Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Andrew
The bar Tristan had suggested was dark and gloomy—almost like someone had forgotten to pay the electricity bill. The hostess was painfully thin, dressed all in black with blood-red lipstick, her hair pulled back into a severe bun.
Had Tristan brought me to some kind of S we’d always kept to cold, hard facts.
“Yeah, he doesn’t want to sell to someone who’s going to render useless what he’s done with Verity—though the irony of that doesn’t escape me.
He doesn’t want to look foolish more than he wants to turn a profit.
What I proposed to him today was maintaining his strategies but adding a subscription model—new for this publication, but not in publishing.
It’s a different approach from burning Verity to the ground like some people plan to do,” she said, throwing an accusing glance in my direction.
I glanced at Tristan and he met my eye. I could tell he was thinking exactly the same thing I was.
Yeah, she was a big fucking deal.