Under Her Read online

  No, what I have to do is be mature about this.

  Tell them that I’m dismayed that they did this. Not pissed. Dismayed. Especially because they went about it all covertly and behind my back.

  But I’ll make sure to work with this new co-fucking-CEO asshole and be nice as pie.

  And, in reality, I’ll be looking for a way to get rid of this job-stealing asshole while proving that I’m more than capable of running the company alone. My company.

  I take a calming deep breath and place my hands, palms down, on my desk. “Well, I can’t say that I’m happy about this turn of events because I’m not. But it’s your company, and you’re free to do as you please with it. Yes, I’m your son—your only child—and heir. But you raised me right, and I’ll go along with whatever you think is best for the company.” Okay, so I’m laying it on a little thick, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, and guilt is the only card I have to play here.

  “Wilder, I know you’re thinking that we made this decision to bring someone else in because we think you can’t run the company alone. But that’s not the case.”

  “I’m not thinking that at all. I know I’m more than capable of running the company alone.” My surly words echo my thoughts.

  Okay, so my attempt to guilt trip them didn’t last very long, and that smart comment is definitely not going to help my cause, but I just couldn’t help it.

  At my tenacity, I see a small smile touch my dad’s lips, which tells me this was more my mother’s idea than his. That gives me a boost, knowing that he’s not one hundred percent on board with this, so he’ll be easier to sway when the time comes.

  “Of course you are, Wilder. But what’s made this company so successful is the male-female dynamic from your father and me.”

  “So, from that, should I take it that you’ve hired a woman?”

  “Yes. We’ve hired a female co-CEO to help you run the company. I love you, Wilder. You’re my son. You’re incredibly bright and talented. But, when it comes to women, you don’t have a clue. You don’t understand their wants and needs.”

  I’m mortally offended by this. I know women’s needs very well, but it’s not like I can vocalize this to my mom. I mean, no guy wants to share his sexual expertise with his mother.

  My brow goes up. “That’s a very sexist thing for you to say, Mom.”

  My dad smothers a laugh.

  My mom throws an annoyed glance at my dad and then looks back at me, her brows furrowed in annoyance. “I meant that you don’t understand their wants and needs when it comes to the actual items. That can only come from being a woman. And having both a male and female viewpoint helps enormously with the business we’re in. My view comes from a woman’s perspective—of actually wearing and understanding the product, the issues of materials and comfort as well as the look. Your father’s perspective is in sales and focused on branding. Together, we’ve been a formidable team. I want that for you.”

  “I’m not marrying this chick.”

  “Of course not!” My mother’s laugh tinkles around the room.

  “Your mother just wants you to have a counterbalance, Wilder,” my dad says.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”

  “Because we weren’t sure that we were going to find the right person to fit the role.”

  “And, now, you have?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just out of curiosity, what would you have done if you hadn’t found the right woman for the job?”

  My mother’s shoulders lift. “We would have crossed that bridge when we came to it.”

  I know my parents love me, but this sure does feel a lot like betrayal, and it tastes bitter as fuck.

  “We’re not doing this to hurt you, Wilder. You know we’ve only ever had your best interests at heart.”

  “Mmhmm.” I fold my arms over my chest. “And how long will I be co-CEOing for?”

  My mom’s brows draw together. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how long will I have to share my job for?”

  My parents glance at each other and then back at me.

  “Well, we’re not sure…exactly,” my mom answers.

  “So, that means, I will one day have the company to run alone?”

  My mother looks at my father again. But he’s looking at me.

  “Yes,” he says decisively. “Wilder, you know the company will be yours when your mother and I are gone. And you can do as you choose with it then.”

  “Well, I’m hoping you don’t go anytime soon, and I’d quite like to run the business solo well before then.”

  “Let’s put a pin in this for now.” My mother claps her hands together, ending the conversation.

  Put a pin in it? Jesus fucking Christ. We’re talking about my life here, and my mom wants to stick a pin in it.

