Page 219 of Vows We Never Made
Hell, especially to people they shouldn’t.
I think back to the annoying way the waiter hovered around, butting in constantly to make sure ‘everything was fine.’
Sure, everything was fucking brilliant.
That was the moment everything started falling apart.
I let my guard down.
“Did you hire him to spy? Were you following me, you miserable fuck?” My fist bangs the table.
So much for control.
“Waste not, want not. It’s important to know every detail about the people you’re working with, and the things he found out… ouch.” He clucks his tongue. “Rather shocking, Blackthorn. I always heard you were a young punk, but driving a poor, mixed-up girl tothat?”
I grit my teeth against the wave of fury.
If all he heard was what I said to Hattie, then he probably thinks I did something more nefarious, too.
I’m sure he has all sorts of theories, but it doesn’t matter.
He has the truth—a distorted version of it, but the truth nonetheless—and that’s enough.
And I can see the new trap he’s set for me.
A conversation designed to needle them out of me, to send me into a berserker fit.
He’s fishing to see whether I’ll take the bait and defend myself.
He wants me to attack him, to lunge for his throat, and disgrace Blackthorn Holdings for good, opening the door to pull damages from the company and bankrupt me personally.
He glances at his coffee, makes a sour face, and looks back at me.
“So tell me, how’s your lovely fiancée, anyway? I’ve been hearing all kinds of sordid rumors. Was your past a little too much?” He sucks his teeth. “Can’t say I blame her.”
“Leave her out of this, Daley.”
“Or what?” he asks sardonically. “You’ll throat punch me like the overgrown, entitled, stupid Neanderthal you really are?”
My hands curl into fists, so ready to do just that—beat the hell out of him, consequences be damned.
I could kill him on the spot.
But even in death, he’d ruin me, and none of the people counting on me deserve that shit.
Blackthorn Holdings deserves a leader. A man who puts the common good first.
That may not be me, depending on what happens next, but while I still have the chance, I’m damn sure going to act like it is.
Even as I rack my brain, there’s a putrid taste in my mouth.
Gramps would make the same decision.
That’s what it means to be his grandson.
Cooper runs a hand through his bleached blond hair, letting it fall back into the same carefully arranged dishevelment.
I stare at him for an eternity, weighing my options.
