Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“Then why the hell are you here? Make it snappy. We’re half an hour from showtime.”
“First, a whole lot of people worked their butts off getting our ratings up—and you undid that hard work. You cheated your way to the top.” I fold my arms.
He stares me down as he takes an obnoxiously slow sip of his drink.
“Sore losers will run their mouths about a lot of things they can’t prove. You’ve heard the rumors we’ve bagged first place? I wasn’t sure if I should believe them until this morning, but when your competitors obviously do, it’s true. I knew this would be our year. Thanks for confirming the good news, I guess.”
I wish to God I could claw that smirk off his face.
“Yeah, about that—isn’t it a little tragic how your stunning success came by pure luck this year? And you’d have way more to brag about if an insane kitchen disaster hadn’t knocked your biggest rival out of the running.”
His carnivorous smile disappears.
“Winnie has been circling the drain for some time. His latest big seasick disaster was just icing on the cake.” He winces like the champagne suddenly tastes like mud. “I don’t mean to insult your beau, short stack, but he hasn’t been top-shelf competition for a while. Not since—never mind.”
The way his face twists scares me. It reminds me of a wounded animal, guarded and volatile.
“I’m not so sure. Someone’s been paying an awful lot for fake reviews to drag Winthrope’s ratings down. You don’t usually do that when you’re not sweating the competition.”
His mouth twists sourly before he speaks. “Ludicrous. You’re clearly mistaken and I—”
“Don’t worry. I’m not implying it was you. I know it was,” I interject. “Oasis Springs was always second-rate. I’m not sure anything less than another powerhouse luxury brand would be that worried about bringing down Winthrope...would they?”
He drains the rest of his glass and grinds his foot on the floor like he’s stamping out a bug.
“I’m sure you’ve come to annoy me for a reason, so will you get to the damn point? I don’t have all day to cry over Winnie’s wounded pride. I have a speech to make.”
“Oysters,” I spit.
Laughing, he does a double take.
“Oysters? So we’re still stuck on Winnie’s miserable downfall? Honey doll, I don’t order oysters for another man’s kitchen. I only eat them, if you get my drift.” That sick smirk returns. “However, I’m not willing to entertain your cloak and dagger conspiracies tonight, woman. You’re too sweet to have his paranoia rubbing off.”
Oh, asshat, you have no idea.
I grin defiantly. “I’m talking about specific oysters. No conspiracies.”
“I hope so. It would hardly be appropriate for you to come barging into my room, raining on the biggest parade of my life. That’s pretty fucking bitter, even for a Winthrope groupie.” He spits their name like it tastes rotten.
“Your mistake. You told your assistant to send me in.”
“I was certainly mistaken thinking you had a better brain behind that pretty face,” he bites off, stepping forward. “What the hell does he want? If this is Winnie giving me some stupid conscience check, he has no right. After what he did, he fucking owes me.”
“What he did?” I echo weakly, backing up a pace. I can’t let him corner me.
“My award—Winthrope stole it. Winnie and his overblown shoe-in-ass of a grandfather,” Finch flares, gliding toward me with his fists clenched. For a second, I’m afraid he’ll snap the champagne flute still in his hand. “They cost me everything, you know. The stress, the planning, the letdown. Her, walking out on me, after I treated her like gold—”
I’m almost flat against the wall, barely breathing when he stops.
He seems to snap back into himself, pulling back and straightening his cuff.
“And now you’re here. Harassing me with these outrageous claims about some damnable oysters.” He snorts loudly, tossing his head. “I’ll tell you what, missy, you can take it up with my legal team. I don’t have time for this horseshit.”
No.
But apparently he has time to erupt over a grudge that I’m sure wasn’t caused by Brock and his grandfather. I wonder if Jenn’s 'psycho' remark was dangerously accurate.
Because he’s looking at me like he wants to hack me up.
“Well? Are you finished?” he demands, turning up his nose.
“Not quite.” I find my nerve and step toward him. “You infiltrated the catering company. You sent that poor, inexperienced kid on a wild goose chase to make sure he wasted time tracking down that stupid cheese. You made sure everything would show up spoiled and get smuggled into the kitchen.”
“Bah!” Finch swipes a hand through the air. “Your boyfriend needs to hire a better caterer—and a real PI next time. Because I know you have zero proof.”
“They were your people,” I fling back. “And FYI, he’s not my boyfriend—”
Finch blinks. “Then why are you here wasting breath?”