Page 92 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

He calls to mind the early hours of the morning—his usual routine executed with one welcome addition. For the first time in more than a week, he felt confident leaving Jessica behind. The kiss he plays back in his head reawakens a longing he’d spent the drive in tamping down. She was fully naked and half sleep. He could think of no better way to leave her than tangled in the sheets of his bed.

“It’s good to be back,” he replies, offering her a small smile.

She lingers for a minute, her hands clasped together in front of her, and Khalohn surmises her mind must be buzzing with questions. He’s certain she won’t ask. In all the time they’ve been acquainted, she’s never inquired about his love life. She teases him about the company he keeps, she offers unsolicited but thoughtful advice about his workload, and she inquires about his sleep—but she’s always respected his privacy. It’s one of the many reasons he respects and trusts her as much as he does.

As if she only needs a minute to quell her curiosity, she returns his smile, takes a deep breath and then says, “Your morning is light until nine, upon which time you’ve got a meeting with your lawyers. Shall I give you a ring five minutes prior?”

“Please. Thank you, Maribelle.”

“Of course.” She nods and then leaves him to his breakfast. Before the door closes behind her, she calls out, “It’s nice to see your face, Morgan.”

Smiling, he returns to his emails as he eats, reading and responding as necessary. He’s opening a report from the previous week when his phone rings. Recognizing the page from his secretary, he knits his eyebrows together. There’s no way he lost an hour of time. He checks the clock, sees it’s barely past eight, and looks at the device before answering.

“Yes?”

“It’s Lorelai. She says it’s urgent. May I send her in?”

“Yes.”

No sooner is the word out of his mouth than the sound of Lorelai’s heels, approaching in haste, meets his ears. She comes to an abrupt halt in front of his desk, and he hears her small gasp as her eyes widen at the sight of him. If he wasn’t so focused on why she was barging into his office first thing in the morning, he might be amused. She recovers quickly then throws something in front of him before planting her hands on her hips. Taken aback by the irritated expression which sweeps away her response to his clean-shaven state, he doesn’t look down, but continues to stare at her as he waits for her to speak.

“Sir, I mean no disrespect when I say—what the fuck?”

“I’m going to need more than that,” he replies, still not breaking his stare.

“That was just delivered to me by courier,” she says, pointing at what she threw on his desk. He still doesn’t look as she goes on to explain, “The Pier House deal is almost locked in—but we’re still redlining, and now Christina Winslow is trying to fuck with us. I’m sorry, Morgan—I know this deal is mine, but I don’t know what to do.”

Khalohn’s blood runs cold at the mention ofChristina Winslow. Finally, he looks down at what Lorelai dropped in front of him. His jaw locks as his own irritation washes over him.

He hasn’t forgotten what Jessica told him Friday night. Saturday morning, he spent a little time doing some light digging into what he could find on the woman. From the beginning, Pier House Resorts has been a project he gave to Lorelai. He’s trusted her, and she hasn’t let him down—which means he knows what he needs to know about the business, its major players, and the details of the acquisition. Now he knows a little more.

After studying the picture of Christina he’d found on the internet, it didn’t take him long to remember the last time he saw her. What he told Jessica still holds true. He doesn’t remember the two nights they spent together. He remembers thethirdnight shetriedto get from him. It was only a couple months ago—shortly before he met Jessica.

He didn’t need to, but he went over the NDA Beatrice had him sign years ago, reviewing the terms so they were fresh in his mind. What he found was enough to assure himself one meeting with their lawyers, and he could have the woman muzzled. Yet, considering how long he’d managed to go without anyone other than his accountant knowing about his investment in Clandestine’s, he decided to wait to call his lawyer until he felt he had no choice.

Staring angrily at the paper in front of him, it isn’t his lawyer he’s thinking about.

Involving my lawyer would be too cordial.

The paper in front of him is a copy ofPage Sixfrom Saturday’s edition ofTheNew York Post.Khalohn curses under his breath as he recalls Porter’s flippant joke about he and Jessica appearing in print. Turns out, he wasn’t wrong. They aren’t the main story—but in a short article in the bottom left corner, there’s a photograph of Khalohn and Jessica arriving at the gala. In it, her hand is tucked into his elbow, and she’s looking up at him. The seemingly insignificant headline reads:Is Wall Street’s Most Eligible Bachelor Off the Market?

He doesn’t bother reading what the journalist wrote. He doesn’t care. Instead, he reads the handwritten script on the Post-It note just above the article.

I know who she is, and I’ll talk. Cut ties with Pier House Resorts, and your secret will be safe with me. You’ve got 48 hours.

– Christina Winslow

To Khalohn, it’s bad enough Christina cornered Jessica in the bathroom Friday night. She’d made it personal. Delivering her threat to his office is like declaring war.

“I’m on it,” he says, reaching for his cell phone.

“Sir?”

He pauses, glances up at her and repeats, “I’m on it. See what you can do to hurry the redlining process along. I want this done, and in my name, as soon as possible.”

“You got it.”

Before she reaches the door, Khalohn’s already found the contact he’s after. He initiates the call, bringing the phone to his ear as he waits impatiently for the man to answer.

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