Bossy: An Alpha Collection Read online

  “I wish I was more like you.”

  My eyes bulge. “What do you mean? You’re one of the few women I know who are super switched on and always positive.”

  “Ugh, no. I pretend to be, but on the inside, I’m wailing like a baby. I listened to you all those years ago when you drilled into me that we needed to fake it until we made it. I just can’t help wondering how much longer I’ll be faking it for.”

  “I know what you mean. Thirty is just around the corner, and I always thought I’d have my life more together by then.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “Do you wish things had turned out differently between you and Boston? Have you heard from him recently?”

  My heart constricts at the sound of his name. The guy I thought I’d marry… until the day he asked me to marry him and I said no. “I want to say no, and that I’ve made peace with the way things went, but that would be a lie. I don’t know why I said no. I think I panicked. And, no I haven’t heard from him since he left.” Five months of radio silence from the guy I spent over three years of my life with. The guy who waited around for three months hoping to change my mind after I said no to his marriage proposal.

  “Do you still love him? Because you know, I have a theory about you and men.”

  “What’s your theory?” Sienna is always coming up with theories for everything in life.

  “I think you have this overwhelming fear of loss after losing your mum at such a young age. You’re a hopeless romantic, but when men get too close, you push them away before they can leave you.”

  She’s right. I’ve put hours into analysing myself and yet I can’t seem to change. I pushed Boston away by fighting with him for three months. “I ruined what Boston and I had, Sienna. We fought so much those last three months and then we had that huge fight that ended it. There’s no coming back from that.”

  She gives me a wistful smile. “There’s always coming back from things, babe. If he’s who you want in your life, you just need to tell him. Boston Haynes adores you. He only left town because he was hurting too much.”

  “Well, he did have a job come up overseas he could hardly turn down. Let’s be honest, Boston’s career is in America. He doesn’t have half the opportunities in Australia that he’ll have over there.”

  She lifts a brow. “And you don’t think that man would give all that up in a heartbeat for you?”

  “I wouldn’t want him to.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Do you still love him?”

  I’ve thought about this a lot over the last five months. The heartache I felt when he left was extreme enough for me to know I did truly love him, but the thought I’ve been left with is—if I love him, why don’t I still think about him every day? “I will always love Boston. He was my first real experience of love. But I don’t know if I am still in love with him.”

  Just as she opens her mouth to speak, we’re interrupted by the sound of a deep voice at the door. “Lorelei Winters?”

  Turning, I find myself looking at a man who reminds me so much of Ashton Scott that it can’t be a coincidence. Even his voice has that same kind of deep, husky sexiness to it that Ashton’s has.

  I stand. “I’m Lorelei. I presume you’re Mr Scott.”

  His eyes glitter with subtle amusement as if he’s humoured by me in a condescending way. That does not start us off on the right foot, because as good-looking as he is with his silver-fox sexiness—that goatee he’s sporting is hot—I refuse to be swayed by anything other than his personality. He walks to where I’m standing and extends his hand. “Gregory Scott.”

  Sienna excuses herself, leaving me alone with Ashton’s father. Damn her. I would prefer not to deal with this man alone.

  I hold my hand out towards the table. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you a drink at all?” God, my need to use manners irritates me sometimes. I do not want to give this man any reason to stay longer than necessary.

  With a shake of his head, he says, “No. I’ll just get straight to the point, Miss Winters. I’ve come to make you an offer on your property at Willow Street.”

  What is with these men trying to buy that property?

  “I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time then because that property is not for sale.”

  “Oh, I think we both know that everything is for sale, Lorelei, if the price is right.” So damn arrogant. I see where his son gets it.

  “That may be the case in your world, Mr Scott, but it’s not in mine.”

  “You haven’t even heard my offer yet.”

  “I don’t need to hear it because I’m not selling. I’m sorry, but no price can convince me.”

  “Three million,” he says, his gaze steady on mine.

  I don’t blink. I don’t show my surprise in any way, shape or form. But holy hell, that figure is about one million more than the property is worth.

  He desperately wants this.

  But why?

  I stand a little straighter. “No.”

  Gregory Scott maintains his own poker face. We watch each other silently for a while before he eventually says, “I’ll leave you to think about it, Miss Winters.” He hands me his business card. “Contact me when you change your mind.” With that, he turns and exits my office.

  Jesus, what’s with these Scott men?

  Call me when you change your mind. Not if, but when. So bloody presumptuous.

  Well, they can think again if they believe I’m an easy sell.

  I’m not.

  8

  Ashton

  “I love you, Ashton, but seven on a Saturday morning is taking our relationship to a whole new level,” Jessica mumbles into the phone.

  “It was urgent.”

  Silence.

  “Oh, you should have said that sooner, boss. I mean, hell, why didn’t you call earlier? I could have done urgent at three this morning.”

  “Smartass,” I murmur, but my mouth curls into a smile. Jessica’s snarky ways endear her to me. They hands-down beat the way most people pander to me in an effort to get closer and potentially gain something from a relationship.

