The Dare

by Lauren Landish

  We discuss the various stages of the process, from initial contracts to full build out with daily operations. It’s . . . a lot, a huge undertaking, by any measure. But the bulk of that will be true regardless of the chosen location for the HQ2, so we try to flesh out the ways that London is the preferable choice.

  The conversation goes on well past breakfast as we move back up to the suite, where we spread out, turning the dining table into a makeshift conference table. Colton and I each work on our laptops, and I point out the corporate law he requested that I pull.

  “This is going to be an issue. We’ll have to get some approvals pre-built to ensure we maximize the tax break. Otherwise, our first-year costs are going to be exorbitant. But if we can get the council to pass an exception, especially since it’s a previously zoned commercial site, we should be fine.”

  Colton leans over me, one hand on the table and one on the back of my chair. The cage of his arms feels good, but his praise feels even better.

  I like that he can see me as a sloppy, sweaty post-sex mess and then turn right around and appreciate my brain. “Good catch, Elle. I think that’s doable. Bringing a company like Fox across the pond would be a boon—for tax base, employment, and shipping. Can you follow up on positive impacts an HQ2 would have? It’d be something we can present to the council as well as Fox.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Wolfe.” I’m just as turned on by his all-business persona as I am his Mr. Sexy Times Guy. He winks at me, hearing the tease in my almost professional, but not quite, tone.

  “Get to it, Miss Stryker.”

  That smirk on his full lips is damn near my undoing, but I rally and focus on work.

  Colton’s phone rings, breaking our heads-down work session, and I realize that several hours have passed. He glances at the screen and his jaw goes tight. “It’s Mum. I have to take this.”

  He paces around as he talks, and though he’s basically in the same room with me, I try to give him some modicum of privacy. I can hear snippets of his side of the conversation, though.

  “Yes, Mum. I understand, but he’s . . .” Colton cuts off, and apparently, Mary has no problem interrupting her son. She should’ve interrupted Edwin and Eddie yesterday, I think snidely.

  “That would be lovely. I’m sure she would enjoy it.”

  My ears perk up at that, especially when Colton pivots to look at me apologetically. Shit, I’m going down. I can feel it.

  “Yes, she’ll be there shortly.”

  He hangs up and sighs, looking at the ceiling as he runs his fingers through his hair, gripping at the strands.

  “How bad is it? Just give it to me straight. They hate me, right? They’ve called you home to forbid you from seeing the American trollop? Oh, shit, did they realize I took the silver teaspoon from my place setting? I swear, I’ll give it back if they won’t press charges.”

  My lip trembles and Colton’s eyes go wide. “You stole a teaspoon?”

  I straighten my back and frown in disappointment. “Of course I didn’t steal a teaspoon. I’m crazy, not stupid. Or a klepto. But now you’re not so freaked about your mom. What’d she say?”

  I’d hope the irreverence would help him chill, but Colton’s grin has zero happiness in it. No, it’s a cold, professional teeth baring that makes him look like someone said, ‘Say cheese or the kid gets it.’

  “She’s invited you for tea, but I’m not certain you should go.”

  I blink. “Okay, tea doesn’t sound bad. Other than the tea itself, which is gross. But I can sit with her for a bit like yesterday. Maybe Nan and Lizzie can come too?”

  He licks his lips, and I can feel the hesitancy. “I’m missing something, aren’t I?”

  “She invited you to tea with her friends. She likely wants to show you off as my American sweetie. This is a divide and conquer mission, probably at Father’s instruction, and they intend to conquer . . . us.”

  “Oh, shit. This is bad.”

  “You haven’t understood the worst of it. I can handle Father, but you have to tea with . . . what’s the American expression? Ah, ladies who lunch. Mum’s friends’ only care in the world is their station, the gossip about others, and appearances. I’m getting the better end in this bargain, and I’m going to be working alone all day.”

  I am so fucked. And the worst part? I have to drink another cup of dirt water.

  “So, have you heard about the new flat he’s renting?” a woman says behind a disapproving frown as she sips her tea. “Absolutely atrocious! And in the . . . well . . . up-and-coming side of town.”

