Love Rents A Room
Chapter 127: Amidst The Snakes

Chapter 127: Amidst The Snakes

The air in the room thickened—not just with cigar smoke, but with condescension. Jeffrey let the insult hang for a beat, watching their smirks, the exchanged glances, the way they assessed him like a stray dog who had wandered into the wrong neighborhood.

He had expected skepticism. But outright mockery?

Adjusting his cuffs, he let the silence stretch just a little longer than was comfortable. Then, with measured ease, he met the chairman’s gaze. "Grifting?" he repeated, his tone smooth, almost amused. "Interesting choice of words. But I suppose when a man walks in wearing a suit that fits, you assume he must have stolen it."

A few chuckles rippled through the room, low and knowing.

"Not stolen... Gifted? What’s that they call it these days? Sugar mommy?" the vice chairman quipped, sending the room into laughter.

Jeffrey exhaled slowly through his nose, watching as these bloated old men—some balding, others red-faced from whiskey—laughed at their own wit as if they were the funniest men alive.

"Alright!" The vice chairman clapped a heavy hand on Jeffrey’s shoulder, loud enough to be heard over the murmurs. "Join us, boy. Don’t mind these old hoots. They just want to have fun, that’s all."

Jeffrey said nothing. He recognized the play immediately. First, they tore him down, letting their lackeys revel in the humiliation. Then, they reeled him back in under the guise of camaraderie. It was a classic power move—assert dominance, then extend an olive branch laced with poison.

Fine. He’d play along. For now.

The vice chairman took a long drag from his cigar, exhaling through his nose. "We’re just surprised, that’s all. Last we heard, the Smith girl wasn’t in the business of... pleasure. How did you manage to get into her pants?"

Jeffrey smiled, slow and deliberate, but his fingers curled into a fist at his side.

Others joined in, emboldened by the vice chairman’s words.

"How is it like taming a wild farm girl?" the chairman of Norwood Logistics sneered.

Jeffrey moved to the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. The bite of the liquor steadied him, though the rage in his chest burned hotter with every passing second. But the more he listened, the more he understood exactly why they had asked him here.

To them, he wasn’t Jeffrey Winchester. He wasn’t even Jeffrey Daniels. He was just a grifter, a conman running a love scam with Joanne as the unfortunate target.

They thought he was here to swindle her out of Shamrock Logistics.

They thought he was one of them.

Jeffrey set his whiskey down with a deliberate clink, rolling his shoulders back. "I’m here today as the acting director of Shamrock Logistics," he said, his voice cool, detached.

"And the future chairman, of course!" someone toasted.

The men raised their glasses, grinning, reveling in their delusion.

Jeffrey smiled, though it took everything in him to do so. Every word they spoke dripped with filth, with greed, with the assumption that he was just another snake slithering among them.

He wanted nothing more than to tell them exactly who he was. To wipe the smirks from their faces.

But Joanne’s trust in him anchored him.

He picked up a cue stick, running his fingers along the smooth wood, positioning the ball for the opening break.

The chairman of Bates Logistics leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. "And what exactly does the new ’acting director’ want from us?"

Jeffrey chalked the cue tip, then met his gaze with a slow, calculated smirk.

"A conversation," he said. "And maybe a game of snooker—if you’re feeling lucky."

The challenge was subtle, but it landed. The air shifted. A few of the older men exchanged glances.

The game had begun.

-----

Joanne busied herself preparing for the completion ceremony, instructing Veronica to have the gift cheques ready for the winners and runners-up. Before heading out, she decided to start a load of laundry.

As usual, she sorted her own clothes first. Then, her gaze flickered to Jeffrey’s laundry basket.

He wasn’t just a paying guest anymore. He was her boyfriend.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she reached for his clothes. Doing his laundry felt... natural.

But just as she picked up the basket, something caught her eye. One of the dresser drawers was slightly ajar.

Curious, she pulled it open.

There it was.

The lavender honey.

Of course.

Joanne exhaled through her nose, rolling her eyes. She had a feeling Philip would leave it with Jeffrey, and just as she suspected...

Her fingers traced the side of the jar, her lips pressing into a thin line. Almost a quarter of it was gone.

"He’s been sneaking it into his tea..." she murmured, shaking her head.

A warmth spread through her chest. She was glad he liked it. But beneath that warmth, a small weight of disappointment settled.

Why hadn’t he told her?

Did he think she wouldn’t understand? That she would be angry?

What did he believe would happen if he finally admitted the truth—that he wasn’t Jeffrey Daniels, but Jeffrey Winchester?

Joanne sighed and closed the drawer.

He was keeping secrets.

And she wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend not to notice.

She wondered if Jeffrey would reveal his true identity to the old men who had summoned him today.

She never liked them much. Men who believed experience alone made them untouchable. Men who carried themselves as if wisdom came only with age, as if the world owed them deference for simply existing long enough.

They were one of the reasons she avoided events hosted by the union.

If they had done their due diligence—especially with the kind of resources they had—they would already know who Jeffrey really was. They would know he wasn’t just some upstart acting director. He was Philip Winchester’s grandson.

And that changed everything.

If they had any sense, they would understand what it meant—Shamrock Logistics had the silent yet undeniable backing of the Winchester name. That kind of leverage could shift the entire game in her favor. If nothing else, it might help her weather this storm.

Philip would have wanted her to use his influence in situations like this. He had told her as much before.

So, no—she didn’t feel bad about it.

And even if those men had their own agendas, Jeffrey was sharp enough to navigate through them. He wasn’t just wearing the suit—he was stepping into the role. He had the talent, the instinct, and the charm to handle men like them.

She only hoped they treated him with the respect he deserved.

Joanne pulled up in her truck and headed toward the field. The game hadn’t started yet, and as soon as Charlotte spotted her, her face lit up like the sun.

Joanne waved back, grinning—until her view was rudely obstructed.

Tom Sullivan and his ever-dramatic wife.

Bernice.

"Do you have no shame showing your face here?" Bernice sneered, her perfectly blown-out blonde hair swaying in the breeze like she was in a shampoo commercial. Her bejeweled beige phone was clutched tightly in her manicured claws—no doubt recording.