He leans back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid.
“You’re old enough now to understand the pressure this family is under. The world is changing. Markets are unpredictable. And the competition is more cutthroat than ever.”
Translation: Profits are down, and the empire is crumbling.
“Yes, sir,” I say again, quieter.
He sets the glass down with a dull thud.
“Our biggest competitor is arriving tonight for dinner. Jameson & Company. We’ve danced around each other for years, but now... we may need to lie in bed with them.”
I blink.
“Lie in bed?” I echo, my brows lifting.
He gives a humorless smile.
“It’s a metaphor. Though, in this case, not entirely.”
Something in my stomach twists.
“Their son will be attending,” he adds, casual, like he’s inviting me to tea with a dead man.
I say nothing. My silence does the screaming for me.
“He’s older. Polished. Runs the financial side of their business. Doesn’t suffer from your generation’s sensitivity issues.”
“Meaning?” I ask, throat dry, voice steady only because I’ve been trained to make it so.
“Meaning he’s not afraid of hard work. Or difficult women.”
I flinch.
Just slightly.
He clocks it. Of course he does.
“You’re going to be seated next to him. I expect you to smile. Be gracious. Charming. The future of this business may very well rest on your ability to be likable.”
My nails dig into my palms.
So that’s what this is.
A trade.
My freedom for the business.
“Of course,” I manage, voice calm despite the way my insides scream.
He stands and moves toward the bar in the corner, refilling his glass like it’s water. Ice clinks. His shoulders stay relaxed, like he didn’t just seal my fate.
“Don’t give me that look,” he says.
“What look?” I tilt my head, letting my hair fall over one shoulder.
“Like you have thoughts.”
“I do have thoughts.”