  The way she says ‘up-and-coming’ sounds like she’s being too polite to say ghetto. Or as though she can’t stand the taste of the word.

  “Oh, my!” the woman to my left stage whispers. I’ve already forgotten her name, too struck by the absolute frozen stillness of her forehead. I vaguely wonder how much Botox that takes because she’s got to be pushing seventy and is completely expressionless. “It does serve him right after the way he ran amok on Patrice. The poor dear.”

  Her lips don’t seem capable of smiling or frowning, but I still get the sense that she feels no real sympathy for Patrice, whoever she is.

  The ladies gathered around the table hum agreeably, and I have to choke back a sip of tea. I’ve been holding on to being polite for the past half hour by the skin of my teeth, giving bland smiles as I listen to the gathering play social ladder scramble.

  “Mary, dear, you mentioned your middle child has returned from the US? How is he doing there? Probably losing his mind with the change in culture.”

  I think this lady’s name is Francis, if I remember correctly. And honestly, I’m using the term ‘lady’ pretty loosely. Oh, she’s dressed as a lady, cut from the same cloth as the rest of the harpies gathered around the table, right down to the antique diamond earrings and matching bracelets, sipping tea and nibbling tiny sandwiches with impeccable manners, but there’s nothing ladylike about this piranha.

  Obliviously, Mary beams. “Yes, he is. Back home for a visit, though I hope to keep him a bit longer. But he’s doing well in the States, brought home his sweetie, Elle.”

  She’s already introduced me, and I’ve already made it through the firing squad line-up of judging eyes that are an odd combination of Mean Girls meets Golden Girls. But those same clear and sharp eyes turn back to me once again.

  “Nabbed yourself a fine one, eh?” Francis asks me. “Must be quite the fortune for a girl like you. You’re just his assistant, correct?”

  My mouth drops open. It’s not the words so much as her obvious belief that Colton is somehow above me simply because of his bank account and station.

  I swear I hear Margaret, one of the other ‘ladies’, quietly joke, “Ah, well, now we know what he sees in her.”

  I close my mouth, my teeth clacking against each other harshly. I clear my throat and force myself to swallow down the vitriol I want to blast these women with. It would feel so good to just flambé them like a pig over a spit roast, but that would only prove their point.

  That I’m less than, their un-equal. Rude, crude, and American to boot.

  And as much as I hate to admit it, Colton might need his mother’s help on this business deal with his dad. Pissing her off, embarrassing her in front of her snobby friends, would sabotage that.

  But I’m my dad’s daughter, and I’ve seen him play this game before. I’ve seen him win this game before. The best way, the only way to come out the victor, is to play their game better than they do.

  I turn back to Francis slowly, letting the dramatic effect intensify and knowing that each of them is waiting with bated breath to be proven right about me. Even Francis’s lips are tilted up in anticipation.

  “I do feel fortunate to be with Colton. He is such an amazing man who appreciates intelligence and independence. He sees me as an equal, a partner . . . though perhaps that’s a rather American ideal you would be unfamiliar with?”

  I smile sweetly, as though I’m merely educating
her on a minor cultural difference. “He values my mind and ideas, actually wants to listen to them and share his own with me. We talk and have fun, spending time together doing absolutely nothing but enjoying each other’s company. That is quite rare, wouldn’t you think?”

  Francis’s tiny smile is falling, and I go in for the kill. She’s made some assumptions about me, but I’ve made some about her, too, after listening to them snipe, snipe, snipe about everyone and everything while simultaneously offering humble brags about their wealth, their station, and even their children and grandchildren.

  “Sadly, some couples are rather exhausted with one another after a short period of time, or the women are relegated to being seen and not heard.”

  I shake my head sadly, feigning disbelief that someone would settle for so little. “I certainly wouldn’t trade my education, my outspokenness, nor Colton’s interest in me for sitting around like an old biddy with nothing better to do than make myself feel better by downing others. That would be so distasteful, an utter waste of my days.”

