“T-Tree. Look what I found. A real princess.” He motioned to my wife.

Tinder?

Tree?

Oh, for fu…

“Fitzpatrick. Fancy seeing you here. What are you doing raising funds for For the Love of Cow?” Andrew Arrowsmith strolled behind his children, leading his wife by the small of her back.

I glanced at one of the posters in the room, certain he was testing me. Sure enough, the words For the Love of Cow were plainly there. Apparently, I’d slid a fifty-thousand-dollar check at the door to support research on how to decrease methane’s effect on depleting the ozone.

Cow’s shit just got a whole new literal meaning.

I stole another glance at Tinder. He was jerking around in my wife’s arms, his throat producing feral sounds I doubted he controlled.

“Don’t tell me you grew a conscience.” Andrew smirked. I had to admit, he wore his newly earned aristocracy well.

“What conscience?” I asked nonchalantly. “I heard the word cow and figured there’d be steak.”

“That sounds more like you.” Andrew’s eyes drifted to Persephone, who was still on the floor, ahh-ing and aww-ing over something his children said.

“She is lovely.”

“I have eyes.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to her?”

“No,” I deadpanned.

Unfortunately, part of why I was mildly obsessed with Persephone was due to her impeccable manners. She rose to her feet, extending her hand to my nemesis with a warm smile, introducing herself anyway.

“Persephone Fitzpatrick. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Andrew Arrowsmith, and this is my wife, Joelle. I believe you’ve already met my sons, Tinder and Tree.”

“Oh, they made a grand entrance.” Persephone brushed brown locks from Tinder’s pasty forehead, laughing.

Do not touch his kid.

“I-I-I-I’m b-b-bored. C-Can you play with me, princess?” Tinder tugged at my wife’s dress, still damp from the champagne he made her drop.

I was not jealous of a five-year-old.

I simply wasn’t.

Even if the awe in which my wife regarded him grated on my nerves.

“This place is boring, huh?” She winked at him conspiratorially. “Let’s see what trouble we can find around here.”

“No, thank you. We still have a few people to greet.” Joelle pulled her kids back to her side, struggling to control them. She looked pitifully average, especially next to my wife. Her features boring, her hair too stiff.

Flower Girl gave her a pointed look.

“I think Tinder needs the fresh air. We’ll stay on the balcony, where you can see us. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Sweetheart.” I put a hand on my wife’s arm. “You’re off-duty. Let his parents deal with him.”

She shook away from my touch. “Not everything is a chore.”

I pinned her with a look but kept my opinions to myself. What could I say? That the kid was broken, and hopeless, and any kindness she was going to show him was going to give him cruel and unjustified hope he could one day be normal? Accepted? Loved?

“Please, Mommy.” Tinder fell on his knees. “Please, we really want to have fun for a change.”

“Fiiiiine.” Joelle laughed nervously. “Tree and I will tag along.”

“You never let us play during stuff like this.” Tree looked up at his mother suspiciously. “Why now?”

Joelle snorted, waving her hand around.

“Of course I do, honey.”

The women left with the children. Andrew and I stayed behind, leaning against the bar, watching them. A couple of people who passed us shook his hand and waved at him, ignoring me.

“She really is something.” He scrubbed his chin, following my wife’s elegant movements, undressing her with his eyes.

“Something you better avert your eyes from,” I hissed. “Unless you don’t mind my scooping them out with a dessert spoon.”

“Don’t pretend you are capable of forming an attachment to anyone or anything other than money, including this delectable little creature.”

He turned to smile at me, satisfied. “Does she know?”

There was no point in pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Yes,” I lied.

He chuckled. “Nice try. She doesn’t, but she will. And once she does, she’ll dump you.”

“Tinder’s an interesting kid,” I poked back.

“Yeah.” Andrew propped his elbows on the bar, still watching our families. Persephone wrapped her lean arm around a column on the balcony, spinning and laughing. Tinder followed suit, and Tree joined them. Joelle looked on, a grim smile on her face. “I give him all the support and help he needs.”

“Your love and support can’t fix his nervous system.” I tilted my head back, downing my cognac.

“I’m having a real good time fucking up your business, putting billboards next to your office, arranging demonstrations, suing your company for all it’s worth. What do you have to say about that?” He grabbed a drink from the bar and took a sip. “Oh. That’s right. You never curse. How is that working for you?”

I turned to him. I could count on one hand the things that managed to pierce through my armor these days.

Andrew Arrowsmith was one of the few.

So was my wife.

“Let’s cut to the chase, Andrew. Drop the lawsuit, or I will make you lose your job, then your home, then your reputation, exactly in that order. The Arrowsmith fingerprints are all over Royal Pipelines from decades ago. All it takes is one dig inside the company’s records”—I snapped my fingers—“and everything you’ve built will crumble like a stale cookie. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree,” I assured him. “My father left you penniless and forced you to scale back on your dream and potential, and if you push me to it, I will make sure your kids won’t be able to afford the clothes on their backs and the bread in their stomachs.”

Andrew took a step forward, getting in my face.

“Don’t forget I have something on you, too, buddy-boy.”

“A condition, not a scandal,” I cemented.

“Condition or not, I bet your father still doesn’t know his golden boy is anything but precious metal. Doesn’t know the extent of embarrassment you’ve caused the Fitzpatrick name. You touch Green Living, and I will make sure everyone in the world knows your story. Your history. The ugly lies and uncomfortable truths. It’s either economic carnage or a private bloodbath, Fitzy. Your pick. But I’ve a feeling you already came to terms with the fact I’m going to destroy Royal Pipelines.”

The women appeared in our periphery before I delivered a comeback. Andrew took a step back, bowing in Persephone’s direction.

“Mrs. Fitzpatrick. May I have a dance?”

If she was uncomfortable, she didn’t let it show. She placed her hand in his. I used every ounce of my self-control not to pounce on him and rip her from his hands.

It was just a dance. Besides, it was great practice for seeing her in someone else’s arms. Which was something I was destined to go through in a few years, after she gave me heirs and officially threw in the towel on my sociopathic ass.