Page 42 of Bride on the Dotted Line

“Try me.”

At that, Lionel backs off with a forced chuckle, mumbling about needing another drink. I watch him, fuming, until he disappears into the crowd.

Alone again, I take a long breath in, then out. Sienna doesn’t need me to defend her from creeps like Lionel. But if that interaction taught me anything, it’s that hell will freeze over before I stop trying.

In other words, I’m fucked.

The rage in my heart crests, then wanes. It turns back into hunger, which hovers on the precipice of something worse. Something I’m going to pretend isn’t there, perched at the edge of my awareness, just waiting to be named. Something that’s definitely not in the contract.

I shouldn’t have kissed her.

Sighing, I pick up Sienna’s glass of wine and thread my way around the dance floor.

“That went well.” It’s the end of the night, and Sienna is beside me in our car as we head back to the penthouse. “They seemed really impressed by you, Nick.”

She’s got her elbow propped on the armrest between us, pulling at the pearl pins in her hair. I watch the city whizz by in a blur of lights.

“Mmm.” I want to agree with her outright, but there’s a pit in my stomach.

In truth, she’s right; the conversation with the shareholders went perfectly. We told them about our wedding, the trip overseas we’re planning, and how excited we are to throw Victor’s retirement party. They nodded and grinned, and Sienna handled the conversation like a pro. I could tell she was calculating every move, making each smile and greeting appear effortless.

Wish I could say the same for me. My father gave me a dressing down as soon as Sienna excused herself to the restroom.

“What’s wrong with you?” he said. I was standing beneath the gleaming tower of champagne glasses, nursing my second whiskey, watching the shareholders order more wine. “You might be able to fool the others, but you can’t fool me, Nicholas. You are unhappy.”

I bristled. “Is that your observation as a concerned parent or as a CEO?”

“Both.” Victor’s eyes lasered into me, salt-and-pepper brows furrowed. He’d been on the sidelines all night, scrutinizing Sienna and I’s performance without entering the conversation. “You’re tense and distracted. Not to mention drinking like a college freshman. I thought I made myself clear when we discussed what it would take to inherit this company.”

I drank a quarter of what he puts back on a daily basis, but I knew better than to bring that up. I’ve been seeing that look on my father’s face my whole life—like I’m a bug under a microscope instead of his son—and I know it means trouble.

No point in lying.

“Lionel had the nerve to show up here,” I told him, bitterness darkening my voice. “He asked me to give him a job.”

My father’s lips pinched, just a fraction—his version of an emotional outburst. “Roderick’s brother?” When I nodded, he examined me, then slapped a hand on my back. “Well, business is business. You’d do well to remember that, Son. Learn to deal with your personal vendettas before they cloud your judgement. Lionel is a good worker.”

“Personal vendettas? Dad, he and Rod tried to ruin my life.”

“So you’ve said.”

I bit my lips together. The weight on me was familiar, like a hand pressing down, squashing the air from my lungs. Victor walked his fingers along the tops of the bottles surrounding the champagne tower, then plucked one from the circle and examined the label.

“Harwood Restaurant Group isn’t built on sentiment, Nicholas,” he said. “It’s built on power. Leverage. Control. Making the hard decisions, even without permission. That’s how we stay on top.”

That’s not whatshebuilt, I almost said. But I didn’t. What slipped out instead was ten times worse.

“What if I don’t want it?”

The corner of Victor’s eye twitched. “Don’t want what?”

“The company, Dad. Harwood Restaurant Group. What if I don’t want to be CEO?”

“Nicholas.” His voice was hard, not unlike the tone I’d used with Lionel earlier. “What in the world would you do otherwise? Waste your life on booze and women? I don’t think so. Your mother would roll over in her grave.”

My throat tightened. I’ve hated guessing what Mom would have wanted. It makes my heart ache, and this business,Victor’sbusiness, is so different from what Mom began they’re almost two separate companies. But I decided to keep my mouth shut, this time.

“Yes, sir.”

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