When You Are Mine by Kennedy Ryan Page B

Part of the stratagem he employed to negotiate their relational minefield.
    “I think Merrist was a family-owned operation. Medium-size logistics firm based in Burlington, New Jersey.” Walsh lifted his Charvet tie to study the medallion pattern. “Recently went public. Established a Chicago branch about a year ago, which hemorrhaged profit. Now they find themselves with little cash flow. In addition to carrying some hefty debts they took on to open the new plant. Am I close?”
    “So you are familiar.” His father smiled, the closest thing to pride Walsh ever got to see in his eyes. “I want that company.”
    “And you want me on the team?”
    “You are the team.” Martin held his son’s eyes captive for an extra moment before turning to survey the city skyline. “Can you handle it?”
    “Of course I can handle it.” Walsh made sure he didn’t sound defensive or, worse, eager. “I’ve just never taken the lead on an acquisition before.”
    “Neither had I until I did it the first time.” Martin challenged Walsh with his best alpha male look over his shoulder. “It’s like sex. Grab your dick and figure it out.”
    “I’ll be fine.” Walsh stood, not giving his father the chance to dismiss him. “I’ll have Claire send me any pertinent information we already have.”
    “Of course, you’ll need to spend more time here, and less time in North Carolina.” His father picked up that damn hourglass again, his face in its usual hard lines, but his eyes alert and careful on Walsh.
    “Of course.” Ah, the end game. Always control and manipulation. “The summer will be over soon anyway.”
    “You can’t wait until the summer’s over to pursue this.” Out of his father’s face, Walsh’s own eyes stared back at him with iron in the irises. “I need you on this now.”
    “I said I’ve got it.” Walsh stiffened his back and calcified his tone. Martin Bennett only understood aggression; he only respected the kind of mental brawn he employed himself.
    “You’ll need an assistant.”
    “I’ll ask Claire for recommendations.”
    “I’ve already selected someone.” Martin turned to face Walsh wearing a younger man’s wolfish grin. “Trisha McAvery.”
    “Hmmpph.” Walsh grunted, refusing to blink, trying to decipher what his father was up to. “Okay, Trisha should be fine.”
    “That’s a mild response. Most healthy, red-blooded males would jump at the chance to work with a woman who looks like Trisha.”
    “I hope that most healthy, red-blooded males would appreciate how highly unprofessional a relationship with an employee would be.” Walsh’s voice was a stone wall he dared his father to scale.
    “Who said anything about a relationship?” Martin laughed like a rogue.
    “Not interested.” Walsh strode to the door, eager to get out of his father’s presence. His soul needed a shower.
    “You and Sofie practicing a little premarital monogamy?”
    Walsh turned back toward his father, his hand on the door.
    “Dad, I’m not marrying Sofie.”
    “Of course you are.” Martin cut his hand through the air, a dismissal. “Everyone knows that.”
    “I don’t know it.”
    “Sofie believes it.”
    “Sofie can believe in the tooth fairy and Santa Claus.” Walsh sifted grit into his words. “I’m still not marrying her.”
    “You can’t marry just anyone. One day Bennett will be yours, and you need the right kind of woman on your arm when you walk through certain doors.”
    “Maybe I’ll wait for someone I love.” Walsh faced his father fully now, matching his aggressive stance.
    “Love,” his father said, somewhere between a laugh and a hiss.
    “Yeah, Dad, some people marry for it. You wouldn’t know about that, though, would you?”
    Anger made reptilian slits of his father’s eyes.
    “You don’t think I loved your mother?”
    “I think you broke my mother’s heart.” Walsh snapped the words before firming his mouth and smoothing the scowl from his face. “I think