Chapter 1262:
The woman sitting across from Brad wore a plain black knit dress, her long hair falling smoothly down her back. She held a glass of wine in one hand, listening to him with a faint, knowing smile on her lips.
In the middle of their conversation, Brad stood without warning, removed his suit jacket, and draped it gently over her shoulders. Then he took her hand, leaned in close, and softly lifted the candy from her fingers with his lips.
He had never looked at Kari with anything close to that tenderness.
Sherwood’s eyes narrowed sharply, his pupils contracting as the scene registered. He lurched to his feet, the alcohol hitting him all at once, and whatever remained of his self-control snapped like a thread pulled too tight.
“Sir!” Rosalie Natt gasped, reaching for his arm, but he shook her off without slowing. He crossed the bar in long, furious strides and planted both hands on the table, chest heaving.
“Brad Morgan!” His glare cut into Brad before sliding across to the woman sitting opposite him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”
ո𝗈𝗏еlѕ 𝗶n 𝘵𝗋еո𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝗀a𝗹𝗇𝗼𝘃e𝗅s.𝖼om
Brad raised his eyes slowly, calm and entirely unbothered, as though Sherwood were a minor inconvenience he hadn’t yet decided how to deal with.
“Mr. Howe.” Brad crunched lightly on the candy, his hand resting with easy casualness on Rylie’s leg. “Do you need something?”
“Do I need something?” Sherwood let out a short, bitter laugh, his body shaking. “You took my clients, my position, my girl — and now you’re here with your ex? What do you think happens when I tell Kari everything?”
Brad didn’t stand. He stayed exactly where he was, lifted his wine glass, took a measured sip, and set it back down with complete composure. “Mr. Howe,” he replied evenly, “who do you think Kari would believe — me, or you?”
“You!” Sherwood slammed his hand on the table. The glasses rattled and clinked against each other.
“Maybe you should consider quitting and moving on.” Brad raised a hand to summon a waiter. “I don’t want him in this bar again. You understand?”
The waiter’s eyes moved nervously between Sherwood — a premium customer who spent tens of thousands each visit — and the man in the booth, whose presence carried a weight that was simply impossible to argue with. The decision took less than a second.
He bowed respectfully to Brad and signaled to the nearby bodyguards. “Please escort Mr. Howe out — and put a notice at the entrance: Sherwood Howe is not permitted inside.”
The guards took hold of Sherwood despite his resistance. The waiter turned back to Brad with an eager smile, asking whether everything was satisfactory. Brad responded by dropping a thick stack of cash onto the table. “I’m pleased. That’s your tip.”
“Thank you, sir — truly generous!”
The waiter’s eyes lit up as he motioned for the performers to gather around the booth, the entertainers crowding in and showering Brad with attention as though he were royalty.
.
.
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