Mason
“The meeting should’ve been somewhere else.” Jack’s eyes dart around the brightly lit room. “You’d better hope this goes well.”
I reach for my drink and take a sip. “It will.”
I’ve spent the past few days making sure every detail is tended to.
The Thayers won’t be able to refuse us.
A moment later, the door to the room opens, and Carlisle steps in first. He gives me a nod before melting into the shadows. Then a tall man with strands of silver in his hair and a goatee steps in, a hand immediately going to the button of his expensive Armani suit.
Two more men step in, with similar buzz cuts and bulging muscles that fill out their clothes.
Finally, a woman with midnight black hair and striking green eyes is revealed, and her face gives nothing away as she looks around. She hikes her purse up on her shoulders and wrinkles her nose at something.
My father steps out from behind the table. “Thatcher. I hope they’ve given you the welcome you deserve.”
Thatcher Thayer straightens his back. “Your welcoming committee needs a little work, Jack, but I’m willing to overlook that.”
Jack takes his hand and offers him a firm shake. “I’ll make sure to look into the details later.”
“A glass of your finest whiskey is a good way to apologize,” Thayer replies. “And how about something to eat?”
I signal to Carlisle, who steps forward. “We have an excellent menu—”
Thayer holds up his hand. “My chef is here with me tonight. He’s already familiarizing himself with the kitchen.”
I clear my throat. “Of course.”
I already hate that we’re licking this man’s boots, but I can’t afford to complain.
Given the rumors that are spreading, we need every ally we can get because Michael Fitzpatrick was right.
That disastrous meeting is already causing fissures far beyond anything we could’ve imagined.
I can’t underestimate the importance of finding powerful allies, even shallow and egocentric ones like Thatcher Thayer.
It’s just one more pill I have to swallow.
Thatcher glances around the room. “You should have asked me to help you with the décor. This place needs an overhaul.”
Jack laughs, and it sounds forced. “Of course. How ridiculous of us not to have thought of you first.”
Thatcher waves away his comment. “That’s quite right. Most people don’t think of these things, but I was talking to the Kardashians at this premier the other day, and…”
I tune him out and study his men intently.
The two of them stand near the door, their dark eyes scanning the room. I want to be offended that Thayer felt the need to bring security, but I also can’t blame him, given all the uncertainty.
Most of which you caused, remember? You’re meant to be figuring out a way to clean up your mess, not nursing your ego.
Half an hour later, Thatcher is in the middle of another story about a fashion show he helped curate, and my head is pounding. During the few times my father has tried to steer the conversation in another direction, Thayer finds a way to make it about himself or his family.
At the one-hour mark, I walk over to the drink cart in the corner.
Thatcher has an apron tied around his neck and is holding a lobster tail in one hand and gesturing with the other. I pour a generous amount of bourbon and raise the glass to my lips. I’m halfway through the drink and debating whether or not this alliance is worth the headache when Thayer’s daughter walks up to me.
She gestures to the cart, and I set down my drink.
