“Excuse me?” Rhett asks, rising to his feet, dropping a square, silver lighter he was holding onto the desk with a clank.

  I startle at the sight of it.

  Then cover the startle with a baiting smile. “I didn’t stutter.”

  “But this is my office.” He looks at Chad for backup.

  Kid, Chad couldn’t help you find your ass from a hole in the ground. But keep looking at him. No skin off my back. It would be annoying if it weren’t so satisfying.

  “Everyone needs to make sacrifices,” I say, lifting a brow. “Wasn’t that the gist of what you said in the conference room earlier?”

  Chad looks between us warily. “We have plenty of other offices you can use, Holden.”

  My look is cold and biting. “It’s Mr. Knight to you.”

  He stares blankly at me.

  I hold his gaze long enough to drive my point home. Then I turn back to Rhett. “When I’m talking to you, I expect a response from you. Not him. Clear?”

  Rhett throws his hands up. “What’s going on here?”

  “This is what’s called making business decisions. If you would’ve done more of those prior to this point, maybe I wouldn’t be here.”

  Rhett drops his hands to his sides, anger flashing through his eyes. “My sister did this. Not me.”

  Fucking Christ. Rhett’s really going to stand there and blame her for the mess he made of this company? For the debt he’s in up to his eyeballs? From the poor decisions he’s made putting himself before the good of the company?

  No wonder she despises the prick. He keeps showing me why it’s so easy to do.

  I step into the room and lean my shoulder against the jamb.

  “One minute you’re claiming she’s part of this triumphant trio. The next you’re throwing her to the wolves,” I say. “I guess that means I shouldn’t trust a word you say.”

  “There is no triumphant trio,” Rhett says, standing taller.

  “The two of us make the decisions around here,” Chad says, lifting his chin and following Rhett’s lead.

  “I’m not sure that’s something I’d be proud of,” I say.

  Rhett narrows his eyes. “We’ve kept this company from drowning. The third part of that trio you’re talking about, my sister, was simply here trying to be important. Trying to make herself be more than the face on the billboard. She thinks she has more skin in the game than she actually does.”

  My sister did this. Not me.

  Pick a lane, asshole. You keep weaving to whatever side you think is going to win my favor.

  I want to laugh, to call him out—to tell him his sister has more balls than the two of them combined. But I don’t. Why? Because I don’t fucking care.

  “Rowan’s the weak link,” Chad says, feeling the pressure of Rhett’s gaze. “That’s all she is.”

  “And yet you chased her down the hall after the board meeting like a lapdog waiting to heel.”

  Chad’s attention switches to his shoes.

  I shouldn’t get this much pleasure from pushing their buttons. I didn’t come in here to drivel back and forth, but watching them squirm—putting them in their place—is too satisfying to pass up.

  Rhett sighs. “There’s a history there. Between them.” He motions to Chad and to the air, making me assume he’s talking about Rowan.

  I chuckle. “Of course there is.”

  “He’s going to marry her.”

  Come again? I’m rarely at a loss for words and yet that comment did just that. Dickless Chad is the last person I’d expect a woman like Rowan to fall for.

  I’m rarely wrong with first impressions. Guess there’s a first time for everything.

  “Charming,” I finally manage, while losing what little respect I had for Rowan and the woman I thought she was. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.”

  They share a look. What happens next will tell me how easy or hard the next few months will be.

  Without a word, Rhett collects some of the stuff off his desk while Chad stands and waits for his friend.

  “You forgot something,” I say, pointing to the lighter.

  He falters, looks at it, and mutters something about it being his grandfather’s.

  Clank. He flicks the lid back. Click. He lights the flame. Clank. He jerks his hand so the lid closes over the flame and extinguishes it in what looks like a nervous habit.

  But the memory those three sounds evoke hits me hard and out of nowhere. The last time I saw that fucking thing our positions in life were so very different.

  I grit my teeth, contain my anger, and hold my hand out for his key. “Move the rest of your stuff into the office down the hall by Monday.”

  Rhett meets my eyes and the muscle pulses in his jaw. I dare him to look a little closer.

  Do you feel the slightest flicker of recognition when you look at me? Do you question why you’re brushing that feeling aside every single fucking time we meet?

  A part of me wants to remind them who I am. The other part wants me to wait until they fall and I have my foot on their throats before I jog their memory.

  You have time, Holden. Time to bat and tease and play with them before you move in for the kill. Don’t deny yourself all you’ve waited on.

  My smile is meager at best when Chad passes by me on the way to a waiting Rhett at the door.

  I watch them leave as the realization of what they’ve done, what they’ve given up so easily, begins to settle in.

  You ignorant fools.

  I blow out a breath and take a seat in Rhett’s cookie-cutter office. It’s straight out of a “how to look the part of CEO” article. Dark greens. Deep mahogany. Nothing inspired or creative or articulate to be seen.

  Then again, I shouldn’t expect anything less from a man who leveraged his family’s wealth and legacy for his own personal benefit.

  I strum my bottom lip with my finger as the tiniest bit of stress eases from my shoulders.

