Page 69 of Bride on the Dotted Line

For once, the tabloids are right. I am completely changed. She’s done that to me, and the best part is, none of it is an act.

When I push through the door to the study, my father is behind his desk, writing something on a sheet of paper. His dark eyes glance up as I walk in, the glint in them as stern and unreadable as ever. He gestures for me to sit in the chair across from his desk, and I oblige, running a hand through my hair.

It’s silent in here. I catch the faintest scent of cigar smoke in the air, and my chest tightens. My father only smokes when he’s angry. Maybe he’s still pissed that I pushed back about Roderick and Lionel over the phone in Fiji.

I clear my throat. “Having a good morning so far?”

He tosses his paper and pen to his desk. “You’re late.”

“I am?” I check my watch, confused. “It’s eight in the morning. You said to meet you here when I got your text.”

“Two hours ago.”

My phone is heavy in my pocket. “I can’t just drop everything and come here at six in the morning with no notice.”

His expression darkens, eyes wandering out the window. For the first time, I notice his hair is uncombed, sticking up all over his head. He looks like he didn’t get a wink of sleep.

“Dad, are you?—”

“Is it true?” he asks abruptly.

I blink, caught off guard. “Is what true?”

He glares at me, and all at once I realize what the look in his eyes is—it’s rage. I sit up straighter. I’ve seen my father angry and disappointed plenty of times, butrage?

“Sienna Hayes,” he says, voice low. “The last name is common enough around here, so I didn’t pay much mind to it.”

The massive room suddenly seems tiny, suffocating. I don’t like the way he’s saying her name. “What are you talking about?”

Victor stares at me, laces his fingers, and ignores my question. His quill and ink are pushed to the side of his desk, along with two stacks of papers that look like legal documents. Outside the study, two workers are skimming the surface of the pool, catching fallen leaves in long-handled nets.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out, Nicholas?” my father says.

“I …” This isn’t good. “Find out what?”

“Is your wife the daughter of Frank Hayes? The same Frank Hayes that lost his mind and drove his company into the ground eleven months ago?”

Ah.

He’s finally figured it out.

Victor rolls his eyes. “Don’t just gape like a fish, Son.Speak.”

I flinch. His tone is acerbic. Victor Harwood doesn’t talk like that unless he wants to cut someone through to the bone. I’ve seen him do it in boardrooms and investor meetings all my life, and a month ago I would have just sat down, shut up, and took it.

I can’t let him talk about Sienna’s family that way.

“Frank Hayes didn’t lose his mind,” I say tersely. “That’s just a rumor. And even if he did, he shouldn’t be shamed for it.”

Victor scoffs. “He was a fool. A liability. I saw those photos of him sweating buckets in meetings. I saw him sneaking drinks at grimy pubs.”

“The tabloids?—”

“Please, Nicholas. Harwood Restaurant Group cannot be attached to such a person. A man who can’t stand up to the pressure of running a company is hardly a man.”

Hardly a man.

To think I walked in here feeling prepared to tell him my feelings. At moments like these, I miss Mom so much I feel like punching a hole through the wall. I grip the arms of my chair until my knuckles ache.

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