The Clash of Yesterday Read online

  I flush because Tim Carson owns the ad agency, and he’s a legend in this business. He’s the type who sits in an ivory tower and is rarely seen. I’m surprised he even knows me because even though I’m up high in the ranks of his ad execs, I’m sure we’re still far below his notice.

  “Please, call me Eliana,” I say warmly, crossing the distance to meet him for a handshake. “And thank you for the opportunity to allow us to pitch a campaign for One Bean. I had not realized Byrne Enterprises had moved into the coffee industry, but what better place than Seattle, right?”

  He chuckles as he moves over to the conference table, motioning me that way. “Well, this is a business I’ve invested in as a silent partner. It’s owned and run by my colleague, Finley Porter, but I’m helping with the marketing portion. She’d be here today, but it’s her birthday so I’m going solo. And… you can call me Carrick.”

  I nod, my smile showing how genuinely impressed I am he’d do that for a small business he’d invested in. I had researched One Bean thoroughly for the past two weeks while making this campaign, and it’s a small, independently owned coffee shop that’s been around for about three decades. It recently changed ownership from the founder to Finley Porter, a young woman who had been the manager there. I’m not quite sure how she got Carrick Byrne to come on as a silent partner, but I hope she knows how lucky she is to have a man of his power in her corner. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s grooming this little business to become a franchise, and that’s sort of where I went with my pitch.

  “I just need about two minutes to get set up,” I say as I pull my laptop out of my bag.

  “Take your time,” Carrick says. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Water would be great,” I say as I use my own HDMI cable to hook my laptop up to the SmartBoard, which has already been turned on.

  I wonder if Ronan did a presentation like this and immediately admonish myself for even wasting brain space thinking about him.

  By the time I have my PowerPoint presentation on the board and ready to go, along with a glossy printed portfolio of my presentation to hand to Carrick, he’s back at the table with a chilled bottle of water for me and a cup of coffee for himself.

  Settling down into the end chair that faces the SmartBoard, he says, “I’m ready to be wowed.”

  “I’m ready to wow,” I assure him, and I launch into my pitch.

  For fifteen minutes, I go through my presentation, which includes the background research I’d done on One Bean and research about the coffee shop industry, not only nationwide but locally here in Seattle.

  I took the gamble that a man such as Carrick Byrne would be thinking nationally, so my pitch focused on an ad campaign that could easily translate into future franchises across the United States. That meant I leaned away from the stereotypical Seattleite coffee drinker, a regional type of paying customer, and focused my ads on drawing in the average American coffee drinker.

  The Starbucks types who were looking for a similar alternative.

  I lay out the print campaign ideas, as well as radio and TV options. It was more than what was asked for, and I acknowledged that to Carrick, but I wanted him to be able to take this campaign and stretch it past the boundaries of Seattle if he wanted. I hoped my expansive thinking would put me over the top, as the campaigns I always win the bid on are done in the same fashion. Business owners appreciate the think-outside-the-box type of ideas.

  When I finish, I take my bottle of water, allowing myself a tiny sip before I finish with, “Now… tell me what questions you might have.”

  In deep contemplation, Carrick sits in his chair, fingers steepled before his face as he stares at the last slide I’d left up… an artist’s rendition of a franchised One Bean in middle-America suburbia.

  Lowering his hands, he gives me an appreciative smile before standing from his chair. “That was a very impressive pitch, Eliana.”

  “Thank you,” I beam back.

  “But it’s not quite what I was hoping for,” he says, moving to stand before me. He tucks his hands in his pockets, and, because he’s so much taller than me, I have to tip my head back. “One Bean is a local icon. It’s a small shop, and Finley is happy keeping it local. Too much of your pitch is to make it a national brand when we want the focus in Seattle.”

  “With all due respect,” I say as I bend over my laptop to bring back up slides ten through fourteen. “But in this part of the presentation, I focus on the local market.”

