The Hunt Masquerade - Milly Taiden Page 0,4

“Because if Jeremy would agree to a merger, we could continue on, business as usual. The only difference would be that we would have access to the Winslow resources to do all of the renovating and marketing we need.”

Rush grabbed the whiskey from his brother and took a long pull from it. Was that option really better?

Fuck. It was. That didn’t mean Rush had to like it. He didn’t want to go to the Winslows to beg for help. Not when they had a loan shark breathing down their necks. It would just prove that the Jensens were the classless failures the Winslows believed them to be.

“We’d have enough money to pay Spike Hastings back,” Marlon needlessly pointed out.

Yup. His brother had really backed them into a corner.

And there was nothing more dangerous than a cornered wolf.

Chapter Three

Chantal

Chantal kicked the apartment door closed, balancing her packages carefully. If the bottle of Cream Soda fell, it would mess up the bubbles. The bag filled with Chinese takeout was also precariously placed on the top of the small bakery box. The triple chocolate cupcake was nearly as important as the Moo Shu pork. Nearly.

Carefully, she placed the heavy sack of her New Year’s Eve feast onto the tiny kitchen counter. She kicked off her shoes while queueing up an episode of her new favorite show. The cheerful opening credit song blasted from the television. At the same time, Chantal raced to her bedroom to slip into her comfort clothes. A ratty old sweatshirt that had been worn down to the softest threads and pajama bottoms that would have been too worn out to even repurpose into cleaning rags.

By the time the episode started, a massive glass of cream soda was poured, and the large bite of perfectly tangy Moo Shu pork was halfway to her lips. This was the best way to celebrate the new year. Chantal could dull the ache of loneliness with her favorite foods and show, knowing that no matter what happened in the safety of her apartment, it would definitely beat whatever plans she could have made.

People always had such big expectations for New Year’s Eve.

Like the night could magically transform them into someone new who no longer was had faults or shortcomings. It was dumb. The glimmering start of a new year was not magical. People didn’t change because the year on the calendar changed.

To make a change required purpose, time, and hard work.

Not wishes. Life wasn’t a fairy tale.

Instead of hanging all her hopes on the New Year’s resolution like others did, Chantal took the night to celebrate her victories from the year and refocus her goals, depending on what had worked or failed. The cupcake was to celebrate her design being worn by Gwen Marsdale while the egg rolls and plum sauce were good contemplating food. Now that she had been lucky enough to dress one of the most fashionable women in the world, Chantal had to make sure she didn’t lose steam. She had to push through and make more things happen.

She was halfway through an epiphany when there was a loud thump against her front door. Chantal sat up. She frowned, putting down her contemplative and celebratory dinner.

“Chacha! Let me in!” The loud banging on the door could only be one person.

Chantal threw the door opened and barely had time to get out of the way as Margie pushed past her, dressed head to toe in a shimmering gold dress and matching shoes. Her black hair was dangerous straight, hanging around her all shiney (and without split-ends).

“What’s going on? And how did you get up here without being buzzed in again.” Chantal asked Margie, who was trying to sit in her skin tight dress. It would be difficult. Chantal had designed it to be a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination. “I thought you had a hot date with the banker guy?”

“Well, duh, I don’t need to be buzzed in, I have my ways. But he called to cancel like, five minutes ago. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? It is seven o’clock on New Year’s Eve. I’m dressed like a fucking goddess, and I’ve got nowhere to go because Dick-for-brains decided to take a flight out to London instead of keeping our date. I swear, I hate men.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t. You’re right.” Margie finally managed to slither onto the couch. “I’m so sad, Chacha. I really thought this would be a good NYE, that it