Page 42 of Ice Queen

Guilt tastes bitter on my tongue. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve done something I’ll regret—but why would I feel that way? Penelope was clear that she couldn’t influence the approval of the project. We won it fair and square—all she did was tell me about the opportunity. She was also clear that she wanted to keep things professional between us…although our night in Roston wasn’t exactly following those rules.

She’ll find out about this merger, which means she’ll think I lied and used her.

I shouldn’t care. Normally, I wouldn’t. It’s business. Lies are part of the game. Using people is how you get ahead. This is how I’ve become successful, and it’s how I’ll prove to my father that I deserve to inherit the company.

Somehow, though, this feels different. I don’t want to treat Penelope the way I’ve treated others. She deserves better than that…better than me.

Work sends me to Roston as the preparations are made to start construction of the site offices, but my mind is in the capital with Penelope. I learn of an industry gala happening in two weeks’ time and hear a rumor that the Queen might attend. I immediately buy a ticket.

Those two weeks are spent thinking about the merger with Donovan Enterprises, and resigning myself to the fact that I’ll have to be honest with Penelope. I need to tell her about my father’s intentions to take over Reggie Donovan’s company. I need to tell her it was in the works long before she told me about his interests in Nord. I need to tell her the truth—the whole truth—and accept whatever consequences come with that.

She might hate me. She might never want to see me again—but I know I need to open myself up to her. She’s the only person who’s seen me as I am and accepted me. She deserves for me to be truthful to her. She deserves to know about the merger.

If she pushes me away, so be it. I never deserved a woman like her to begin with, so I know I’m on borrowed time. I’m not worthy of a woman like her, let alone a queen. The least I can do is be honest.

By the time the gala rolls around, it’s been three weeks since she stayed at my house in Roston. Three weeks of thinking about her night and day. Three weeks of staring at myself in the mirror and wondering what she saw in me that made her say I was beautiful. A gladiator. The man who walked through fire and lived. Three weeks of worrying I’ll never see that look in her eyes again if I tell her the truth about Gerhard, Inc. and Donovan Enterprises.

Torture.

The gala is held in a big, glamorous convention center near the castle. It’s a fundraiser for some charitable organization or another. Wine to be poured, dinner to be served, and awards to be handed out. Boring as hell.

There are hundreds of guests, and more than a few eyebrows rise when I walk in the room. Gazes flick down to my neck, where I’ve made no effort to hide my scar. Why should I? I’m not ashamed of what happened to me. It’s like Penelope said—I’m a warrior. Whether that causes disgust, or awe, or strikes fear in the people in this room makes no difference to me.

She was right. I should be proud of where I came from. Proud of my scars because they made me who I am. If I hadn’t suffered those burns, would I have ended up like Logan? A coddled rich boy who expects the world to be handed to him on a silver platter?

The experience I’ve had can’t be traded for anything. I’ve built a reputation for myself despite the scars marring my body—not because of them. So I keep my head held high and resist the urge to touch my jaw and neck. I wear my scars like a badge, daring the other guests to stare. I feel oddly empowered, as if I’ve left the shame of my appearance behind, and I can finally show myself fully.

It’s…incredible. There’s a shift in the other guests, too. They no longer shrink away from me—many of them actually approach me and start speaking to me. A man introduces himself as the union leader for truck drivers. He shakes my hand and congratulates me on the approval of the mining project, then leans in and asks me for a meeting later in the week.

There’s no glance at my neck. No wrinkling of his nose. The only thing in his eyes is…respect.

Is this all because of the way I’m carrying myself? Or is it because of my association with the Queen?

After doing my first round of the room, shaking hands with a few union leaders and industry bigwigs, my heart starts to sink.

No Penelope.

I make it through the main course, craning my neck every time there’s movement near the entrance, and finally give up. Dejected, I head back to my hotel. My shoulders curve inward and it’s hard to keep the scowl off my face.

Am I really so desperate that I just want to catch a glimpse of her? That being in the same room as Penelope gives me a thrill?

It’s not like I can just march up to the castle and ask to see her. She’s kept behind a high fence with hundreds of guards around. I probably wouldn’t even be admitted onto the property, let alone be allowed into her presence.

She made it very clear what she wants from me—professionalism. Even after our night in the kitchen in Roston, she told me it was only for the night. We’d go back to being business associates by the morning. Why do I think I owe her the truth? She should understand if I don’t tell her about the merger. It’s not a lie or a betrayal—it’s just business.

Pressing the elevator button, I lean against the side of the lift and rest my head on its mirrored surface. A sigh slips through my lips as I’m taken up to my room on the top floor, and I manage to shake my head at myself.

Pathetic.

Of course she wasn’t there. Of course she didn’t want to see me. Who am I to her? A lover? Am I even that?

It’s sad, really. The first person who shows me a bit of dignity becomes almost an obsession in my mind. Am I really so deprived that all it takes is for a woman to notice me? All it takes is someone to touch me without recoiling? She tells me I’m special and I want to open my company’s deepest secrets to her?

This is why I turned to business many years ago. This is why I became my father’s best attack dog. This is why I don’t look for love in anyone else—because it does nothing for me except make me weak.

Tonight, at the gala, I saw the effect I have on people. I saw how little my scars really matter. I don’t need the Queen to kiss me and tell me I’m pretty.

No matter what my heart tries to tell me, I came to Nord to prove to my father that I’m able to fill his shoes. I should inherit the company. I can do more than bring our victims to their knees before we swallow them up in our own enterprise—I can lead the company. Me.

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