From:Sasha Garrett
Subject:Check your contract!
Ryan, I included the Lakeside location in the Q3 expansion proposal that was approved by our investors three months ago. I sent you a copy, which you obviously didn’t bother to read. As the majority shareholder I don’t needyour permission to open new locations when they’re part of our approved expansion plan. But please feel free to waste your time and money on attorneys.
Sasha
My finger hovers over the SEND button for a moment before I add:
P.S.Next time try actually reading the documents I send you.
I hit SEND with more force than necessary and slam my laptop closed.
“Asshole,” I huff, shoving up from my seat to pace the kitchen.
Ryan has been trying to push me out for the past year, ever since I refused to sell him my shares after catching him with his pants down—literally—in the supply closet with one of our yoga instructors.
Not only does he constantly try to undermine me, he’s been hinting at the possibility of a buyout. But I know if I sell my shares to him, I’ll regret it. Summit Studio is my baby. I came up with the concept, the name, the branding, everything. He may have put up half the capital, but the soul of Summit Studio has always been mine.
My phone buzzes with a text.
NOIA
Still on for tonight?
I’d almost forgotten we’re supposed to go to The Brew together.
With bells on. Are you coming over first?
She sends a thumbs-up and a wine glass emoji.
Setting my phone down, I try to focus on getting some work done, but Ryan’s email has me too riled up, which tells me I need to blow off some steam.
Grabbing my yoga mat, I head out to the backyard and set up under the shade of a large maple tree.
Moving through my flows helps clear my head. The familiar burn as I transition from warrior pose to triangle to half-moon grounds me, bringing me back to center. By the time I finish with a seated meditation, I’m feeling more like myself again.
As I roll up my mat, I notice movement next door. Jax is out front washing his truck, shirtless. You know, I’m starting to wonder if the guy actually owns any shirts at all.
Muscles flex as he works the soapy sponge over the hood, and I can’t bring myself to look away. The memory of his mouth on me this morning sends a fresh wave of heat through my body. Damn it. Why does he have to be so...everything?
Just as I’m about to head back inside, he looks up. A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face, and he jerks his chin in greeting.
Heat floods my cheeks as I hurry inside, cursing myself for getting caught staring. Again.
After another quick shower, I spend the rest of the afternoon catching up on paperwork and finalizing the yoga and aerobics schedule. I’m deep in concentration when my phone rings.
Glancing at the screen, I consider ignoring it, but that would only delay the inevitable.
“What do you want, Ryan?”
“Is that any way to talk to your business partner?” he asks in a smooth, condescending tone. The same one that has always made my skin crawl.
“Cut the crap. What’s this really about?”
He gives me a dramatic sigh. “Look, Sash, I think we both know our business arrangement isn’t working out anymore. We’ve been butting heads forever. It’s getting tiresome.”
“And whose fault is that?” I snap. “You’ve been pushing for me to sell since the moment I caught you with your pants down.”