  This part of the plan is complete. Now on to the next—the one they really don’t see coming. It’s not surprising, really, that they’re so fucking clueless. Those two have no idea the amount of dirt I have on them—or how I plan on burying them with it. Shovelful by shovelful until the pressure is so intense that they can’t breathe anymore.

  I sigh in satisfaction.

  They didn’t even expect it. Questioned nothing. They were so goddamn desperate for more that they just held out their hands and ate up every word I told them.

  Chad turns and looks back at me before rounding the corner. Despite the distance, the glimmer of irritation in his eyes is undeniable.

  What’s that about, Chad, you foolish little prick?

  I wink at him.

  Maybe I’ll steal the one thing you apparently love too.

  First your company, Rhett. Then the face of it.

  Then your woman, Chad.

  The face you both need. The woman behind it.

  Two birds. One stone.

  How sweet would that be?

  EIGHT

  Rowan

  I’m restless.

  I’ve blown off my friend Sloane once again. I’ve ignored repeated phone calls from Caroline—which means word has spread through the grapevine about Holden Knight and the purchase of TinSpirits.

  I left work early and then took a jog on the beach before driving around for what felt like hours. Anything and everything to process the hurt and the betrayal and the disbelief that I can’t seem to come to terms with.

  Running TinSpirits has been my dream since I was little. When all my friends dressed baby dolls and played country club, while Cassie followed my mother around like a shadow wanting to be just like her someday, I sat and dreamt of being part of the company. Childish drawings of new bottle designs morphed into tagging along to product shoots—and then ultimately messing around during one of those shoots and ending up in the ad myself.

  My mother hated it at first. Rothschild women do not work. They volunteer. They socialize. She argued with my dad when I begged to tag along with him at work. I may have purposely made myself a pain in the ass so that she let me go, simply to get a break.

  But when I asked to work there during my teen years, she put her foot down. That was a man’s place. Rhett’s place. The family legacy for him as the male heir to carry on.

  But when the modeling for TinSpirits accidentally happened, she accepted it. How very Rothschild of her to allow her daughter to be a pretty thing to look at but refuse to acknowledge the substance beneath the exterior.

  Gran knew I was unhappy. Pushed me to stand up for myself and fight for more. To demand that if they wanted me to continue to be the face of a campaign that was taking off and reviving the company, I deserved a seat at the proverbial table.

  My parents bucked the idea. Rhett was indifferent until he realized that my presence at TinSpirits meant he could do less.

  No board seat was offered, but I was able to work there. I was able to take all my childhood dreams of how to sell the family brand and apply them.

  But that didn’t change the family allocation of duties. Rhett was to be in charge of the Rothschild business legacy while I was to be in charge of our family’s continued social standing.

  While the designation never deterred my determination, it had me wondering every now and then where things would stand if Cassie were still here.

  I watched Rhett tear down the company brick by fucking brick with his poor decisions and selfishness.

  And now I’m being told he’s not only committed to selling what is partially mine but will be remaining at the company’s helm when all is said and done.

  Then there are my parents. My dad, who, like his father and his father’s father before him, stepped back and cut himself out of the business entirely at age sixty. Is he really willing to let his wealth and his legacy be parceled off and whittled down to all but nothing? To figuratively give up the company his family built?

  Sure, he has the family trust and all that’s in it, but he’s even divorced himself from that by letting Rhett manage it.

  Not that I understand that by any means.

  My phone buzzes through the car speakers. Caroline. Again. The knots in my stomach twist even tighter.

  Word spreads faster than lightning in Westmore. I don’t know why I thought Holden Knight buying TinSpirits would be any different.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Caroline. You’re going to have to give me a minute,” I say to my empty car. The words fall into the void, making me sound lonelier than I am.

  The sand on my calves itches, and when I shift my legs to abate it, I realize just how sore they are from the miles I ran on the beach. My eyes burn from the aimless driving afterward. Anything to process my brother’s betrayal.

  How could he do this to me?

  How did our parents let him? And them knowing and not telling me makes it all hurt that much more.

  I turn on my signal and make a right into his gated community. The guard peers into my Range Rover, recognizes me, and with the warmest smile I’ve had today, allows me through.

  My heart thumps and dread sinks into the pit of my stomach. But resolve reigns.

  I shouldn’t be here. I make a right onto Birdsong Lane. This isn’t going to help.

  Yet, I don’t turn back.

  “What would you have done, Cassie? Would you take this lying down?” A bittersweet smile ghosts my lips as I picture her frozen in time as her seventeen-year-old self. “Maybe. Probably.”

  I miss my twin sister. Every minute of every day. Maybe she could have been my ally here. Maybe I wouldn’t be alone—a Rothschild in name only, it seems.

  As I pull to a stop at the curb, the ninth hole of the Westmore Country Club golf course glows in the golden hour just behind Rhett’s house. Logic screams inside my head to give it the weekend before I accost and accuse him—to go home and think this all through and develop a game plan first.

  But my heart, and everything inside me, says to charge on. To not spend another minute with this hurt trapped inside.

  He opens after my second knock. Rhett stands there with an unapologetic look on his face that I don’t miss a beat trying to change. “What kind of chickenshit move was that? You went behind my back like some dickless coward and agreed to sell the majority ownership of our company to some random asshole we don’t even know. It’s our company, Rhett. Our livelihoods. Our fucking futures.”

