Then again, nothing about Olivia was predictable which meant he had to also consider Option Two: She would emerge from the bedroom furious with him and claiming he’d taking advantage of her in a drunken state. It would be a bullshit move on her part since while they’d both been over served, she was a more than willing participant. But on the upside, she might be so disgusted by the mere sight of him that the thought of starting every morning harassing him was more than those little vermin were worth.
A knock on the door to the suite pulled Cole from his internal debate. He opened the door to find a waiter in a white jacket and black bow tie standing behind a cart full of silver-domed platters.
Stepping back, Cole gestured for the man to come in. “Just set it all up on the dining room table.” As an afterthought, he added, “leave the covers on.”
The waiter nodded as he pushed the cart into the room, then began efficiently setting the table with what Cole liked to refer to as the Coleman Grant III Farewell Extravaganza. He’d learned early on that most of the women he slept with starved themselves on the regular. Sending them off with a stomach full of more carbs than they’d consumed since puberty had proven an effective tool in terms of damage control. And by the time the food coma wore off, he was long gone.
When the man finished, Cole signed the receipt, taking in the spread as he waited for him to leave. Scattered across the table was enough food to feed a small army. Usually a stack of pancakes did the trick, but since he wasn’t dealing with just any woman, he wasn’t taking any chances. So instead of keeping it simple he’d gone all out. Crepes, French toast, scrambled eggs, and Belgian waffles. He’d even ordered some tofu crap, assuming that was the sort of thing she’d be into.
Cole checked his watch again. Goddamn, she was a solid sleeper. That or she was still drunk. Now that was a variable he hadn’t factored. Not that it mattered. There were no late check outs at Hotel Grant and this was one guest who needed to be on her way out the door.
He was about to go in and wake her when his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was too early for any of the Vegas crowd to be up and about, which meant . . .
Cole pulled out the phone and glanced at the screen. Bingo. With any luck, his morning was about to get a whole lot better.
“For the love of god, Barkley, tell me what I want to hear.”
“I wish I had better news for you, Mr. Grant.”
Cole’s shoulders sagged. Fuck. Not exactly the words you wanted to hear coming out of your lawyer’s mouth. “How bad?”
“The court denied our appeal.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why am I just hearing about this now?”
“The ruling came in the late afternoon. I didn’t want to ruin your evening.”
He was right about that. The news would have certainly put a damper on the night’s festivities. But still, they were working against a ticking clock. They had to keep things moving. “What’s the next step?”
“I’m afraid there isn’t one.” There was a sobering pause. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not the answer you were hoping for.”
“You’re damn right,” he managed to spit out through his clenched teeth. “I pay your firm a small fortune to handle my affairs. This isn’t some nuisance suit, Bill. This is it. Grant Industries is about to go down in flames.”
“I understand that, sir, and believe me when I say we have been working ’round the clock to—”
“Oh, I know you’ve been working ’round the clock. I have the bills to prove it. But in case you haven’t done the math here, allow me to enlighten you. The end of me means the end of your billable hours as well.” Cole pinched the bridge of his nose. He had to reign in his temper. Shooting the messenger wasn’t going to get him anywhere, and it wasn’t doing much for his hangover either.
“I’m aware of the gravity of the situation, Mr. Grant.”
Cole exhaled a heavy breath. Bill Barkley had been his right-hand man since he’d taken the helm at Grant Industries. Cole had walked through the door of the headquarters the day after graduating from Harvard, an MBA in his back pocket and a smug smile on his face, ready to take over the world. And he had, but he certainly couldn’t have done it without the team he’d assembled, and Bill was an integral part of that team. Over the last six years, they’d taken the company to a place his parents could have never imagined. And now he was on the verge of losing everything. No fucking way. “There has to be something else we can try, some injunction or restraining order, something we can file to buy more time.”
“We’ve tried everything, but unfortunately your grandmother has been one step ahead of us on this one.”
“Who did she get to this time?” There wasn’t a judge in the entire city of Chicago who wasn’t a “close personal friend” of Meredith Vanderholden Grant. On the surface, his grandmother might have looked like a lady who lunched, but when she did it wasn’t at a table full of bridge-playing biddies. No, when she broke bread it was with the city’s most influential men. Not to say that there weren’t influential women, but she had no time for them. Quite simply, his paternal grandmother dealt in favors, and she’d discovered very early on that those were much easier to get from members of the opposite sex.
Born into a family that had more money than most anyone else in the city, she’d watched and learned as her father wielded that cash to get what he wanted and even more importantly, to amass markers he could call in when the timing suited him most. But Meredith quickly learned that she had an added advantage even someone as cunning as her father didn’t possess. As a young debutante, she’d figured out the power of a well-timed smile, or a bat of the lashes, but what the poor saps never saw coming was the venom that would drip from those upturned lips as she spelled out her demands. Bribes could just as easily turn to threats if necessary, and when it came to getting her way Meredith Grant didn’t think twice about the means. All that mattered was the end result.
“It’s not that simple,” Bill replied. “The terms of your parents’ will are very specific.”
