Colin nodded, genuine approval settling onto his expression. “I’m just messing with you. I’m happy for you, man. And I’ll be crossing my fingers that you haven’t been catfished.”
I started to respond, but the words died in my throat when I sawher. Satan in female form. She was a mere fifteen feet away, speaking animatedly to Abram Hinds. My stomach dropped with the violent clarity of a market crash at the sight of her with him.
Kate Vanderhaul.
Her back was to me, but she was unmistakable. Her hair alone was an event, a thick, dark red curtain that hung almost all the way to her waist, cascading down her back in waves that moved when she spoke, bouncing with every emphatic gesture like it had opinions of its own.
“Problem?” Colin asked.
“Yes,” I said flatly. “Unfortunately, it’s a potentially expensive one too.”
Abram laughed at something she said, his shoulders shaking with the kind of relaxed familiarityI’dbeen hoping to cultivate with him this week. Alex had practically vibrated with joy when Hinds had put out a statement announcing he was“considering all options that will allow me to retire.”
We wanted his empire. Badly. I was supposed to be here to schmooze—my least favorite professional obligation—because Iwas very good at it when forced. Now, I was sharing the spotlight with the human equivalent of a market correction.
“Wish me luck,” I muttered.
“You don’t need luck,” Colin said. “You need patience.”
I shrugged, regrettably having to leave my coffee behind so I could intercept them. If Kate was making her move, I needed to be there. Especially if he was already laughing with her.
She turned just as I reached them, her dark hazel eyes—whiskey-colored and sharp enough to age a man prematurely—locking onto mine. Her expression soured instantly, her frown so vicious I half expected a portal to hell to crack open beneath her heels and drag her home.
She didn’t bother hiding it, but I didn’t pay any attention to her, simply extending my hand toward my target instead. “Mr. Hinds, I’m Nate Westwood.”
Abram turned to me, his hand immediately meeting mine for a firm squeeze. “Westwood, huh? I was wondering if I’d see you here.”
“I was hoping to run into you as well.”
Kate made a small, disapproving noise that could have passed for a cough if she’d possessed any interest in subtlety. Abram chuckled as he glanced between us. “Do you two know each other?”
“Unfortunately,” Kate said brightly.
“In a professional capacity,” I corrected without giving it a second thought. There was no way I wanted him to think there was anything more to it. “Our paths have crossed before.”
Abram gestured toward her. “The Vanderhaul family helped get my business off the ground twenty years ago. I owe them more than a few favors.”
The revelation felt like a punch straight in the gut.
Fuck, of course. Alex isnotgoing to like that.
Kate smiled at him, all polished charm. Up close, she was infuriatingly beautiful. Peach-toned skin that looked professionally taken care of, with no freckles and a flawless texture that suggested a skincare routine so intense, it probably came with a spreadsheet of its very own.
Her nails were immaculately done, glossy and an understated, pale pink. Her posture radiated athletic confidence, like she was one of those people who voluntarily woke up before sunrise to run marathons—or in her case, probably to outrun real life demons trying to drag her back to Hell.
“I was just telling Abram our family is very interested in acquiring his portfolio,” she said sweetly.
My eyes narrowed, but I quickly schooled my features and gave him a mild smile of my own, not wanting to come on too strong straight out of the gate. Not if he had such a long history with her family. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes cool when they met mine, but warming instantly when she turned back to him. What a cunning little actress.
For the next few minutes, I tried to talk to him, but thanks to her continuous interjections, it felt like trying to make a pitch during a fireworks display. By the time Abram excused himself to greet another attendee, I already knew the interaction had gone poorly.
To say the least.
Once he was out of earshot, I glared at her. “The day Westwood and Sons buys out Hinds’ empire is going to be the best day of my life, and not because of the money.”
She crossed her arms, her red hair sliding forward over one shoulder like it wanted a front-row seat to the argument. The faint scent of citrus and something warm, maybe vanilla,wafted to my nostrils, affecting me in a way that was deeply inconvenient.