  “Ugh, Ashton, you could have at least sent me over some coffee to wake me up.”

  “It’s on my list. Although, I’ll have to get my assistant to organise that,” I say with a grin, making a mental note to send coffee over as soon as this call is over.

  “My, you’re unusually fun this morning, Mr Scott. Did your vagina hunting pay off?”

  I lean back in my office chair. I’ve been working in my home office for two hours this morning and the time has flown by. A strange occurrence around here on weekends lately. I’ve felt adrift recently and this feeling is only magnified on weekends when I’m alone. The fact I haven’t felt the pull to socialise much hasn’t helped. “The way you master the English language is astounding, Jessica.”

  “I’m glad you’ve recognised that. I look for new words to impress you with daily. Now, what is so urgent you dragged me from the best sleep I’ve had all week?”

  “Have you managed to track down Lorelei’s schedule yet?”

  She groans. “Honestly,” she mutters, her voice drifting off. “Okay, Monday afternoons between one and four she usually visits that nursing home I’ve already told you about. She goes to spin class at the gym five minutes from her office on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at five. Sunday mornings are usually spent at the local farmer’s market. She also does salsa dancing, but this appears to be an irregular activity. It’s at that dance studio around the corner from Willow Street. Oh, and on Saturday mornings she often visits her Willow Street property.”

  “Impressive. You got all this from Facebook?”

  “See, if I told you my sources, you wouldn’t need me anymore. Let’s just say, my investigative process involves more than Facebook. Now, you owe me. Make it a double shot and make it snappy.”

  “Mornings aren’t your strong suit, are they?”

  “Pay attention, Ashton—they can be with caffein
e.”

  I chuckle. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

  “Wait, before you go. How are we looking for Asshole Monday? Do you think it’ll be on next week or not?”

  “Goodbye, Jessica,” I say as I end the call.

  After I order coffee to be sent to her home, I make my way into the kitchen. Jack surprises me when I find him in there.

  “Morning,” I say. “I thought you’d be asleep after last night.” After his long flight, he slept for hours yesterday and as a result was wide-awake at midnight.

  “I slept for about four hours. Been tossing and turning for two hours, so I figured I may as well get up. I’m going to visit Mum today.”

  I narrow my eyes to take in his appearance. He still looks as bad as he did when I picked him up from the airport yesterday morning. This is the worst shape I’ve seen my friend in for years. He’s lost weight; his hair needs a good cut and he’s wearing don’t-give-a-shit clothes.

  “You want me to drop you off at her house?”

  “That’d be great.”

  We haven’t had a chance to talk yet. I’m hoping his mother might talk some sense into him, but in the meantime, I need to know he’s travelling okay. “I’m concerned, Jack. What the hell happened in LA?”

  He watches me for a beat. “You want coffee for this?”

  I nod and he pulls another mug from the cupboard. “Do you ever wonder how you ended up where you are in your life, Ashton?”

  I think about that for a moment. This is important to Jack and I want to give him the most honest answer I can. Finally, I nod. “Yeah, some days. Actually, a lot more lately than ever before. Not to do with my work, though. That has been a carefully planned strategy. But the rest of my life feels a little empty these days.”

  He passes my coffee, and I slide onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter while he stands on the other side.

  “Do you remember back when we finished school? You and I had so many plans. I don’t feel like we achieved any of the important ones.”

  I frown. “What haven’t we achieved, Jack? We’re both doing work we set out to do and, hell, we’re both successful at it.”

  He shakes his head. “No, not work. We always said we’d give back once we made our millions. We always said we wouldn’t become our fathers, and yet we both have. We’re workaholics who are too fucking busy to look beyond ourselves. Well, I’m done, and I’m ready to get back to basics.”

  “I give time to a business group and donate to charity. What else can I do?”

  “I’m not talking about giving cash here. I’m talking about changing the fucking world.”

  Fuck, he’s on about this again.

  Jack always did have aspirations to change the world, and he’s right—I wanted in on that endeavour when we were younger. These days I live in reality and understand that concept is futile. “You can’t change a world that doesn’t want to be changed.”

  “Fuck, Ashton, when did you become so negative?”

  “When I realised the truth in life.”

  “And what’s the truth?” His voice is full of scorn and I do my best to ignore it, but I’m feeling agitated with this conversation. I just want him to work on himself first, and then I don’t give a flying fuck if he dedicates the rest of his life to being the next Mother Teresa.

  “The truth is that the challenges facing humanity are insurmountable unless people open their eyes and take a long, honest look at it all, and sort the bullshit from the facts, all without being led by powerful people with hidden agendas. And then there’s social media that drains people’s attention and encourages superficial engagement with life. Shit, these days people think that supporting a cause is as easy as giving a fucking like on Facebook or sharing a post. If you want to change the world, you better be ready to yell long and loud just for a few to hear you.”

  He stares at me as if I’ve got two heads. “So much cynicism, my friend. I’m not talking about reaching billions all at once. I’m talking about changing one life at a time.”

