Page 6 of Hoax and Kisses
“It doesn’t matter now,” he mumbles. Though he steers clear of the details, he continues to rant about how he got screwed over.
While he grouses, an idea takes root in my mind. It’d be risky, but… If I conduct thorough market research and surround myself with the right people… High risk, high reward, right?
“Let me try,” I cut in.
The glint in his eye as he focuses on me turns my insides queasy. “You think you can do better than me?”
Oh, the old man pride.
I draw my shoulders back. “I do, actually.” The words are laced with far more courage than I feel. “You came in guns blazing with grand plans and schematics of your luxury hotels, scaring off small-town folks who are probably very protective of their way of life. If you’d involved me in that project, I would have told you what a bad idea it was. When I first launched my lodge line, you were so sure I’d fail, and yet here we are. That line is now among the top three most lucrative revenue streams for the entire group. Let me go and see if there’s anything up for sale.”
He studies me for a beat, the challenge still flashing in his eyes. I know my father well. His ego is bigger than his bank account. Insinuating I can be better at something? On a projecthe’s already failed at? Oof. I better put my money where my mouth is.
“And then what?” he asks.
I pick a piece of lint off my dress and smooth the fabric on my lap. “Then I close the deal and build a hotel that will make sense there. Maybe the lodge line, actually. Still high-end, but with structures that blend well with that sort of background.” Licking my lips, I steel my spine for this next part. “Succeeding where you fell short… Would that be enough to convince your shareholders that I can run the company?”
Though he’s silent for a beat, his eyes never leave mine. “I suppose so.” He looks at the TV screen, where the woman moves through the forest. The man accompanying her is also decked out in hiking gear. He’s tall, his brown hair falling over his forehead when he dips to avoid a tree branch. “You have a month, princess.”
My heart lurches. “Onemonth? No. That’s not enough.”
“Take it or leave it.” He cocks a brow. “If you can’t seal the deal in one month, I can’t help your case with the board. They’re already eager to begin their search for an outside hire.”
I wince. I’ve never heard my father use the words “outside hire” before, yet he’s spoken them twice in ten minutes. This company is his family’s legacy. He’s bluffing, but I’m too scared to call him out on it.
With a deep inhale, I lift my chin. “One month, one hotel in Pine Falls, and the job is mine?”
He holds out his hand and winks. “That’s the deal, princess.”
I shake it, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremor in mine. Time to finish what he started.
Chapter Two
MATT
“Hey, it’s me!”
As usual, the first to (un)welcome me to my parents’ house is Mom’s creepy three-legged creature—some might call it a cat. Unsurprisingly, it stands at the end of the hallway, back arched, and hisses.
Little satanic devil.
I thought cats had a life expectancy of roughly fifteen years, but Freddy is blowing off every prediction. Twenty-one years old and still the meanest motherfucker in the house. Last week, when I walked past him, he growled and played Tarzan on my leg, biting so hard that his lone tooth pierced the fabric of my jeans and left a bloody mark on my calf.
“Mom, come get your thing out of the way!” I yell from the doorway.
Freddy hisses again, low and deep, and maybe it’s my sleep-deprived brain, but his pupils almost seem like they’re glowing.
“You’re so dramatic.” Mom appears, scooping up her abomination, who proceeds to rub its face on hers andpurr.“Who could he possibly harm? Huh, Freddy? Who? Tell me, who?” she says in a baby voice, holding the cat in front of her face.
When she nuzzles into his gray fur, I swear he watches me and smirks. Twisted two-faced asshole.
I take off my boots and grab the flowers I brought, keeping him in my peripheral vision as I skirt past them, half-expecting a paw to come swinging.
In the kitchen, Dad is making his usual Sunday roast. Daphne sits on one of the stools, deeply engrossed in her coloring book.
“Hey, Daph.”
My sister doesn’t look up. Her tongue is stuck between her teeth while she outlines a rose with a red crayon.
