Terrance

"Oh, fuck my sideways," Carissa groans under her breath.

I fight back the urge to take her up on that tantalizing offer. The look her boss is giving her is clearly not appreciating her slip.

Carissa stands there gaping at me as she realizes what she said, her cheeks flushing crimson.

My grin grows, sensing my effect on her, but I falter. Something's off.

"That'll be all, Carissa," Hendrix grits out.

The fuck is his problem?

Her face falls, confirming my suspicion, if not the details. That feisty woman I got a glimpse of is nowhere to be seen. The prick is ruining her.

"You've been holding out on me, Hendrix," I say, layering on all the charm I can muster.

The old man blinks, dumbfounded. "I assure you, these properties are prime—"

"Not the property, the talent," I muse, tilting my head towards Carissa.

Now it's her turn to look like a deer in the headlights, though her boss isn't faring any better.

"Her?" he finally spits out in disbelief.

"Terrance, please," she whisper hisses, big brown eyes locked on mine, begging.

I frown, but relent, not wanting to overstep my bounds. She may have been my deciding factor to come to Hendrix Holding, versus any of the other firms around. If I'm being honest, I'm disappointed I haven't heard from her. After that night, I thought we shared a moment, but maybe I misread the situation?

I turn my charm up and flash him my game winning smile before taking a seat. "Yeah, I had the honor of meeting Carissa when I went back to do the commencement speech. Sharp mind and a great perspective," I say, giving her a way out and not putting any more pressure on her. "Glad to see your firm has just as keen of an eye for talent as you do for properties."

Hendrix snaps out of his stupor and recovers. "Of course, Mr. Phillips. We at Hendrix Holdings have an eye for hidden potential, as I'm sure these properties will show." He turns his attention away from Carissa, back to the portfolios spread out in front of us. With his attention elsewhere, Carissa slips away without another word.

Fortunately, he's more than happy to listen to the endless drone of his own voice, needing no input from me as he goes over various buildings for me to consider for my project. For all my focus and drive, I can't make my mind focus on him. I keep replaying the exchange from the moment she saw it was me.

Something flashed in her eyes before it self destructed. What's worse is how it ended. Her boss is clearly a prick, and if he's managed to wear her down this badly in such a short time, that's one hell of a red flag. Or is she getting it from all sides? Her dad didn't exactly give the best fatherly vibes.

Not all damsels need saving though, or appreciate it, and based off of her brief plea, she doesn't want my help. So why can't I let it go?

The answer is simple. Because it's her.

"Thoughts?" Hendrix muses, coming up for air.

"Many," I reply cryptically, knowing if I don't watch what I say, Carissa will pay the price. "I think I'll take these three to go over with my business manager, and get his thoughts first, though." I grab three random properties and stand, having zero interest in dealing with the man anymore.

"Of course," he stands and adjusts his suit. "When ever you're ready, we can arrange a showing and get the ball rolling."

"Sounds good." I tuck the files under my arm and dig into my pocket for another business card, determined to take one last shot.

I find the one I'm looking for and palm it, hyperaware of my corporate shadow. He stays stuck to me as we leave his office, apparently intending to walk me to the elevator. I slow, spotting Carissa, but know I can't try with him here.

"Actually," I say, turning to Hendrix. "The one with the waterfront view? Can I have that one too?"

His eyes light up, and I can almost see the dollar signs flashing in them. "Of course, I'll just go grab it for you. One moment." I watch as he slips away, and turn to Carissa.

She stares up at me, an eyebrow arched as she purses her lips. "You mean the one on the top of your pile?" she asks, nodding to the folders under my arm.

I flash her a cheeky grin. "Ought to keep him busy for a minute."

Carissa narrows her gaze and tilts her head, practically picking me apart, looking for my motives. "You didn't need to do that," she grumbles. "I can take care of myself."

Lifting my palms, I don't dare try my luck. "No doubt, though I think your talent is wasted here..."

Her gaze flickers to the floor for a moment, confirming my suspicions.

"Come work for me," I mumble without thought.

She glares at me and shoots up from her seat. "I'm not some bimbo that needs rescuing," she hisses. "I have a god damned MBA. I graduated at the top of my class—"

I step closer, glad to see the feisty woman that caught my attention. She doesn't back down and holds my gaze. "You are brilliant, and wasted here," I repeat, more determined.

Her eyes water with angry tears, threatening to fall at any moment. Guilt rears its ugly head, fearing I've pushed her too far. "Here." I take the card and put it in her palm, then close her hand around it, making sure she keeps it. "Use it this time. Day or night, call up to tell me I'm an idiot, or whatever."

