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“Everything we tell them is obviously confidential,” Fletcher said, picking up on his concern as he glanced out the windows of Dufort Towers across the dark Manhattan skyline. “Once they give us their perspective, you can speak to Bella. After her—”
“Date?” Blake asked, turning.
“Don’t jump to conclusions. We’ve all made that mistake and it cost us,” Fletcher offered.
“Fuck that. I didn’t. I flew around the world to demand Harper marry me,” Daniel shared, walking through his office with a smug grin.
“She has a different story, by the way,” Hunter leaned forward, whispering.
“My wife is a storyteller.” Daniel glared at them.
Then he opened the door and let the four black suits walk in.
“Gentleman. Thanks for coming.”
“Dufort.” One of them shook his hand and then it became a shake fest.
Damn.
Blake wouldn’t want to go up against these men.
Perfect.
Randall Scott, you are going down.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Bella sat in the dimlylit Manhattan bar and sipped her cocktail as Cain ordered them another round.
“I can’t believe you’re in New York,” Cain said, shaking his head. “You look amazing, Bella.”
“Thanks,” she said.
Again.
He’d said the same line at least three times now.
