His eyes narrow, his chin hiking.
I glare at him.
He glares back. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You will remain onRequiemuntil you’ve gone on record—live—shutting down every rumor about a rift between CrossPoint and the Cavallo Group. You’ll state clearly, and convincingly, that our partnership is intact. That it’s flourishing. And then you’ll upload the video to your website and every one of your social channels.”
Indignation engulfs me, its hold savage. “Like hell I will.”
“Oh, you will. And the sooner you get over your wounded pride, the better.”
“You think pride is my issue? Let me clarify—the thing that’s got me in a mind melt is how stupid you must think I am. It’s not like I’ll be the only one affected if the truth comes out. The Cavallo Group will go down, too. Nobody will want to work with a company who buys preferential treatment, and God knows what else.”
“You have far more to lose,piccolina.”
Piccolina?He can shove whatever the hell that means up his ass.
My fury escapes in a huff of hot air. I’m surprised I don’t breathe fire.
I don’t believe this. Don’t understand how a man who once called me a friend—a man I fantasized about, a man I’ve previously kissed—could do this to me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he snarls. “This isn’t my doing.”
Bullshit.
Bull. Fucking. Shit.
“You can’t possibly expect us to work together after this,” I snap. “Just tell me how much you paid for this so-called agreement and I’ll compensate you accordingly.”
Unlike my father, I’m actually good with money.
I have a trust that could buy us out of this.
Raffael straightens, stills, his eyes narrowing to hard slits. “Exactly what did Philip tell you?”
“That CrossPoint’s reputation is worthless because we’ve been giving you preferential treatment. That he sabotaged clients’ projects, profitable ones, so they could be given to you.”
“That’s it?” A furrow digs its way into his brow. “That’s all he said?”
There’s more?
“Jesus fucking Christ.” His nostrils flare as he shoves a wild hand through his hair, the uncharacteristic fracturing of his composure spiking my adrenaline.
I swallow, my throat suddenly desert dry. “What else is there?”
He kicks his chair out behind him, banging the wheeled projectile into the wall. “Stay here.” He strides for the hall. “Don’t you dare fucking move.” Then he storms from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter
Eight
RAFFAEL
That fucking son of a bitch.
I stalk along the main deck corridor, my jaw tight, every step echoing the thunderous beat of my pulse.
He didn’t goddamn tell her. Yet again, he bailed on his responsibilities.
I reach the spiral staircase, about to descend in search of Elena when a guy steps through the discreet crew access door to my left—the bosun, mid-thirties, white polo, tailored shorts, and sporting a tense posture of panic the moment he spots me.