“How are they useless?” He strode over and grabbed my wrist with a firm grip. “Are you sulking again? I told you I’ve been busy with the company—don’t—”
I yanked my hand free.
He froze, then let out a derisive laugh. “What’s got into you now? Just because of that delivery suite today? Didn’t I explain? Sophie might be connected to the Whitmore family!”
He pulled up a photo on his phone—a shot of Sophie Lane with a middle-aged man. “See? This is Henry Collins, an executive at Whitmore Group Subsidiary. Sophie’s very close to him.”
Every “Sophie” rolled off his tongue with an intimacy he didn’t even seem to notice.
I looked at Sophie’s smiling face in the photo and almost laughed. Henry Collins had toasted my father at his birthday banquet five years ago.
Daniel rubbed his hands together, his tone eager. “As long as we keep Sophie happy and she puts in a good word for us with the Whitmores, the company could secure their investment. I might even take over the Whitmore Group one day. I know I can’t give you the title of Mrs. Reed then, but I promise I’ll make time for you.”
I looked up at him, my throat tight. “Daniel, do you have any idea who’s helped your company get to where it is today?”