Page 19 of Pretty Little Threats

Chuckling, I tuck my phone away. How’s that for living my life? I mean, it’s not a big dinner with a group of friends or a party, but I’d much rather hang out with Cassia than suffer through the ass-kissing of people who pretend to be my friend, only to turn around and ask me for money.

The elevator doors sweeping open, I take a fortifying breath before strutting out, nodding at Ryan, the receptionist. The decor on this level is simple but elegant, the walls white with a few darker gray accent walls. Expensive and incredibly uncomfortable chairs are spaced about the waiting area right before Ryan’s desk. All the executives have generously sized offices, since the hub of the company—accounting, general counsel, and HR—is on the floor below. Mine is one of the smallest, since I’m technically not an executive, but Dad wanted me close.

A few expensive pieces of art hang on the walls, abstract sweeps of color that create vague outlines of the New York City skyline, and I ignore the stab of jealousy in my chest. I would love to be the kind of artist whose work gets hung up, but that’s not a lifestyle I have time to indulge.

Assistants scurry around, prepping everything for theboard meeting—coffee, reports, metrics. They’re the backbone of efficiency. I pause when I spot Zuri wearing a harried expression. There’s a cup of coffee in her hands, and she doesn’t look happy about it. Zuri is one of the best assistants we have, so if she’s stressed out, it’s not good.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Darian is so annoying,” Zuri mutters as she passes.

My heart skips and my head snaps in the direction of the conference room surrounded by glass walls. There, at the head of the table, where my dad usually sits, is Darian Richardson. His blond hair is a little messy, but there’s purpose to it. Almost like he heard thedress for successmessaging and saidfuck itand ran his fingers through the strands. Unlike me, he’s not dressed up, wearing a simple, but somehow perfectly fitting, black T-shirt and jeans.

Turning in his seat to face me, his gaze lifts to meet mine, then immediately drifts down my body, taking in my outfit. Arching his scarred eyebrow, he slowly drags his eyes back up my body until we’re staring at one another.

Me, glaring.

Him, smirking.

I’m sure he thinks this is funny. Like every company we own is of no consequence. So many people trust us with their money. I’m not delusional enough to think the conglomerate is altruistic, but I do know that these board meetings are where the rules are made, and some of us want to make sure that they’re fair. Some of us are here because we care.

“Rosalynn.” Dad snaps at me from the doorway of his office.

I flinch at his harsh tone, ripping my gaze from Dare and heading in his direction, ready to apologize again forhiring the PI without consulting him first, but he’s scowling at Dare.

Relief floods through me. He’s not mad at me; he’s pissed that jerk showed up. As a board member, he’s always invited to the quarterly meetings, but he usually doesn’t come. I chew on my cheek and look at Dare again.Is he here because I poked the bear? Is he going to cause problems to get back at me?

“Dad?”

He releases a harsh breath and smooths his Brioni suit jacket. “You’re late. We have things to discuss.” Turning, he heads into his office, the red bottoms of his shoes flashing me as he walks. His William Westmancott suit screams success. That’s how you should dress for work. At least Dad gives a shit about what we’re doing here. I can’t say the same for the asshole in the conference room.

I shoot another scathing look in Dare’s direction.

Pawn,he mouths.

Fuck you,I return.

He laughs, but I can’t hear it through the glass walls, and I hate that I want to know what it sounds like. Does the beast laugh like a hyena, or is it a deep, rumbling growl of a sound?

Does it matter?

Pushing him out of my mind, I shut the door behind me and take my seat across from where my dad sits at his grand mahogany desk. The legs are intricately carved, two lion faces at the top of each one, and it probably cost more than the rest of the furniture on this level.

One day, I’ll sit behind it, take the throne. One day, I’ll be in charge, and I can finally help Cassia take down the debt collectors who made her lose everything she’s ever cared about. Her dad had a heart attack from the stress ofbeing forced into bankruptcy after defaulting on multiple loans. Being a widower, he did everything in his power to provide the best life for her, but ultimately, he couldn’t keep up and the collection agencies were ruthless.

The first step to make sure that never happens again is to take down the companies making bad loans.

Speaking of . . .

Dad is frowning at his phone.

“Frank’s Bakery.”

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he asks, not bothering to look at me.

“It means something to Darian. I confirmed it myself. Royal Bank owns the business loan. We could buy the loan and?—”

“Rosalynn, love.” Dad sighs and tosses his phone on the desk, leaning back in his chair and studying me. “Why are we talking about bakeries?”

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