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“Thanks, McIntire.” He stood and then pushed his chair in. “Not sure if that’s helpful or not.”

Clive and Joanie echoed her sentiment of “good luck” as he stepped around their chairs on the way to the stage.

Marcus squared his shoulders, feeling a lot like he had when he’d played Little League. Whenever he’d been up to bat, he felt sicker than a dog at the possibility of striking out and letting his team down.

But tonight, he wouldn’t strike out. He put his hand in his pocket and fingered the silky gift Lily had given him.

He fucking had this. For his friends, for Lily, and for himself.

His smile faded when he met Emmett Webster in the wings. Something about the guy rubbed him the wrong way. And that stupid nickname he had for Lily—what was up with that? It’d been obvious she hadn’t appreciated it.

“Two minutes, and then I’m up,” Emmett said as Marcus stood next to him at the side of the stage. “I’m going to say a few words about Reginald London Superstores, briefly mention our grand opening date for the new store, and then I’ll introduce you as the man in charge who single-handedly won the account.”

Emmett slapped Marcus’s arm. This asshole had better stop hitting him, or he would have no choice but to hit back.

“Like I said earlier, it was a team win,” Marcus reminded him. “Downplay the single-handedly part.”

“Well, yeah,” Emmett said with an eye roll. “But we both know the game is won by the captain. And I know that Lily of the Valley isn’t captain material.”

Marcus clenched his jaw. “Where did you two meet, again?”

“I used to be the lead designer at Lewis & Becker. We worked together, but she was shit at handling accounts. She tried to claim my design for her own. They had no choice but to ask her to leave after that. Scruples, you know.”

Marcus’s blood pressure skyrocketed. Seriously, he could feel his blood boiling and his face growing red.

“She can handle a presentation better than anyone,” Emmett continued. “But it’s not that surprising, given how great she is with her mouth⁠—”

Marcus grabbed Emmett by the throat and squeezed. Just enough to make him shut the fuck up. Emmett clawed at his hands. Marcus eased up so that Emmett could breathe. He leaned in, practically nose to nose with the insufferable dickhead, and said, “How many of your teeth would you like to keep?”

The music started, Emmett’s cue to step out on stage. Fuck.

As much as he wanted to drag this degenerate loser out the emergency exit and give him a lesson in manners—and back-alley dentistry—he couldn’t afford to only think of himself. He had to consider Lily’s feelings. And Joanie and Clive’s reputation.

This award wasn’t about him. Like he’d told Emmett—twice—it was about the team. After a brief internal argument with himself, he let go.

Emmett gasped for breath while straightening his tie. “Didn’t mean to touch a nerve. If you two have a thing, just say so.”

“It’s none of your goddamn business what we have.” Marcus loomed over him. Emmett backed into the curtain. The music swelled. “Go out there. Before I change my mind.”

Emmett tugged on his suit jacket, offered a shaky nod, and stepped onto the stage.

“What an asshole,” Marcus muttered to himself. Then he took a breath and tried like hell to remember his speech.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“When are you telling him?” Joanie asked Lily after Marcus left the table.

“Later. He was nervous earlier, so I wanted to send him up on that stage with nothing on his mind except for his speech.” And her panties in his pocket. The other night when he’d practiced in front of her, he’d been confident and sure of himself. She’d wanted to give him a physical reminder of when he’d nailed the speech before—the night in his bed when she’d been naked. So, when she’d dressed tonight, she’d slipped her sexiest pair of underwear into her handbag.

The introduction music swelled, then seemed to go on for a few beats too long. Finally, Emmett stepped onto the stage and lifted his hand to greet the crowd.

Lily sneered. And did not applaud.

His introduction was brief, and then he extended an arm to welcome Marcus to the stage. She strangled her napkin under the table, her nerves getting the better of her. She really, really wanted him to do well up there.

He stood tall and proud, looking so handsome in his tux. She could tell that his smile was a smidge nervous, but she didn’t think anyone else had noticed.

“Come on, Black,” she whispered. You’ve got this.