  I lean forward. “Well, I know one that you can work on first,” I say softly.

  He processes that and then nods. Draining his coffee mug, he rinses it and places it in the dish rack before saying, “I’m working on it.”

  I watch as he leaves the kitchen. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. Not the way I wanted to start the day.

  After I drop Jack off at his mother’s house, I steer the car towards Willow Street. It’s just after nine and I’m hoping to catch Lorelei there. It takes me nearly half an hour in traffic to reach my destination, and after I cruise the street a few times looking for her, I decide to park my car.

  The street is busy today and it takes me a good ten minutes to find a park. By the time I’m standing in front of her building, my patience is fraying. But one glance at the empty retail shop I know so well soothes my irritation as the memories come flooding back. It’s been a good fifteen years since I’ve been here, but it feels just like yesterday.

  “That shop isn’t for lease anymore,” a woman says from behind me. “I’ll be opening a florist there in a few weeks.”

  I turn to see a plump middle-aged woman eyeing the shop with excitement. When her eyes finally meet mine, I say, “What about the shop next door?” Lorelei’s building houses three retail shops, of which two are currently vacant.

  She shakes her head. “Nope, it’s taken too. A café I think, which is a perfect match for the hairdresser on the other side and me.”

  I have to agree. Grouping businesses together that women frequent, rather than slotting in a male orientated business, should give them a fighting chance at success.

  “Thank you,” I say and take a step in the direction of the café I passed earlier. This is an older area of Willow Street, still untouched by corporations who have swooped in and knocked down the buildings to erect shopping centres in their place. The café I saw looked quaint and welcoming, and I have a hunch they’ll know how to make good coffee rather than the shit pumped out at the coffee chains.

  “Sorry there’re no shops left for you,” the woman says as I walk away.

  “I don’t need a shop,” I call back over my shoulder. I just need the woman who owns the shops. I haven’t been able to get Lorelei out of my mind since I made that promise to her two days ago. And I meant every word I said—she will be mine. She’ll be the best sex I’ve ever had because sex you have to work for is a sweet victory.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting in the corner of the café, drinking what is perhaps the best coffee in Sydney. Mental note—tell Jessica about this place. The owner is a lively Italian woman, probably about forty and possibly the mother to a challenging brood if her frazzled state is anything to go by. She reminds me of Alessandra in this respect. Either her business is giving her hell or her family is. The café is a cluttered mess of knick-knacks and tables pushed too close together, but the customers seem more than happy to be here. With coffee this good, I can see why.

  “Lorelei! Bless you for coming,” the owner says loudly while I’m getting lost in my thoughts.

  My head snaps up at that name, and my gut tightens when I catch sight of the stunning redhead I’m slowly losing my time to.

  Fuck, can she get any more beautiful?

  She’s wearing skin-tight leather pants that show off her long legs with a black biker jacket. Her feet are encased in stiletto boots. While I love the outfit, it’s her windswept hair and flushed face that pulses desire through my veins. It’s her lack of fake polish that screams at me. I inhabit a world of perfectly put-together women and I’m bored with the superficial perfection.

  She swoops in and pulls the woman into a hug before kissing both her cheeks. “You know I’m here for you anytime, Francesca.”

  Francesca hits her with a smile that communicates her extreme relief and happiness to see Lorelei. I watch as Lorelei moves to join the woman behind the counter. She grabs an apron and secures it around her waist, and then she gets to wor
k helping serve customers.

  The two women work hard for the next hour until a man joins them. I assume he’s Francesca’s husband by the way he kisses her and slips his arm around her waist. Then the three of them spend another half hour serving the remaining customers. This café is one of the busiest I’ve ever come across.

  The couple thank Lorelei profusely before she slings her handbag over her shoulder and exits the café. I leave my table and follow her.

  When I catch up, she’s waiting at a bus stop. Her gaze falls on me and she blinks her surprise. “Ashton.”

  “Lorelei.”

  Her brows furrow. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you.” Honesty is my preference at all times.

  “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you have a plan in place for when you found me?”

  “Of course. I’m not the kind of man to act without a plan.”

  She shifts her weight onto one foot and crosses her arms over her chest. “What does this plan involve?” As much as she’s trying to project indifference, I’m hearing enough interest in her voice to know she’s into this.

  I move a little closer, invading her personal space just enough to fluster her. “It involves me taking you to lunch and getting to know you. It also involves me showing you I’m not the asshole you think I am.”

  “What about your arrogance? Does your plan have a clause in there for dealing with that?”

  “I’m known as a closer, Lorelei. Anything a deal needs to make it go ahead can be arranged.”

  “Oh, I bet.” She uncrosses her arms and points her finger at me before resting her fingertip against my chest. “I have to say, I’m not a fan of the way you do business.”

  My hand wraps around hers. I love the sudden breath she takes. “That’s because you don’t fully understand my way of doing business, but I can tell that you are more than intrigued by it. Give me an hour and I’ll show you how good business can be.”