"That's one million in relocation money from Mr. Delgado. You should know where you stand. Go back to the villa like a good girl and stop embarrassing yourself."
I glanced at the card on the ground.
The irony was almost funny.
He'd probably forgotten that seven years ago, when his startup collapsed and he was hiding in a basement eating instant noodles, I was the one who pawned her family heirlooms to keep him afloat.
And when his business pivot was falling apart, I was the one who stayed up three nights straight, putting together quotes and projections for every single one of his suppliers.
He thought he was a business genius.
Everything he'd built was built on my help.
"Throw it away."
I turned and walked off.
The assistant seemed startled, then raised his voice to a shout. "Miss Pruitt! Don't push your luck. The villa and a million a month—that's the best you're ever going to get!"
All I heard was noise.
"Go back and tell Fred Delgado to start preparing for bankruptcy. Don't wait until he's staring down the end before he comes begging me for help."
I said it without looking back.
Maybe my arrogance got to him, because he didn't bother me again.