Chapter 2
two
ROSE
Antagonizing Dare the morning of the charity gala wasn’t a good idea, because there’s no way I’m getting out of going. I’d much rather stay home, but responsibility and all that. The upside is that my best friend, Cassia, agreed to help me pick out the right outfit.
“So, he really just grabbed you?” she asks for the third time.
Reaching behind me to zip up the pale yellow empire-waist gown I already know I don’t want to wear, I nod. “Don’t forget the part where he threatened to destroy me.” Stepping out of my walk-in closet, I hold out my hands.
Cassia’s once pale blonde hair has been dyed a rich and vibrant cinnamon to match her name, and with her bronzed complexion, the color works. Her blue eyes, warm in spite of their frosty color, meet mine, then sweep down my body and the dress. “Nope.”
“Thought so,” I say with a sigh. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with? ”
She cringes. “And hang out with people? Absolutely not.” She’s an introvert through and through. Once she gets to know someone, her personality shines, but until then, she’d much rather curl up at home, watching movies. I wish I could skip the ball and hang out with her.
“Have you considered the fact that you threatened his family, and in turn, him threatening to destroy you isn’t as terrible as it seems?” Cassia asks.
“Whose side are you on?” I call from inside the closet as I strip out of the dress and pull on the next one.
“Yours, obviously, but I mean, his sisters ?”
“I hate when you make sense because it makes me feel bad for saying it.”
“Maybe you should feel bad,” she teases.
Huffing, I adjust the strapless top of the red tube gown and check in the mirror before going to show Cassia. “Okay. I shouldn’t have said it, but he snooped through my drawings and I...” I trail off and shake my head, because how do you say I showed too many emotions and I took it out on him without sounding like a total jerk? “He got under my skin and I reacted,” I confess. “It wasn’t my finest moment.”
“Mmm. And how does that make you feel ?” Cassia asks with a little grin. “No to the dress.”
“At this rate, you’ll have a whole new closet,” I grumble.
“I’m not complaining. I really hope you hate the emerald one.”
“You can have it,” I call over my shoulder as I head to try on another of the many I had custom fit for tonight. Cassia and I might be the same size, but she’s shorter than me, so the dress will need some alterations. Nothing a good tailor can’t fix, and speaking of tailor... “Oh, wow,” I murmur to myself, taking in the silky, dark blue material of the next gown .
The dress glides over my skin like the soft caress of a lover. I adjust the single shoulder strap and smooth my hands over my sides. This is it. The material molds to my curves in all the right ways, the softness of my stomach not overly pronounced but also not hidden away like a dirty secret. Soft, elegant ruffles accentuate the slit up one leg and add a touch of sexiness.
“You stopped talking.” Cassia appears beside me and stares at me in the mirror, eyes widening as she takes it in. “Yes. If you don’t wear this one, we can’t be friends.”
“Who knew our friendship was so fragile?” I ask with a laugh.
“Hey, NYC Socialite is publishing their annual edition of most eligible singles next week, and I’m trying to get my bestie to number one, but if you don’t want the spot...” She trails off and shrugs.
“Number one would be a nice change from last year’s edition.” I’m still annoyed they placed me in the hard to date section. The NYC Socialite website, which is owned by Bluestar Entertainment, posts all the latest gossip and prides itself on being in the know for all things upper echelon, but like most tabloids, there’s always added drama and sometimes a little cruelty.
I wouldn’t expect anything else from the company owned by an entertainment conglomerate. People do love to hate, and while I want to say I’m not bothered, the hundreds of comments agreeing with me being difficult or calling me a frigid bitch got under my skin. Hence the dozens of dresses. Maybe if I can dazzle with my outfits, NYC Socialite will give me a break.
Yeah, right.
“So? What’s the verdict?” Cassia asks .
Smoothing my hands down the dress, I nod. “This is definitely the one.”
Her gaze gleams with wicked intent. “Bet Dare would like it.”
“Oh my god, no. Absolutely not.”
“I’m just saying, hate sex is good for the soul.”
Glancing at her, I pull a face. “Is that so? Do you have something to tell me?”
“No, but I’ve seen enough movies to know.”
“Movies aren’t real,” I murmur, sounding too much like my dad.
The doorbell rings and Cassia gives me a look. “I’m not sure what reality you’re living in, but the hair and makeup artists just arrived.”
A guilty smile creeps across my face as we head out of the room to answer the door. “I wanted to look good.”
“You’re not getting an argument from me. I’m only trying to make a point. Maybe there’s something to be said about sleeping with the enemy. Who was the last person you went on a date with, anyway? Eric the creep?”
“Don’t remind me.” I cringe at the memory. Eric got way too handsy on that date and didn’t stop until I screamed. Then he called me a slut.
“You should flirt with Dare. I bet he’s great in bed.”
“I’m not going to sleep with Dare, of all people,” I say with a scoff. “Besides, he’s probably forgotten about me by now.” One can hope, right?
The twisted half-up-half-down style embraces an updo without all the pins and fuss, leaving the bottom part of my hair loose and gently waved. Rose gold eyeshadow, accented with a soft chestnut, coats my eyelids and the cat-eye eyeliner is subtle, sharp, and perfectly shaped. Cassia gave me her stamp of approval before rushing off for a date with someone she met online.