  “And I appreciated it,” he says, gaze flicking to the SmartBoard and then back to me. His voice is firm, mind made up. “But Prima focused all of their energy on the one shop here locally, and their pitch better suits our style.”

  “But—”

  “Again,” Carrick says, cutting in over me and reaching his hand out for me to shake. I take it numbly. “It was a great presentation. I would absolutely love to hear other pitches in the future from you and the fine folks at Carson Dell, but I’m going to give this project to Prima.”

  The next five minutes is a bit of a haze. As I pack up my equipment, my stomach churns while I give another lame handshake to Carrick Byrne, mutter my thanks for allowing me to pitch to him, and then somehow, I’m standing out on the sidewalk in front of his building.

  The valet looks at me expectantly, remembering my BMW. I shake my head to indicate I’m not ready to collect it and glance down the block.

  There’s a bar down on the corner.

  Not one I’ve been to before, but if it serves liquor, it will do nicely.

  CHAPTER 2

  Ronan

  I couldn’t say no to the Prima guys when they insisted we celebrate capturing the One Bean account. It’s an incredibly small campaign compared to what they’re used to working on, but it is an inroad to Byrne Enterprises, the real prize.

  Carrick Byrne himself called me not an hour after I’d left to let me know he’d accepted my bid. My first thought wasn’t self-congratulations or happiness on making my new company proud.

  It was pure pride and egoism that I’d beat out Eliana Thompson. I would have given anything to see her face when she found out she’d lost.

  To me.

  Yeah… I’m celebrating that more than the actual account we gained at Prima because that’s just how much I loathe the woman. And I don’t feel bad in the slightest about it because she has the exact same disdain for me.

  Enemies to the absolute core, and now that I’m in Seattle, I expect we’ll be having more battles to come. I relish being able to pound her pride again and again at this game.

  The Prima Design offices are only a few blocks from Byrne Enterprises, and we all decided to meet up at a popular bar that was actually on the same block. So, I made the walk with four of my new colleagues in tow to the bar called Oak and Barrel, since I really didn’t know where it was. I’d only been in Seattle for a few weeks, and I can’t figure out if it was rotten luck Eliana was working here, or maybe good luck if I can continue to make her life a living hell.

  As we walk past the Byrne building, I smile with a swagger that I landed the account. When we open the door to Oak and Barrel, it’s a bit dim and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. I immediately search for an empty table that can accommodate the five of us, then head for a high top at the back of the room.

  We barely get on our stools before a waitress appears and takes our drink orders. Happy hour started about half an hour ago, and the place is filling up fast.

  The guys and I make small talk. I don’t know them well because I’ve been working my ass off since I moved here. They’re all young, pompous, and, to my dismay, firmly entrenched in the concept of a boys-only club. I had noticed there weren’t many female ad execs at Prima, and while I’m a dude through and through, I am a huge proponent of gender equality.

  I’ve been fortunate to witness women doing things that even men couldn’t do all that well throughout my life, and it makes me a bit disappointed in Prima.

 
; It’s why no women are sitting at the table with us, and, after the first two rounds of drinks, why the men are all eagerly looking around at the single women and making crude comments.

  Not that I can’t be crude… but not toward women I don’t know. I can talk dirty in the bedroom better than anyone, but respect comes first.

  One of the guys nudges me since I’m not actively playing along with their game. “Let’s each put fifty dollars in, find the hottest chick to fuck tonight, then the guy who picks her up gets the money.”

  The other guys echo their eagerness for the game.

  “Come on, Ronan,” he says. His name is Brian, and he’s twenty-five going on eighteen. “Look around and pick out the hottest one.”

  It’s stupid because I go all-in when I decide I want to pick up a woman. I don’t play childish games and talk about women from afar. I’ve figured out quickly that none of my colleagues probably have the guts to approach an attractive woman—much less pick her up. They’re children playing at a man’s game.

  In fact, maybe I should give them a lesson on how they should be less talk and more action.

