Page 22 of The Last Goodbye

“I promise you, I can handle way more than you might think. And for the record, I didn’t grow up with money, and I do know what it means to work hard and build something. I’ve been doing it my entire life. The comments you made were—uninformed and insensitive. They weren’t accurate.” She stepped back as she crossed her arms over her chest. “And while we’re at it, I don’t set out to ruin anyone’s business, nor their life, and I don’t appreciate you insinuating that I do.”

“All right. But you are aware that a lot of people believe that your father’s company is known for buying up the small business guy and getting rich off of other people’s hard work. I’m sure you’ve been on the internet a time or two. I’m not making this up, Briar. This is common knowledge.”

“And I joined the company with a different plan. To build things. I pushed hard in order to get a budget to offer you a good deal, and I’ve gone back and fought for even more to make this work for you. Not everyone is trying to screw you over, Bass. Not everyone is evil.”

“And your father? Is he a good man?” I pressed.

“That’s a subjective question.”

I found it interesting that she wasn’t responding with hostility about the question. This was her father, after all. I’d expected her to insult me for even asking.

Yet she chose not to answer it.

“Do you think he’s a good man?” I took it one step further, because I was intrigued.

She cleared her throat, her discomfort evident. “Listen, he’s my dad, so it’s not fair to ask me that. And I can’t speak for what others think of him.”

“How about your mother. Does she think he’s a good man?”

The bastard had his wife waiting tables while he was hoarding away millions of dollars. It seemed like a valid question.

She exhaled. “My parents were never married, and I never saw them together once, so that’s also not a fair question.”

“Interesting.”

“What’s your point with this line of questioning, anyway? You don’t think you’re going to ever do business with people you don’t like? That’s not realistic. Why does it matter if you like my father? He’s not the one here talking to you about this, or trying to find a solution. I’m the one who’s here, trying to make this work.”

“It doesn’t matter, I was just proving a point.” I grinned, because I fucking loved getting under her skin. The way her hands fisted at her sides killed me. From the way she’d pause and exhale slowly, she was visibly trying to keep her breathing even. I added, “Like I said, I’m going to take my chances. In two years you guys may just lose interest in this small town, as well as my restaurant. You’ll find something new and shiny and move on.”

“That’s not going to happen. We’ve purchased everything surrounding you. It’s a waiting game. We’ve already started the plans with the architect, and we’ll get everything going until your lease ends. But you’ll lose out on the opportunity of a lifetime.”

I moved around the counter, suddenly aggravated by the conversation. Not to mention the fact that my head was pounding from being slugged in the face. “Are you hungry?”

“Am I hungry?” she asked, gaping at me.

“Yeah,” I said over my shoulder as I tossed the bloodied ice and towel in the garbage. I scrubbed my hands with soap in the sink under hot water. “Did I stutter?”

She studied me when I returned from the refrigerator with some cheese. I grabbed a fresh loaf of French bread and set it down on the counter.

“You’re cooking?”

“I’m a chef,” I said with a raised brow. “It’s what I do.”

“I’m aware. But it’s late, and you just got punched in the face.”

“Well, I’m hungry. And I happen to make a mean grilled cheese.”

“Are you asking me if I’m hungry because you’re offering me a sandwich?” She narrowed her gaze. “Or are you asking so you can gloat while you eat your sandwich in front of me.”

“I hadn’t considered that, but maybe I should.” I snorted. “It’s not a peace offering, it’s a sandwich. Do you want one?”

Her eyes flicked to the bread on the counter.

“Depends,” she said slowly. “Is this where you reveal you’ve been planning to poison me this whole time?”

I let out a short laugh without looking at her as I started slicing the loaf. “If I were going to poison you, I’d probably pick something more dramatic than a sandwich. And I wouldn’t reveal my intentions beforehand.”

She huffed a laugh and nodded before rubbing her hands together. “Sure. It does happen to be my favorite comfort food. What can I do to help?”