Sometimes the Plot Twist is in the Writer

The young man didn’t leave like Claire asked, and his expensive cologne choked out her nose when he hopped his chair closer.

“You know, you look familiar,” he said. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

At first glance, he also looked familiar, but Claire didn’t want to risk another look his way. If she did know him, he couldn’t be one of the locals Ian wanted her to meet. Which meant he could be from her home. She swallowed and dipped her head, hoping the brim of her hat would shadow her identity. “I don’t think so. What did you say your name was?”

“Trevor Winston.” He leaned even closer. “And I’d be happy to take you to my yacht on the mainland and get to know you.”

“No, thank you. I’m meeting someone here.”

“Yeah? Who’s that?”

“Me,” a deep voice rumbled, and Trevor jumped when a broad, tattooed frame towered over them.

“Daniel,” Claire breathed out.

His eyes snapped to her. Green overtook the blue in his eyes as they dropped quickly over her before cutting back to Trevor. “The woman asked you to leave.” His fingers curled into his palm. “I’m not gonna ask.”

“You realize,” Trevor leaned back, arms crossing, “I could destroy you with one post online.”

Danny’s voice dropped low and eerily quiet. “Should I spell my name for you again?”

“Wine for two.” Emelie arrived, eyes dropping to Danny’s hands before setting down the wine on the table. Claire followed her gaze and saw them twitching.

“This her?” one polo-shirt man asked. The beer in his hand sloshed as he turned, eyeing Emelie’s chest. “You’re right. At least a handful.”

Did he just—

Danny lunged forward, but Emelie clamped onto his arm. “He’s not worth it,” she whispered with a smoothing pat. “I’m okay.”

“Excuse me?” Claire said. “Is this how you were raised to speak about a woman?”

Trevor and his friends snickered, and a memory of Brandon snickering whenever she’d offered an opinion snapped in her mind. Heat swelled deep in her belly.

“Get. Out,” Danny said between clenched teeth. “Now.”

“You should also know, Larss-son,” Trevor mocked. “Been talking to the old man, and he’s interested in buying half this island. Good revenue.” He smirked. “Maybe I’ll have him start with your place.”

Danny’s black t-shirt stretched and strained as his arms slowly curled over his chest, jaw locked. “Not for sale.”

“Won’t matter when he takes over all the other businesses and forces you to sell.”

Danny spun toward Emelie and she shrunk back. “This is why you didn’t say anything to me or Uncle Nils? He threatened you with taking the inn away?” His normally smooth voice graveled. “Did this asshole force you to do anything?”

Claire squeezed her fingers together, watching humiliation color Emelie’s cheeks, desperation rolling off Danny. The heat in her belly rose, setting her face on fire.

“Don’t worry.” Emelie dropped her eyes. “He never touched me.”

“Yet.”

Danny whipped back to Trevor. “I’m going to break every bone in your goddamn face.”

Emelie frantically waved toward the bar as Trevor huffed, straightening in his seat. “I’m not afraid of you.”

The chair in front of Trevor flew to the side with the man on it. Trevor yelped, climbing into himself.

“Hold up.” Ian appeared and wrapped around Danny’s middle, heaving him back.

“Winston, did you say?” Claire’s icy tone rose over the noise, and everyone stopped and turned toward her. She leaned into the years of control forced on her as a child and meticulously tipped the wine bottle over her glass, pouring with a twist.

Not a drop dripped down the outside. Her hands steady and smooth as she cupped the bottom of the wineglass, swirled, sniffed, and swirled it again, glancing at Trevor. “Would this happen to be Sebastian Winston of Winston Enterprises?”

“Yeah.” His mouth twisted. “My father owns it.”

“Ah.” She sipped. “Mm, Emelie, this is delicious, thank you. Did you choose it, Daniel?” No one moved, but he managed an awkward nod.

She ran a finger around the rim of the glass, holding the tension in the room for another moment. “Tell me, Trevor, is it okay if I call you Trevor? Where did your father get his start in business?”

He puffed out his chest and helped himself to the extra glass, reaching for the wine. She gripped the neck of the bottle and shook her head.

“Please, answer me first.”

“He was one of the privileged few to intern with the Gregory Cooke. You might have heard of that family.”

