Page 94 of The Arrogant One

He scratched his scruff. “But it’s not the main act. It’s just a scoop that sits on the side of a fresh slice of banana bread, and you dip the bread into the pudding instead of ice cream or whipped cream.”

“Okay … now we’re talking.”

He chuckled. “Trying to warm me up, Hart? Because you know I’m on the verge of losing my fucking shit.”

I smiled. “Hit me with it, Walker. I’m ready to hear everything you’ve got.”

He leaned back in the chair, setting his hands on top of his chest. “Which one of you thought it was a fucking genius ideato go to Horned, sit in the main fucking dining room, and order half the menu?”

He didn’t pause because he expected an answer. He paused because his mind was blown that Beck and I had done that.

“Had it just been you, I don’t think you would have raised any attention, and I wouldn’t be in here, having this conversation. But bringing that knucklehead with you, you might as well have called the fucking paparazzi and reported that you were there.”

His head fell back, and he whistled out a mouthful of heated air. “I don’t like how it looks—two partners of The Weston Group eating at our biggest rival. But that’s only half of it.” His gaze reconnected with mine. “The other half is that somehow, someway, the Celebrity Alert bastards got wind that we’re interested in buying Horned.” His brows rose. “Someone didn’t just pull that news out of their ass, Hart. They either got tipped off by one of our employees, our attorney, or someone overheard you and Beck talking at the restaurant—which I’m leaning toward because I know you two had a driver that evening. And I know that means you had quite a few cocktails. And I know that when cocktails are involved, you two can become loose-lipped.”

He moved forward, setting his arms on his knees, crossing his hands between them. “So, now, the whole fucking world, including the Gordons, knows that we want to buy Horned. Do you know what happens when vultures get a whiff of a fresh carcass? They go after it, which means whatever price we were going to offer for Horned, we might as well double it.”

I leaned on my desk and stared at my brother. “Our offer is getting drawn up as we speak, and I’m not adding a penny to it. Once it’s submitted, she’ll have forty-eight hours to accept the deal—and she will.”

He had a look of disgust on his face as he shook his head. “You’re way too sure of yourself.”

“Not of myself. Of our business. Our brand. And our reputation.” I licked my lips. “When that contract hits her email, she’s going to be honored that a company like ours wants her. And she’s going to sign so fucking fast that the vultures won’t even have a chance to fly.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Sadie

Iset my overnight bag on the floor in my kitchen since there wasn’t enough room for it on the counter and began to fill a cooler with things from my fridge—an olive tapenade, hummus, some diced-up vegetables, a plum jam. While I continued to dig through the shelves, looking for good additions for the picnic I’d planned, I pulled out my phone from my back pocket, hit the button to call Bryn, and held it to my ear.

“Is it girls’ night?” she asked after the second ring. “Or is that tomorrow night? Or the night after? God, Sadie, I’m losing it, I swear. My brain is a pile of mush.”

I laughed. “It’s okay. I don’t know what day it is either.”

“I put on two different shoes this morning—that’s what I’m currently dealing with. And the best part is, one was a pointy toe and the other wasn’t—like, how did Inotnotice that?”

I looked down at my feet while I set a container of grapes in the cooler to make sure I at least had done that right. “Is it work? Is that where the brain mush is coming from? Orsomething else? And if it’s something else, I’m going to spank you for not talking to me about it.”

“Work.” She sighed. “And more work on top of that.”

“I get it,” I said gently. “Tomorrow night, which is girls’ night, I’m going to make sure you forget all about it. Oh, and by the way, next Saturday, don’t make any plans.”

“Why? What’s cooking on Saturday?”

“We’re going to Musik—the club that Lockhart and his family own.”

“Let me confirm that date. One sec.” I heard her typing in the background, as if she was looking up her schedule on her desktop at work. “Saturday is good, but if something comes up and say you need to move it to Friday, I can’t, just FYI. Thursday would be out too. I’ve got a two-nighter in Manhattan, but I’ll be back in time for Saturday night.”

“If you’re flying back that day, will you be too tired to go to Musik?”

“Too tired?” She snorted. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead—just like you.”

I groaned, “Amen.”

“What’s the deal with Musik? Are we going with your boy and his family or something? Please say yes because that means there’s a chance I’ll get to meet Beck, and I will literally drop dead if that happens.”

“If things with Lockhart keep going at this pace—and I hope they do—I’m sure you’re going to be meeting Beck very soon, I’d imagine, and I really don’t want you to die when it happens. I need my best friend.” I added a bottle of champagne into the cooler. “As for Saturday, you’re stuck with just me.Seenis doing a feature on the Westons three weeks in a row. Mini reviews on Charred and Musik, followed by a full write-up on Toro when it opens.”

She let out a long breath. “Oh boy.”