  But I know that pushing the issue right now will get me nowhere. I need to tackle this again—and soon—but at this moment in time, I need to deal with the crap they’ve just dropped in my lap.

  “So, when do I get to meet this mystery woman?” Who’s stealing half of my company.

  Okay, she’s not actually stealing it, but she’s definitely stealing half of my job.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” I echo.

  “Yes, she’s coming in first thing tomorrow morning to meet with you. And then, afterward, in the weekly meeting, we’ll formally announce her new role along with your step up as co-CEOs.”

  Co-CEO. The word makes me want to vomit.

  If I didn’t love my parents, I would legit strangle them right now. With my bare hands.

  A day. I’ve got a motherfucking day to get my head around this…this curveball that they’ve thrown at me.

  “I know you’re worried about this, Wilder, but Morgan is great, and you do actually already know her,” my mom says.

  That brings my head up. “I know her?”

  Please God don’t let it be someone I slept with. Not that I do much sleeping with the women I have sex with. I’m not one to hang around after the deed is done.

  “Morgan told us that you went to Northwestern together,” my dad says.

  Morgan. Northwestern. Went together.

  This isn’t sounding good.

  And knowing my fuck rate at Northwestern, my odds of not having screwed this chick are diminishing by the second.

  I swallow past the dryness in my throat. “What’s her surname?”

  “Stickford,” Mom says. “Morgan Stickford.”

  Ah, hell.

  Morgan Stick-Up-Her-Ass-Ford.

  Relief and dismay sweep through me in equal measure.

  Relief because I definitely didn’t sleep with her in college.

  Dismay because she hated me in college.

  Which was a shame because she was a pretty thing. Well, her face was, which was always on show—as her hair was habitually tied back into a ponytail—unlike her body, which was always covered up with ugly-ass big sweaters.

  And she was so damn serious all the time. Hence the nickname Stick-Up-Her-Ass-Ford.

  She never went to parties. She spent all her time either in the library or with her nose stuck up the professors’ asses.

  I never once heard of her socializing or saw her with any friends. She was a stuck-up bitch who thought that she was better than everyone else. Me included.

  Morgan Stickford took an instant dislike to me from the word go without even bothering to get to know me.

  She came to the conclusion that I was an overprivileged, womanizing man-whore.

  Okay, so I did have certain privileges growing up because of my parents’ success, and, yes, I had a job to walk straight into out of college, but believe me, my parents made me work for it. Nothing has ever been handed to me. I’ve earned everything I have.

  And, sure, I liked ass. I still do. But, back then, I was young and horny. Hot college girls were everywhere, and I made sure to screw almost all of them.

  Except for he
r.

  Because she took one look at me and thought she had me pegged. When, in actuality, she knew fuck all about me.

  Did it annoy the shit out of me? Sure, it did. But I wasn’t going to lose sleep over a stuck-up bitch who went around and made snap judgments about people she barely knew.

  But then that was nine years ago. A lot can change in nine years. Maybe Morgan Stickford has changed.

  Well, I hope to fuck she has because, for the short-term—until I get rid of her—I’m stuck with sharing my company with her.

  Even though I had a shitload of work to get through today, I couldn’t focus on anything after the nuclear bomb my parents had dropped on me.

  So, I did what every other person in my position would do.

  I stalked Morgan online.

  I might have known her back in college—not that I really knew her that well—but I definitely don’t know Morgan now.

  I don’t know what she’s been up to in the last nine years. Or if she’s still a massive bitch.

  And do you know what I got for spending my day researching her?

  Fuck. All.

  She doesn’t have a Twitter or Instagram account. She does have a Facebook account—well, if it’s hers. I could only find one account for a Morgan Stickford in Chicago. But that was locked down tight—just like her legs had been in college—so I figured it had to be her.

