Bossy: An Alpha Collection Page 6

  She takes a moment. “If I give you an hour and decide I’d rather stick to my way of doing business, do you promise to leave me alone after that?”

  Lorelei Winters is a tough negotiator, but just as she believes, I’m arrogant as hell. Letting her hand go, I nod. “I do.”

  “Okay, your hour starts now,” she says.

  I don’t waste any time. I indicate the way to my car and place my hand on the small of her back, guiding her.

  I’m cocky enough to believe she’ll be giving me more than an hour today, but I’m going to make the most of every minute I have with her.

  9

  Lorelei

  I sit across from Ashton in the expensive restaurant he’s brought me to for lunch and stare at him, wondering how the hell he got me to agree to this. I’m fairly sure he brainwashed me. He smooth-talked me for sure. And then this whole other woman inside of me said yes. As for her, she’s a traitor and I’m ignoring her right now. Because right now, she’s hanging off every word Ashton says.

  “So, I know your business imports home décor and you sell online. Do you work in the business or do you have a team who do that?” he asks.

  “You’ve looked into my business?” I’m surprised a man as powerful as Ashton Scott has bothered to spend the time looking my tiny business up.

  He raises his Scotch glass to his mouth. “Lorelei, I’ve looked into you.”

  The traitor inside me does a happy dance and butterflies flutter in my stomach. I ignore it all. “I’m not involved in the day-to-day running of the business. I have a manager for that. He runs the warehouse and the internet site. And honestly, he does a fantastic job, which allows me the time to put into other business ventures.”

  “What other kinds of ventures are you interested in?”

  “At the moment I’m looking over a proposal to invest in a pub. The deal also includes the property.”

  His lips purse for a moment. “How many investors?”

  “Four.”

  How much each?”

  “Half a million.”

  “Have you had your accountant look it over yet?”

  “Yes.” Does he think I’m a complete idiot?

  “And?”

  “He thinks it’s a solid investment.”

  His lips purse again. “I don’t.”

  “Ashton, you know nothing about the property for goodness sake. How can you even make that kind of judgement?”

  “Because four partners in not only a property deal but also a business running a pub is a recipe for disaster. There are too many options for disagreements if you all have a say, and if you’re silent partners instead, there’s too much potential for the business to fail. My advice to you would be to walk away and also to find a new accountant.”

  It’s my turn to purse my lips now. “How dare you say that about my accountant? You don’t know him.”

  He finishes his drink and places the glass on the table. “No, but I do know business, Lorelei. You need to think with your head and not your heart. Tell me something? Is the person who brought you this deal a friend?”

  Even as my answer forms, I know he’s going to tear it to shreds. And the stupid thing is that I knew this. I freaking knew this but didn’t want to face it. “Yes.” I refuse to show him the frustration I feel with myself. Instead, I hold my head high and choose to project confidence. When my grandmother left me her money, she believed in me—it’s time I do too.

  “I thought so. Never go into business with a friend. And never bring emotions into your deals.” His tone is matter-of-fact and overly confident. It feels like he’s lecturing me and I don’t appreciate it. Solicited advice is one thing, but I didn’t ask for this.

  I want to wipe that look off his face—the one that says he knows everything. Instead, I stand. Looking down at him, I say, “You might know a lot about business, Ashton, but you know nothing about me and my life. In my opinion, your people skills also need some work. You might be able to control people and boss them around in your world, but out here in mine, you have no say. I know I’ve got a lot to learn about business, but I don’t want to learn it from a man like you. And the other thing? We all have different goals in life and business. Before you start lecturing someone, perhaps you should ascertain what their goals are so you can advise them accordingly.” I grab my handbag before adding, “I’m going to the bathroom. When I come back, I’d like a Moscato to be waiting for me, please.” With that, I move as quickly as I can towards the bathroom. I need a minute to get myself under control because this man is causing all manner of confusion inside me.

  It takes a good ten minutes to sort myself out. Ashton brings out all kinds of emotions in me. I want to simultaneously punch and kiss him. By the time I’m calm enough to head back to the table, I wonder if he’ll still be waiting for me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s decided I’m more of a handful than he wants, but as the table comes into view, so does Ashton.

  I slide into my seat and find a bottle of Moscato chilling next to the table. Ashton reaches for it once I’m seated and pours me a glass. I take the opportunity to appreciate his good looks while he’s busy with the wine. He’s sporting a fairly casual look today with dark blue jeans and an untucked dark grey button-down shirt. The five o’clock shadow I loved on Monday is still in place and his blue eyes are still sexy as hell. I actually think it might be his eyes that trip me up. The way he watches me so intently makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world to him. So while the words coming out of his mouth annoy the hell out of me, his eyes completely captivate me.

  “I think we should start over, from the very beginning,” he says once he’s finished pouring the wine.

  Reaching for my glass, I say, “And how do you propose we do that?”

  He smiles. Holy shit. Holy freaking shit. When Ashton Scott smiles the world lights up. And my butterflies go into overdrive. Extending his hand, he says, “Hi, I’m Ashton Scott. I’m thirty-two, a property developer, and I travel a lot with work. In my spare time I play golf, sail, watch motor racing and visit art galleries.”

