My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(98)

Our public relations officer sauntered onstage, smiling big in her crisp dress suit. “Mr. Costa will not be taking questions. Understandably, he’d like to be with his loved ones today and make sure he shows support to his wife’s family.”

The Townsends lived nowhere near Newsham. And Shep Townsend was about as blue-collar as I was a Hooters waitress, but calling on my bluff didn’t fit the media’s narrative.

As I marched backstage, Cara and Dylan, my financial analyst, followed, jogging to match my long steps.

“Give me good news.” I jerked my tie loose, strolling to the elevator.

I’d done a lot of legwork to ensure this story found itself in the hands of every major media outlet in the United States.

“Their stock is tanking.” Dylan’s eyes remained glued to his iPad. He pushed his glasses up his bridge. “This is catastrophic for them. We’re talking a fifty-percent slash in value. At least. Honestly, unheard of. Not even after Parkersburg. And Licht’s stock was rocky in the first place, since it just went public.”

He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know.

This should’ve been my moment to relish in the damage and misery I’d leveled at the Lichts, yet all I could feel was the nagging, persistent stab of guilt that poked at me like a hummingbird.

Dallas.

She always wormed her way into my psyche.

“Sir? Did you hear what I said?” Dylan waved his iPad. “Their stock is crashing. Why aren’t you happy?”

An excellent question.

I wanted the answer just as much as he did.

Cara answered her phone. “Yes. I’ll tell him. Thank you.” She didn’t have to tell me who it was nor what he wanted, but she did. “Your father requests your presence in his office. He sounds very pleased.”

Almost pleased enough to give me the CEO position. I could feel it. I’d won him over. He’d made me jump through fire hoops—and so far, the flames hadn’t licked me.

“I’ll see him right away.”

Victory was within reach, so potent and sweet, I could almost taste it.





“And what’s he doing now?”

I flipped on my back, setting my book on my mattress, feet dangling in the air.

Hettie leaned beside my doorframe. I wasn’t sure at what point, exactly, I’d lured her into my camp, but I no longer worried about whose side she was on.

Sometimes, it felt like we were roommates in a dorm. Or maybe teenagers stuck in a long summer camp abroad.

We shared the kinship of two young women forced to face an arduous man, who somehow stood their ground.

Hettie squinted into the sliver of space between the hinges. “He’s still pacing from side to side, mumbling to himself that he knows you’re here.”

Snorting, I shook my head and reopened my book.

After a few pages, I asked, “And now?”

Hettie leaned forward and squinted, brows furrowed, hands pressed against the wooden panel. “I think he’s trying to call you again.”

I didn’t bother checking my phone, which vibrated on my nightstand. Last time I did, it had racked up sixteen unanswered calls.

That was two hours ago.

The clock flashed ten at night, and Romeo still showed no signs of determent by my reluctance to see him.

“I can see you, Hettie.” His words seeped through the door. “If you don’t open up, I will fire you.”

Hettie cupped her mouth, suppressing a giggle.

“You’ll do no such thing,” I yelled, flipping a page. “And if you try, I’ll rehire her and pay her to be my friend full-time.”

“With whose money, pray tell?”

“Mine. Oh, I forgot to mention. I sold a couple of your designer watches to ensure I’m not low on cash. You don’t mind, do you?”

The silence on the other side of the door told me he was using every available drop of patience to make up for his cutting words to me earlier.

“Open the door, Shortbread.”

“Give me one good reason,” I challenged, enjoying the exchange between us.

“So you can explain to me how you managed to defy the laws of gravity—and in my eleven-million-dollar house, no less. My bathroom ceiling is splattered in green.”

This was what he cared about right now? My little skincare-routine accident?

I sure hoped liquid chlorophyll was as effective for my face as the magazines claimed, because it was absolutely effective on Romeo’s precious crown molding.

“You should thank me. Your house needed some color. Everything is cream and beige here.”

“Open the door.”

Boy, he sounded like a broken record.

“Apologize first,” I cooed.

“For what? Tarnishing my house with a vile green color or ruining a drill with a prototype that cost over eight hundred thousand dollars?”

“My Lord, so expensive, and it doesn’t even have a sunroof.”

Though I wanted to drag out our beef into the next century (and maybe the one following it), I knew things weren’t black and white.

His father did hit on me today. Blatantly and in front of people, disrespecting his honest, loyal, and hardworking son.

If my suspicion was true, Romeo had been subjected to a terrible betrayal by Morgan and Senior. I was rabidly curious.