Tension coiled in Cole’s gut. While on some level he could understand their reasoning, there was still no denying the fact that the codicil to his parents’ will was a manifestation of their doubt. No matter how many times he was confronted with that harsh reality, it never failed to cut him deeply. More than that, if he didn’t find a loophole, it was about to also strip him of everything he’d ever accomplished. And what was worse, the whole world would have a front row seat to his fall from grace.
“I’m afraid your grandmother has the law on her side this time,” Bill continued. “There’s no basis here, and the courts aren’t in the habit of writing new law.”
“This is ridiculous. Doesn’t she realize what I’ve accomplished running the company for the past six years?” Cole had transitioned Grant Industries from a successful investment firm to a global leader in emerging technologies. He’d taken the company to new heights through calculated risks that not only paid off but exceeded all projections. And now it was all slipping through his fingers.
Cole drew a deep breath through his nose. He had to keep his emotions in check if he had any hope of surviving this nightmare. A few tension-filled beats passed, but when he finally spoke, his tone, while solemn, was even keel. “There has to be something more we can do.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Grant, but as it stands now Grant Industries and all of its holdings will revert to your grandmother just after midnight on Tuesday.”
Happy fucking birthday.
Cole lowered himself into one of the chairs and ran a hand back through his hair. “So that’s it, it’s all over?”
“Barring a miracle, I’m afraid so.”
Cole snorted. “It’s not like the answer to my prayers is going to just stroll through the front door.”
As if on cue the door handle behind him clicked. He turned to find Olivia attempting a fast getaway. Cole had to stop himself from smiling. Olivia Ramsey doing the wa
lk of shame. With her shoes in her hand and her makeup smeared around her eyes, she was a far cry from the sassy smart-mouth who accosted him on a daily basis. Yet surprisingly the look suited her and, although he’d hate to admit it, made her look unbelievably fuckable. His usual MO was a hollow “I’ll be sure to call” as he quickly made his way toward the door. But for some reason the only path he wanted to beat was back to the bedroom with the now docile Ms. Ramsey in tow. Hmm, maybe by the hair. His cock began to stir, but he quickly told it to take a number. At the moment, there were far more pressing matters.
“Are you still there?” Bill asked. He was, although to be honest, Cole hadn’t heard a word the man was saying. The only person he needed to speak with wasn’t on the phone but in his room.
“I have to go, Bill.” The answer to his prayers might have walked through the bedroom door instead of the front door, but it didn’t make any difference. Either way, he’d found his miracle.
“What . . . when . . . I mean how do you want me to handle your personal accounts?” The man had shifted into full-blown panic mode. “There are certain holdings I can transfer to offshore accounts, but the SEC will—”
“Don’t do anything until you hear from me.”
“But we only have three days.”
Cole jabbed the screen of his phone with his thumb, effectively ending his lawyer’s litany of protests. Three days was more than enough time. In fact, if he played his cards right, his problems could be over in one.
Chapter Seven
Olivia watched as Cole’s facial expression changed from distressed to almost predatory.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“So it would seem.” She smoothed the fabric of her now wrinkled dress. Funny how something so short could seem so perfect at night and so skimpy in the light of day. There was no denying the fact that she looked like something the cat dragged in. Cole on the other hand, looked freshly showered and ready for a day at the office. In his charcoal dress pants and crisp white shirt, he looked like he was on his way to a board meeting, not recovering from a wild night of hard liquor and bad judgment. At least he wasn’t wearing a tie.
“I ordered breakfast.” He moved closer to the table and pulled out a chair. “Please, join me.”
Olivia sat, taking in the spread in front of her. Dome covered platters stretched the length of the table. In the center, there was a silver coffee pot along with carafes of at least four different types of juices. It was far too much for just the two of them.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked so I ordered a little bit of everything.” Cole took a seat in the chair across from her and began to remove the silver lids, revealing stacks of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and French toast. “I usually order eggs Benedict, but I didn’t think my stomach could handle that this morning.” He reached for two packets of Advil and offered one to Olivia.
She shook her head. “I try to avoid Western medicine.”
“Of course,” he mumbled around the plastic packet now suspended between his clenched teeth. With a tug, the packaging split open. “Don’t wait for me,” he said as he grabbed the nearest glass of water and downed the pills. “Dig in.”
Olivia’s stomach rolled. Why did she drink so much? Honest to God, you’d think she’d never had a night out before. Then again, it had been a while. “I’m fine, thanks. But I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.”
Cole lifted the silver pot but paused before the coffee began to fill her china cup. “Room for cream?”
“Yes, but no sugar.” Olivia watched in a state of confused fascination as Coleman Grant III served her a cup of coffee from a sterling silver pot. At a table large enough to seat twelve. In a suite that likely cost more for one night than an entire month in her apartment. The contrast to the last time he offered her a cup of coffee wasn’t lost on her either. Gone was the smug grin and the condescending tone and in its place was an expression that very nearly bordered on sincerity.
“Okay, who are you and what have you done with Coleman Grant?”
He cocked his head to one side. “What do you mean”
“I mean all this.” She waved her hand through the air. “There’s enough food here to feed everyone from the party last night. And you’re smiling. And you said please!”
