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“Enjoying my leftovers, McCoy?”
I don’t have to see Philip to sense his rage. I quickly grab his wrist, my voice loud and clear in the suddenly quiet restaurant.
“He’s just a bitter little man, Philip. Trust me,” I glance at Erik, a stark coldness in my eyes that makes him flinch, “Men like him don’t even deserve to lick your shoes.”
When Erik opens his mouth, I am ready to fight back.
I am a McCoy now. My reputation is Philip’s reputation.
Howeve
r, Madison grabs Erik’s arm, muttering, “Let’s just go.”
The way she pushes Erik away, her back to me, there is something vaguely familiar there for a moment that it is on the edge of my memory but I can’t recall. Something that I saw before.
“I’m going to pulverize his fucking business,” Philip says harshly. “How dare he speak about you like that?”
My eyes are still on Madison, and I watch her take out her phone from her purse and slip outside once they are seated at the farthest table from us.
“You won’t need to do anything to his business,” I murmur. Philip frowns at me.
“What do you mean?”
My smile is hard.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on his company stocks since the wedding. They’ve been plummeting. And not because of his personal life. He is handling a very huge project as the CEO. I was doing most of the work. Now that I’m not there, he doesn’t have a chance of managing this project by himself. It’s going to take months to get the project back on track, enough time for his shareholders to lose all faith in him and have him replaced.”
Philip eyes me, the anger in him not completely diminished.
“You’re more business savvy than I gave you credit for.”
My mind is still troubled over something that I can’t quite place, but I focus on Philip.
“Yes, well. I have a knack for it. Just like I have a knack for baking. Let’s finish our food and leave.”
13
Philip
Charlotte is fine.
My eyes follow her as she moves from stall to stall, eyeing the small pieces of jewelry and the cutlery with unhidden delight. There is no sign that she ran into her ex-fiancé and faced him with no fear just an hour ago.
Right now, she is picking up a blue teapot with white flowers hand-painted on it. Her nimble fingers examine the teapot from all sides, running all over the delicate piece to check for cracks, before she turns to me.
“Well, what do you think?”
I stare at the piece of china and don’t know what to think.
If she wanted to buy a teapot, I could have taken her to the most expensive and exclusive stores where she could have picked up anything her little heart desired. But I had a feeling that she wouldn’t be cooing over any of those expensive pieces, the way she is making small delighted sounds over this second-hand teapot at the flea market.
I had suggested a walk, but she saw the sign for the flea market and grabbed my sleeve, her eyes wide and pleading.
I wasn’t able to say no, so, here we are.
Standing in a crowded field, watching her bargain over a five-dollar teapot. I wonder if she knows that five dollars is chump change. I never want her to be in a position where she will be forced to negotiate for a lower price.
But when she finally gets the price down to two dollars, to the annoyance of the seller, she looks so satisfied that I have to ask her, “Why did you negotiate?”