Her eyes flicked up to Danny, then to Ian, whose hand squeezed Danny’s shoulder. Danny eased back—slightly. She looked back at her glass. “That’s correct,” she said. “Sebastian interned and then was given Cooke’s Holdings off the East Coast to manage. He doesn’t own them.”

“Are you kidding?” Trevor stopped being cute and his pale face shaded on the edge of purple. “They’re in his name. Of course he owns them.”

“Not yet, he doesn’t. If I recall ... ” She pulled out her phone and flipped through her calendar. “Ah, yes, here it is. The end of this month, final negotiations are scheduled.” She turned it off and placed it on the table. Picking up her glass again, she swirled and sipped. Every movement, every word, purposeful and deliberate. She’d hold this control, knowing what she had—what he didn’t.

When Trevor wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and squirmed, she lightly smiled. “I wonder how your father would feel if he found out he lost the biggest business deal of his life,” she continued. “That what he’s worked so hard for—sacrificed so much for—was taken away because his son threatened Gregory Cooke’s daughter just to show off to his friends.”

He scoffed, thumbing toward Emelie. “She could never be a Cooke.”

Danny took a step, but Ian gripped his shoulder again. Claire hated the twist on Danny’s face. The mortification coating Emelie’s cheeks.

She turned her entire body toward Trevor. “But I am.”

Color drained from his face. “Y-You?”

“Madelynn Claire Cooke, Mr. Winston. And not only did you not leave when I asked, you abused power you don’t have to threaten the kind owner of this establishment. An establishment I’ve come to adore.

“Not to mention you’ve embarrassed and humiliated my friend Emelie here. All for what? A few laughs with these other spineless, affluent leeches?”

Trevor’s chest heaved as more beads of sweat dripped down his temples.

Claire picked up her wine again. “What would Father say if I told him how unhappy you’ve made me?” Lifting her phone, she went through her contacts. “Let’s see. If it’s eight o’clock here, that would make it what time over there ... ” She tapped her fingers, calculating.

Trevor shot out of his chair, shoving a finger in her face. “Don’t you dare.”

She glanced down at his finger and back up at him. “Or what? You’ll continue to show everyone here all the money your parents wasted on your useless education when they should have spent it on teaching you how to be something other than a pathetic, womanizing waste of oxygen? Yes, indeed. Please threaten me with your gutless bravado and ugly, manicured fingers. Where do you get them done, by the way?” She tsked, wrinkling her nose at his nails. “Honestly, even without everything else you’ve done, you deserve a fist into that weak chin for such a disgrace. But,” she dramatically sighed, “no need for violence when I can settle this with a simple phone call. I’m sure Sebastian will appreciate all his hard-earned money going toward his half-wit brat who lost him the business deal of a lifetime.”

His friends yanked Trevor back. “Come on, man. Don’t be stupid. Let’s go.”

“You should listen to them.” Claire sipped her wine. “They seem a tad more intelligent than you.”

“You bitch.”

“Yes. But I can afford to be.” Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his and smiled. “Can you?”

He reared forward, and Danny stepped in between, shoving him back. “Give me a reason. Please.”

“If I were you, I’d leave tonight.” Claire peered around Danny. “But before you go, you better beg Emelie for forgiveness. I’ll make sure it’s a stipulation in the agreement that if you set one foot on this island again, the business deal will become null and void. Have a pleasant journey, Mister Winston. Ah, ah, gentlemen,” she said as his friends pulled him to leave. “Apology first.”

Trevor’s nostrils flared as he gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry.”

“I think on your knees is best.” Claire tapped a nail on her phone. “And with more sincerity, if you please.”

He cursed as he kneeled. “I’m sorry for making you lift your shirt.”

Ian blocked Danny’s forward lunge as Trevor tore out of Flygande with his minions behind him.

Claire slowly let out a deep breath. Her insides still burned. Reaching out, she caught and squeezed Emelie’s hand. “I’m so sorry he did that to you. Are you alright?” Emelie nodded with wide eyes, and Claire straightened her posture again, sniffing. “I’ve always hated the Winstons.” The hat brim covered her right eye as she glared out toward the front door with her left. Anger cut into her voice as she said, “Stupid manicured nails.” She tipped up her glass and finished in one gulp.