  Mary flounders, trying to smooth things over. “Oh, Elle, dear. Let’s not make a scene. Of course Colton appreciates such American openness, but we do prefer a less direct . . .”

  The damage is done.

  Her friends are sneering at me, and Mary looks heavily disappointed as she realizes it. There’s no salvaging this tea or this potential connection with Mary. If I’ve killed Colton’s chances, then I might as well go out with a bang.

  I turn to Margaret, the woman who thinks my only redeeming skill might be blow jobs.

  “And yes, Colton does enjoy my mouth.” Blink. Blink. I let them remember Margaret’s catty peanut gallery comment. “It’s not shameful or embarrassing to have a happy, healthy sex life.”

  Ooh, the sharp hiss as I dare to say the word ‘sex’ over proper white tablecloth tea is loud enough to gather the attention of the surrounding tables. But fuck it, I’m on a roll.

  I take my napkin from my lap, dabbing at the corners of my mouth with a quirked brow to emphasize my point. “Excuse me. I think I’ll find better company. At a local up-and-coming pub.”

  I turn to Mary, one last sliver of regret in my belly. Her back is ramrod straight, her eyes frosty, in such contrast to yesterday when she was wilting beneath Edwin and Colton’s fight. I don’t know what type of ‘breeding’ or ‘training’ went into making her the way she is. And yes, I’m well aware that it sounds as though I’m talking about a dog, not a person. But I have no interest in becoming whatever it is she is. And thankfully, Colton doesn’t want me to be.

  They’re already talking about me as I walk away.

  “Well, I never . . .”

  “That little upstart . . .”

  “What did you expect . . .”

  It takes all I have to not turn around. There’s simply no point. I can’t change their entire outlook on the world, about what is valuable.

  Outside, the sun is shining, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in my day.

  What had begun on a high note, working with Colton and hoping that I would be able to smooth over the roughness with his family, has turned sour, like an off-key note sung too loudly.

  Oliver offers to drive me back to the hotel, but right now, I prefer walking because it gives me an opportunity to stomp off a little bit of my anger.

  Within a few blocks, the anger cools into disappointment.

  I’d been excited, in a way, even though Colton had warned me. I’d wanted to make friends with Mary. But I’d never had a chance.

  Intentional or not, she invited me there as a freak show—look at the silly American—to show me off for her friends’ judgement and entertainment. I was set up to be the display of the day and expected to sit there like a quiet mouse while they pointed, snickered, and insulted me.

  She’d sat there complicit while they talked poorly about Colton leaving the UK, about his not helping the family business, and while they judged him lacking at every turn.

  I mean, how could they seriously find fault in Colton, of all people? Sure, he’s not perfect. No one is. But his flaws were not the ones they were blathering about. But Mary’s silence had implied agreement.

  And though it makes me mad, it mostly makes me . . . sad. I understand why he spent so long trying to prove himself, but he was set up to fail that mission from the get-go too. He’s the spare. Hard to believe they see it that way, especially having met Eddie, but last night and today prove Colton’s point in a way I never would’ve imagined.

  I find myself wandering along a stretch of road lined by a mix of flat-front houses, the garden windows so close to the walk that I could almost touch them. Slowly, the residences give way to small businesses, storefronts with worn signs and displays that tempt me to come inside. For a chocolate, a beer, or a souvenir. I realize I’m getting close to the hotel and think a soak in the huge marble tub to wash away the slimy feeling on my skin from that tea sounds perfect.

  Ahead, I see a fluff of hair that looks familiar, though I think I’m imagining things at first. “Lizzie! Lizzie!”

  Several heads turn my way at the shout, one of them exactly who I think it is. But Lizzie looks like she wishes she didn’t have to talk to me. Another one of Colton’s family who doesn’t seem to like me. I’d thought Lizzie and I had gotten on okay, though.

  I catch up to her and realize there are tear tracks down her cheeks. She’s not trying to avoid me. She’s trying not to be seen like this.