Without her here, my mind replays everything that went down this morning, and regret swirls in my gut. I let my anger get the better of me and took it too far, but I can’t take it back now.
Robert, Dad’s driver, greets me at the door, his eyes sweeping down my gown. “You look lovely tonight, Ms. Miller.”
“Aw, thanks, Robbie.” I run one hand down my side, the silky, dark blue material cool against my skin. Although my conservative dad may not approve of the flash of tanned thigh, the confidence flooding through my system as I walk toward the limo outweighs the possibility of disappointing him. Truly mid-sized models are still few and far between, but tonight, I feel like one.
I slide into the back of the limo, setting my glittering clutch beside me and carefully crossing my legs before looking at my dad sitting across from me, his back facing the driver’s seat and privacy window. He’s wearing an onyx tux, the lines and material setting it apart from the ones available at a department store. Dad’s tailor, the same one that adjusted my designer dresses, knows how to make even the simplest of outfits scream money.
My dad is as powerful as they come, a god among men, or at least, that’s how it sometimes feels. His salt and pepper hair is the only indication of his mortality. Even his skin, at fifty-five, is wrinkle free.
Smiling at him, I say, “Hey, Dad.”
Dad’s answering grin is one he doesn’t use often, and it warms my chest to have one gifted to me. “Rosalynn, you look so beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
Any lingering worries Dare instilled disappear in my father’s presence. Dad has always been my safe place.
“How was your day? Did you work from home?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say quickly. “My day was good. Busy, but I’m happy to have some time with you.”
“Me too, Rosie. Do you have anything fun planned for the weekend?”
I pull a face. “Fun? What is this thing you speak of?”
He chuckles. “I thought you and Cassia might be doing something.”
“She’s busy with dates and world domination.”
“Ah, no rest for the wicked, eh?” He studies me. “Have you been dating?”
“Um.” I wrinkle my face. My dating life isn’t a subject we discuss. “I haven’t really had time.” Work is my life, and after the last few dating disasters, what little time I have off is spent on my couch, drawing, or hanging out with Cassia.
“You can take a night off for yourself every once in a while.”
Yeah, and fall behind? No thanks. “I know.”
His phone chirps and he glances down, tapping out a message, then locks it. “Sorry, work never stops.”
I know that more than anyone. When I was younger, I used to hate that he’d spend so much time on his computer or phone, but then I got involved, and it felt good to be part of something so big. Plus, working together has made us closer than ever.
I wave away his apology. “I get it. Is everything okay?”
Dad studies me, then releases a breath. “Nothing that can’t wait until Monday. Tonight is important.” Not only is it a charity gala, but it’s also a way to build connections, and Dad always takes advantage of any opportunity to strengthen his network.
“Who are you talking to tonight?” I ask.
“The Astors.”
Darius and Elaine Astor are the heads of Rex Technologies, and we often collaborate with them to develop apps for our various financial ventures. It’s critical for them to know they’re important to us.
“And you’ll make the perfect dinner companion for Mrs. Elhart,” Dad says.
Mrs. Elhart? She has an opinion on everything and isn’t afraid to throw a few insults into our conversations. She’s particularly vocal about my size. I would say you can’t blame her, because she’s elderly and that’s just how things were back then, but that’s bullshit. She’s an asshole.
“Can’t someone else do it? She smells like a funeral home and...” I trail off when he scowls at me. Right. This is one of those fall in line moments.
“You’ll eat dinner with her and keep her company. She might be old, but her holdings in the Money Works Investment Group are important to me.” He pauses. “To us.” I hear the unspoken reminder.
Everything I do is for you, Rosalynn.
The dinner won’t be that long, and sitting with Mrs. Elhart can’t be any worse than sitting at a table full of men discussing business. That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.
“Fine, I’ll do it.”
He grunts. “You remind me of your mother when you talk like that.”
His words aren’t a compliment. What he means is, I remind him of my mother when I have an opinion of my own. I rub my chest and chew on my cheek, staring out the window and trying to swallow my hurt.
Mom died when I was six. It’s been nineteen years since we lost her, and each year that passes dulls the pain a little more, but his disapproval of our likeness cuts deep. I cherish the few memories I have. Gentle smiles. Warm hugs. Confident and beautiful. I’ve always wanted to be like Mom, my way of feeling close to her, but Dad makes it seem like a bad thing.
Or maybe he’s still grieving, and I make it harder by constantly reminding him of his late wife.
It takes two breaths to lock it all away, just like he taught me. The ache in my chest subsides, and another breath chases away any lingering sadness that surfaced. There’s no room for weakness at the top.
The driver turns right, heading away from the financial district, where the gala is being held. I frown. “Where are we going?”
“Picking up a guest,” Dad says.
I nod, pretending that the surprise doesn’t bother me. I hoped we’d have some time alone, but JD Miller & Co always comes first. “Who are we wooing tonight?”
Reaching for a tumbler and the decanter of scotch, he pours himself a drink. “Eric Vanderbelt.”
