Annabelle steepled her hands in front of her face. “Why would I counter Rhiannon when I could just take Peter’s money?”
“Because you don’t want to do business with that man.” He braced himself, ready to launch into an argument that didn’t betray Rhiannon, but to his surprise, his aunt nodded.
“I agree. Something about how Rhiannon parted from Swype left a bad taste in my mouth. I dug harder and found some rumblings about Peter from a couple of women. One of those women got back to me today. Her story was . . .” She shook her head, distaste written across her face. “I directed her to a lawyer. I’m unimpressed with Peter.”
Samson tugged at his earlobe. Did Rhiannon know there were others Peter had treated poorly? Based on what she’d said, he didn’t think so. “What did you say to the woman? What were her allegations?”
Annabelle waved him away. “That’s private.”
“Okay.”
“If there’s anything you want to add, though . . .”
Samson bit the inside of his cheek. As much as he wanted to spill out Rhi’s story, he couldn’t do that without talking to her first. “I believe them. Whoever you talked to. Whatever they alleged. I believe them. Listen to them.”
“You don’t even know what they said. Or if anyone corroborated their account.”
He thought of Rhi’s face last night. Of Peter’s barely leashed aggression.
Of what might have happened if she hadn’t sent him that text. When a person felt free to cross one boundary, they often felt comfortable crossing multiple boundaries. “I don’t need to know what they said. I believe them.”
Aunt Belle studied him for a long moment and pursed her lips. “Well. I suppose my decision is fairly easy then.”
THE ROSE GARDEN was on the west side of the house, the garden Rhiannon had seen from the library. Rhiannon imagined Annabelle had been peeved not to do this bit of theater when the roses were in full bloom, though they were still pretty lovely, the sweet fragrance teasing her nose the second she stepped outside.
Peter stood in the clearing. Rhiannon didn’t turn around and leave, or trip over her own feet, or back down.
She squared her shoulders and walked into the rose garden, hands down and relaxed at her sides. Now that she was clear-headed following a restful night of sleep, she understood it didn’t matter if she fidgeted or stuffed her hands in her pockets, Peter wouldn’t see it as a weakness. Peter had never been able to pick up on the nonverbal cues of when she was discomfited. Or the verbal cues, for that matter.
Samson could tell after a couple weeks. He also held her properly. Peter had never cuddled her like that.
Think about Samson later. Business now.
“Peter.”
He raised an eyebrow at her cool tone. As usual, he was buttoned up and down in a suit, though he’d left his tie off, probably as a nod to the weekend and casual atmosphere. “Rhiannon. How did you sleep last night?”
This fucker. “Like a log, thank you.” She beamed at him, the better to irritate him.
He picked a piece of lint off his sleeve. “And Samson? I saw him briefly today, in gym shorts no less. What exactly is that meathead’s job when he’s not filming dumb ads?”
“Talk a little louder. I’m sure Annabelle would love to hear you calling her close family friend a meathead.”
Peter bared his teeth. “Ready to lose?”
“Nope.” Her smile was thin, and she hoped she looked every bit as confident as she didn’t feel. “Won’t happen.”
“I guess we’ll see.” He checked his watch, his annoyed frown lifting her spirits a little. For all that she rolled her eyes at this drama, it was satisfying Peter hated it more.
“I’m here!” Annabelle swept into the garden. The older woman had changed out of her casual clothes. She wore a glittery pink evening gown that clung to her curvy figure. Her hair was caught in a sparkly headband, and her earrings were flamingos.
Annabelle beamed at them and motioned them closer so they stood in a triangle. “Update: Chris has opted to withdraw from bidding on Matchmaker.”
“And then there were two,” Peter murmured, and he gave Rhiannon a smug smile.
How strange. Chris wasn’t the type to drop out of any race. Rhiannon wondered what had happened. She couldn’t tell if Peter had known about Chris, but he clearly didn’t think it affected his chances either way.
Annabelle took a deep breath and Rhiannon prepared herself to wait. If the older woman stood true to form, she was going to drag this out until kingdom come. Were there cameras? Was she going to pin roses on their lapels?
Annabelle looked Peter dead in the eye. “Peter. I’ve opted to decline your offer.” She switched her gaze to Rhiannon before either of them could react. “Rhiannon, come to my office.” And with that, she swept out the way she’d come.
It took a second for Rhi’s feet to move. Holy shit. Had she . . . won? Was that what had happened?
“What just happened?” Peter wheezed.
So she wasn’t the only one in shock. “I think . . .” Rhiannon said slowly. “I think you got rejected.” An unholy glee took over her shock. “I know you don’t handle that well, but hopefully you can refrain from melting down like you did when I rejected you.”
Rhi started walking away, to follow Annabelle, but Peter blocked her path. She cocked an eyebrow. “Move. I have a deal to close.”
An angry red flush suffused Peter’s face. How had she ever thought this man was attractive? Or good for her?
Because you didn’t know better.
When you were in a stew of toxicity, sometimes you reached for the least bitter piece of meat. She wasn’t going to beat herself up for how good he’d been at tricking her.
“If you think this somehow makes you better than me, you’re mistaken,” Peter hissed.
It was probably unwise to taunt a man who looked as angry as Peter did, but . . . eh. Fuck it. “I don’t think I’m better than you,” Rhiannon explained. “I know I’m better than you. And pretty soon the whole world will know it, too, won’t they?” She dropped her gaze to Peter’s fists. “Do you want to hit me?” Exhilaration made her brave, or maybe reckless. She took a step closer to him, on the path she’d follow to speak with Annabelle and claim her crown. “Go on. How will you explain a black eye? That I was asking for it?”
Slowly, he unclenched his fingers.
Tough talk aside, the knot of apprehension in her chest eased. She nodded. “Now move.”
They waited in a tense standoff for a few seconds, but Peter finally budged. She could feel his gaze on her back, drilling a hole, but with each step she took, pride and accomplishment took the place of her fear and nervousness.
She found Annabelle in her office, seated at her desk, scribbling something. The older woman looked up when Rhiannon entered and gestured for her to close the door.
Her beautiful Willy Wonka.
Rhiannon’s butt had barely hit the chair when Annabelle shoved a folded piece of paper across the desk. “That’s my counteroffer,” she said crisply.
This was a little unexpected, but not wholly so. Rhiannon had anticipated some negotiation. So long as she wasn’t the one angrily grabbing her bags and exiting the mansion right now like Peter undoubtedly was, she was fine with some friendly wrestling over dollars and cents.