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“How is what going to work?”
“Are you going to force my daughter to live in this bachelor pad? It’s not suitable for a young woman. Anyone could look in these massive windows. The whole of New York could watch her.”
We were sitting on the eightieth floor. No one could see in here.
“I hardly see how that is any of your concern. I don’t give a flying fuck if you approve of me because your approval isn’t important. What I’m after is your complete compliance, and the understanding that if Amelia and I aren’t married, then you will have a lot to answer for. By the way, did you know your prenup has an adultery clause?”
Her eyes got big, and she shook a little. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Never mind how I know. I’m guessing you didn’t know. Well, let me fill you in. You get nothing. Zero. You get tossed out on your ass, and Harrison would also get nothing. Something to consider before you ever think about trying to show up here unannounced again or think that you somehow hold some sway over me. You don’t.”
She started to say something, but I talked right over her.
“You will not be getting reimbursed for a single fucking flower from that last wedding. If you have a problem with that, I don’t give a shit.”
Her face flushed scarlet. She was clearly not used to being talked to like this. Honestly, it was high time someone put this shrew in her place.
Before she could say another word, Henry came in with the coffee service.
He handed me my cup, then accidentally tripped and poured Mrs. Astrid’s cup all over her.
Shrieking, she sprang to her feet, hand raised to strike Henry.
I caught it before she let it fly. I was not about to lose a valued employee to an assault charge.
She really needed to learn not to touch what was mine.
“How dare you!” she screamed at Henry.
“My apologies, madam,” Henry said, unfazed.
He was going to receive a rather agreeable Christmas bonus this year.
“I demand you fire him immediately.” She stomped her foot in a manner not far off from a toddler throwing a tantrum.
“No, and before you ask, I won’t be covering your dry-cleaning bill either.”
“This is silk!” she screeched.
“Oh no, such a shame. And on a white dress. Too bad.” I didn’t bother hiding my sarcasm. “We must get you home so you can change immediately before that sets.” I ushered her toward the front door.
“We aren’t done talking,” she complained.
“We are. It is very simple. Amelia is mine. I take care of what is mine. She will get what she wants, not what you want.” I opened the door and all but pushed her out.
“You can’t just?—”
“You might want to be more careful, or just avoid wearing white dresses.”
She narrowed her eyes at me.
Good, she was getting all my backhanded comments today.
But just in case, I wanted to make this next one crystal clear. I needed to leave absolutely no room for misunderstanding.
“This time, Amelia will get the wedding she wants, not you. If you insist on inserting yourself, we can just go down to the courthouse and take care of it during lunch. Then I’ll release the photos to the society pages and make it clear we were forced to do that because the mother of the bride kept trying to upstage her daughter.” I looked her up and down and let my lip curl in disgust. “As if that were even possible.”
“You don’t know who you’re talking to.” She raised a finger at me, visibly shaking with rage. “I can make your life very difficult.”