I barely manage to suppress a groan. Eric “the creep” Vanderbelt is a prick who thinks he’s hot shit. Then there’s the whole incident of him trying to force himself on me. The world I live in is full of assholes, but Eric is a unique breed of douche.
There’s one reason Dad would want to talk to Eric.
“Vista Holdings?”
Dad sips his scotch. “Clever girl,” he praises. “Through his various holdings, Eric owns twenty percent of Vista’s stock. He says he has Clarkson, Mendel, and York in hand.”
The last year’s worth of obsessing over everything related to Dare finally comes in handy.
“And with our five percent, we’d have forty percent ownership,” I conclude. It’s the only reason Dad would even bother with someone like Eric. Once we wrangle ownership of Dare’s company, we can put an end to his predatory lending practices and his cruel reign. The beast’s castle will burn once all the pieces come together, and some vicious part of me wants to be the one holding the match.
My hate for Dare should probably worry me. The one rule I’ve always sworn by is to never intentionally hurt anyone. I know all too well the pain of someone else’s evil actions. I refuse to be responsible for ruining someone’s life.
Though, maybe, rules are meant to be broken...sometimes. Dare goes against everything I stand for. He’s one of the vile people who profits off his customers’ misfortunes. I won’t feel bad for wanting to destroy him.
Besides, it’s not like I’m planning to kill him. He’s the murderer.
Dad takes a drink and grins. “We almost have him, Rosie.”
The nickname warms my chest. He’s been so stressed out lately. Always worried about Dare or the hundreds of other fires he has to put out as chair of the board. I see my dad all the time, but I’ve missed small moments like this more than he’ll ever know.
“Between Dare and his sisters, they still have a majority. We’d have to find some type of leverage to wrangle one of his sisters to our side,” I say. Seeing as no one knows where they are, that feat will be nearly impossible. There are rumors that Dare killed them, but based on his reaction earlier, that’s clearly a lie. Dare cares for his sisters, which means they’re a viable weakness. But since we have nothing on them, all I’m left with is the bakery.
I clear my throat. Now is as good a time as any to bring up what I’ve learned. “Speaking of, I found something we can try and use against Darian.” I grab the champagne and a flute, carefully pouring myself a glass and being mindful not to spill as the car rolls over bumps in the road.
“And how did you discover this weakness?” There’s a hint of warning in his tone. Dad doesn’t like being lied to.
“I hired a private investigator.” I lean back against the seat and watch his reaction.
A ripple of annoyance flashes over his face. “When?”
“Last year.”
Dad scowls at me. “Millers never keep secrets from one another, Rosalynn.”
That’s what he always tells me. In this ugly corporate world, all we have is our trust.
A sigh slips past my lips. “You didn’t tell me Eric was riding with us to the gala.”
Isn’t that sort of surprise a secret in its own way?
He arches an eyebrow. “That’s completely different and you’re pouting.”
Stifling my retort, I keep my expression relaxed and loosely grip my flute. The more I react, the more I protest, the more closed off Dad becomes and the closer I am to losing him too.
I rarely see Mom’s family, and when I do, they treat me like an outsider. Dad’s brother isn’t a kind man, and my cousins... Dad is the only real family I have.
“Sorry,” I say, taking a measured sip. There’s no pleasure to be found in the bubbles fizzing in my mouth.
He heaves out a heavy breath. “It’s okay, Rosalynn. You’re meant to become chair one day, but you can’t do these things without me. We’re a team, aren’t we?” he asks, approaching me with softer words.
“Always,” I tell him, holding his gaze. He’s my rock.
The limo rolls to a stop, and Robert gets out, rushing around the front of the vehicle to open the door for Eric Vanderbelt. Just like that, I lose the chance to tell Dad about Frank’s Bakery.
I move down the bench seat to make room for Eric, who drops into the car, an overwhelming amount of cologne following him. Eric is the picture of American businessmen—perfectly cropped brown hair a few shades lighter than my own, clean face, sun-kissed skin, and an easy smile.
“Joseph,” he greets my father first, nodding at him before sliding his gaze in my direction. Only, his eyes never meet mine, because they stay stuck on my chest.
Asshole.
“Rosalynn,” he purrs.
Ugh. Eric is disgusting, but we need him, and I can sense my Dad’s attention on me. I bestow a dazzling and incredibly fake smile on the asshole next to me, hoping it doesn’t scream I hope your cock falls off too loudly.
Sometimes, I hate everything about corporate politics.
I hate my customer service voice.
I especially hate Eric.
“Eric, lovely to see you again,” I say like a proper lady.
His eyes finally lift to meet mine. They’re a creepy shade of light blue. “Indeed, it is,” he murmurs, grinning at me like we shared something special and romantic the night he nearly raped me.
My upper lip almost curls in disgust, but I keep my reaction in check. We’re supposed to woo, not insult. Thankfully, my dad is always the most important person in the room, and Eric all but forgets me in favor of chatting with the king of American finance. That doesn’t stop his hand from falling dangerously close to my thigh. His pinky brushes against my leg, too purposeful to be an accident. I suppress a gag and glance out the window.
The night’s barely begun, and I’m already ready for it to be over.