Anger scorches my insides, a wildfire that consumes every rational thought until it feels like I could breathe fire.
I stalk forward, weaving through the partygoers, not stopping until I reach him. “What the hell are you doing here?” I demand under my breath.
He casually slides his hands into his pockets and raises his chin in that slow, privileged, old-money way powerful men do. “I was invited.”
“You were invitedbeforeour businesses cut ties. It would’ve been polite not to attend given the circumstances.”
“It would’ve been more polite not to threaten to kneecap my company,” he counters. “But here we are.”
I scoff, disliking so many things about his statement. For starters, it wasn’t a threat. It was a fully-actioned strategy. Completely concluded. Done. “You’re going to ruin my father’s birth?—”
He steps closer, cutting me off with his proximity. “You’regoing to ruin the Cavallo Group.” He holds my gaze, his face so close to mine I can smell the rich scent of whiskey.
I freeze.
The tickle of his breath ghosting across my skin drags memories to the surface. Dangerous, stolen moments I’d thought I’d buried. But the glacial chill in his gaze slices through the past, yanking me back to the present as the hum of chatter grows around us.
He’s still so incredibly gorgeous. Maybe even more now with the war-ready posture and subtle layers of animosity. You’d think after two years I’d be immune to his unwarranted hostility.
Apparently old fantasies die hard.
“Drink, sir?” A waiter stops beside us, making me blink out of my addled thoughts.
Raffael keeps his hard gaze on me as he says, “No. I’m already too busy drinking in someone’s tenacity.”
I roll my eyes, pausing until the waiter leaves before I seethe, “You’re not welcome here.”
“The gold-embossed, hand-delivered invitation I received says otherwise.”
“I’m serious, Raffael. You need to leave. Move on. There are other consultancies more aligned with your values. Those that will overlook the risks I’m not willing to ignore. Go spend your money with them.”
“I don’t plan on spending my money with anyone but CrossPoint.” His tone holds a lethal edge.
“Well, then you’d better get used to disappoint?—”
“I’ll discuss it with your father.” He talks over me. “I’m sure he’ll see sense.”
What a dick move. Not only because one, it’s my father’s birthday, but two, he refuses to accept my authority, interim or not. I bet if I were a man he wouldn’t push back so hard.
“Don’t tempt me to call security.” I hold my chin high. “You don’t want to make a scene.”
One side of his lips shifts upward in the most conniving, beautifully etched smirk. “You won’t call anyone. Because then Daddy will find out what you’ve been doing. And I’m almost certain you haven’t told him yet.”
I fight not to stiffen.
Because he’s right. I haven’t told my father.
That unfortunate task is scheduled for our catch-up meeting first thing Monday morning.
“See?” he taunts. “The ball’s not entirely in your court.”
“I’m not required to give him a blow-by-blow of my daily decisions. But I’ve contracted three new firms this week. All clean. All impressive. The loss of the Cavallo Group, while disappointing, will have no effect on our bottom line.”
“Is that so?” His gaze drifts past me, his eyes gleaming in subtle triumph.
I turn, following his attention, finding his brother face-to-face with my father.
Shit.
