Oliver

Weeks earlier

I clutch the latest reports in my hands, crumpling the papers as my jaw clenches. I can’t believe our sales have been dropping for months—and after the convention, it’s painfully clear that Dubois is beating us with their new line of perfumes. And I have no doubt that idiot Giselle is behind them.

“What are you doing here, son?” my father asks as he steps into my office. “I thought you’d be home with your wife and baby,” he adds with a smile the moment he ...