Page 115 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
"Thanks," George snaps.
"Anytime," she replies dryly, stabbing her food again.
"It was timed perfectly," I continue. "Released the same morning as the symposium. Only someone with inside knowledge could've done that. Was that your plan, Georgie? Tank my presentation so Dad would hand you the CEO position out of pity?"
"Grayson." My father's tone is heavy with warning.
George glowers. "You're delusional. Why would I do that when we both benefit from the company doing well?"
"Because you can't stand the idea of me being the one in charge," I say.
He laughs—a short, ugly sound. "You think this is all about you?"
Jenna shifts beside me, tense and silent. Her hand trembles slightly against her glass, though she keeps her chin high. She sits unusually still, one hand pressed lightly to her abdomen as if steadying herself. She's pale, quiet—is she ill? She hasn't said anything. I glance at her, then back to George.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he says suddenly, and then his gaze slides to Jenna.
I freeze.
"Are you mental?" I demand. "You think she leaked the story? You think she'd print something calling herself a gold digger just to—what—gain sympathy?"
"It could be a way to turn you against us. Or drum up publicity for her firm." He shrugs. "Everyone knows negative press still sells."
My mother snorts, and I feel Jenna stiffen beside me, pulse fluttering under her skin.
"That's the sort of thing her kind would do," Mother says smoothly.
That's it.
"Her kind?" I repeat softly.
"Yes," she says, unfazed.
The table goes utterly still.
Even with rage pounding through me, I set my fork down carefully, my voice cutting the silence like glass. "Apologize," I say.
Mother blinks. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Apologize to her. Right now."
"I don't see what I said that was so wrong."
"Grayson, it's fine—" Jenna begins, voice small, but I shake my head.
"No. It's not fine. She apologizes."
"I will not," Mother says, chin lifting. "I said nothing wrong."
And just like that, I'm done.
I rise slowly, pushing my chair back with deliberate calm, and hold out my hand to Jenna. She hesitates, then takes it, her fingers cold and uncertain.
"This is the last family dinner you'll ever see me at," I say evenly. "In fact, with any luck, I'll never have to see either of your faces again. Father, you'll have my resignation on your desk in the morning—effective immediately. George, good luck withthe leadership. You'll need it. You have neither the skills nor the experience, but that's your problem now."
A collective gasp ripples across the table. A fork clatters to the floor. Even Stephanie looks stunned, eyes wide and uncharacteristically speechless.
"Are you serious?" Mother breathes.