  After my unsuccessful Morgan stalking, I sent the boys an SOS text and asked them to meet me at Doyle’s. It’s an Irish pub that’s popular with the after-work crowd. I like it there. The feel is laid-back, and the food is great. Not that I feel like eating. But drinking? I definitely feel like drinking. That shows how stressed I am. I rarely drink during the week.

  I push through the door into Doyle’s. I see Cooper’s already here, sitting at the bar, sipping on a beer.

  Coop is my oldest friend. Even though I’m tight with Dom, Coop is my best friend. I’ve known him since high school. Went to Northwestern with me, which is where we met Dom. But Coop hadn’t needed to go to college. He’s richer than I am. I’m pretty sure he’s richer than God. He comes from old money.

  I’m sure you’ve heard of Delaney’s. The big-ass supermarket chain.

  Coop is the heir to Delaney’s. His great-grandpa started the business way back when, which he passed on to Coop’s grandpa. Coop’s mom was Grandpa Delaney’s only kid. And all she did was spend Grandpa Delaney’s money and get knocked up by Coop’s dad. Weird thing is, no one knows who Coop’s dad is. His mom has never said. To this day, Coop still doesn’t know. His mom’s a selfish bitch. She was hardly there while Coop was growing up; she was too busy traveling the world and finding the next man to marry. She’s been married eight times. I shit you not.

  Grandpa Delaney raised Coop. Sadly, he died of lung cancer when Coop was sixteen. Coop didn’t take it well. He took it even worse when he found out that Grandpa Delaney had left him everything. He was sixteen and clueless. So, a CEO was brought in to run the company until Coop was ready to step into his rightful place.

  He never has.

  After he graduated college, he just bummed around for a bit. He still kind of does. He spends his days sleeping and his nights partying and screwing beautiful woman and getting his name in the gossip columns on a regular basis.

  I think he’s capable of so much more. No, I know he’s capable of more. But I don’t push the issue. He’s my best friend, and it’s his decision how he chooses to run his life.

  Unlike me. Apparently, I have no fucking say in what happens in my life.

  “Hey, man.” I pat Coop on the back, taking the stool next to him.

  “Hey. Your usual?” he asks me.

  “Yep.”

  He signals to the bartender and orders me a Corona.

  “So, what’s up?” he asks.

  “Everything.” My life. Morgan goddamn Stick-Up-Her-Ass-Ford.

  I drag my hands down my face and let out a groan.

  “That bad?”

  “Worse,” I tell him.

  The bartender puts my beer in front of me. I pick it up and down half of the bottle before putting it back down.

  “Better?” Coop asks.

  “Nope.” I slide a look at him. “Mom and Dad went behind my back and hired someone to come and work with me. A ‘co-CEO.’” I air-quote.

  “Shit. You’re kidding.”

  “Wish I were.” I sigh. “And it gets worse. The person they’ve hired to share my job with me is Morgan Stickford.”

  “Morgan Stickford…” Coop’s brows draw together in thought.

  “We went to Northwestern with her,” I say. “She always used to sit in the front row. Wore those baggy-ass sweaters all the time. I used to call her Morgan Stick-Up-Her-Ass-Ford.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Coop clicks his fingers in recognition. “Curvy. Blonde hair.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Fuck…she hated your guts in college, man.” Coop laughs as he picks up his beer and takes a drink. “Why was that?”

  “I guess she thought I was a rich prick.”

  “You are. But so am I. And she didn’t hate me.”

  “Who didn’t hate you?” Dom drops into the stool next to Coop.

  “Morgan Stickford,” Coop tells him. “You remember her from Northwestern?”

  “God, yeah. Haven’t heard that name in a while though. I used to work shifts with her at Starbucks.”

  Unlike Coop and me, Dom’s family wasn’t rich. He was at Northwestern on a scholarship. But he created this dating app after he graduated, and it went big. Really big.

  “Did you?” I say to Dom. “How did I not know that?”

  Dom shrugs. “She was a nice girl. Didn’t like you though, if I remember right.”

