C22, PT. 2

Lyle didn’t wait for a response, but cupped her elbow as they walked away from a suddenly mute Tucker. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone, but held her head high as they moved through the static crowd. Twice they were stopped by acquaintances who wanted to speak with Lyle, reminding her that he, too, was doing business. When she tried to slip away, Lyle grabbed hold of her.

“Where is he?” Lyle growled.

“Roth’s with Nathaniel Trentham.” She tugged on her arm. “I’m fine.”

“Your hand’s shaking.”

She looked down and saw the champagne rocking back and forth in the flute and dribbling over the sides. She set the glass on a server’s empty tray and tried to look serene while her insides roiled.

“Did he hurt you?”

Lyle ran his hand over her arm, saw her wince, and turned to go back the way they’d come.

“Don’t!” She grabbed fistfuls of his jacket. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?”

He swung around to face her. If she thought Tucker looked pissed, it was nothing compared to the look on Lyle’s face. If she hadn’t known he wouldn’t harm a hair on her head, she would have cowered.

“Nobody puts their fucking hands on you. You should have yelled the second he touched you. A friend of mine saw the whole thing from afar, but couldn’t tell what was going on because you didn’t signal you needed help. Thankfully, he flagged me anyway.”

She ignored that and accused, “You acted like you didn’t know about Colette’s bad investments. You could have helped her, but you watched her struggle instead.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw as he glared at her. “Why would I want to help her save something that she’s always put before me? Hennessy & Co nearly cost us Polara. She insists on seeing that company as part of her identity, as Maximus intended, when it’s really just a shrine to himself that you’re all determined to uphold no matter the sacrifice.” When she looked away, he finished, “I’m glad Colette didn’t ask me for help because I wouldn’t be able to tell her no. It was the hardest thing, watching her struggle, but she needed to learn to come to me, and she finally did.”

She swallowed hard. “I didn’t know you felt like that about dad.”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “He was a savvy businessman, a decent father-in-law, but a shitty father. I hated the way he treated you all. Anything that comes from him is tainted.” He focused on something beyond her. “There’s Roth.”

He grasped her hand and led her through the crowd until she saw what he had—Roth shaking hands with the men he left the dining room with. His eyes narrowed when he saw their rapid approach. Lyle didn’t release her until they were directly in front of him.

“Baldwin fucked up,” Lyle announced before he turned on his heel and stalked off.

Grateful he hadn’t gone into detail, she stared straight ahead and waved at a woman who looked vaguely familiar, ignoring the hulk standing to her left. “How did your meeting go?”

“Was there a scene?”

She clasped her hands in front of her. “I tried to walk away, but…”

“But?”

The spot on her arm where Tucker grabbed her throbbed. Thankfully, she was wearing long sleeves, so no marks would show.

“He blocked my way.” She cleared her throat and straightened. “He wanted to have his say.”

“Which was?”

Tucker’s words banged around in her head. The confrontation with Tucker lasted less than five minutes, but it ruined every other positive interaction she had this evening. And that was before she learned that Lyle had been rooting for Hennessy & Co’s downfall along with her father’s enemies. If Lyle convinced Colette to walk away from Hennessy & Co, her agreement with Roth and her sacrificing a year of her life, was all for nothing.

“Jasmine.”

“Tucker said you’re gunning for him,” she said.

Roth was silent for a moment and then asked, “What else?”

You make me sick. The twelve courses she consumed began to churn in her stomach, but she ignored that and said, “There are quite a few dignitaries that want to meet you. I think it’s worth seeking them out and spending time with them if you’ve concluded your other business.”

Before he could respond, two men approached. She fell back to Roth’s side and fiddled with her sleeve, where she tucked the business cards.

“Roth, there you are! I wanted you to meet my brother, Benji.”

She fixed a bright smile on her face, but when both men studiously ignored her, she relaxed a little, realizing she didn’t need to be involved in this performance. Roth said little. Normally, she would step in and smooth any tension since the men were uncomfortable with Roth’s one-word replies, but she was too rattled to intervene. In fact… When she stepped away, Roth’s hand flashed out to stop her.

“Have you met my wife?” Roth interjected.

The man stopped rambling, blinked, and switched his attention to her as if he hadn’t realized she was standing there. She wanted to tell Roth not to do business with him on principle—this man would be a social liability in future and was either deliberately being rude or saw women as inferior.

“No, I haven’t,” the man said, obviously baffled by the abrupt topic change, and extended his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Jasmine,” she informed him with a sugary sweet smile.

“Jasmine,” he repeated and stepped aside, so his brother could shake her hand as well.

“If you’ll excuse us.” Roth didn’t wait for their assent before he shuffled her off. “After I speak to Christoph Braun and Amos Faulkner, we can leave.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. The night was almost over. To settle her nerves, she snagged a fresh glass of champagne.

Even though they moved on the fringes of the ballroom, Roth couldn’t take more than five paces without being stopped by someone. As Roth was waylaid by a CEO of a crypto firm and founder of the world’s biggest hedge fund firm, she tried to mimic the expression Charlotte had worn. She tried to concentrate on the conversation, but it was going right over her head. Being hyper vigilant for so many hours had taken its toll. Her brain had reached capacity, decided it needed a break, and promptly went offline without her consent.

**This is a raw draft of Bitter Confessions. Please do not share or distribute.

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