Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
september
DOMINIC
Voluntarily leaving from Pea is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
Gloria’s death was tragic and difficult, but there was a finality there. We literally laid her to rest.
I knew if I stayed in Prairie Ridge, without getting the help and closure that I need in Kentucky… my dark emotions would simply fester. And Pen is too good, too pure for that part of me to taint her life.
“It’s good to see you again.” The cool, reserved voice jerks me from my thoughts.
I’m sitting at a long, sleek bar that runs along the wall, its shelves lined with a curated selection of fine liquors.
Behind the bar, expansive mirrors amplify the sophisticated atmosphere, reflecting the rolling, lush Kentucky hills visible through a grand window on the opposite side.
Every detail— from the polished surfaces to the high-class decor— boasts of refined indulgence and a hint of pompous charm.
Across from me, behind the bar, is Kennedy. My former best friend and business partner. I never wanted to see him again in my entire life, but here I am.
He strokes the granite top of the bar and grins. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”
Yes, it is, you fucking prick. Can’t let my mouth ruin this too early. “Of course it is. I designed it.”
Kennedy’s smile falters. “I never got to say—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
He eyes me suspiciously. Anything he’d been about to say would have been a lie. As fake as the damn spray tan he consistently applies because he thinks it makes him look suave. “So what can I do for ya then?”
I take note of how busy the bar is for an early Tuesday afternoon.
The fancy monogrammed napkins, the one-time use metal cocktail picks at each bar station, the obscene collection of rare bourbons displayed in a vintage chest at the end of the bar.
Not a single cut-back or spared expense, not like most bars have to do after the initial opening hype dies down.
“I’ve done some research. This place is doing really well, huh?”
Kennedy scoffs. “Not sure where you’re doing your research. We’re better than ‘well’. We’re doing amazing. The profits since we launched are unprecedented.”
“Good,” I hum. “I’m here to invoke clause 7.3.”
Color drains from his face, and damn if that isn’t satisfying. Poor shit looks like the rug’s been pulled out from under him. Kinda how I felt when I walked in on him ten months ago, fucking my fiancée on this exact bar, somewhere very near where I’m sitting right now.
“That clause—” he begins bitterly, but I cut him off.
“That clause was added to the contracts to protect my investment. You seem to have already forgotten my visit a few months ago. When my lawyer informed me that you and that bitch intentionally filed outdated paperwork to screw me over.”
It’s strange— given how quick to anger and rage I’ve been the last few months— I feel nothing but deadly calm staring at Kennedy. It’s morbidly satisfying.
Face flushed, he stammers, “You don’t have a leg to stand on. You haven’t been around, you don’t know the players in this game. And you’re not walking away with a third of our profits!” He’s shouting by the end, pointing his finger in my face, causing customers to glance our way.
“Might want to find a better legal team, you miserable piece of shit,” I advise, pushing away from the bar and turning to leave.
“You’re not getting fuck-all from us, Miller!” he shouts after me as I walk out of the bar.
A crisp fall wind greets me as I take a moment to stare at the incredible scenery around me.
For the first time this year, I feel a heavy weight begin to lift.
When I win this legal battle, it’ll be the last I ever have to deal with these pieces-of-shit human beings ever again.
It’s stunning and fresh as hell out here, but I’m never coming back to Kentucky. Not ever.
My future isn’t here.
When I win this, I’ll walk away with a third of $100k— my share of their “unprecedented” fucking profits. That, combined with the positive cashflow at the bookstore?
I can’t wait to get back to Prairie Ridge and put my plans into motion.
And I can’t fucking wait to start the rest of my life.