Page 9 of Pretty Little Threats

“Sorry,” I say, taking a measured sip. There’s no pleasure to be found in the bubbles fizzingin my mouth.

He heaves out a heavy breath. “It’s okay, Rosalynn. You’re meant to become chair one day, but you can’t do these things without me. We’re a team, aren’t we?” he asks, approaching me with softer words.

“Always,” I tell him, holding his gaze. He’s my rock.

The limo rolls to a stop, and Robert gets out, rushing around the front of the vehicle to open the door for Eric Vanderbelt. Just like that, I lose the chance to tell Dad about Frank’s Bakery.

I move down the bench seat to make room for Eric, who drops into the car, an overwhelming amount of cologne following him. Eric is the picture of American businessmen—perfectly cropped brown hair a few shades lighter than my own, clean face, sun-kissed skin, and an easy smile.

“Joseph,” he greets my father first, nodding at him before sliding his gaze in my direction. Only, his eyes never meet mine, because they stay stuck on my chest.

Asshole.

“Rosalynn,” he purrs.

Ugh. Eric is disgusting, but we need him, and I can sense my Dad’s attention on me. I bestow a dazzling and incredibly fake smile on the asshole next to me, hoping it doesn’t screamI hope your cock falls offtoo loudly.

Sometimes, I hate everything about corporate politics.

I hate my customer service voice.

I especially hate Eric.

“Eric, lovely to see you again,” I say like a proper lady.

His eyes finally lift to meet mine. They’re a creepy shade of light blue. “Indeed, it is,” he murmurs, grinning at me like we shared something special and romantic the night he nearly raped me.

My upper lip almost curls in disgust, but I keep my reaction in check. We’re supposed to woo, not insult.Thankfully, my dad is always the most important person in the room, and Eric all but forgets me in favor of chatting with the king of American finance. That doesn’t stop his hand from falling dangerously close to my thigh. His pinky brushes against my leg, too purposeful to be an accident. I suppress a gag and glance out the window.

The night’s barely begun, and I’m already ready for it to be over.

three

ROSE

Two hoursof Mrs. Elhart’s droning conversation later, and I’m ready to impale myself on a fork. Forget earning Dad’s approval. I’d rather him be pissed at me than sit through another fifteen minutes of her insulting everyone in attendance.

As if sensing my despair, the band the charity gala hired finally starts to play.

Mrs. Elhart glares at them, her cloudy green eyes narrowing into thin slits. “I hate this part,” she says, gripping the sides of her chair to stand. The coarse strands of her silver hair are pulled back into a tight bun that tugs on her wrinkled skin. Maybe that’s why she’s so grumpy. Her driver helps steady her. She grips his arm with knobby knuckles.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Manners have me getting up as well.Please, leave.

“I’m going home,” she says with a huff. Her eyes drift down my body, lips pursing as her gaze roams over myexposed leg. “Really, dear, with thighs that big, you should be careful with what you wear.”

Pasting on the fakest smile I’ve ever worn, I internally bristle and imagine tripping her. I’d like to see what the old cunt has to say after she eats the floor.

“It was lovely to dine with you,” I lie.

She harrumphs. “Tell your father to call me on Monday to go over the contract.”

What contract? All he said was to keep her company. He never mentioned there was a business deal on the line.

So much for Millers telling each other everything.

Dad’s had a busy week.

Snuffing out my annoyance, I nod. “Of course. Get her home safe.”

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