Page 45 of One Wild Wedding Weekend

He shouldn’t even be thinking about her.

At lunchtime, he met with a client. But it was the same restaurant where he had shared a meal with Daley. So his brain kept imagining her sitting across from him. That memory made him fidgety and compromised his focus.

When the meeting ended, he was ruefully aware he had lost a potential new account. The CEO of Lieberman and Dunn should have been embarrassed and mortified.

Perhaps he was both. But those emotions were buried beneath a layer of introspection that was as unexpected as it was uncomfortable.

When he returned to the office, he asked his executive assistant not to be disturbed. Then he locked his door and scrolled through his phone looking for a woman to call.

He needed a date tonight. Badly. Not for sex, although that wasn’t an unreasonable expectation. But mostly because he needed to purge Daley Martin from his thoughts.

He narrowed his list to five. Then, because he didn’t really want to talk to any of them, he composed a text.

Hey (insert name here). Are you interested in seeing the new Benedict Cumberbatch movie? I hear it’s getting great reviews. I could pick you up tonight at seven...

The first problem was deciding which of the five to bump to the top of the list. They were all nice women, from what he remembered. That was the second problem. He couldn’t really remember any of them. At least not their faces. He knew one was a lawyer, another a tax accountant. The third might be a kindergarten teacher, though that didn’t sound right. Ah, hell. What was he going to do?

He picked one of the names at random, added the phone number and felt the back of his neck prickle with unease.

This wouldn’t be cheating on Daley. They weren’t a couple.

But all he could see was the vulnerable, hurt look in her eyes when she told him about the man who had groped an unsuspecting twenty-four-year-old.

Tristan didn’t want to be another guy who hurt her and gave her bad memories.

Quickly, he erased the text before he accidentally hit Send. While he was still stewing about his problems, a text from Harold popped up.

You got a minute for the old man? How about coming by my office for a drink?

Tristan frowned at his phone. That was odd. He and Harold often shared a drink after hours, but never at two in the afternoon. Something must be up.

When he made it to his godfather’s office suite, the door was open.

“Come on in,” Harold said. “Close the door behind you.”

This was weird. Tristan took his usual seat at the corner of the desk. Harold poured himself a finger of whiskey. “You, son?”

Tristan refused with a smile. “A little early for me, Uncle Harold.” The title was honorary. “What’s up?”

Harold swirled the amber liquid in his cut-glass tumbler, his expression pensive. “I know you and I have talked about a succession plan...”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, the timeline may have to be accelerated.”

Tristan sat up straighter, alarm coursing through his veins. “What do you mean?”

Harold shrugged, his expression pensive. “It seems I have a pesky little tumor in my lung. The doctor says my prognosis is good. But I’m facing surgery and chemo. I had hoped to work until the end of next year. But it looks like now may be the time to bow out.”

Tristan leaned forward urgently. “I’ll run things while you’re getting treatment. No problem. But don’t walk away prematurely, Harold. It’s not necessary.”

His godfather looked tired, his skin sallow. “I’ve made my peace with the diagnosis. Either I’ll beat it, or I won’t. But I want to leave Lieberman and Dunn in good hands. Everything I have will be yours and John’s one day anyway. We’ll get an evaluation of the business. I’ll sell it to you for a nominal fee. And I’ll give John a cash equivalent—whatever our finance people decide makes the best sense.”

“But, Harold, I—”

Harold held up his hand, interrupting him. “Sorry, son. I’ve made up my mind. You’ll be fine without me. But let’s keep this between us for a few weeks.”

“What about John?”

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