He turned again, heading toward the private garage entrance beneath the building without another word. I glared at his retreating back.
Arrogant, infuriating, chronically well-tailored?—
“Kate?” a voice called. My Uber had screeched to a stop at the curb, the driver leaning across the passenger seat and waving at me like he’d spotted a long-lost cousin.
“That’s me,” I said, rushing out and slipping into the car. “I know it’s not great weather for this request, but do you think you could step on it?”
He grinned at me in the rearview. “It’s the perfect weather for that request. We can always try, right?”
As I nodded, the man took off into the traffic, driving like he was auditioning for an action franchise reboot. He weaved through traffic with terrifying confidence and a complete disregard for traffic laws or my blood pressure.
Normally, I would’ve objected. Today, I clutched my coffee, braced my heels against the floorboard, and silently encouraged his reckless ambition. We pulled up to the Westwood building before Nate’s black sedan rolled into the curb lane.
Perfect.
“Thank you,” I said, smoothing my blazer before tipping him generously and marching through the lobby with the stubborn determination of someone who refused to be locked out on her second day.
When I reached Nate’s office, I pushed the door open, slipped inside, and dropped my bag onto the conference table in the corner. If he thought he was going to lock me out of strategy meetings—and I had a feeling he absolutely would’ve if he’d gotten here first—he was delusional.
And petty. Mostly petty.
Without wasting any time, I pulled out my laptop and opened the file my dad had sent late last night. It was the full financial report for Abram Hinds’ company, dense but clean, which was exactly how Abram liked his operations run.
Transparent and well structured. Having that kind of knowledge about him was what would make our bid stand out head and shoulders above the rest. I was sure of it.
Moments later, footsteps sounded in the hallway, shortly followed by voices growing louder and louder as they got closer. Nate entered first, stopping short when he saw me already seated with my screen glowing, the documents open and notes already written in the comments.
Will followed behind him, grinning like he always seemed to be. “Well, this is going to be a damn productive morning. Thanks, Kate. If this is the way you work, we might even get this deal done before the end of the week. Isn’t Katey awesome, Natey?”
He loosened his tie as he stepped inside, coming over to me while Nate hung back in the doorway like he was afraid he might get cooties if he moved so much as a muscle. I rolled my eyes, deciding to focus on Will instead.
As he sat down, I rotated my laptop slightly toward him, tapping the first highlighted section of the report with a fingernail. “I wanted to show you this. Abram is meticulous. If we can structure the bid in this same, straight-forward format, we’ll receive an answer from him much faster. Burythe important stuff under layers offormaleseand it’ll take him months to work his way through every sentence.”
Nate shut the door behind him with quiet precision, his expression guarded but alert. He finally crossed the room toward the table. He didn’t say a word, but Will was a different creature entirely.
“Youcolor-codedyourhighlighting?” he asked as soon as his gaze hit my screen. “Who does that?”
“Uh, everyone?” I batted my eyelashes at him, not flirting but playing innocent. “Do you have some kind of problem with a little brightness in your day?”
He sniffed in an attempt to hide a laugh. “Definitely not. It’s fun and I love fun, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone use purple to highlight before. It’s usually just yellow, green, and red. Maybe there’s a dash of blue.”
“Which is exactly why I try to use other colors when I’m actually trying to draw someone’s attention,” I said, smiling.
Will abandoned his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and undid his top buttons. Then he grabbed his phone and ordered up some coffee before he settled in. Together, we studied the financial report, both Will and Nate reviewing it like they were reading a menu rather than several billion dollars’ worth of moving parts.
At least Will made it fun. Working with him was actually pretty enjoyable, which felt like it could be a trap, but he was still fast becoming my favorite Westwood. Nate, on the other hand, sat across from us with his posture rigid, his eyes flicking between the screens and us like he was monitoring for suspicious activity.
When I turned to another new page of the report, Will frowned and pointed at a paragraph hanging in the middle of the screen. “Okay, explain this to me like I’m five.”
“You’re not five,” I said.
“Emotionally, I’m five.” He flashed me a wide grin. “Just tell me what I’m looking at here.”
I angled the laptop between us. “Hinds’ operational revenue is stable. Day to day, they make enough money to keep everyone paid and happy.”
“See, you’re good at explaining things like I’m five.” He winked at me. “Continue.”
“The real value in this company, however, is in his long-term investment vehicles and proprietary tech. My father’s firm structured most of that, which means continuity becomes part of the bid’s leverage. What you’re seeing there is a very summarized breakdown of it.”
