moments of silence, he leans forward and murmurs, “It’s a good thing I like a challenge.”

  Desire curls through me and I want to rant at the injustice of this world. Who decided that men should be granted bodies and voices and faces and—oh my God—eyes that have the ability to screw with women’s mental capacities like this?

  I need a moment to collect my thoughts so I stand. Smoothing my dress, I say, “I need a coffee. Do you want something?”

  He rises, and I notice his gaze taking in every inch of my dress again as he does. “Black coffee, no sugar, thank you.”

  His eyes on me have only flustered me more. I wish I’d had time to go home and change out of this damn dress before having to see Ashton again. The fact my boobs are practically hanging out has put me off my game.

  “You can stop judging this dress,” I snap, my ruffled state finally getting to me.

  “That wasn’t judgement, Lorelei.” His deep voice moves through me as heat flushes my skin.

  Oh dear Lord, is there no end to his assault on my senses?

  Focus.

  Deep breaths.

  He can kiss your ass, remember?

  “What do you want, Ashton? I’ve already told you my building isn’t for sale, so I’m not sure why you’re here.” I load the Nespresso with a coffee pod as I speak, doing my best to ignore the war of emotions rushing through me.

  “Everything in this world is for sale for the right price.”

  If there’s one thing my grandmother taught me, it’s manners. Those manners are the only thing holding me back from telling him what I really think about that statement. Instead, I face him and calmly say, “It would seem you’ve found something that isn’t.”

  He rests against the counter and casually crosses one ankle over the other as if he’s settling in. “You’re attached to that building.” It isn’t a question, but rather, a statement.

  “Yes. My grandmother owned it for years while I was growing up. She loved the opportunity it gives people.”

  Frown lines etch his forehead. “What opportunity?”

  I shake my head in annoyance. “You know nothing about that building.”

  “I know there are three businesses that you lease space to in it and that it’s a piece of prime real estate in Potts Point. I’m guessing the opportunity you’re talking about is the exposure its location gives those businesses.”

  It’s moments like these I truly question my chosen path of building a business. The Willow Street building is all those things he mentioned, and yet it is so much more. However, the other things aren’t likely to rate high on any list that a man like Ashton checks off when considering acquiring an asset. The fact that I would include them on any list I make has me wondering at my ability to survive in the ruthless business world.

  “No, the opportunity I was referring to was that the people she leased to, and that I now lease to, aren’t your standard business-type people. Pearl Winters established the Willow Street Fund to help people who have great business ideas, but who can’t afford to action them. The fund takes applications once a year and distributes money and works with the chosen businesses for a period of three years to get them up and running. If we have a lease available in the Willow Street property and they need a shop, we make it available to them at a deeply discounted cost.” I pause for a moment before adding, “There’s no way I’d ever sell that building. It’s too important to these people.”

  He’s staring at me with a look I’m not quite sure of. If I had to identify it, I’d say it’s possibly confusion. “I knew about the Willow Street Fund and I knew your leases were too cheap, but I didn’t realise the two went together….” His voice drifts off as if he’s thinking about something else.

  “It’s not something we make known. My grandmother figured that if people knew they could get cheap rent, she’d have everyone applying for funding. When someone signs a lease, they also sign a non-disclosure agreement stating they won’t share that information with anyone.”

  “So what you’re saying is that anyone who has ever had a business in that building was helped by you or your grandmother. They wouldn’t have had anyone else helping them. Financially, I mean.”

  “That’s correct.”

  He continues to stare at me and doesn’t say another word, until he mutters, “That bastard.”

  I frown. “Who?”

  Without answering me, he pushes off from the counter. “I’d like to be the first to know if you ever decide to sell.” His phone is already to his ear and his attention has left me even though he’s still watching me.

  I truly dislike his style of business.

  As he walks towards the door to leave, I say, “No.”

  He comes to a halt and turns back to face me. “Give me a minute,” he says into the phone before holding it to the side so he can speak to me. “No?”

  I nod. “I told you it’s not for sale and never will be.”

  “Yes, well, we all know how business goes, Lorelei. Times get tough and assets need to be looked at. Call me if that time comes.”

  I watch him leave, and I feel a sense of accomplishment when my gaze stays firmly on his back rather than sliding down to take in that magnificent ass.

  Ashton Scott would have to be the most arrogant man I’ve ever met.

  And I have no intention of ever calling him.

  4

  Ashton

  “We missed you the other night,” Alessandra says over the phone two days after I missed the dinner she’d asked me to attend.

  “I’m surprised I haven’t heard from you already.” I’d texted her to say I wouldn’t be there and hadn’t received a message or call in return. Not my sister’s usual mode of operation.

  “Some of us have better things to do than chase Ashton Scott around.” Her tone is cutting—unusually so for her.

  “And what the fuck does that mean?” I throw the towel I’m holding over my shoulder and take a long drink from my water bottle. After a demanding day in the office, I’ve just spent the last hour running on the treadmill in my home gym.

  She sighs. “Fuck, just ignore me. I’m in a bitchy mood and wine isn’t working as well as it usually does. I ran into Cassia today, or should I say that she ran into me, and she’s still carrying on about you.” She stops talking and I hear her drinking. “You really need to put her out of h
er misery.”

  Wiping the sweat from my forehead with the towel, I groan. “What would you suggest I do, Aly? I was extremely clear with what I wanted a year ago when I broke up with her, and I’ve been nothing but clear every time she’s approached me since. I can’t help it if she’s choosing not to listen to what I’m saying.”

  “I can’t believe I am going to say this, but you're too nice to her.”

  “So, what, you think I should be an asshole to her just because I didn’t love her the way she loved me?”

  “Well, you’re an asshole to everyone else. Maybe it will force her to listen.” There’s no love lost between Alessandra and my ex. From the day I introduced them to the day I left Cassia, they were at odds with each other. Cassia’s socialite status and refusal to work rubbed my sister the wrong way. Alessandra doesn’t share Cassia’s belief that an inheritance is a reason to sleep in most days and spend the rest of your time socialising.

  “Aly,” I chastise.

  She takes another loud sip of her wine. “No, don’t give me that. Cassia has you fooled. She’s a bitch who plays to your good side and as a result, she gets away with things that others don’t where you’re concerned. You’re blind to it, Ashton.”

  I leave my gym and take the stairs up to my bedroom, two at a time. “I’m not blind. I just have no interest in confronting it. The thing with Cassia is if you give her an inch, she’ll take a mile. If I start a conversation with her, fuck knows what she’ll make of it and where it’ll all end up.”

  Alessandra sighs again. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore. I want you to tell me why you didn’t make it for dinner on Monday night.” I hear a loud noise on her end, and then—“Shit, can you give me a minute? Sadie’s just bloody smashed a vase and Malcolm is nowhere to be seen.”

  The sounds of her yelling at her daughter for breaking her prized possession and then of her yelling through the house for her husband fill my ears. Alessandra has two sides to her personality: the in-control businesswoman I deal with during the day and this frazzled, wine-guzzling wife-slash-mother at night.