  “It’s still ours, Row. There’s just less of it now.”

  “Wow.” I just stare at him in his ignorance.

  “If you’re worried he’s going to change the ad campaign, that you won’t get to model anymore, I already negotiated that as part of the deal.”

  I chortle as I stare at him in disbelief. “That’s what you think I’m worried about? Remaining the spokesperson?” I snort. “You’re the biggest, most selfish bastard I’ve ever met.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” His hand is propped on the door, and he’s yet to invite me in.

  Does he really not see the problem or is he so blinded by the idea of a bailout and erasing the errors he’s made, so focused on the influx of capital, that he doesn’t care about anything else?

  “It means that you sold majority ownership to a man we don’t know. A man I don’t have a good feeling about. Don’t you think I had a right to know?”

  “It was on a need-to-know basis. Board stuff.” The asshole winks and my fists clench in reaction. I’ve never thrown a punch at my brother but there’s always a first time for everything.

  “He’ll have total control, Rhett. You just handed him the fucking keys. He can veto anything we want to do and undo anything we’ve already done.” I point at him, my finger shaking in the air. “He’ll be in charge. Not you. Not Chad. He will be.”

  “Knight doesn’t know shit about alcohol. Not the distillery side. Not the manufacturing side. Not the marketing side. Other than how to consume it, he’s clueless.”

  “And you don’t think that’s a problem?” I say the words, but something tells me Holden Knight is far from clueless about any venture he takes on.

  “No, more like, it’s perfect. He’s clean as a fucking whistle and richer than shit, so his lack of knowledge will work to our benefit. He’s going to need us as much as we need him.”

  I snort at his naivety. There is nothing simple or uncalculating about Holden Knight. Call it gut instinct, a hunch, but I doubt he needs anything from anyone. “You’re…” Unbelievable. An asshole. Shortsighted.

  “I’m what? You’re the one who hooked up with him. Not me.” What the fuck? “Yep. Your little balcony convo with him didn’t go unnoticed. Everyone’s talking about how you slipped out early from the auction and they’re saying it was with him.”

  “You’re about two seconds away from being kneed in the balls,” I grit out as his smirk taunts.

  “So it’s not true, then? You didn’t dig your claws in Westmore’s newest eligible bachelor?”

  “I’m warning you,” I threaten.

  “I wasn’t the one trying to sleep my way into keeping my job.”

  “Right. A job I didn’t know was in jeopardy on the night of the auction.” I roll my eyes. “You are so full of shit. No amount of rumors you push about me will shift everyone’s attention off of your fuckups.”

  He shrugs. “The board’s not fond of the rumor. Sleeping with the boss would be a very bad look for you. They’d question your judgment first, then your motives. Then discount you from there on out as being like every other woman out there—gold-digging her way to the top.” I ball my hand into a fist and cock it back as he barks out a laugh. “Oh relax.” He waves a hand as if nothing is amiss. “I’m just fucking with you. Jesus. You’re so easy to rile up.”

  “So glad you think all this is funny. This isn’t a joke, Rhett.”

  “I know. It’s pretty damn serious.” But the chuckle he emits says he thinks it’s anything but. “This is for the best. I promise you. He has big plans for us. He wants to take us from a regional brand to one with national recognition. I know what I’m doing. You don’t. That’s why you need to stay in your own lane and let me take care of mine.”

  But that’s the thing. He doesn’t realize that he doesn’t have a lane anymore.

  “Stay in my lane?” I raise a brow. “You mean the lane where you disrespect me in front of our employees by pulling the ‘you’re just the VP of marketing’ crap? Or the one where I’ve been poring over ways to keep the company you drove into the ground in Rothschild hands?” I smirk at him. “No worries there. That lane is gone now, because once Holden signs on the dotted line, no one is going to give a shit what you say, Rhett. You sold the only reason anyone listened to you at all. Great job.”

  “I’m still relevant.”

  “You keep thinking that.”

  “Winning the election for city council will guarantee that.”

  I snort. “You’re so full of yourself you can’t see straight.”

  “I know I’ll win and when I do, I’ll have a hand in controlling what Holden can and can’t do with the company. He wants to expand manufacturing? He’ll have to come to me. He wants to finish my idea to build a new distribution center in Fairmont? That’ll be all me.” His smirk is smug. “I’ve already been promised a seat on the urban planning committee, so I’ll be the one pulling and controlling those strings.”

  “Just like a Rothschild to buy something instead of earn it fair and square, huh?” I say.

  “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

  “And you’re being the condescending prick I’ve come to expect.”

  I stand there, dumbfounded, trying to process why I care. Why I still want this company and the chance to run it when no one else does.

  My life could be so much easier. I could take the money and vacation with Caroline. A beach in Ibiza could be calling to me to stay for months—and I could without worry. I could visit Cannes and Paris Fashion Week. I could make a thing of visiting and seeing every symphony in the world. Everything—every action, every trip, every reaction—could be on a whim.

  But I can’t do any of that because I care.