Page 6 of Forbidden Kiss

I lay my pen down and lace my fingers on the desk in front of me. “Tell me.”

“I know we were working on this new deal with Christopher Lane, but…”

With a pause, he leaves me hanging.

“Speak,” I command.

“We just got a call from his people.” Ian’s voice is wobbly. “He just passed away.”

My heartbeat roars inside of my ears, leaving me deaf. “What?”

Swallowing, Ian holds his chin higher. “Christopher Lane just died. He was in surgery, and he didn’t make it.”

Without delay, my exhausted brain thinks of Ava. “Who told you this?”

“His secretary called a minute ago.”

“Where is he now? How … I mean…wheredid this happen?” Questions rush into my brain as I stand up, grabbing my cell phone and wallet.

He shifts feet. “Desert Mountain Hospital.”

As soon as I hear it, I’m out the door, turning around to bark out instructions. “Get my driver. Tell him to meet me in front in two minutes.” I push the glass door open and see my assistant standing still. “Now.”

Ian looks just as dazed as I feel, but I see his slender frame rushing to his desk.

I call out over my shoulder. “Send flowers to his daughter, Ava. The biggest bouquet they have.”

My driver rolls up in my Bentley to pick me up. I can’t believe this is happening. I just saw Lane yesterday. Although he wasn’t a picture of health, he also didn’t appear like he was on his deathbed.

Now I know why he asked me to step in and run the company. So he could die with a plan.

My brain flicks to Ava. She won’t be able to handle this. She’s young.Reallyyoung.

We pull up to the hospital entrance, but I hesitate before getting out of the car. I feel so guilty about this. So damn guilty. But how could I have known the man’s fate before signing the contract?

I need to face her. I need to make her understand I knew nothing about the surgery, the hospital, the plan—none of it.

“Thanks,” I mutter to my driver before finally stepping onto the curb. Stalking into the hospital, I speak with a front desk attendant who promptly ushers me through a set of wide double doors.

The hospital has that familiar clinical stench—the one that smells like floor cleaner and urine. I know it well from the years of coming to visit my dad.

After walking along a wide corridor, we eventually arrive at a room that contains a few chairs, a sofa, and a television. Ava is in the room alone, her face wet and blotchy. Looking up at me, the corners of her mouth point downwards. Whatever frown on her face is now gone and replaced with a scowl.

“Ava,” I greet. “I’m so sorry about your dad.”

She throws me a scathing glare. “Some nerve.”

“I —”

“How could you even come here?” Her voice flutters as tears stream down her face.

“Ava, please.” I try to reach out to her, but she pulls away.

She narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry unless you mean it. What does that make you, given this was all part of your plan?” She pauses before answering her own question. “A happy man.”

Guilt shrouds my shoulders. “I didn’t know about this. I had no idea he was sick.”

“You’re lying.” Her voice rises. “My dad is ill, his company is failing, and you happen to show up just in time to buy everything he owns. How convenient.”

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