Carissa opens her mouth to say something but the office door swings open and Hendrix returns, holding a file. "Was it the lake front one?" he muses, oblivious to us.

I inch back and take it from him, covering the beach front one I sent him looking for. "That would be the one."

Shaking his hand, I'm sure to keep my professional façade in place, then turn my attention to his secretary and finally Carissa. "Ladies. It's been a pleasure. I'll get back to you later this week," I add directly to Hendrix.

He opens his mouth to say more, but I make a break for it, stealing one last look at Carissa. She stares down at her palms, tightly clutching the card I left her.

All I can do is pray she takes the chance this time.

By the time I make it out front, my thoughts are a jumbled mess.

"That doesn't look promising," Brad says. He frowns as he takes me in, holding a hand out for the files. "She wasn't there?"

I scoff and hand them over. "I mean, she was there, but not the woman I knew."

"Bummer," he mumbles, dismissing her so easily. "Listen, if you're looking, I know this great woman—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," I say, holding up a hand. The last woman he threw at me was such a gold digger she'd say or do anything to snag a pro ball player... she didn't care who it was.

For a man of my tastes, a woman like that will end up costing me big time, maybe everything.

Brad shrugs. "She's not like that."

I flash him a pointed look. "I'll pass," I grumble. "I don't have time for that right now, anyway."

He grins and nods to his waiting SUV. "Amen to that. Now let's get back to making you an icon!"

The entire way back to my condo, Brad talks endlessly about branding campaigns and PR points. He has a vested stake in the game, seeing as his contract is a percentage of my success. So the better I do, the better he does. Sure, it's a gamble, but they pay out is too tempting to resist.

"Oh. I've got the shoe samples and some of the athletic gear and clothes for your brand waiting upstairs for you." Brad parks his SUV and waits for me to join him, clearly more focused than I am.

Outside of my condo is a cart stacked high with boxes. I open the door and he pushes past me, walking in like he owns the place. "Yo man, shoes!" I remind him.

Brad sighs but kicks his shoes off at the door, then starts ripping into the boxes. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning. I should feel like this too, but for whatever reason, I've been struggling to find his level of excitement.

I find myself wondering what Carissa would make of this madness. She's the first person in a long time that doesn't view me as their meal ticket, making her feedback more genuine.

Beauty and brains with a sharp wit is a dangerous combination, and apparently one I can't resist. I wasn't even mad when she shot me down so effortlessly. On the contrary, it was refreshing.

If only I could get on a level playing field with her. I'm sure fate crossed our paths for a reason.

"So, should I draw up the contracts?" Brad asks, pen in hand.

"Contracts?" I parrot, looking around at the mess he's made. Samples are strewn around the living room in no particular order, with their destroyed boxes littering the floor.

"Yeah?" He pulls a face. "You don't want them to shop these collections around, do you?"

I blink and move over to the nearest garment and pick it up. It has to be the most generic black tank top with my logo stamped on the right chest in white.

"So very tailored," I drawl. The second garment is equally unremarkable. "I thought we were going with a custom line? These look like what you'd find in any department store?"

My disappointment grows with each piece I pick up.

"Not at all. Look at the branding! It's all you, man!" He cheers, trying to hype me up but failing miserably. "This is how all the greats broke into the market. Your fans will love it!"

I frown, not nearly as convinced as he is.

"Listen, I'll give the supplier a call, pass on your concerns, and see what they can do. We'll touch base on Saturday and go from there. How does that sound?" He eyes me hopefully and I nod.

"Yeah, let me sleep on it," I agree. Fortunately, he takes the hint as I head for the door and follows me.

"Of course, but remember the big picture, man. Once you hit the market, there'll be no stopping you."

I nod, suddenly feeling drained. With him safely in the hall, I throw the lock and look around my destroyed condo. Nothing escaped his samples, not the island counter top dividing the kitchen from the livingroom, nor the couch, or any other surface.

"Fuck," I grumble, palming my forehead.

I grab a quick shower and throw on jogging pants and a t-shirt, then grab a wrap from the fridge. After excavating a chair to sit on, I flip on the TV and start aimlessly flipping through the channels.

My cell rings and I flip it over, curious who would be calling this number. My brow arches as I read 'private number' and I sit a little taller.

It can't be, can it?

Being my private cell, very few people have the number, versus my work phone. I clear my throat and mute the TV.

"I was hoping you'd call," I say, grinning like a fool. My moment of triumph is cut short as the line goes dead.

Fuck!