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“That was fucking rude,” I snap, furious that I missed out on a kiss.
“What’s she doing here?” he demands.
“We were talking business.”
“Yeah, it sure looked like it.”
I glare at him. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“She’s the daughter of Blake Stone. This has everything to do with me.”
“I’m tired of this,” I say irritably. “Of your eternal feud with Blake and his family. He’s gone now. The guy’s dead. It’s time you moved on.”
He puts his hands on his hips. “Midnight might be your baby, but the land is mine. I said you could be in charge of the purchase of the Waiora, but I’m not going to let you screw up the sale. If you can’t seal the deal, I’ll do it myself.”
“I’ll do it. But they’ve added two and a half million dollars to the price.”
He lets out an incredulous laugh. “Jesus.”
“Yeah. So forgive me for wanting to take time to think about it.”
He gives me an appraising look. “You know they’ve sent her to soften you up.”
Privately, I think it’s to give me the opposite effect, but I don’t say that.
“I know,” I say instead. “My eyes are open.”
“She’s never been around money like this,” Dad says, gesturing around us. “I told you years ago that you have to be careful with women. Most of them are treasure hunters, and if you let yourself be blinded by a pretty face and a pair of tits, you’ll never be sure that they’re not after your fortune until it’s too late.”
I know he’s right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like what he says. I’m fully aware that Scarlett is after my money, but I don’t believe the connection between us is entirely due to that, and I’m not going to let him come between us because of his bitterness.
I turn away. “I need to get back to work because I’m going out in a few hours.”
“With Scarlett?”
I don’t reply.
“You’re a fool,” he says. And then he turns and walks out.
I sit in my leather chair, then slide down in it a little and stare moodily out of the window.
The terrible thing is that I know he’s right. And I don’t give a fuck.
Chapter Eleven
Scarlett
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” I go through the clothes in my wardrobe frantically. “What am I going to wear?”
“First, calm down or you’re going to hyperventilate and black out,” Ana says from where she’s lying on my bed. “Second, you’ll look beautiful in whatever you wear, so it doesn’t really matter.”
“You’re not helping. He’s taking me to a posh restaurant.”
“I thought he said it would be somewhere relaxed?”
“He’s a billionaire. It’s not going to be a burger bar, whatever he says.” I take out a black dress. “This is slimming, don’t you think?”
“You’re hardly fat. And it’s dull.” She gets up and joins me at the wardrobe. “He’s used to women in designer clothes and gold jewelry with coiffured hair and long painted nails.”