Page 6 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
Giuseppe brought me on six months ago as a junior partner, provisional, nothing in writing yet.Prove yourself first, Hannah. Show me you can bring in clients and execute at our level.
Scot vouched for me. Convinced his uncle I was worth the risk, and so far, he has approved of my work.
The deal on the table—unofficial, handshake, the kind of thing that keeps me up at night—is that Giuseppe sells the company to both of us. Fifty-fifty partnership. Equal investment, equal ownership, equal say in everything.
But only if I prove I belong here.
This event is another one of my proofs. My client, my planning, my execution. Cascade Tech flew thirty families in from Seattle for this corporate thank-you party, and I made damn sure they’d never forget it.
I smooth down my dress, black with subtle silver threading that catches the light, fitted but professional, paired with heels that make my feet scream but photograph beautifully. My hair is in loose waves, makeup simply done.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out. Lily’s name is on the screen, calling for what has to be the third time tonight.
I silence it and shove the phone back into my pocket. Whatever crisis my sister is having at the bakery can wait. I love Lily, but her chaos and my career-defining evening cannot collide right now.
“Hannah!” One of the waiters flags me down near the cocoa bar. “We’re running low on the white chocolate peppermint. Should I bring out the backup?”
“Yes, and check the marshmallow situation. I saw a kid dumping half the bowl into his cup.”
He grins and disappears toward the kitchen.
I scan the room again, mentally checking boxes. Music, perfect. Lighting, gorgeous. Food, flowing. Guests, happy. Santa is by the tree with his back to me, surrounded by children while parents snap photos. Thank God Declan showed up after my original Santa bailed for a better-paying gig.
Then I see Scot, my business partner.
He’s leaning against the bar, tie loosened, jacket abandoned on a nearby chair, holding what looks like his fourth whiskey of the afternoon. His usually perfect dark blond hair is messy, falling across his forehead. He has a strong jaw, small eyes, and an athletic build from his college soccer days, but right now he mostly looks drunk.
My stomach drops.
On paper, he’s exactly the kind of business partner I’d want. He knows the industry inside and out, has the family connections, the client relationships, the experience I’m still building. He’s charismatic when he wants to be, can charm anyone into anything.
The problem is, somewhere around month three of our partnership, he decided we should be more than business associates.
It started small. Comments about how I looked in certain outfits. Hands lingering when we carried equipment together. An invitation to dinner that felt less business meeting, more date night.
I shut it down. Firmly, professionally. We’re colleagues building a company together. Nothing more. I’m not interested in anything romantic with him.
“Hannah!” Scot spots me, pushes off the bar with too much force. He stumbles, catches himself, grins wide. “There’s my partner! The mastermind behind all this!”
“Scot. Maybe switch to water? We’re still working,” I say in a hushed tone.
“We’re celebrating!” He reaches for me, arm going around my shoulders, pulling me against his side. The smell of whiskey wafts off him. “Look what you did! This is incredible! You’re incredible!”
“Scot.” I duck out from under his arm, creating space. “We’re at a client event. Keep it together.”
“I am.” His hand finds my waist, fingers pressing in. “Just appreciating my beautiful, talented partner. Can’t I do that?”
I step back, putting a solid three feet between us. “You’re done drinking. I’m cutting you off.”
His expression shifts, something ugly flickering beneath the charm. “Since when do you make the rules?”
“Come on, Scot, let’s be professional.” I keep my tone light, businesslike, even though I want to throttle him. “Drink water. Sober up. We’ve got another two hours.”
I turn away before he can argue, heading toward the dessert station, where I need to coordinate bringing out the second wave of mini cheesecakes. People are demolishing them faster than expected, which is a good problem, but still a problem.
For the next thirty minutes, I’m in constant motion to ensure it all runs smoothly.
