J. Margot Critch - Boardroom Sins

Dedication To my badass older sister, Claudette. Thank you for teaching me to know my worth, how to take no crap, and to live my life how I see fit. I know you’ve always loved me, even though I was SUCH A PEST, and you threatened to hang me up by my ankles more than once. I’m sorry I laughed when you said The Purge could happen. I think you might have been right. I love you, Sissy! To Taryn Leigh Taylor, my Blaze Babe and Dare Darling. Thank you for the rant sessions and the encouragement. You’re an amazing sounding board, colleague, confidant and friend. We got this! To Johanna, Kathleen and the rest of the editorial team at Mills & Boon. This book was a challenge, and yet you all stood by me and helped me piece it together. Thank you for the support, guidance and patience. I couldn’t do this without you. I’m blessed to have such wonderful, dedicated people on my team.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

BRETT COLLINS WAS BORED.

He looked past his circle of friends as they talked among themselves, barely hearing what they were discussing, and he scanned the large room. He’d grown up in rooms like this, attending parties like this. As the only son of one of the most influential businessmen in Las Vegas, he’d gotten to know all the players at a young age. But as he sipped his glass of soda water, he almost sighed out loud. The same faces, the same discussions, the same deals.

He was restless. He wanted— needed —a challenge. Something new.

Collins/Fischer—the real estate development company he’d started with his friend Alex, the linchpin of their other operations—had seen great success in the past years, and they’d maintained a comfortable spot near the top. But he wanted more. He wanted to be number one. And as he looked across the room for inspiration, a sign of what would be next for him, he found nothing.

Inherently, Brett hated schmoozing parties, preferring instead to meet with people in a less manufactured setting. But they did serve their purpose: talking to people, finding out the local gossip—who had been fired, who had been hired, who’d signed what deals, who was under indictment, who was sleeping with whom. And that was why he and The Brotherhood—his closest friends and business partners since college—had gone to Mayor Thompson’s party. To look for their next opportunity to strike, to make another splash on the local scene. At only thirty, they’d all done quite well for themselves, and while many in the room hated and feared them, were jealous of and intimidated by the business acumen of the group, they all still wanted a piece of them. Everyone in the room would benefit from a close relationship with the members of The Brotherhood.

There was Alex, his business partner in real estate; Gabe, one of the top lawyers in the city; Rafael, a Las Vegas city councillor; and Alana, the only woman in their circle, who was a talented interior designer, but she’d become the manager of the group’s restaurants and exclusive club. Together they made up The Brotherhood—and together they planned to use their expertise and influence to run the city.

Needless to say, they weren’t at the party for social purposes. They’d secured for themselves a quiet corner of the room, near the bar, to establish their game plan for the evening. Whom they each needed to talk to, what they hoped to accomplish and just when the hell they could get out of there. But Brett couldn’t manage to focus his tired mind. He’d had a rough couple of weeks, workwise, and it was all thanks to Rebecca Daniels, the devastatingly sexy CEO of Daniels International, a rival real estate development firm. She was a major threat currently, but he and Rebecca also had a fiery past.

Brett turned back to his friends and took another drink from his glass. The soda water, infused with lime and basil, was refreshing but didn’t improve his mood. His friends were listing the important people they wanted to approach and make connections with, but Brett could find no one in attendance whom he was interested in seeing. He couldn’t deal with another stuffed shirt or old cohort of his father’s coming up to him and asking about the elder Collins, instead of expressing interest in Brett’s endeavors. Brett loved and respected his father, but even in his years of running his own successful empire, he’d found it difficult to blaze his own trail in the shadow of Garrett Collins, one of the city’s most influential men.

“Did you see that the Heinrich brothers are here tonight?” Alana asked the group, gesturing to two men in the center of the room. “I might have to go introduce myself. They’re visiting from Sweden, looking to open a new hotel on the Strip, and I heard they may be looking for a design collaborator,” she said, turning on her most seductive smile, sauntering away and raising her hand in greeting.

“And Mayor Thompson is finally free,” Rafael said. “I’d better go put in an appearance, seeing as I’m trying to secure his endorsement before I announce I’m running for mayor.” He stepped away, as well.

Alex leaned in. “Brett, the guy from Permits is here and we need to talk to him. See if we can’t grease the wheels and get the paperwork quickly approved for the new subdivision.”

Brett nodded without much interest.

Alex didn’t miss it. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just tired, I guess. I haven’t slept much this week. This messing around with Daniels International is starting to get to me.” It all started a few months ago when the other company had outmaneuvered Brett and Alex in scooping up and securing a huge deal out from under them, costing Collins/Fischer a small fortune. Brett and Alex had responded by buying out one of Daniels’s key suppliers and raising the prices. He could only imagine the scrambling that had gone on at DI that day. But then Rebecca had countered by poaching one of their VPs and giving him a place at Daniels International. Escalation had been quick, vicious, and he’d racked his brain trying to figure out his next step. But it had to be big. Nobody screwed with Collins/Fischer. Brett had to end the feud, and quick.

“You have to put it aside,” Alex told him. “We shouldn’t let this escalate too much. We need to focus on our own work and not worry about Rebecca Daniels or Daniels International.” Brett opened his mouth to speak, but Alex plowed over him. “I know you guys have history. But focus. What’s important now is our own success, not revenge.”

“Whatever history I may or may not have with Rebecca Daniels has nothing to do with the business.”

“You’ve been working day and night for the past couple of months. Why don’t you go on home? Get some sleep, go to the club and get laid, watch TV, whatever. I can handle things here. I’ll talk to the permits guy.”

Sex and sleep—hell, even crashing in front of the television—definitely sounded better than smooth talking anyone in attendance at the party, but he couldn’t make himself leave and take a night off. If he wasn’t working, or thinking about work, it felt like he was wasting his time. Work provided the necessary distraction from his thoughts and darker urges. “I know you can handle it. But you know me. I don’t do well with downtime,” Brett returned, grimacing. Downtime led to boredom, and boredom led to cravings. He sipped his water again.