Chapter 2

Mo

"That's a terrible idea."

I paste a smile on my face as Steven Andrews, the newest prick at MacNeil Incorporated, shoots down yet another one of my ideas. We are in the main boardroom, half of our team filling the leather seats surrounding the conference table while the rest of them have joined online from our Toronto office.

Steven rambles on, listing all the reasons why our company is better suited to Canadian markets rather American ones. I listen half-heartedly, too amused by Steven's surface-level answers and ill-fitted suit to consider his opposition as any sort of threat.

"…not to mention, we have no idea how to cater to Americans. The investment to do a consumer analysis alone would outweigh any profit we could hope to achieve for at least five to ten years."

He adjusts the red tie hanging from his cheap black suit as if the colour might distract from the fact he's put on at least ten pounds since our last meeting.

It doesn't.

Steven finally sits down, and I let his idiotic words sink in before rising from my own chair. I feel my father's gaze as I walk to the front of the room, but I don't glance in his direction as I plug in my laptop and pull up my presentation.

My father may own the company, but I had to work my way up the corporate ladder like everyone else. Doing physical labour for six months was not the most productive use of my time, but I am grateful for the insight it gave me into our operations and what opportunities lie within them.

Steven, on the other hand, was brought in as a Strategic Development Manager two years ago, and besides challenging my every decision, has yet to make any sort of impact.

Hence why he always leaves these meetings looking like a fool.

"Thank you for your insight, Steven. As you pointed out, there are many risks associated with an international expansion, especially one where we do not know the consumers well." I pause, sweeping my gaze around the room, making eye contact with every team member present.

"However, I took it upon myself to connect with American companies who align with our consumers and products. From there, I reached out to numerous market specialists who walked me through the best strategies in approaching new markets."

I switch my slide with a click of a button, pulling up the data I spent the last two months accumulating.

"Here are the estimates of the net profit these companies are currently making as well as the percentage of consumers that relay back to our own criteria. The state of California alone has a larger population than Canada does as a nation, meaning even if we sold half of what we do here, it would be substantial to anything we could make in Canada."

In my peripheral, I see my father studying the numbers closely.

"But Steven is right, a complete market analysis is a costly investment." I turn and nod at Steven, who smirks back at me. I maintain eye contact, not wanting to miss his reaction.

"So, I ran a rough cost analysis, using our lowest sales month as a predictor for how the market analysis would affect our bottom line." I flick the screen again, not bothering to look at the numbers I memorized last night.

Murmurs go around the room as the numbers pop up on the screen.

"Less than ten percent. On the assumption that we get minimal sales for the first month of our expansion and that our Canadian sector plummets, our bottom line would drop less than ten percent."

Steven's face starts to turn an ugly shade of beetroot as I continue to explain the metrics of offsetting the costs and finish my presentation with a sales forecast on what MacNeil Incorporated could achieve with the expansion.

The room falls silent as I walk back to my seat, everyone's eyes glued to the number of zeros projected on the screen. There's a glint in my father's eye as he stands up, quickly capturing everyone's attention.

"That settles it. Maria, start recruiting candidates for the market analysis, I want some on both sides of the border. Maurice, forward these numbers to Stuart so he can run more tests and lock down realistic predictions. Any questions about the expansion can be sent to Maurice. Meeting adjourned."

Everyone stands up and starts to file out, my co-workers giving me warm smiles as they walk by. Steven sneers as he passes me, his flushed skin tone a perfect match for his hideous tie. I can barely hold back my smirk as he leaves the room.

"You know he does it on purpose."

My father pushes back from his chair and stands up, his strong build showing no signs of weight gain over the years.

"I know. He can't stand the fact I work for my father." I pull my shoulders back as Jonathan approaches, his height a couple inches shorter than mine but not any less intimidating.

"That's why I made sure you earned every position you worked in." Cold blue eyes sweep down my body, looking for an imperfection to critique.

A nod of approval tells me he found none.

"It's good for you to have challenging co-workers. Helps keep you sharp."

"I swear you only keep Steven around to antagonize me."

"I do enjoy your little showdowns, I'll admit." There's a hint of a smile, but it does nothing to soften the coldness in his eyes, "Though it really is for your own benefit. If you don't push yourself-

"You don't change yourself. I know, Jonathan." I cut him off, the motivational pep talks long since ingrained in me.

"Good. Don't forget to send Stuart those numbers." My father turns and heads for the door.

"Oh, and Maurice? Make your intro more concise next time. It felt sloppy."

I grit my teeth as the door swings shut behind him.

"Do you have to leave? Who else is going to carry the team?" Corey, the co-worker I tolerate the most, follows me into the elevator.

"It's only for two weeks. Then I'll be virtual for the next six months. Back in the office by February."

"But who is going to destroy Steven while you're away?"

I chuckle, "You'll have to carry on the tradition for me."

He groans, "Not the same. No one puts that man in his place like you do."

"As long as you do the proper research and collect legitimate data, you'll do just fine."

The elevator dings and we head for the parking garage. Corey sighs, running a hand through his dark hair, "You"re kind of a dick ninety percent of the time but I'll miss you."

"Wish I could say the same."

He laughs, "Ouch."

Our steps echo off the pavement as we walk towards our cars, our respective rides side-by-side. I don't consider my co-workers my friends, the fact that their pay checks come from my father is reason enough, but if I were to have a favourite, it would be Corey.

