Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Life has apparently roughed up my sweet princess and given her a stronger spine. I like it.
Breaking her will definitely be more fun.
“No. I’m successful because I’m ruthless.”
She says nothing, but her silence concedes the point. She knows. That’s enough for now.
When the bartender sets her drink down, she grabs the elegant tumbler like it’s a lifeline. That’s the only outward clue that I make her nervous.
It’s the perfect time to make myself clear. “The forty million is a buyout, not a loan.”
“He won’t agree.”
“Then I can wait for him to go bankrupt and buy it up for pennies on the dollar.”
She glares at me. “How do you know we don’t have other financing?”
“If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”
The way she purses her lips is a confession. She’s out of options. “Why do you imagine Vance will listen to me?”
“He needs the money too badly not to.”
“He’ll never sell to you.”
Does she think I’m going to give either of them a choice? “I’ll make sure he has the right incentive.”
That sets her on edge—as it should. “Like what?”
“Leave that to me.”
Whitney tries to shrug like it’s irrelevant, but I see through her. She knows she’s cornered.
That does my black heart good.
“Whatever,” she says flippantly. “What’s your proposal? What do I have to agree to so my brother gets the money?”
“We’re having a drink first, remember?”
“I’m having a drink. You’re watching me for reasons I can only guess at.”
She shouldn’t have to guess too hard, especially when she’s dressed like that. Then again, she’s likely baiting me for a reaction. Oh, she’ll get it. But not now.
When I’m ready.
“Tell me what you’ve been up to since I last saw you.” I keep the words soft, but there’s an underlying command.
Whitney feels it. She stiffens. “Not much to tell that I’m sure you didn’t find out for yourself. I finished high school. Then I attended Stanford and earned my economics degree. I stayed to finish my MBA. I’ve been home a handful of weeks, trying to help Vance unravel this situation. And here I am.”
I knew all that. She’s intentionally not telling me what I really want to know. Who has she dated? Who else has she kissed? Who fucked her first? Who fucked her last? Who does her goddamn heart belong to?
Patience, I tell myself, swallowing back all my questions. I will find out.
“What about you?”
There’s the subject change again. Why? She can’t possibly believe I’m going to give her anything she can use against me.
“After the last summer I saw you? I dropped out of college so I could bartend by night and spend my days developing an even more profitable intellectual property.”
It was the perfect setup for me…almost. Entire days to push myself to create an even better app than the one Vance had stolen from me. Full nights of making money and hooking up with her acquaintances. That disappointed the hell out of my dad. Even my older brother, Quint, lectured me about throwing my future down the toilet. But Whitney was always in the back of my mind, haunting me.
I had everything to prove.
“I launched the following year.” To success beyond my dreams, which spawned a massive tech company that now circles the globe.
“Tell me about your mother.”
I sigh. It’s the one weakness I’ll show Whitney because, under all the animosity, she’s too human to use my pain against me. “She died four years ago. Breast cancer.”
That horrible night, I sobbed and held her hand, watching as she took her very last breath. It still fucking hurts every time I think about it.
Whitney’s face softens. “I’m sorry. I know you two were close.”
“Yes.”
And I haven’t been close to anyone since. I’ve tried. My brother and I have a better relationship now. My sisters, Ivy and Lacey, have reached out again and again. But it’s me. Something inside me is dead.
I’m almost ashamed to admit that getting beyond my grief didn’t cure my toxicity. Probably because my mother wasn’t the cause. The poison is all about Whitney, about the way she stabbed me in the back and left me to bleed out.
“I understand. I miss my dad,” she murmurs softly.
“I heard about his car accident. I’m sorry.” I genuinely mean that.
She’s had a terrible few years, too. Some part of me that still gives a shit about her—no matter how hard I’ve tried not to—empathizes. That part wants to reach out and hold her, soothe her, and tell her I’m here for her.
The rest of me has learned better.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
Silence falls again, and Whitney clutches her purse like she’s nervous as she downs the last of her drink. Next time she looks at me, she’s glaring. Her shields are up once more. “So now that we’ve caught up and you’ve watched me drink, what do you want?”