“I’m not without manners, Olivia.”
No, she thought, just a soul.
Cole lifted the lid off the last tray and the scent of bacon and sausage links wafted through the air. The pungent smell of animal fat was too much on top of the hangover that was still tap dancing inside her head. A fine sweat misted her body, and all at once her skin felt too hot and yet still cold. Oh no. Her hand flew to cover her mouth. It was only a matter of time until she humiliated herself in front of him, not to mention ruined a very lovely white carpet. Whose bright idea was it to put white carpet in a Vegas hotel room anyway?
Olivia’s gaze shot frantically around the room. She wanted to escape to the nearest bathroom, but all of the doors were too far. She’d never make it. Instead she launched herself at the desk just beyond their table, barely making it to the trash can before vomiting.
“You okay?” Cole asked when she was finally done retching.
Olivia straightened. She wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and returned to the table with as much dignity as she could muster. “I don’t eat meat.”
“And the mere sight of it makes you sick?”
“No, that’s all on the Jell-O shots.”
Cole pulled the platter of eggs closer and heaped a pile onto his plate. “Or perhaps the tequila.”
“When did we have tequila?”
“You raided the bar after the first time we fucked. Something about body shots and wanting to lick lime juice off my cock.” He kicked his chin toward the mirrored bar that ran the length of the back wall of his suite. She blinked hard but there was nothing she could do to stop the images that flooded her mind. She was on her knees . . .
“I want to taste you,” she said. Her voice was breathy and needy and sounded nothing like her own.
“Nobody’s stopping you.” Cole gazed down at her, his eyes darkening as she flicked her tongue across his glistening tip. She played with him a bit, teasing him with her fingers, lips and tongue until his hips flexed forward in a silent demand for more. A low guttural sound vibrated through him as she took him all the way into her mouth, pulling him deeper until she found the perfect rhythm. “Good girl,” he groaned, fisting a hand in her hair when he hit the back of her throat. “Just like that.”
Good girl? Holy mother of God. She should have bit his dick for that one. Forget about Cole not acting like himself, who the hell was she? And better question, why was she still in this asshole’s hotel suite? She needed to get out of there. Now. Olivia scanned the room for her purse until she found it on the piano bench. But as she crossed the room to gather her belongings, a fuzzy memory of her lying across the glossy top in nothing but a bra and panties stopped her dead in her tracks.
“Yeah, apparently you have some sort of Michelle Pfeiffer thing going on. Fabulous Baker Boys and”—he shuddered—“Grease 2.”
Olivia groaned. Drunk, slutty, and singing? Talk about a trifecta. Thank God there hadn’t been a ladder nearby. In the state she was in, she would have no doubt performed one hell of a rendition of “Cool Rider.” Probably broken her neck in the process too. But for all her sass and bravado, she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. “Look, that’s not how I—”
“That’s not how you usually act? You’re not that kind of girl? Save the sanctimonious excuse making, Olivia. I’ve heard it all before. And quite frankly, I don’t give a shit.”
“Wow, you’ve got the morning cuddles down pat, don’t you?”
He frowned. “I just don’t understand why women feel the need to justify their behavior. Guys don’t.” He lifted his fork and shrugged. “Sometimes a fuck is just a fuck.”
“Wow, breakfast and romance? Stop or I’ll be begging for more.”
“Oh, you were begging all right.” The satisfied grin that spread across his lips had her hands clenching into fists at her side. Someone needed to put Coleman Grant III in his place. A resounding slap across the face wouldn’t accomplish that, but it would be a start. And it would certainly make her feel a whole lot better.
“Don’t look so offended. You loved every minute of last night, and despite what I can only assume is a colossal hangover, you’d do it all again.”
“You disgust me.” She gathered her shoes up off the floor and made a beeline for the exit. The faster she was out of there the better.
“Then lucky for you I’ve come up with an idea that means you’ll never have to see me again.”
Olivia stopped halfway to the door and sighed. So close. Part of her wanted to keep walking, to tell him exactly where he could put his great idea. But her curiosity had been piqued. And even though there was no doubt in her mind that whatever was about to come out of his mouth would be self-serving, the thought of never laying eyes on Coleman Grant III was too good to pass up. After all, he had to know that a roll in the sack—okay, several rolls in the sack—wouldn’t mean an end to her sidewalk lobbying. Hearing him out might benefit her cause. “Go on,” she said, not bothering to turn around. He might have had her attention, but she could still play it cool.
But instead of telling her his great idea, he remained silent. Several beats passed, making it clear he wasn’t going to speak unless she turned to face him. Fuck that, she thought.
“Goodbye, Cole. See you Monday at Starbucks.” She reached for the door but when her hand made contact with the latch, he spoke.
“Marry me.”
A cold chill ran down Olivia’s spine. Marry him? She stood at the door for what felt like an eternity, processing what had just transpired. He had to be joking. Or maybe he was merely mocking her morning-after regret. But when she turned around to face him, there wasn’t even a hint of humor in his expression. No smug grin either. She narrowed her eyes. Clearly, he was up to something. She just needed to figure out what.
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