Page 37 of Twisted Knight

I will.

I’ll take so much fucking pleasure in it. Mine. Hers. And because I’ll be taking one more thing away from them. I’ll get the company. I’ll get the face of it. I’ll leave them with nothing.

I’m one step closer to my end game. To getting exactly what I want. I can all but fucking taste it.

“Right?” Rhett asks.

Only assholes hold business meetings in strip clubs.

Assholes or men with small dicks who need someone to make them feel like they’re actually bigger.

It’s pathetic, really, but no more pathetic than the two men sitting across from me in their expensive suits and holier-than-thou attitudes.

As expected, some things don’t change.

For them to think they are held in a higher regard than the rest of the TinSpirits employees and that their one-on-one meetings should take place here of all places. And together.

Entitled, privileged pricks.

“Right?” Rhett repeats.

“Exactly,” I say more to myself than to him with no clue what the original question was.

“So if we outsource marketing to a major PR firm, we can dismantle our own department and cut out that cost factor. Fewer salaries, lower insurance costs, fewer benefits. The trade-off will save us in the end.”

I chuckle to myself, the sound silenced by the jarring music coming through the speakers overhead.

Somehow the prick never ceases to amaze me.

“So,” I say, not hiding my amusement. “Cut your sister out altogether?”

“She’ll still remain the spokesperson. Ad campaigns and the like. I mean, let’s face it, that’s all she’s really good for.”

“Hmmm,” I say, my finger strumming back and forth over my lips.

“I’m talking more about her marketing department. I hate to say it, but our last four ad campaigns missed the mark. We told her they wouldn’t work. Some bullshit about changing the demographic. Pushing more to women. We had to shut her down, and her lack of enthusiasm for what we did approve shows in our sales figures.”

Except your sales figures aren’t down, golden boy. It’s the increased expenses that are lowering profits. And Rowan’s denied vision is right.

“Huh.” It’s all I say so that he keeps talking.

“We could label it more as a restructuring. What I’d call smart business. It’s what you’re going to do anyway, right?” Rhett asks.

“Last I checked, I can think for myself just fine,” I say above the hum of the music.

Bide your time, Knight. Suck it up and only show your cards when you want to.

“Can I get something for you, sugar?” the waitress vying for my attention asks, her eyes wide and her lips in the perfect pout. She doesn’t do anything for me. Tits in my face. G-string-clad ass bumping into me every time she serves us.

She’s a distraction more than anything, but I don’t fault her for working for her tips. She sees expensive suits and designer watches—wealth. We all do things we don’t like to make money. Maybe she likes it. We all put on a show to distract from the truth.

I pull a couple hundred from my wallet, hand it to her, and point to Rhett. “Take him in back for a lap dance?”

Her eyes light up at the overpayment. She can do with it what she wants. Pocket it. Give Rhett a little extra grind. I don’t fucking care, so long as he’s out of my face for a few minutes.

“Sure thing.” She leans forward and pulls on Rhett’s tie. “I do believe your friend wants me to show you a good time.”

Hesitate. I dare you.