  “All right,” I say, tipping back my bourbon and club soda to drain it.

  I hadn’t been paying much attention to the crowd—instead, I’d been engaging with the guys at my table—I slowly peruse the area, which has become quite crowded. Every table is occupied, each stool at the bar has a person on it, and much of the standing room is taken. The chatter and background music make it a little too loud for my tastes, but it’s my eyes that are working right now as I slowly peruse the women in here.

  Plenty of beauties, many single by the looks of things since they are scoping the men out. Apparently, this is a good place for a hookup.

  My gaze moves to the bar, but it’s pretty crowded and hard to see who’s sitting there. But then some people shift and my body locks tight as I realize Eliana is seated on a stool. She’s angled to the side, long legs crossed, one of the heels of her fancy shoes propped on the bottom rung of the stool. The slit in her skirt shows a lot of leg and she’s ditched her suit jacket to her chair’s back.

  Her blonde hair has been pulled out of the tight bun from earlier, and it spills down her back. Her shirt’s top three buttons are undone, and I catch a peek of white lace under it.

  Right there.

  Hands down. She’s the hottest.

  I hate her, but she’s the hottest by far.

  And because I can’t stand her, she sure isn’t going on my list of potentials to fuck tonight.

  Leaving her behind, I keep glancing around as the other guys make suggestions.

  Except my eyes keep going back to her.

  She’s talking to a guy who is standing at the bar, facing her. He’s sipping a beer while she drinks red wine. They’re watching a local news station on one of the TV screens behind the bar, and whatever is rolling on the ticker below the newscaster is the subject of their conversation. He nods at the screen, says something, and she lifts her head to watch.

  And holy shit… as her attention is drawn away, the man deftly hovers his hand over her wine glass and pours some type of powder into it.

  The man just roofied Eliana’s goddamned drink.

  If she were any other woman, I’d walk over there now and knock the guy out. I’d make sure the bar management knew what he’d done to have him kicked out.

  But truthfully, I can’t find it within me to care what happens to her.

  That’s how deep our divisiveness goes.

  I ignore her and the guy talking to her, waiting for her to finish her drink and for the drug to kick in. The guys have zeroed in on a gorgeous redhead at the table next to us who has three girlfriends sitting with her. Maybe more than one of the gang will hookup tonight.

  I join in on the banter and order another bourbon and soda from a passing waitress. Periodically, I let my gaze flick over to the bar and watch as Eliana’s wine level gets lower and lower. The man stands close to her, hand at her lower back, and starts to rub. Eventually, he bends and presses his lips to her neck.

  I can see she’s fidgety, squirming in her seat. Uncrossing and recrossing her legs. The drug is acting fast, and it’s hitting her hard. It’s when I see her put her hands on his belt buckle and give a playful tug that I know the guy has his quarry firmly in hand.

  As suspected, Eliana accepts the man’s hand to slide off the stool. She makes a fumbling grab for her jacket before slinging her briefcase strap over her shoulder.

  She’s definitely wobbly as he takes her elbow and starts moving her through the crowd toward the door.

  Forcing myself to turn away, I ignore her peril and give my attention back to my friends.

  Except they’re not my friends, just colleagues, and they’re now upping bets on who can bag the redhead.

  I glance back, but I can no longer see Eliana.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, self-loathing coursing through me. I grab a twenty out of my wallet, then drop it on the table for a tip. To the guys, I say, “Gotta go.”

  They wave and call farewells, but they couldn’t care less that I’m leaving.

  I push my way through the crowd and out the door, looking left and then right.

  There they are, half a block down. The man has his arm around her waist, supporting some of her weight. I wonder where he intends to take her, but it’s moot because I’m not going to let it happen.

  The self-loathing I felt in the bar doesn’t have a damn thing to do with how long it took me to jump into action to save Eliana.

  No… I hate that I’m actually going to do it because she doesn’t deserve my help.

