WELL, THAT WAS A FIRST.
What was it about Yve Santos that made me absolutely insane? The challenge? Her sassy mouth? The way she practically vibrated with disdain for me?
God, I must have been some serious kind of twisted because whatever it was, I wanted more of it.
I waited outside a few minutes, to let my body calm the hell down, before I went back into the bank for the board meeting. James Richards, the loan officer I’d taken to task in front of Yve, scurried up to me.
“Mr. Titan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that Ms. Santos was a friend of yours.”
“What was she here for?” I asked.
His eyes widened with shock. “But, sir, you said that I shouldn’t—”
“Answer the damn question if you want to keep your job,” I ordered.
“Well, she wanted a loan to buy the business she currently manages. I believe it’s called Dirty . . . something.”
“Dirty Dog.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“And you turned her down.” It wasn’t a surprise. The bank turned down a high percentage of applications, especially for risky small businesses.
“Yes, sir.”
“How much?”
His eyebrows shot up. “I shouldn’t—”
“How much?” I repeated.
He rattled off a number, and I nodded. “Now, go learn how to keep your clients’ information confidential.”
“But, sir?”
I walked away.
So Yve wanted to buy Dirty Dog. Interesting. From everything Levi had rambled on and on about his boss, she ran the business independently for an absentee owner, and by his estimation, it was a profitable business. Levi actually knew more about business than one would think, given that he’d soaked it up hanging around me. I rarely talked of anything else, despite his constant protest when he was a kid.
Now I had to wonder—what would Yve do next? How determined was she?
With anyone else, I would have taken the information and filed it away to be employed at a useful time, but with Yve, my curiosity was piqued to a ridiculous degree. Also, with anyone else, I would have relayed my orders to Colson to find out what was going on, but I still remembered the way he’d looked at her in the kitchen of the gym. He wanted her.
Possessive instincts flooded me once more. She wasn’t for him. Which meant I’d handle this matter personally.
And the thought of the gym gave me my next source of information. I was due to pay Con a visit to see how he was spending the cool mil I’d dropped on that boxing lesson. I’d decided to consider myself a patron of the place, which would piss him off to no end. But if he was willing to bargain, I’d be willing to pay for more information about Yve.
Might seem shady to some, but I was a man who got what I wanted, and damn the means.
Decision made, I flipped open my board packet and settled in to listen to the meeting.
Two hours later I was pulling into the parking lot of the gym. It was probably a crapshoot as to whether my car would still be here when I came out, but considering Con’s Harley and Lord’s ’Cuda were parked there and unharmed, I took the chance.
But then again, people in this neighborhood actually liked them. I was persona non grata, even before the boxing lesson. But what Con didn’t know was that he no longer had to worry about me trying to steal his woman; my interests had moved firmly elsewhere.
I knocked on the heavy steel door and pressed the buzzer. A solid two minutes later, the center plate in the door slid open and Reggie’s dark brown eyes peered out.
“Whatcha want?”
“To talk to your other coaches.”
“They’re busy.”
“I’ll wait.”
He slammed the metal plate home, and I wondered if I’d be waiting in my car. But Reggie apparently decided that I passed muster because the door swung open.
“You can help Vanessa and Elle in the kitchen while the boys finish up. Don’t need no flashy distractions. Or cheap shots.”
I looked down at my three-piece Armani suit. Was the old man insane? No, I’m the crazy one because I’m here looking for answers. But my need to know kept growing. I’d get what I came for and get the hell out.
I started toward the kitchen, but Reggie stopped me with a hand on my arm. “You try anything with Ms. Vanessa, and Con’ll rip your dick off.”
“Duly noted.”
“Better be.”
He continued down the hall, and I turned into the kitchen doorway. Vanessa Frost and Elle Snyder stood near a prep table covered with paper sacks, loaves of bread, peanut butter, jelly, apples, pudding cups, granola bars, and a mess of other stuff.
“Ladies.”
Both their heads shot up at my greeting.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Elle demanded without preamble.