No. That’s not his style.
He’d pulled the blanket on my bed back and left a package for me on my pillow.
I go to the bed. I pick up the thick, black envelope with the stack of legal paperwork awaiting my signature, handy sticky notes pointing to where I should sign. Where I’m to put down my name and give up my family’s future, our legacy.
The words hostile takeover ring in my ears, our attorney’s warning.
“Fifty-one percent. It’s that or you lose the company.”
It’s lost if Hayden Montgomery holds controlling shares anyway.
And it’s not just that.
I lean my head back against the headboard and look around the almost bare room. Just the bed and an old dresser left in here. Even the nightstand is gone. The lamp looks homeless on the floor.
Homeless.
That could be us. If I don’t sign these papers or come up with the money I need to save the house, not to mention the company.
I set the stack of paperwork aside. The thick, gold-embossed black card slips off the pile and onto my lap. I touch the lettering, his name in its elegant font. On the back someone wrote a time and a place. No phone number to decline the invitation because this isn’t an invitation. It’s a summons.
Eleven o’clock.
Hades Gentlemen’s Club.
But I don’t like being summoned.
I rip the card in two. Do the same with the documents. I drop them to the floor and make a point of stepping on them, my heel digging a hole into the pages as I make my way into the bathroom.
I slip my dress off my shoulders as I move, letting it fall to the bare hardwood floor. I step out of my heels and slide my panties off, then switch on the bathroom light. I run the bath and turn to my reflection in the mirror. Taking the irritating pins out of my hair, I drop them into the sink, pile the dark mass of waves on top of my head and use a soft tie to make a messy bun. I scrub my face clean of makeup and when I look in the mirror again, I see the dark circles under my eyes.
These last few months have been hard. I don’t remember the last time I slept a full night since my father’s accident. Since learning the true state of things.
Opening the medicine cabinet, I take out the prescription sleeping pills and pop two into my mouth, although I seem to be immune to them. I slip into the hot tub. Turning the tap off, I lay my head back and stare up at the colorful glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It’s from Venice. My dad ordered it for me after a trip there when he’d seen how much I’d loved the glasswork.
Money. I’ve lived without it. The first eight years of my life I lived without it.
Then my mother died, and I learned who I was. Learned who my father was. And coming into this house was exactly as I imagined, a Cinderella story. Although I’ve never allowed myself to feel sorry for myself. I have more than most, after all.
I have a sister. Well, half-sister. And a father who, as soon as he learned of my existence, loved me.
My stepmother is a bitch, but hey, you can’t have it all. The fact that I look like my mother doesn’t help. Neither does my father mentioning it every time he sees me.
The thought of my father lying in that bed makes me sad, but I can’t let it. He needs me now. I need to be there for him like he was for me when mom died.
And that means facing Hades tomorrow.
That means swallowing my pride and doing what I need to do to save our home, our legacy.
2
Hayden
I’m having breakfast when Peter enters through the dark, carved-wood doors. I look up from my paper, drink a sip of coffee.
“Ms. Abbot is here, sir.”
I glance at the antique clock over the door. Ten past eleven. She’s late.
Folding the paper, I lean back in the comfortably worn leather chair. “Bring her in.”
Peter nods.
One of the older men at the table across the room rises, nods his greeting to me and shakes his companion’s hand before leaving. It’s only a moment after he’s gone that Peter is back. He opens one of the double doors and stands to the side.
Persephone enters.
The restaurant is only half-full, but every man turns his head when she steps inside. I understand why. She’s a beautiful woman.
I study her as she looks around. She hasn’t spotted me yet. I’m in the far corner at my usual table.
She takes in the space. The restaurant is a good size with several alcoves leading to other rooms. Heavy velvet onyx curtains separate the spaces. Dark wallpaper with the repeating letter H in gold leaf adorns the walls and sconces cast a soft light throughout. The large windows are tinted slightly so the interior is wholly separate from the outside world. The curtains that drape them are tied back with thick golden ropes.
A uniformed bartender stands polishing a glass behind the antique bar and soft music plays in the background.
When she finally spots me, she stops as if startled. As if she didn’t expect to see me.
I get up, button my jacket, nod my greeting.
It takes her a moment and I see her stand up a little taller, steeling her spine in preparation for our meeting, I imagine.
She’s wearing a cream-colored suit jacket and a matching pencil skirt. Beneath her jacket is a white blouse with lace ruffles. Those ruffles flutter out at her wrists, too. Her dark hair is pulled back tightly from her face and she’s clutching a leather bag too small to hold the documents I left for her.
Her heels click delicately, and I don’t miss how the eyes of every man in here slide over her lithe body. Hell, I don’t blame them, but the predator inside me is rattled.
Mine.
She stops before my table and her unreadable violet eyes lock on mine.
I remember those eyes. I know how they look when she’s aroused. I know how her lips part just so as she pants.
I clear my throat when what I need to do is adjust my cock.
“Hades,” she says, her voice like smooth ice. She’s a woman now. No hint of the girl who first named me Hades. The one I carried out of the chapel that Halloween night.
“Persephone.” I make a point of letting my gaze slide over her before returning my eyes to hers. “Welcome.”
She snorts, pulls out her own chair and sits before she’s invited to.
I sit too as a waiter appears. “Sir.”
“Something to drink?” I ask her.
She looks up at him. “Coffee, please.”
“Clear my plate and bring us some coffee,” I tell the server.
Persephone snorts again, studies me. “Let me guess, they don’t take orders from women.”
“Correct. It is a gentlemen’s club.”
“You’re using that word loosely, then?”
I smile, lean back in my seat and study her. Apart from our short meeting last night, the last time I saw her was five years ago. And I remember it like it was yesterday.
She holds my gaze and I wonder if she’s remembering that night too. And I know she is when her cheeks flush red and she clears her throat, busying herself with whatever is inside her bag.
The waiter returns with coffee. After laying everything out, he picks up the silver carafe and pours us each a steaming cup.
“That’ll be all,” I tell him without looking away from her. I pick up my cup.
She moves the coffee to the side and takes a stack of papers out of her bag. She sets them on the table and pushes them toward me. They’re the contracts I’d delivered last night. Ripped in two.