Page 10 of On The Edge

With the pen that’s purposely not on the table.

The empty box will make a statement, Kevin had said. I don’t think Cruz noticed at all.

“That was the plan, but as I told Lennox before we started,” Kevin says, motioning to the screen on the wall where Cruz’s agent stares back at him from wherever she’s calling in from. There’s a crease in her brow and a very serious expression on her face. “We’re having second thoughts at the moment.”

Cruz chortles in what I can only read as disbelief. “All because of some pictures?” he asks, the question more of a statement than anything, before looking toward the monitor, his jaw working, and irritation evident.

A last-minute request from Kevin had me shuffling into my wallflower seat several minutes after the meeting officially started. To say I was surprised to find that the man from the hallway seated across from our CEO was the same man he’d said was some big-name superstar is an understatement. That explains the slight accent at least.

Maybe because he seemed so . . . normal?

Get over it, Maddix, because he doesn’t seem so normal now.

Normal people don’t have paparazzi follow them around after a late night of partying though. And clearly—by the crude collage of paparazzi pictures that plaster the second screen in the conference room, Cruz Navarro does.

But it’s his indifference to these pictures on the screen that sets him apart in this conference room. His complete I don’t give a fuck attitude to them that’s making things a tad uncomfortable and has me shifting in my seat.

“It’s not just these pictures,” Kevin says as he leans back in his chair. “It’s the whole of the pictures. What they imply. What they say about you and the things you embody and represent.”

“And what exactly does it say about me?” Cruz folds his arms over his chest. I notice the flex of his biceps as he does. How can I not? But I also notice his irritation.

“Revive is interested in promoting a healthy lifestyle. It’s for—”

Cruz’s laugh is rich and sarcastic. “Should I give you a rundown of my regimen? The cardio. The weights. The endurance training. The nutrition protocols. It’s all wrapped in a prettily packaged schedule that I get every day, every week, down to the minute. I assure you, Kevin, that my supposed health isn’t something to question.”

Kevin clears his throat. The man never has qualms over confronting the hard things and now is no different. “We are set to invest a vast sum of money into a partnership with you. One your people approached us about. One we’ve haggled and negotiated and worked on for months. One I’d like to think would alter how you act when in the public’s eye, knowing this was in the works.”

The curl up of one side of Cruz’s lips says, how do you know this isn’t my normal? He’s confident bordering on arrogant, and I fight my own smile at his blatant defiance.

The balls on this guy. They must be huge to know you’re one signature away from making more money than you could ever spend in ten lifetimes, and you’re acting like you don’t give a fuck.

Maybe he doesn’t. Just like maybe what I mistook for a panic attack earlier was just Cruz being hungover, which is completely rational considering the timestamp on the pictures currently on the screen.

He leans back in his seat, one forearm casually perched on the table, the other on his armrest as he looks at the photos of himself and has the gall to smirk—almost as if he’s reliving the moment—before meeting Kevin’s eyes again.

“I’m part of a sport that makes a living cheating death. It’s a rush like nothing you could ever imagine. If you’re telling me that you’re more worried about a night out on the town with friends than me surviving the next race when it comes to how I can contribute to our partnership, then I think maybe I’m the one who needs to rethink this deal.”

Kevin’s back straightens the same time that Lennox warns, “Cruz.”

Definitely, big balls.

“Mr. Reynoso,” Lennox says to Kevin. “Would you mind giving Cruz and me a moment to—”

“I don’t need a moment,” Cruz states, both hands flat on the table in front of him. The watch on his wrist is understated but most definitely costs more than my car. It cuffs the bottom of some rather impressive forearms that flex with the action and definitely hold my attention.

I have a weakness for strong hands and forearms and the watch just adds another dimension to the visual porn that I force myself to pull my eyes away from.

“In our initial conversations, we voiced concerns about all of your . . . activities,” Kevin says, his shoulders squaring. “We were assured by your team that things would change . . . that you’d be more reserved in your public persona but . . . stumbling out of bars? Street racing down the strip in Monaco? Doesn’t sound like you’ve taken what we’ve asked for in our partnership very seriously.”

“And yet we’re still here, aren’t we?” Cruz asks.

“What he means,” Lennox says. “Is—”

“I don’t need an interpreter, Ms. Kincade. I’m well aware what he means,” Kevin says and then turns his attention back to Cruz.

“I have what you need to make this a success. The looks. The charisma. The following. The last name. The money. It sounds like a win-win all around, doesn’t it?”

“Exactly.” Kevin’s voice is monotone as he taps the papers in his hand to square them up on the table. Just like someone would do before they’re about to walk out of a meeting. “But what I know and what the board sees are two very different things. And they’re not liking what they see to approve this deal.”