Flirting with the Frenemy (Bro Code #1)(73)

Or until after I convince him he’s made a terrible investment and should immediately head to the nearest underground gambling hall to shed himself of this horrific burden. Or, you know, burden me with it instead.

Ambrosia Berger, CEO and owner of Crunchy. Nice ring to it. Could’ve happened, too, if he hadn’t stolen my future from me. The bastard.

“The Choy Joy campaign is launching in three weeks across all our social media platforms,” I tell the Dick. And I keep my voice pleasant and modulated as if I don’t know he was the one responsible for what happened to my teddy bear in second grade. And lest you think all my grievances against him are from before puberty, believe me…They. Are. Not. “We’re doing for bok choy what Beyoncé did for kale.”

“Interesting.” He strokes his chin, his index finger brushing over that dimple. I wonder if the lingering bits of his conscience are dried and shriveled enough that the motion dusts them out of their little hidey hole. “Your pairing suggestions?”

I rattle off a half-dozen quick meal ideas ranging from seafood to sweet potatoes.

“And sausages,” he says.

Oh, no, he didn’t.

“Sausages!” Madison squeals. “Oh, Mr. Jett, that’s brilliant. Of course we’ll add a recipe for Choy Joy Sausages.”

Madison just said Joy Sausages in front of our new billionaire boss. Someday, I’ll laugh at that. Today, however, is not that day.

“And bratwurst,” Chase adds.

No.

He.

Did.

Not.

If I hadn’t already seen the inside of a jail cell courtesy of this man—and a bratwurst, and no, I don’t want to talk about it—I’d have my hands wrapped around his neck right now.

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