Page 126 of Twisted Knight

“Fuck it. Maybe we should just get married to shut them up and then when we get it annulled a few months later, they’ll stop all of this.”

“What would we cite as the reason?” I play along. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s a good mood.

“You can say that I snore too loud, and I’ll divulge that you’re a horrible cook. I mean, there are worse things, right?”

I laugh and tap my wineglass against his. “It could work.”

“It could.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I mean, we should just stand on the table, tap our forks, and announce it right now.”

“Go right ahead,” I joke but when Chad stands up and puts one foot up to stand on the chair, my eyes bug out of my head. “No.” I grab his arm. “Oh my god, no.”

He looks at me and bursts out laughing as he puts his foot back down. “C’mon. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

I hit him playfully. “You gave me a heart attack.”

He leans in close and murmurs in my ear, “Don’t look now, but our moms are watching.”

Great. Perfect. More fuel for their fire.

“Then we should have a huge fight. A public display. Something to prove to them that we’re not right for each other.” I say the words but then notice his grimace.

“You know I think differently.” His voice is soft, sincere, the playfulness gone.

“I know,” I say, looking toward the crowd milling around us, not wanting to see the hurt in his eyes.

“But it would be funny,” he says, trying to recoup the lightheartedness we just had. “You could throw a glass. I could flip a table. We’d end up falling into the fountain.”

“We’d be the talk of Westmore.” I smile at him softly and nod. It feels like it’s been forever since we’ve talked like this. Since we’ve joked like this. I forgot how easy it was to be around Chad outside of the office setting. How well the two of us mesh together.

“We would, wouldn’t we?” he murmurs as he reaches over and pats my knee. “Also, not to talk shop, but…” He casually looks around us. “I’ve been talking to my cousin. The corporate lawyer.”

“Who’s not a lawyer in your family? And I know who Henry is.”

“I know.” He chuckles. “But he might have a few ways to help us out. Ideas on how we can stop the deal.”

“Really?” It’s the first sign of hope that I’ve had since this whole thing started, and my voice reflects it.

“Mm-hmm. Do you still have a bad feeling about it all?”

I study Chad and wonder how to play this with him. As it is, I’ve agreed to a deal with the devil. I’m working with Holden in return for a piece of the pie and a seat at the table.

But I’m still in a conundrum. Two votes and a small percentage of ownership don’t give me the leverage I need and the long-term return that I want. I need to own more of the company. And after spending hours reviewing Gran’s “dirt notes” and riffing with Sloane over it, I think I know where I can get it. Two members are on the decline health wise and might welcome an inflow of cash to buy their shares.

The problem?

How do I get the money to do that without the lump sum payment from Gran?

You do realize that you’re actually considering whoring yourself out—so to speak—to make dreams become more tangible realities, right, Row?

Do you still have a bad feeling about it all?

I contemplate how to answer Chad’s question as I lift my wine to my lips.

Do I play the damsel in distress, worried about my family’s legacy with the new owner who is the big, bad wolf? Or do I play “I have the right to own this company and I’m going to fight for it”?

As if this could get any more complicated. At this point, I don’t trust anyone, and as for tanking the deal … as the days tick by, the reality is setting in that this plan isn’t going to happen. My only option is to put myself in the best position I can within the company as the second largest shareholder of TinSpirits. That way my votes will hold more weight than theirs combined. At least that’s my plan.

Rhett will know that when they go to sign the sale papers and they’re revised. Little will they know Gran’s holdings will be mine soon too.