"I will miss watching you try and park every morning." Amusement seeps into my voice as I look at the tiny Honda Civic parked next to my black Cadillac.

"I genuinely don't know how you drive that behemoth. My parking anxiety is bad enough in a car." He shakes his head, stealing a sideways glance at me, "Are you excited about the transition? Most people would say taking time off to be an assistant coach is a step backward career-wise."

I shrug, "It's only temporary and I felt like a change in scenery."

"Couldn't be me. A small town in Southern Alberta sounds way too limiting, never mind a small university town."

"Taber University has its charms. I'll get to see my sister and catch up with some old friends while I'm there."

"Like I said, couldn't be me. Bring me back some corn though, eh?" Corey laughs and slaps me on the back, "Guess I'll see you around, Mo. Take care of yourself."

I smile, "You too."

Corey climbs into his car and I give him one last wave before climbing into mine. As I pull out of my father's office building, I take my first breath of fresh air.

Freedom at last.

Nico

"He's probably uglier than I remember."

Wes is helping me set up the lacrosse nets as we prepare for the first practice of the season. We"re officially sophomores, but the 5AM wake-up call still hurts like a bitch.

"I thought we agreed never to speak of Devon again."

Wes lets out a curse as his side of the net falls to the ground. I wander over to give him a hand.

"Oh God, not that man. I'm talking about Mighty Mo." I roll my eyes at the nickname, one that Wes has fangirled over more than once.

The guy was an outstanding forward player. We get it.

Wes grins, "He's big and a douche. Totally your type."

Well, then.

"I don't go for douchebags. Look at Devon."

We both groan at the name, one that resulted in the local grocery store selling out of their floss section.

"Face it, Nico. If there's alcohol in your system, everyone is your type."

He's not wrong. Beer goggles are a beautiful thing.

I sigh, "You're right. Let's go check out the new recruits."

A group has formed by the benches lining the field, the tired faces and nervous energy giving away the rookies immediately. Crazy to think that was Wes and me a year ago.

"Welcome to the first practice of the season!" Hyping up the early risers, I let out a whoop of excitement as Wes introduces the newest members.

"André and Preston will be supporting our defensive line this year and Millard will be supporting the forwards." The two defensive men grin at each other while the new forward shuffles his feet nervously.

"Welcome to the Tigers, boys."

One of our teammates steps forward and I do a double take, "Holy shit, Hunter, did you cut your hair?"

Hunter grins, running his hand along his buzz cut, "The new Mrs. didn't like my flow, so I had to change it up."

Thank God someone told him to cut off that mop. It had started giving me nightmares by the end of last semester.

"Looking good, man." Wes nods before turning back to the rest of the team, "Our assistant coach hasn't arrived yet, but why don't we start warm up. Five laps around the field… and go!"

We all take off, the rookies making a point to sprint ahead of everyone else.

"Should we tell them we're doing sprints in today's practice?"

Wes laughs, his easy gait keeping pace with mine, "Nah. Let them burn off some nervous energy. Going too hard during warm-up can be their first lesson."

I grin, "Someone's already feeling his captain status."

"You know it."

We finish our last lap just as someone walks onto the lacrosse field. The rookies already look winded by the time they grab their water bottles and the rest of the team forms a huddle around the newcomer.

"Mo must have arrived." Wes shoots me a look, "Best behaviour, Nico."

"I'm always on my best behaviour."

He gives me a pointed look, "It's too early to seduce him, okay? Save that for later."

Please. Without my trusty beer goggles, I am sure this man is nowhere above…

Holy shit.

Perfectly styled brown hair, piercing blue eyes, broad shoulders, and a body that Greek Gods would envy hits me as I eye-fuck the shit out of our new assistant coach. His athletic t-shirt is thin enough to show muscles that go on for days, and a quick glance at his legs tells me this man believes in equal proportions.

I wonder if all of him is equal proportion.

My mouth starts to water as those pale blue eyes lock on mine. Any thought of fooling around immediately vanishes when I see the distaste shining back at me.

Damn it, Wes was right. I do like douchebags.

Tamping down my lust, I give him a big grin and swagger over to where he's standing. Wes is already explaining today's practice when I slide up next to the man I would happily call Zeus in or out of the bedroom.

"Was your ride in okay?" I'm trying to be civil while I drool over his side profile, but the gorgeous man doesn't spare me a glance.

"It was fine. You guys started practice early."

"We started five minutes early. Wes and I were here fifteen before that."

Mo turns towards me, his expression carefully neutral, "I would have been here sooner, but you failed to inform me that practices are half an hour earlier this year."

My grin grows wider, "Did I? Must have slipped my mind."

"I don't appreciate being undermined, Montez. Especially by a captain who thinks it's appropriate to hit on his teammates."

I blink, momentarily speechless by the fact he not only remembered my promiscuous advances but also my name.

I must have been drunker than I remember.

"Babe, I meant no harm by the service comment. Just wanted to test the waters."

He visibly stiffens at my use of the endearment and I can"t help but smirk. It's just too easy.

"Don't ever call me that again. Moving forward, I expect professionalism from you and your co-captain, or I will figure out a way to get you both removed from this team."

"Don't worry about me, Coach. Your attitude and overall presence on this lacrosse field has taken you from a ten to a seven, and I'm not one to go for sevens." I throw him a wink, "As long as that unflattering scowl is on your face, rest assured I won't approach you for anything other than lacrosse drills."

I turn and walk away feeling his glare on my back the entire time.

Feels like a victory to me.