Page 26 of Twisted Knight

What’s that about, Chad, you foolish little prick?

I wink at him.

Maybe I’ll steal the one thing you apparently love too.

First your company, Rhett. Then the face of it.

Then your woman, Chad.

The face you both need. The woman behind it.

Two birds. One stone.

How sweet would that be?

EIGHT

Rowan

I’m restless.

I’ve blown off my friend Sloane once again. I’ve ignored repeated phone calls from Caroline—which means word has spread through the grapevine about Holden Knight and the purchase of TinSpirits.

I left work early and then took a jog on the beach before driving around for what felt like hours. Anything and everything to process the hurt and the betrayal and the disbelief that I can’t seem to come to terms with.

Running TinSpirits has been my dream since I was little. When all my friends dressed baby dolls and played country club, while Cassie followed my mother around like a shadow wanting to be just like her someday, I sat and dreamt of being part of the company. Childish drawings of new bottle designs morphed into tagging along to product shoots—and then ultimately messing around during one of those shoots and ending up in the ad myself.

My mother hated it at first. Rothschild women do not work. They volunteer. They socialize. She argued with my dad when I begged to tag along with him at work. I may have purposely made myself a pain in the ass so that she let me go, simply to get a break.

But when I asked to work there during my teen years, she put her foot down. That was a man’s place. Rhett’s place. The family legacy for him as the male heir to carry on.

But when the modeling for TinSpirits accidentally happened, she accepted it. How very Rothschild of her to allow her daughter to be a pretty thing to look at but refuse to acknowledge the substance beneath the exterior.

Gran knew I was unhappy. Pushed me to stand up for myself and fight for more. To demand that if they wanted me to continue to be the face of a campaign that was taking off and reviving the company, I deserved a seat at the proverbial table.

My parents bucked the idea. Rhett was indifferent until he realized that my presence at TinSpirits meant he could do less.

No board seat was offered, but I was able to work there. I was able to take all my childhood dreams of how to sell the family brand and apply them.

But that didn’t change the family allocation of duties. Rhett was to be in charge of the Rothschild business legacy while I was to be in charge of our family’s continued social standing.

While the designation never deterred my determination, it had me wondering every now and then where things would stand if Cassie were still here.

I watched Rhett tear down the company brick by fucking brick with his poor decisions and selfishness.

And now I’m being told he’s not only committed to selling what is partially mine but will be remaining at the company’s helm when all is said and done.

Then there are my parents. My dad, who, like his father and his father’s father before him, stepped back and cut himself out of the business entirely at age sixty. Is he really willing to let his wealth and his legacy be parceled off and whittled down to all but nothing? To figuratively give up the company his family built?

Sure, he has the family trust and all that’s in it, but he’s even divorced himself from that by letting Rhett manage it.

Not that I understand that by any means.

My phone buzzes through the car speakers. Caroline. Again. The knots in my stomach twist even tighter.

Word spreads faster than lightning in Westmore. I don’t know why I thought Holden Knight buying TinSpirits would be any different.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Caroline. You’re going to have to give me a minute,” I say to my empty car. The words fall into the void, making me sound lonelier than I am.