  “Oh, my gosh, what’s wrong?” I dig around in my bag, finding a pack of tissues, and mentally thank my dad for teaching me to be a prepared traveler. Nothing like having to get out of your airplane seat to blow your nose when the cabin pressure changes. I’m glad to have them available now as Lizzie takes one, breaking into fresh tears.

  “I’m sorry, Elle. I’m fine. Just a bit . . .” The attempt at a lie fades off. She’s clearly not fine, though she’s trying to keep a British-style stiff upper lip.

  “Come on, let’s grab something to drink. We can sit down and you can tell me all about it.” I can tell she’s about to say no, so I throw in a bone. “Not like I’ll be here to tell tales, anyway.”

  It works. Teenage girls are the same the world over, and I was once one, so I know how they work.

  “What do you mean?”

  I roll my eyes, knowing it’s a habit she has and will relate to. “Oh, I had tea with your mother and her friends just now. It got ugly. I might’ve hair-flipped out after calling their existence a distasteful waste of time.”

  Lizzie’s hands smack over her mouth, but then she pushes at my arm. “You did not!”

  I nod. “I did.”

  And that’s enough. With a promise to tell her everything, she comes with me to the hotel. We find a cushy couch in an empty corner of the lobby and curl up. “Okay, I told you my day. Now, tell me yours.”

  Lizzie bites her lip, and I think she’s not going to at first. But slowly, the story comes out. “Will Blackwire is such an utter dolt. We used to be friends when he first moved in with his grandfather, and Mum always says he has a crush on me. But I don’t give a fuck. There’s a proper way to behave and an improper way. He’s a bully, pure and simple.”

  She goes on to tell me about his mouthing at her, increasingly misguided attempts at flirting, for sure, but in crude, rude ways that no girl or woman wants to hear. Never in the history of time has a catcall of ‘Look at that fat arse! Sit it on my face!’ worked, and I don’t know why guys, at any age or any spot on the globe, think it would. Especially when it’s followed up with attempts to grab said arse despite Lizzie’s protests.

  “You know what? You’re right. There’s a proper way to behave and an improper. I think you’ve just been choosing the wrong option, just like Will.”

  Lizzie looks mad as a hornet—and yes, I hear the American animal idiom even without Colton pointing it out—until I explain exactly what I mean.

  Chapter 26

  Colton

 
The day has been productive but absolutely dreadful without Elle here to add a bit of light and fun to the work. But I’ve conferenced with Roger, my London attorney, and Gary, bless his soul, for the middle of the night call, and we’ve worked out most of the details of the trust.

  It seems I am correct that Grandfather left the property to a trust in my name. My father has been steward of the trust since I was a boy, but it should be a simple matter to resolve that and take control of the property myself now that I’m of age and in good standing.

  Regardless of what he told Eddie, that property is mine. And I will see Fox HQ2 successful there. However, there are many steps until that’s a reality.

  Mostly, the licensing and zoning of the land, as Elle mentioned. It will take a council vote to return the land to its previous rights, allowing Fox’s operations, but considering it’s only been decommissioned for fifty years, it shouldn’t be too much of a hassle.

  After the long day of work, I decide to reward myself with a drink downstairs in the bar, thinking I can catch Elle as she comes back from tea with Mum.

  I hope she wasn’t too hard on her, though I’m not sure if I mean Elle giving Mum a hard time or the reverse. It could go either way. Especially with Mum’s friends. And Elle’s mouth.

  In the lobby, I see Elle walking outside, her teal skirt over her lush arse immediately drawing my eye. At first, I’m confused why she’s leaving, but then I see Lizzie at her side, still in her school uniform.

  Lizzie should be home by now. After school activities might keep her for a bit, but it’s getting late.

  Right before I go over to find out what’s going on, I see Elle place her hands on Lizzie’s shoulders. Face to face, Lizzie nods along with whatever serious business Elle’s saying. It piques my interest, and I don’t interrupt . . . yet.

  They walk outside, and I follow a moment later, admittedly a bit stalkerish but hoping curiosity won’t kill the cat. I chuckle to myself at the Americanism and turn the corner after Lizzie and Elle.