  My heart beats a little faster. For the first time since I met him five days ago, Ashton looks a little unsure of himself. He’s maintaining a confident expression on his face, and his body language is strong, but there’s a new tone in his voice—vulnerability.

  I shake his hand and return his smile. “Hi, I’m Lorelei Winters. I’m twenty-eight and began my own business two years ago when I inherited my grandmother’s money. Before that, I was studying business part-time while selling travel with Flight Centre. I love anything outdoors—skiing and surfing are my favourites. Making art is my therapy. When the world gets all too much, I lock myself away and paint. And travel is my ultimate goal. I’ve spent a lot of time in the States and have seen a little of Europe. One day I want to be able to work from anywhere so I can travel anywhere, anytime.”

  He listens with complete focus and his eyes sparkle with obvious interest. “Did you finish your degree?”

  “No, I wasn’t loving it. I always would have preferred to be doing rather than learning theory. My guess at the time was that I could learn on the job just as well as I could learn on paper.”

  “And now? Do you still believe that?”

  I take a sip of wine. “To a certain point, yes. But I’m now figuring out that while I’ll learn on the job, it can be a painful lesson. I wonder if learning some more theory first might shorten the learning curve I’m facing now.”

  “I never studied business. I was like you and impatient to get out there and do. So straight out of school I went to work for a property developer, and I spent five years learning everything I could from him. Those years were invaluable, because not only did I learn from a highly successful developer, I networked and made contacts that still benefit me to this day. My parents were angry with me for not going to uni, but as far as I’m concerned, I could have spent years studying and not walked away with half the knowledge and contacts I did from five y
ears of on-the-job experience.”

  “See that’s exactly what I think. I probably should have found someone to work for and learn from before I threw money and time into my own business, though.”

  He shakes his head. “Not necessarily. I would have done the exact same thing as you if I’d had the money behind me. I spent five years saving, and the only reason I was able to eventually get a foot in the industry was thanks to my friend, Jack, who backed me with cash.”

  I frown. “Your family didn’t help you get started?” Ashton’s family is one of the wealthiest in Australia.

  He scowls. “My father is a cold man and refused to help me because I didn’t go to university. And then when I chose a developer to work with, who he didn’t approve of, it just cemented his refusal to have anything to do with my work. We’d always had a hard relationship while I was growing up, but this was a slap in the face.”

  I’m surprised he's so open with me, but I like his honesty. My heart hurts at the thought of his father treating him that way. “He must be so proud of you now, though.”

  “I wouldn’t know what he thinks. We hardly talk these days. In fact, the last time I saw him was a good six months ago, and that was only because we ran into each other at a charity gala. A year ago, I decided I’d had enough of him and the way he treats his children, so I stopped intentionally seeing him.”

  “What does that actually mean?” I can’t imagine choosing not to see a parent. When you grow up not knowing who one of them is and losing the other at a young age, you spend a lot of time envying those who have both in their life.

  “It means no family dinners, no Christmas together, no holidays together. I refuse to put myself in any situation where he can try and destroy my belief in myself.” His voice wavers and I can feel his pain. I can also see it in his eyes. They’ve lost their sparkle while he’s been talking about his father.

  I’m not sure what makes me do it, because it’s not something I blurt out to people I’ve just met, but I share a piece of my soul with him. “I don’t know who my father is, and my mother died when I was eight. I grew up with my grandmother. I can’t imagine what it’s like having a parent who doesn’t build you up because my grandmother dedicated her life to helping me become an independent woman with a good dose of self-belief.”

  The sparkle returns to his eyes and he smiles again. “From the little I’ve seen this week, it appears she succeeded.”

  When Ashton Scott switches off his inner asshole, he’s the kind of man who could charm every woman in sight without breaking a sweat. I’ve heard mixed things about him. Some say he’s a player. Others mention the long-term relationship he ended last year, noting that his ex still pines for him. They believe this shows he’s a good guy. I always prefer to form my own opinion of people, so I’m withholding judgement. It would seem, though, that my earlier assessment of him might have been a little hasty if this new side he’s showing me is anything to go by.

  I drink the rest of my wine and decide to see how far I can push him to open up. “Tell me one of your favourite childhood memories.”

  He refills my glass as he speaks. I’m impressed that he doesn’t hesitate to share the memory with me. “I was fourteen and on holiday with my mother and sister in France. Family holidays usually consisted of the three of us visiting some exotic beach destination. My mother would spend most of it by the pool with a cocktail while Alessandra took me exploring. This particular holiday, though, we went to France for three weeks and did a lot of sightseeing. Mum didn’t spend it drinking—she spent it with us. But on one of the days we were in Paris, she was ill, so Alessandra and I spent the day on the Metro and saw many parts of the city we probably wouldn’t have if Mum had been with us. To this day, Paris is one of my favourite cities in the world. Every time I visit, I’m reminded of that day.” He leans forward and says, “Tell me one of your favourite memories. I want to know what a beautiful woman like you remembers from her childhood.”

