Page 59 of Bottles & Blades

I let that trail off, know it hits home.

Then I shove through the door.

“He ready to negotiate?” Marie asks.

“He’s ready to roll over,” I mutter then fill her in. “Talk to Mel. Make sure she’s good with that. Then burn the fucker alive.”

She smiles. “With pleasure.”

I nod then turn for my office.

For Tiff.

Only, before I take a single step, I’m dragged into another meeting.

Nineteen

Tiff

I’ve just finishedwith my pile of flash cards, adding the new words, reviewing old, and I’m slowly making my way through some of my homework—not the easiest to do with just my phone, but also not impossible, when the office door opens with a softwhoosh.

I look up, heart skipping a beat, hoping that Jean-Michel’s meeting has finished earlier than expected.

Even as I’m hoping, I’m half-expecting it to be Marie, his assistant with the aforementioned food.

Her expression was curious a few days before when she brought Jean-Michel’s checkbook down to the lobby. But walking down the hall, Jean-Mi’s warm arm wrapped around my waist before he ushered me into his office…her face had gone from inquisitive to?—

Interrogative.

Only it’s not Marie pushing into Jean-Michel’s office.

It’s a pair of women, one a pregnant brunette with a kind face, the other blonde with the most striking set of green eyes I’ve ever seen.

Something I don’t see until they stop talking, the conversation they’d been having as they walked in drawing to an abrupt halt.

ThenI see those green eyes—because they’re fixed on me.

“Uhhh…” the brunette murmurs, nibbling at her bottom lip, eyeing the office like she’s walked into the wrong room. “Hi.”

It’s more question than statement and it spurs me into motion.

I set my phone aside, climb to my feet, and move over to them.

“I’m Tiffany,” I say as I extend my hand. “But everyone calls me Tiff.”

“Chrissy,” she murmurs and I jolt as the combination of her name and those startling blue eyes hit my system.

“Dubois?” I ask softly.

She goes still, her fingers wrapped around mine. “Yes,” she says quietly. “Though soon I’ll be a Dawson.”

“You’re Jean-Mi’s daughter.”

Somehow she goes even more still.

And I realize what I’ve said.

What I’ve revealed.

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