  “She hated his guts,” Coop clarifies.

  “Thanks for the reminder.” I grimace at him.

  “I’ll have a draft beer,” Dom tells the bartender, who just approached. “Why are we talking about Morgan Stickford anyway?” he asks.

  “Because Wild’s mom and dad just hired her to be the CEO at his company.”

  “What?” Dom’s head swivels to me. “I thought you were getting the job.”

  “I am. They are bringing her in as co-CEO. Apparently, they think I need a woman’s perspective to help me run the company, which is just fucking bullshit and a massive fucking insult.”

  “Feel for you, man.” Dom pats my shoulder and then picks up the beer the bartender just put in front of him.

  “What are you gonna do?” Coop asks me.

  “Not much I can do.” I shrug. “Morgan’s coming in tomorrow, and the announcement will be made to the rest of the staff. Then, I have to share my company with her.”

  God, I fucking hate my life right now.

  And I know hate is a very strong word, so I won’t use it in reference to my parents, but I will say that I seriously, intensely do not like them right now.

  “And that’s it?” Dom says. “You’re just gonna sit back and accept it.”

  Coop laughs. “Come on, this is Wilder we’re talking about. No fucking way will he just roll over and take this. At least, not without a fight.”

  “Oh, I intend to fight all right.” And I’ll fight as dirty as I need to. But I need to get my battle plan together, and I can’t do that until I meet with Morgan tomorrow and know what her deal is. “But, right now, I’m gonna have a drink with my buddies and maybe shoot some pool later. Who’s with me?”

  “Always with you, man,” Coop says. “But I think we need something stronger than beer for this.” He signals the bartender. “Three shots of Jägermeister,” he tells him.

  “No shots,” I tell Coop. “I’ve got work in the morning.”

  I can’t be hungover when I meet Morgan. Especially not when I have to stand there during the big announcement of her new role in the company.

  The thought alone makes me want to puke all over this bar.

  “I don’t want a shot. I’ve got an early meeting
tomorrow,” Dom tells Coop.

  “Stop being pussies, the pair of you. Just one shot won’t kill you.”

  “Fine.” I sigh. “One shot, and that’s it.”

  “Sure thing, man.” Coop grins.

  The bartender pours out our drinks. “Enjoy.”

  Coop picks up a glass and holds it out to us. “Let’s toast.”

  “What the fuck do I have to toast about? How I just lost half of my company?”

  “You didn’t lose half of your company, dickface.” Coop chuckles. “Morgan’s just taking half of your job.”

  “Oh, well, that’s okay then,” I deadpan.

  “Why don’t we toast to Wilder finding a way to get rid of Morgan and get his job back?” Dom says.

  “He hasn’t lost his job though. And wouldn’t that be more of a wish?”

  “Are you two for real right now?” I stare at them both. “No toasts. And no fucking wishes. Let’s just drink, so I can try to forget about this shitty day and the even shittier day that I’m going to have tomorrow.” When Morgan Stickford comes into my office and invades it.

  And, with that horrendous thought in mind, I pick up my shot and throw it back.

  Jesus Christ.

  My head is pounding.

  And what the fuck is that noise?

  Is that drilling outside?

  I live on the twenty-first floor, and my windows don’t open.

  How the fuck can I hear drilling?

  I lick my dry lips. My mouth feels as dusty as Morgan Stickford’s pussy probably was in college.

  Shit. Morgan. She’s coming in this morning.

  What time is it?

  I blindly fumble around for my phone on my nightstand. Only there’s an empty space where my nightstand usually is.

  I get a sinking feeling right at the same time as I hear a soft groan come from beside me.

  Rubbing my eyes before opening them to the muted light in the room, I turn my head, and on the pillow next to me is a mass of long brown hair with a face hidden beneath.

  Where the hell am I?

  Definitely not a hotel room. There are a selection of bras and panties hanging on the radiator, drying.

  Clearly, I got wasted and ended up back at this chick’s place.