Page 64 of Bitter Rival

“But it would be good to get our stories straight. People are more apt to invest in someone’s dreams than to?—”

“Let’s not overcomplicate everything. Just focus on today’s lunch. Don’t overdo it. In fact, say as little as possible. Put a filter on that mouth of yours and just follow my lead.”

I snort and he gives me the side-eye.

“If you’re not going to be an asset, let me know now and I’ll drive you back home and go on my own.”

I just love how he insinuates that I’ll be the one to fuck it up when his people skills are virtually nonexistent.

“You need me. We’re a team. Even if I have to carry both of us for the entire conversation, which is most likely what will happen, I won’t hold it against you. Teamwork makes the dream work and unfortunately for me, my teammate is a complete misanthrope. But I won’t hold that against you. I’ll take one for the team.”

“I’m already regretting this,” he mutters. “And I’m not a misanthrope. I’m selective. I just don’t like most people.”

All I can do is laugh. He’s just a little ray of sunshine, isn’t he?

Yesterday I caved and googled him. Imagine my surprise when I found out that he’s secretly a billionaire. Or close enough. Not that you’d ever know it. The man is such a Scrooge.

But what I found even funnier is that he was named one of the Bay Area’s most eligible bachelors.

Is it any wonder this charming man is still single?

The laughter dies on my lips when Chateau Castellano comes into view.

It looks like a French chateau with manicured gardens and stone statues of cherubs frolicking in a fountain.

It’s a little too perfect for me and not at all my style—too grand, too artificial-looking, a newer build posing as a centuries-old chateau.

It reeks of money, but it doesn’t have the time-worn elegance of the Heyward Estate.

“Wow. My mother knocked on the wrong front door.”

My joke earns me a scathing glance and this time I have to admit that I deserve it.

That was a really bad joke. Truly distasteful. But I’m trying so hard not to laugh that I end up choking on a cough to cover it up.

“Are you done?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m good. I won’t let you down, partner.” For some reason I punctuate my words by drawing from the hip and shooting him two finger guns.

He sighs and shakes his head. “Holster those guns so no one gets hurt.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Daisy

Michael and his wife, Gabriella, are an attractive older couple. Elegant. Impeccably dressed. In their late sixties, if I had to guess.

Her dark hair is swept back with a silk scarf worn as a headband and her dress is black linen, a stack of gold bracelets on her wrist.

Michael is a silver fox in a light suit, no tie, and loafers without socks.

They look as if they’ve just stepped off a yacht in the Riviera.

“We’re just delighted to have you,” Gabriella says with a warm smile.

“Thank you for having us,” Beckett says smoothly, putting his hand on my lower back and ushering me to a table on the limestone terrace overlooking a sculpture garden and the vineyards.

When Beckett pulls out my chair for me, I can’t help but be impressed by the lengths he’ll go to get what he wants.

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