  I take a longer sip of wine. He’s making me nervous. Because as much as he thinks he’s looking at a self-confident woman, I feel out of my depth with a man like him. A man who is so at ease in his own skin and who knows exactly what he wants and believes he will always get it. “I was nine and with my grandmother while she was visiting the Willow Street property. She liked to check in weekly with the business owners and make sure they were doing okay. If they were struggling for money or anything, she’d do her best to help them out. Anyway, it was a year after my mother had died and I was still feeling lost. I mean, my grandmother did everything she could for me, but sometimes you need someone outside your family to get you through. I don’t know if that makes sense to you, but it seems to be how some of the pivotal moments in my life transpire. So, while she was with one of the shop owners, I wandered into the newest shop there. It was a furniture store and the man who owned it, Victor, spent hours restoring the furniture before selling it. I didn’t spend that much time with him over the years, but the time we did have was some of the most important in my life. That particular day, he invited me in and showed me how to sand a wooden table. We sat there for an hour sanding and talking. It was the first time since my mother’s death I remember not feeling so lost. He didn’t know my history, so he didn’t look at me with sad eyes like everyone else in my life did. We talked about the world. He’d done a lot of travelling, and he told me stories that made me want to see the world. Victor’s the person who gave me the travel bug.”

  Ashton has been listening intently to everything I’ve said, but now he’s staring at me like he’s seen a ghost. The waitress interrupts us before I can ask him why. By the time we’ve given her our orders, he’s recovered and watches me with warm eyes rather than that haunted expression.

  “What’s the next trip you have planned?” he asks, and we lose ourselves in a long conversation about travel destinations.

  I manage to consume three-quarters of the bottle of Moscato during lunch. For a woman who doesn’t really drink, this is not good, and I can’t believe I’ve done this again in the space of a week. I’m more than tipsy—I’m on my way to being plastered. Wine goes straight to my head. When I asked Ashton to get me a Moscato, I didn’t mean a whole bottle. But my nerves got the better of me and I just kept sipping.

  The bathroom is calling and as I excuse myself and stand, Ashton eyes my wobbly state and looks at me with concern. He also stands and says, “Are you okay to get there by yourself?”

  “Absolutely,” I say as I wave him away, full of fake alcohol-induced confidence.

  The concern in his eyes doesn’t ease. “I’ll get the bill while you’re gone and then I’ll take you home.”

  “No!”

  He quirks a brow. “You don’t want to go home?”

  “I meant don’t pay the bill. I’ll pay for my share.”

  Amusement flickers across his face and he jerks his chin in the direction of the bathroom. “Go. I’ll get this one.”

  I place a hand on my hip and attempt a stern glare. “No, you won’t. I’m a woman who can pay my way.”

  The amusement on his face gives way to a full grin and oh, how I love that grin. I want to kiss that grin right off his face. Oh, shit… no, I don’t. Oh, but I do…. Damn you alcohol for making me want things I don’t want. He moves his face closer and murmurs low, “I know you’re a woman who can pay her way, but you’re also the sexiest damn woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating with and this is going to be the first of many meals I pay for.”

  When he moves his face away from mine and gives me a look that says ‘Don’t argue with me’, I do what I’ve been told. Even my addled brain can figure out it’s not worth arguing with him over this. I’m beginning to grasp that Ashton is a man who gets his way often and if we’re going to keep doing this dance together, I’ll need to choose my battles wisely.

  10

  Ashton

  I settle into the driver seat of my Aston Martin and glance at Lorelei sitting next to me. She cons
umed a lot of wine at lunch and is pretty messy now. Unfortunately, it means we’re going to have to cut this date short so I can take her home. A shame because we were finally getting somewhere. I’m hoping it wasn’t just the alcohol that loosened her up.

  She meets my gaze and smiles. “Thank you for driving me home.” Her words are a little slurred.

  “I would hardly leave you to catch public transport alone.” She informed me that while she can drive, she prefers public transport or cabs. I wouldn’t have left her here sober, let alone drunk.

  Her head lolls back against the headrest and she continues to smile. I’m fairly sure I could say anything at the moment and she’d give me that drunken smile. Lorelei is a happy drunk.

  I turn the key, but before we exit the carpark, my phone rings.

  Jack.

  “What’s up?” I ask as I answer it.

  “Assshhhton.” He’s drunk, too. I hear the sounds of a noisy pub in the background. “I need a lift. You far?”

  I lean my head back. “That depends on which pub you’re at, Jack.”

  “Oh, is it that one… No, it is that one near your office,” he says, laughing at his own mix up with his words.

  I check my watch. “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes, depending on traffic. Try to stay away from the alcohol.”

  “Yes, boss.” He’s still laughing, clearly amused at himself.

  “We have to make a slight detour,” I say to Lorelei after I end the call.

  She shrugs. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

  We drive in silence for most of the way to the pub. Lorelei seems content to stare out the window, taking in the busy Sydney streets. My mind has wandered to Jack, concerned at his mental state.

  “Who are you picking up?” Lorelei asks.

  I glance at her. She’s still watching me with that beautiful smile. “My best friend, Jack. He’s in town for a visit and by the sound of it, he’s spent a fair bit of time today at the pub.”