twenty percent profit in record time. We all stand to make a lot of money, you included, but weâre not going to do that by giving the resort a simple facelift.â
Ty dabbed at his forehead with the cloth napkin from his place setting. âI hear what youâre saying, but we already have a world-class stable of horses, and hill countryâs premier golf course. And weâre a world-renowned destination wedding location. Other than adding another wing of rooms, what more do you plan to do?â Ty said.
Emily set servings of chilled peach soup in front of Knox, then Ty. Sheâd labored for nearly two hours on the soup, which was in the running for her best culinary creation ever, if she did say so herself.
Knox picked up his spoon and poked at the crisp brown sugar brûlée. âWeâll add a wing of timeshare condos, for starters. From there, weâll add enough rooms to double the guest occupancy, add a bar or two, expand the number of upscale shops in the lobby, and install a five-star destination restaurant, featuring a top-tier chef.â
On his next breath, Knox frowned down at the soup, then pushed it ever so slightly away.
Emily gave a quiet gasp. The nerve â¦
âAgreed,â Ty said. âAnd we just so happen to have plans for a new restaurant in the works. Itâs one of the reasons I asked our special event catering chef, Emily Ford, to showcase her skills by preparing us lunch today.â He gestured to Emily, who was still gaping at Knoxâs untouched soup. It wasnât until Knoxâs eyes roved over her in a dispassionate study that she realized she was wringing the bottom of her chefâs jacket in her hands.
Ty continued, âSheâs been working with me to develop a dynamic proposal for a world-class restaurant here at the resort. All weâve been waiting for is the right investor, and here you are.â
Knoxâs mouth gave an almost imperceptible frown. âNo offense to Ms. Ford, but my investors have shelled out millions of their own dollars to transform Briscoe Ranch into a world-class luxury resort, so we need to aim higher.â
Aim higher? And here sheâd thought Knoxâs whole claim to fame in the business world was not being a jackass. Her loyalty to the Briscoes meant nothing to this man. And very little to Ty, either, obviously, who was allowing his familyâs business to be yanked away from them. No, not yanked . Knox Briscoe had too much poise to do anything so passionate as yanking. Rather, this was chess. Or, perhaps, Monopoly. A slow, deliberate erosion of his opponent down to nothing.
Standing tableside, she touched the edge of the plate on which Knoxâs soup bowl sat. Oh, how satisfying it would be to flip it over onto his perfectly pressed slacks. Her masterpiece deserved a better fate, but the temptation rippled through her with wicked glee.
Knoxâs body tensed. He knew what sheâd been contemplating, too. His hand twitched as though in preparation to grab her wrist and stop her before she could soil his clothing.
âEmily,â Ty warned.
Was she so obvious? So predictably reckless that both Ty and Knox could read her thoughts so plainly?
Screw them. Sure, they held her career in their hands, but neither deserved to eat her cooking today. With outrage pounding through her veins, she pulled out the seat at the head of the table between the two men and dropped into it. She slid Knoxâs bowl in front of her, grabbed his spoon, andâas both men gaped at herâcracked through the brûlée and dipped into the sunset-orange soup.
The soup exploded in her mouth in a burst of complicated, unexpected flavor. Perfection. Better than sex. Better than just about anything else this heartless, cynical planet could offer.
She flattened her palm over the bound stack of papers in front of Knox. His grand plans for her home, her career, and the livelihoods of so many of her friends