Page 144 of Twisted Knight

“Because I’m more than certain by the”—I look back and forth down the hallway through my office window and then lower my voice—“way you were fucking my mouth last night, that you know exactly where your bread is buttered.”

His laugh is low and rich. “Sunshine, I do believe you are trying to get a reaction out of me.” He looks down at his lap, grunts, and then back up to me. “For the record, it’s working.”

I shake my head but the grin—god, the grin is automatic. It always is around him. “Then again, maybe you should bring someone.” I shrug and play along. “A Junior League chair who likes her mint juleps strong, her picket fences white, and who would probably accept a pair of sapphire earrings and wear them to a run-of-the-mill barbecue without batting an eye.”

“Probably,” he says as Audrey calls him from down the hall. He rises from his seat, his eyes still locked on mine. “But I prefer a woman who argues with me over accepting said sapphires and chooses to wear them with nothing else on.”

FORTY-SIX

Holden

She’s been avoiding me since I stepped foot into this backyard.

A cursory hello. A polite smile. An absent glance my way.

But that’s about it.

I don’t like it one bit. It’s total bullshit.

And it’s fucking killing me.

Her short sundress. Her sun-kissed legs. The strappy sandals.

The dirty things running through my mind are endless.

Her hair is pulled up. The curve of her neck exposed. Her lips a pale pink.

Does the need for her ever wane? Her mouth? Her body? Her mind?

“So it seems like things are going well. On track,” Rupert Rothschild says, pulling my attention back to him.

I give a measured nod. During my dive into the Rothschild digital footprint, I didn’t find much and that’s almost as telling as finding a treasure trove. Dear old Dad doesn’t know his son has bargained away both the business and the family trust.

Doesn’t have a fucking clue. Duped bank statements can go a long way.

I look at Rupert and smile. “It is. Coming right along.”

“Good. Good.” He pats me on the back, and I grit my teeth. I’m not one of your good ol’ boys. Far fucking from it. “My retirement thanks you. My family thanks you.”

My smile is sharp and fleeting. “Of course.”

This will be the third time Rupert has brought up the purchase of TinSpirits during the party. The third time he’s sought me out and woven it into our conversation.

He’s curious.

Rhett’s not telling him shit and for good reason. Daddy can’t know the family company is bleeding money—among other things.

And so, he’s coming to me for answers on whether his return is coming. Do I detect a hint of doubt in his golden child?

“Your date. She’s stunning. I had no idea you were … taken. The Westmore women will be crying in their pillows tonight.”

“Hmm,” I say as I take a sip of my scotch. I have no interest in responding.

And maybe because I’m not 100 percent thrilled with that development either.

I glance over to where Mallory stands amid a circle of other Westmore women. She’s the exact opposite of what Rowan looks like—or rather, she’s exactly what Rowan used to look like, the TinSpirits spokesmodel Rowan. All blond hair and wide, innocent eyes.

By design of course. No doubt Audrey thought of that when she surprised me with a date for today’s event.