Page 97 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

“Stop fidgeting when we’re in there. Okay?”

I glance down at her. “You make that sound easy.”

She gives me a smile that I can tell she isn’t feeling because she’s just as nervous as I am this morning. The usual confidence in her gaze wavers, but she still stands by my side, shoulders back and head held high, unwilling to let what we’re about to do faze her. “I’ll be right there with you.”

Only a few short weeks ago, it was the last thing I would have wanted, for Lyla to be by my side in there, for her to hear what I’m going to tell the board, but now, I can’t imagine going in there without her.

How the fuck did that happen?

Thinking back to when she arrived, I can’t deny there was something about her that instantly made what lies at my very core twist. A feeling that she was going to change everything. That my life would be different once we signed that contract. But I never could have dreamed she would be the one to find a way to break through the walls I built around myself and somehow reach a part of me I didn’t think lived anymore.

Now, everyone will see what she has—the scars, the trauma, what Marty did, and what Father allowed to happen. And I’m going to have to figure out a way to live with people knowing my darkest secrets and the thing I regret most in my life—running when I should have stayed andfought.

I reach into my coat pocket and glance at my phone. “Still no word from Ronald.”

“So, do we wait or go in without him?”

Scanning the lot, I don’t find any sign of him or his promised support from the FBI.

This would be the perfect time to panic, to turn, climb back into the truck, and retreat to the mountain. To bury my head in the sand once again and leave the people in this building to deal with the ramifications of Uncle Marty’s actions.

But I could never look Lyla in the eyes again if I did that.

I release a heavy breath. “We can’t wait. We have to go in. The meeting’s supposed to start now.”

She tugs my arm gently and takes a step toward the doors. “Come on, then.”

I roll out my neck and shoulders and slide my hand into hers to walk toward the main entrance of Bolton Steel. The uncomfortable dress shoes pinch my feet and feel foreign after so long in nothing but work boots.

Play the role, Silas.

All of it will be worth it in the end, if this works.

If…

The sliding glass doors open, and I step into the immaculate reception area. Though they’ve renovated a little over the years, including new Italian marble floors and updated décor, it still looks pretty much the same. So much so that I half expect Victoria, the old receptionist who was always stationed at the information desk down here, to be sitting behind it like she always was when I was a child.

But a young blonde lifts her head as we walk in.

Her eyes immediately zero in on me and drop from my head all the way down to my feet, then come back up. Even though I donned this monkey suit, I’m still out of place here.

Her gaze darts to Whiskey at my side, then to Lyla. And though Lyla is absolutely stunning in her black dress, the woman barely contains a sneer looking at her. “Can I help you?”

I force myself to give her a half-smile. “Yes. I need to confirm where the board meeting’s being held this morning.” There are any number of conference rooms they could be using, and if Uncle Marty suspects I may show up, he might go out of the way to hide their meeting space from me. “Up on ten?”

The woman’s brow furrows. “Yes. How did you know that?”

Anyone walking in off the street wouldn’t, since rarelyanyonewho isn’t a Bolton executive makes it up to ten, but this woman clearly has no idea who I am.

“Because I own the company.”

Her eyes widen, and she reaches for a phone in front of her. “Sorry, I don’t know who you are, but you can’t go up there. It’s a restricted floor—”

“Not for me, it isn’t. My name is Silas Bolton. You likely knew my father and my Uncle Marty.”

All the color drains from the woman’s face, and she dials a number quickly, but I tug on Lyla’s hand and drag her toward the elevators before the receptionist can try to stop us.

We’re not standing around, waiting for her to warn Uncle Marty or whoever else she might be calling who will try to intervene. Two huge security guards round the corner and block our way to the elevator bank.

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