I yanked the door open. Alastair stood there, red-faced, hair wild, shirt half-buttoned. He looked like he hadn't slept either.
“I need to talk to you—” he started.
“No,” I replied, brushing past him. “You need to complain to me. Save it.”
I marched down the hallway with him sputtering behind me. When I pushed open the door to his father’s office, every head turned. The mistress—Brielle—was perched on the edge of a leather chair like she belonged there.
I didn’t bother sitting. “I’ll handle everything to ensure we get this contract,” I said to the parents before Alastair could weaponize the banquet against me.
Mr. Ashworth sagged in relief. Mrs. Ashworth nodded quickly. But Alastair exploded.
“You should have handled it last night, but you walked out!” he shouted, stepping into my personal space. “You left me there to clean up your mess. He’s a stone, Elara. There’s no fixing it. I stayed until the lights went out trying to convince him, and I got nothing. What the hell do you thinkyou’regoing to get?”
I kept my voice level. “The contract signed.”
Brielle lifted her hand like she was in a classroom. Her nails were a gaudy bubblegum pink. “I—I just think,” she began timidly, “maybe you should let Alastair handle everything from now on. He’s the heir. It’s his role.”
The silence that followed was volcanic. The parents stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. I let a smile spread across my face—one sharp enough to cut glass.
“Sweetheart,” I said softly, “you don’t get to suggest who handles anything in this house.”
Her mouth fell open. “You’re so bitter,” she murmured.
“No,” I corrected, stepping toward her. “I don’t care enough about any of this to be bitter. But don’t let these Roberto Cavalli labels confuse you—I don’t abide disrespect, and I will snatch you if you keep running your mouth.”
I smiled. I was my mother's daughter; she didn't raise a punk. No amount of etiquette classes could change that.
“Elara,” Mrs. Ashworth said quickly, trying to diffuse the situation. “Ignore her. It’s alright. We’ll look for other partners if it doesn’t work out. We don’t need Esmé if the new CEO is unreasonable.”
Alastair scoffed. “If I had lost us a major client, you would’ve been furious. But not at precious Elara.”
I laughed—a low, ugly, humorless sound. “Alastair, you are a woman in boxers who thinks he’s a king. Sit down. Stop whining.”
His face turned scarlet. I spoke to his parents directly. “I will handle it. We cannot lose them as partners.”
I turned on my heel, but Alastair caught up to me in the hallway, grabbing my arm. “You weren’t this abrasive before I left,” he hissed. “I know you’re jealous over Brielle, but this is business. We have to work together.”
I stared at his hand on my arm until he dropped it. “Jealous? Bitter?”
I stepped closer—close enough that he had to tilt his chin up to maintain eye contact. “Alistair, let me explain something very clearly.”
He swallowed.
“You have been gone for three years,” I said, my voice dropping. “Tell me—have I called, texted, or emailed you once? Have I interfered in your life? Given you any indication I care what you do? I retired your parents. I took over your role. I ran the business you abandoned. I showed up to every board meeting, every launch, every crisis. Me. Not you. And somehow you think I’m the jealous one?”
He flushed, his jaw working. “It’s not like you had anywhere else to go.”
I laughed again, softer this time. “Oh, Alastair. You have no idea where I can go.”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you should start worrying about how you’re going to handle your own messes when I truly don’t care anymore. And don’t grab me again,” I said quietly. “Keep your mistress ona leash, and don't assume you affect my emotions. I am here for your parents, for the company, and for the last scraps of obligation I feel.”
I didn't wait for his response. I walked up the stairs, leaving him in the hallway. I had more important things to worry about than a man-child. I had to figure out how to face Julian Hale.
Chapter 7
Julian