  But she doesn’t deserve to get raped either, that voice inside my head says.

  It’s the voice that holds my moral compass, and I know I’m not going to let anything bad happen to her tonight.

  Within moments, I’ve caught up to them and put myself in their path. Eliana is still cognizant enough to recognize me because she curls her lip in disdain. “Just fucking great.”

  I don’t waste time exchanging nasty remarks. I nod at the man, who is surprised to see me there. “He spiked your drink in that bar. It’s why you feel the way you do.”

  I’ve known Eliana for a long time, and she’s an incredibly sharp and strong-willed woman. Despite the drug warming her blood, her eyes clear and then narrow as they turn to face the man holding her elbow. She accepts what I said as truth because she knows me well enough to realize it would normally be a cold day in hell before I’d ever help her out.

  As such, she gives full credence to my allegation.

  Yanking her arm from the man, she hisses, “You bastard. You were going to rape me?”

  “No,” he asserts in self-defense, glaring at me. “This guy is lying.”

  Eliana looks at me, too disgusted to give me any credit, and then back to the man. “This guy is an asshole of epic proportions, but he’s not a liar. And if I had a knife on me right now, I’d slice your balls right off.”

  The man pales over the iciness of her words. Hell, if he has half a brain, he can tell she means it.

  I know she means it.

  The guy mumbles something and takes off.

  We watch until he disappears around a corner, then I turn back to Eliana. “You should be a little more vigilant in watching your drink when you’re at a bar,” I chastise.

  “You can bite me, Ronan,” she snaps back as she hitches her briefcase higher over her shoulder.

  She starts to turn away, but then she bends over with a tiny moan, hand going to her lower belly. “Oh, God.”

  “What is it?” I ask, not concerned but not feeling like I can leave her here on the sidewalk.

  “What did he poison me with?” she asks.

  “Poison?” I bend over to catch her eye. “He probably dropped X in your drink.”

  “I don’t feel right at all,” she gasps, trying to straighten up. Her hand rubs across her stomach, then her knuckles press against her breastbone.

 
; Shit. I don’t want to get involved, but I find myself asking. “Where do you live?”

  “Uptown,” she replies. “The Sapphire.”

  “Come on,” I say gruffly, grabbing her hand. “I’ll make sure you get home okay.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Ronan

  I know I’m in deep trouble the minute I get Eliana into an Uber. As I slide into the seat next to her, she throws her head back and starts to pant. The Uber driver takes off, and I watch as Eliana’s hand rubs at her stomach more, then moves up to her breast.

  She reaches inside her open blouse and pinches a nipple.

  “Christ,” I mutter, reaching over to pull her hand out.

  “Stop,” she snaps, hand diving back inside her bra. Again, I can tell she’s rubbing her nipple with her index finger. “Something’s wrong, Ronan.”

  “Yeah, you’ve been roofied,” I mutter.

  The Uber driver jerks, shooting me a wide-eyed look in the rearview mirror. I glare back. “Not by me. By someone else.”

  The driver’s eyes go back to the road.

  I turn back to Eliana, but God help me, her hand is now between her legs. I can’t see what she’s doing under that skirt, but I know by the way her hips are circling that she’s probably two fingers deep in herself.

  Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I stare out the passenger window, trying to stop the thickening of my cock through sheer force of will.

  Eliana groans deeply, and my head snaps her way. Her back is arched, hips lifted off the backseat, and I can tell she’s orgasming.

  My traitorous cock swells to epic proportions.

  Mercifully, Eliana slumps in the seat, drawing her hand from between her legs. With bleary eyes, she tries to smooth her skirt down while regaining her breath. The Uber driver and I exchange glances in the mirror, and I look out the window to see The Sapphire just half a block ahead, thank fuck.

  “Oh no,” Eliana snarls in misery, and my attention jerks to her. She stares back, eyes wide with fear. “It’s starting again. What’s happening to me?”