Chapter 7 Go Ahead And Have A Good Time

"Go ahead and have a good time, Mr. Yates," Bryson said flatly.

Madelyn felt the words slice straight through her chest, her heart left raw and bleeding in their wake.

A moment later, a woman's gentle voice drifted through the call. "Bryson, can you come help me pick between these jackets?"

"I'll be right there," he called back.

Then, addressing Christopher, Bryson added curtly, "I've got to take my girlfriend shopping. Let's catch up some other time."

The call abruptly ended.

A sharp thud rang out-Madelyn had lost her footing, crashing down from the pole. Agony shot up her twisted ankle, but she clenched her teeth and forced herself not to cry out.

Bryson's words echoed relentlessly in her mind.

So, while she was scrambling to salvage the disaster at Verdancy Lane, Bryson was out leisurely shopping with Janice?

For several seconds, her mind reeled from the impact. In that window of disorientation, Christopher had already captured a quick video of her tumble and gleefully posted it to his social media with the snide caption, "The illustrious Brennan Group PR director-such 'professionalism,' huh?"

Within moments, the post racked up over a hundred likes. Among them, Bryson's stood out.

Even Christopher faltered for a beat, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

This wasn't the Bryson he knew. After all, Bryson had once paraded Madelyn around at their gatherings. If he hadn't cared, why would he have kept her around Brennan Group all these years?

Christopher let out a mock sigh, shaking his head as if genuinely moved. "Classic Mills-out with the old, in with the new. Truly ruthless. I'm honestly in awe," he quipped, feigning admiration as his lips curled in a cheeky smirk.

Meanwhile, Madelyn, still oblivious to the storm brewing online, pressed her lips together and pushed through the pain radiating from her ankle.

Once she'd steadied herself, she stepped up to Christopher, her voice measured. "Mr. Yates, I've finished the dance. Will that suffice?"

Christopher shut off his phone, lips curled in a faint, mocking smile. "So, tell me-was that little tumble your version of sincerity? If you weren't up for performing, you could've just said so. Don't try to pin this on us."

Displeasure radiated from him as he jerked his chin toward the exit. "You can go."

"What about the collaboration..." Madelyn's feet remained rooted to the spot, defiance flickering in her eyes as she endured the contemptuous stares burning holes through her.

She'd come tonight determined to walk away with the deal-whatever it took.

Christopher flicked his cigarette, letting the ash drift lazily to the carpet, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Still holding out hope for a collaboration, with that attitude? Dream on. Maybe try perfecting your pole skills before you talk business with the Yates family."

Madelyn pictured herself ripping the pole from the floor and cracking it across Christopher's arrogant skull-maybe then he'd snap out of his smugness.

Of course, she could only grit her teeth and force that impulse down.

She choked back her frustration and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Yates. I know I let you down. If you're willing, please let me try again."

She bent at the waist, bowing so low her hair nearly brushed her shoes, the plea in her voice raw and unmistakable. "I promise, I won't waste this chance."

Across the room, Jerred lounged back, draping his arm around the woman on his lap. He plucked up a strawberry and pressed it to her lips, snickering as he tossed a sneer at Madelyn.

"What makes you think you deserve a second shot?" he huffed, his tone dripping with mockery. "Who the hell do you think you are? Didn't you get it? Mr. Yates can't stand the sight of you. Spare us all and take your bad luck somewhere else."

Just then, Christopher lifted a hand, cutting Jerred off with a lazy gesture.

A sly, predatory smile curled on his lips. "Maybe I'll give you another shot," he drawled. "But this time, let's make it more interesting."

Madelyn's heart thudded. Whatever he meant by "more interesting," it was never good news. When Christopher decided to play, it was never innocent-everyone knew his reputation for breaking women and burying their stories with Yates family money. A single whim from him could destroy her in an instant.

Drawing a quiet, steadying breath, Madelyn squared her shoulders and met his gaze. "What exactly do you have in mind, Mr. Yates?"

Her voice was calm, but there was an edge of wariness. She couldn't accept blindly-she needed to make sure his so-called "game" wouldn't cross a line she couldn't survive.

Christopher propped his chin on his palm, feigning deep contemplation before a devilish, wicked grin split his face. "I have a good idea."

He clapped twice, summoning a waiter to his side. Leaning in, he murmured a few instructions. The waiter nodded and disappeared without a word.

Within minutes, several carts rolled in-each stacked with icy bottles of beer, a massive barrel, and a bucket overflowing with ice.

Madelyn's brow creased in suspicion. Did he really expect her to drink all that?

The thought alone made her stomach lurch.

It'd be suicide to even try.

She braced herself to refuse, but before she could speak, Christopher's voice sliced through the room. "Dump all the beer and the ice into the barrel."

At his command, the waiter began pouring bottle after bottle into the oversized barrel, chunks of ice clattering against metal.

Madelyn stared at the bizarre scene, her confusion deepening.

What twisted game was Christopher orchestrating this time?