Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Flynn clapped a hand to his mouth, and I felt his body jerk as he tried to hold back a snort of laughter. I relaxed against him, and he wrapped an arm around my back.
“Hmph.” Conrad seethed. “Don’t bother coming back to the office after this, Wellbridge. You’re done with Fortress.”
“Done,” Jeff stressed. “So done.”
I shrugged again. In my email, which I’d also sent to HR, I’d stated that I planned to work out my two weeks’ notice from home, but I was happy to let Conrad think it was his idea.
Conrad’s jaw ticked. “You’re making a huge mistake. Don’t expect Fortress to clean up your messes when you disappoint whatever clients you manage to scrape together.” He pointedly looked past me to the Honeybridge Mead signage, as well as the industry representatives and reporters currently filling the booth, and raised his voice. “We will make it very clear to our clients that if any of them leave us for you, we will not take them back when you inevitably fail to deliver.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said with a cheery nod. “But I won’t fail.” And from the look Alice had given me earlier, as well as the conversations we’d already had with some soon-to-be-former Fortress clients, many people would rather take a chance on Rainmaker Holdings than deal with Fortress’s business practices. “We’ll be just fine.”
“Can’t say I’m disappointed to lose the Honeywax deal anyway,” he bluffed. “Especially now that the chair-manufacturing facility’s off the market, so there’s nowhere to expand.”
I tried to hide my surprise. I hadn’t heard that the Hornrath Chair Company had been purchased, but I’d told Hayden days ago that the deal was dead, so he had no reason to keep me informed. I was sad that Flynn would lose the opportunity, but we’d find him something else. Something better.
Conrad couldn’t resist one last bitter dig. “All in all, Honeydew doesn’t live up to the hype, JT. You’re welcome to it.”
This time, I couldn’t help giving him the reaction he’d been looking for. My hands clenched into fists, and my mouth opened in an angry retort. The fucker could say what he wanted about me, but Flynn—
Flynn’s fingers pressed into my waist, anchoring and calming me, and I managed to take a deep breath and bite out, “Honeybridge Mead doesn’t need Fortress or me.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw the Ren Faire people exchanging impressed looks.
Conrad smirked. “Don’t underestimate the contacts I have in this business, son. Honeybunny might have a good reputation now, but once I explain—”
“Conrad, darling!” My mother swished forward and extended her bejeweled fingers for him to clasp. “So nice of you to stop by.”
Anyone who didn’t know my mother well would have believed her smile was friendly and a bit vapid, as if she and she alone had missed the spectacle Conrad had caused and the lingering tension in the air. I knew her well enough to see the wintery death gleam in her blue eyes, and it was almost—almost—enough to make me pity the man.
“Patricia,” Conrad grunted, taking her proffered hand. “Wish I could say the same.”
My mother laughed lightly. “Have you met Mr. Honeycutt yet?” She tilted her head toward Flynn. “He’s the mastermind behind the hottest mead company in the country. Can you believe how many people are shouldering their way in here for a taste of his varietals? It’s simply thrilling.” She patted Flynn’s cheek. “Such a smart boy… despite his questionable upbringing. He’s like a son to me, you understand.”
Flynn twisted his tongue in his mouth, but the edges of his lips still turned up. “You flatter me…. Mama Wellbridge.”
My mother’s face went blank for one full second, which was an utter delight to behold. Flynn was right—too much getting along would be boring. It seemed my mother had met her match, and I was going to give Flynn the oral treat of his choice to thank him for demonstrating it.
She lifted one impeccably groomed eyebrow. “Not at all, Flynn. I’m excessively proud of your accomplishments,” she said fondly. Then she turned back to my father’s old friend, her eyes glittering in a way that reminded me why Patricia Wellbridge had always been a valuable asset on the campaign trail. “In fact, I plan to spread the word about Honeybridge Mead to all our friends and associates at our end-of-season victory party. The Dunkirks will be there, of course. Have you ever met Leticia Dunkirk, Conrad? She inherited controlling interest in one of the largest wineries in North America a few years ago. And the Sheas—you remember Gary Shea, don’t you? I believe he’s highly placed in the New York State Liquor Authority or some such thing now.” She tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Pucky Dubour—pardon, Governor Dubour—will probably make an appearance. He loves my parties. And the Penningtons. The Patels. The Swenson-Taggarts—Stella Swenson is a columnist for the Washington Post, you recall, but her husband runs that giant shipping company that was rumored to have purposely held up shipments just to sabotage one of his son’s political rivals. I never believed him capable of such vindictiveness, naturally, but then, is there really a limit to what one will do to protect one’s son?”