Page 45 of Threaded Lies

“Good.” My smile is more of a grimace, but when I think of how this is going to rock the foundation of this company, it turns into a full-blown grin. “I’m sure to do that anyway with what I have to announce. Might as well add insult to injury.”

“I thought you were going to wait on this.”

“It’s imperative that I do it tomorrow.”

“Why?” she asks as my mind runs a million laps.

Because Rowan thinks I didn’t keep my word and screwed her over. Because until I prove otherwise, I’ve lost her.

“It’s a long story.” I don’t owe an explanation to anyone, let alone one that’s based off of conjecture. If I don’t already sound a little crazy then I sure as shit would then.

But this is the only logical explanation, the only reason for Rowan’s sudden engagement to Chad and accusations of betrayal.

How many times did she tell me you lied, to which I didn’t pay close enough attention?

“I’m sure it is a very long story,” Audrey says.

“One last thing—”

“Holden. It is nine on Sunday night. Don’t make me pull people out of bed.”

Shit. “I need all of the new documents.”

“For tomorrow’s meeting?”

“Yes.” Start pulling people out of bed.

“They’re still at the lawyers’ office. You told them they had until—”

“Well, now they don’t. I have complete faith you’ll get them to figure out how to have them to me by tomorrow.”

“Holden,” she growls.

“With two sets of copies. One for Rowan and one for Rhett. Just so we can all be on the same page.”

“Why the change of heart? I thought you were out to ruin these people.”

“I am.”

“Less one.” Those two words weigh down the silence, her point made, and when I don’t take the bait and react, she murmurs, “Someone is planning to light some fireworks tomorrow.”

I grunt in response, “It seems I already have.”

FOURTEEN

Rowan

“What the…?” I mutter to myself as I walk onto the fourth floor of the TinSpirits offices and come face-to-face with the painting that started it all.

The one Holden won in the auction over Rhett. The one that marked his presence in Westmore society. And the one that put us on this path to where we currently are—him, the majority owner of my family’s company, and me, getting screwed out of the promises I so blindly thought were real.

The painting hangs on the entrance wall, positioned perfectly over a decorative table where a vase with an array of twisty sticks and fake plants usually sits. And in a position that no one can miss.

The image is chaos personified. Loud, brash, contrasting colors splashed on a canvas without any precision. There is no structure to it, no goal, and while others might find it beautiful, I find it garish at best and obtrusive at worst.

An emergency board meeting on a holiday and the appearance of this ugly, $3 million painting that represents chaos?

That means Holden is most definitely pulling a power play to piss off my brother. And while I think I might enjoy whatever is in store over the next hour or so, I also wonder why the hell am I here?