Holt shut down the what the fuck swirling around in his head. His cock was still too-interested in Betty Lou’s short pink skirt—not to mention the way her breasts had felt smashed against his chest, but he had bigger—real—problems to worry about.
He cursed and slammed his phone in his pocket. Then shot his business partner a glance. “Danvers is waiting for you. I’m going to see Betty Lou. She can help.”
Mick Danvers led their team of attorneys—the best money could buy. He’d probably storm right over to Wright & Sons. No doubt the guy would take this ridiculous assault personally. He’d worked for hours on the legal prep of the merger, instead of assigning it to an associate. They’d been college buddies and Mick himself usually handled most of BCI’s acquisitions—not just the big ones.
“How the hell is she going to help?” Carina snarled.
“Carina,” Holt growled. “Go.”
“You bet I will. I’ll get Danvers, since you’re too busy playing—”
He cut her off. Holt couldn’t deal with her petty jealousies at the moment. “Go to headquarters. I’ll fax you the paperwork as soon as I read it.”
Carina stomped down the hallway in her silver stilettos.
Holt hurried to his former lover’s office and slipped inside. She was already working on her computer, but looked up over her shoulder to welcome him.
He forbade his eyes from studying her breasts and staring at the portion of her creamy thigh that was bared, since she was sitting at her desk.
The efficient metal workstation was against the wall in the corner and she sat on the side closest to him. He could see more of her body than he should—considering the circumstances.
“Records. I need to see them. Can you do that?” Holt cleared his throat, and his head because one glance at the pinkness that extended over Betty Lou’s exposed collarbones and cleavage plummeted most of his brain cells down south again.
So much for christening my new desk with the woman of my dreams.
Shit had hit the fan instead.
“Already on it,” she told him. “Be with you in minute to go over everything.”
“Thanks.” Holt took a seat and got to reading the stack of paper’s whatshisface, his woman’s ex had slammed down on the desk.
Her fingers were tapping over her keyboard at fifty miles an hour. Occasionally he’d hear her printer getting a workout, and Betty Lou would grab papers and start organizing intermittently, but Holt didn’t look up from the asinine orders in his hands.
The more he read, the more his ire burned. He tugged at his collar and loosened his tie to keep his head from exploding. “This bastard.”
“I know…” Betty Lou whispered.
“He’s Wright’s son?” Holt barked. His gaze collided with Betty Lou’s gorgeous green eyes, they were as wide as saucers.
“No. He’s not.”
Holt pointed to the paperwork, read the few lines out loud, then showed it her. He stuck his finger under the offensive wording and poked hard enough to rip the sheet. “That’s what it declares here.”
“No. It just can’t be.” Betty Lou shook her head. “He…he was adopted. He never knew his birth parents.”
Her office door swung open, and Lance Burnham filled Betty Lou’s doorframe, as if they’d summoned the bastard.
“What are you still doing here?” he barked.
Holt wanted to punch the smug smirk off the asshole’s face. He stood, clutching the legal paperwork to his side, so he wouldn’t do just that.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, Betty-Betty-Lou-Lou, but I fired you. And you—” he glared at Holt, “need to get the hell off my property.”
“Listen here, you bas—”
Betty-Lou’s small hand appeared on his chest, cutting off his words. “Holt, we’ll just go,” she whispered. She looked at Lance Burnham. “I heard you just fine, let me get my things.”
“You will do no such thing. Trying to take my proprietary information, no doubt.” The asshole glanced over his shoulder, then slid out of the doorway. “Security, I need your assistance.”