Page 92 of Save Me

“May I?”

I nod and watch as he helps himself to a glass of the red wine I purposefully had set out for this meeting.

“This is the brand of red wine we sell at Le Vie,” he comments. “You must’ve enjoyed it when you had it, huh?” He infuses his voice with false cheerfulness.

I don’t respond until he takes his first sip of the wine. “Excellent,” he says, holding the glass up for inspection.

“Funny how the authentic version tastes nothing like the bullshit you serve at Le Vie.”

He chokes on his second sip, spilling a few drops onto his shirt. His expression is incredulous.

“Dae, what—” He can’t finish the question because he’s still coughing.

I cock my head to the side. “You can drop the act now. We both know you’re full of shit.”

“What the hell is this about?” His face reddens a mix of anger and likely embarrassment.

I slowly rise from my chair. “After that dinner a few weeks ago at Le Vie, I was intrigued by your success.”

“We’re often rated as one of the top restaurants in the city,” he boasts as I slowly circle the room, hands tucked into my pockets.

I snap and point at him. “That’s what intrigued me so damn much.” I click my tongue and shake my head. “After leaving your restaurant, I asked myself how such a god-awful restaurant could be rated so highly?”

“Excuse me?” His face reddens even more. He spins in circles as he follows my every move.

“The same thing I thought. Excuse me, but how does a restaurant with a half-filled dining room during peak hours, mediocre food, and watered-down wine sit at the top of reviewers’ lists every year?”

Stopping, I look him over.

His mouth opens and closes before he says, “I didn’t come here to be insulted. Is this how you treat your members? Your uncle would be ashamed!”

Frowning, I cock my head to the side. His insult doesn’t land the way he thinks it should. I respected my uncle, even loved the man. But I didn’t revere him. He wasn’t perfect, especially not when it came to choosing who to do business with.

“He’s dead so he doesn’t get an opinion on the matter, does he?” The question comes out as cold as I intended.

Blackmon’s eyes go wide. “No respect.”

“I show him respect by no longer allowing his name to be tarnished by keeping you on as a business partner in the club he started.”

“We started,” he says through gritted teeth.

I shrug a shoulder. “That’s not the story he told me.”

“I—”

“It doesn’t matter.” I hold up a hand. “What does matter are the multiple sources proving you paid critics to boost your reviews, statements by employees who were actively made to either water down or use cheaper knock-off brands to stretch your alcohol and cut costs, and forcing employees to work overtime without payment.”

“How did you—”

“Does it matter how I found out? What is important is that I can and will go to the Global Group with this information if you don’t rescind your position.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” A vein in his forehead throbs so much that it looks like it’s about to pop any second.

“How long did you think you could keep this ruse up?” I ask even though I don’t give a shit.

“Th-There is no ruse,” he attempts to keep up the lie.

“The Black Opal has a two-year waitlist, and we’re still turning applicants away. The club’s main level is full all four nights of the week we’re open. I know what success looks like because I helped fucking build it with my bare hands.”

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