Page 83 of Obsessed Heir

“Well hello,” Bronwyn greets us in an overtly saccharine tone.

Abigail’s eyes go wide, her pulse kicking up at her throat as she squirms under the other woman’s scrutiny.

“Hi, Miss O’Neal,” she manages, a little starstruck despite herself.

Meanwhile, Bronwyn’s icy glare could freeze lava. “Fancy meeting you here,” she bites out with thinly veiled hostility.

Abigail leans back in her seat.

“Holly asked me to help with another project,” she explains, doing her best to maintain her composure.

“Did she?” Bronwyn folds her arms across her chest.

“She asked both of us.” Abigail sets her forearm on the table, leaning toward me.

Bronwyn catches the subtle shift. Her fingers tighten where they’re curved around her arm as her gaze finds me. “So, this is where you ran off to last night when you left me.”

The implication in her statement is clear and calculated to provoke a reaction. I have to fight the urge to check on Abigail because doing so will show a weak spot. A chink in my armor I can’t afford to make public, not with Bronwyn around.

Keeping my expression impassive, I deflect. “Holly has a new PR campaign for the Maiden, and Abigail is perfect for the role.”

“Hmm.” Bronwyn’s smile is overly sweet, contrasting with the unconcealed malice in her gaze. “Steven did mention you chose an amateur for this project.”

The disdain in the word rubs me the wrong way, but I bite my tongue.

“I couldn’t believe you’d pick someone off the ship’s deck and toss them into the deep end without expecting them to drown.”

The little prick must have told Bronwyn about Abigail’s fear of water, trying to stir up trouble. While Abigail has managed well on the cruise so far, Bronwyn couldn’t know that detail any other way.

Before I can respond, Abigail speaks up. “Barron and I have known each other for years,” Abigail informs her. “He helped me out of a difficult situation, so I’m happy to help him in return.”

“Well, that’s interesting.” Bronwyn’s smile turns sly, sensing an edge she can potentially exploit.

While she won’t find any real dirt, Abigail has inadvertently provided more personal information than I would have offered to anyone, Bronwyn included.

Someone in her position could try digging up anything to give herself an advantage over me—a tactic straight from my own playbook. Though I could easily see her making something up if it’ll benefit her.

“What’s interesting?” Holly asks, returning with our drinks. She offers a pleasant smile, ever attuned to the subtleties of power dynamics.

“It seems Abigail and Barron have history,” Bronwyn says lightly, tapping her fingers against her arm. “I’m sure it’s a fascinating story once you get all the details.” Her eyes glitter with the prospect of gaining some leverage.

Thankfully, Abigail doesn’t rise to the obvious baiting. She must realize on some level that sharing anything else would be unwise.

“Nowadays, there’s a story about every Joe Schmo you can think of,” Holly states, her voice tinged with indifference.

“Or in our case,” I interrupt, “every Sally Jo.” I can’t resist adding, using Bronwyn’s birth name to let her know I’m well aware of the skeletons rattling around in her closet.

The dig strikes home. Bronwyn loses her smile. She drops her arms and glares at me with undisguised contempt. Nothing less than I’d expect when putting her in her well-earned place.

“I don’t know whatliesyou’ve heard—” she begins with an air of haughty defiance, gaze flicking between Holly and me, trying to regain her footing.

“I haven’theardanything,” I reply coolly.

“It made for some rather fascinating reading though,” Holly chimes in, chin propped in one hand as she leans against the table.

“Fascinating,” I agree. “Pictures and all.”

My confirmation that we have full knowledge of Bronwyn’s tawdry past is enough to shut her down. She presses her lips together, visibly flustered. For my part, I’m thoroughly enjoying her discomfort.

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