PROLOGUE
DEMI
Christmas Night
Rhythmic beats reverberate through the speakers, mingling with the sounds of boisterous laughter and raucous chatter as I glance at my watch and sigh. I grab hold of Xena’s arm, admiring her colorful ink, as I pull her down closer. “I’ve got to go,” I shout in her ear, a necessity in this noisy room if I want to be heard.
She loops her arm in mine. “Aw, not yet, babe. The night’s still young.” She nudges my hip, swaying her body in time to the beat of the music. “It’s Christmas,” she roars in my ear. “You can’t leave.” She grins, winking at her boyfriend Leo as he eyes her like he’s seconds away from jumping her bones.
“I want to stay, but I can’t. Mrs. Griffin has a family she needs to get home to,” I explain. It was sweet of her to keep Dad company while I attended this party, at one of our old high school buddy’s apartments in the downtown area, but I promised her I wouldn’t be long.
Understanding washes over Xena’s pretty face. “I keep forgetting. I’m sorry.”
I shrug, draining the last dregs of my gin cocktail. “Some days, I forget too.”
It’s only been two months since Dad had a stroke, which left him paralyzed from the waist down, and only one month since I dropped out of UMaine to move back home to help care for him.
It’s gradually sinking in—that the life I was leading, and the future I had planned, has all changed in the blink of an eye.
One brutal twist of fate altered my destiny, but I’m not crying over it.
It is what it is.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way, because Dad has always been there for me. From day one, he has had my back, and there isn’t anything I won’t do for him.
There’s no way I want strangers caring for him twenty-four-seven. As soon as we discovered his paralysis was permanent, I shed my old life and moved back home to Rydeville.
There was no dilemma. No anguished decision.
Dad needs me. He’s my only flesh and blood.
And I’m home to look after him.
“At least, we get to hang out on the regular again,” Xena says, pulling me into a hug. “I’ve missed you, girl.”
Xena was my best friend all through school, and we were as close as sisters. But after we graduated from the public high school in Rydeville, our lives went in very different directions. Xena had decided back in freshman year that college wasn’t in the cards for her. She walked straight into a job in her uncle’s tattoo parlor and hasn’t looked back since. My journey took me to the University of Maine and Isaac Sullivan, both now firmly relegated to the past.
“I’m glad we’re reconnecting,” I tell her, kissing her cheek. “And I’m so grateful for your support.” Xena and I slotted back into an easy friendship, and I’d be lost without her daily messages and calls. She helps keep me sane on days when despair threatens to kick in.
“Anytime. You know I’m always here for you.”
“Enjoy the rest of your night. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I tease, waggling my brows as I watch the two guys circling her in anticipation. Only Xena would find two ripped, tatted, pierced hotties utterly devoted to her and take it all in her stride, like it’s commonplace to have two boyfriends.
Lucky bitch. My neglected libido wails in my ear, missing regular sex, but that’s the least of my worries right now.
I snatch my coat and my purse, wiggling my fingers at Bo and Leo and blowing one last kiss in my bestie’s direction as I push my way through the crowd swarming the living room, out into the icy-cold night air.
The slicing sting skating along my cheeks is welcome after the overcrowded, overheated room, and I take my time putting my coat on, leaving it unbuttoned as I check my purse to ensure I have everything. My cell rings, and I pull it out, frowning as I spot the familiar number.
“Demi speaking.”
“Oh, thank God,” the male voice on the other end says.
“Danny? Is that you?” I ask, as I start walking, needing to confirm it’s one of the security guards from the banking firm I work at because him calling me like this is beyond strange.
Usually, the building that houses Barron Banking and Financial Investment Services Limited is open twenty-four-seven with round-the-clock security personnel manning the fort, but I’d assumed things would change for the holidays. Guess I was wrong.
“It’s me. I’m sorry to call you so late on Christmas, but I can’t get hold of anyone else.”
I button my coat with fingers that are rapidly turning frozen, quickening my pace, while I keep the phone jammed between my ear and my shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure.” He sounds hesitant. “I’ve left messages for Mr. Barron, the president, and for Margaret Ann, but none of them are picking up, and I didn’t know who else to call.”
It must be bad if he’s calling me. I’ve only been an employee for two weeks.
Although I followed in Dad’s footsteps in my choice of accounting major, I never expected to end up where he had spent the last twenty-two years of his life working, and I certainly never expected to work for the man who tossed him so callously on his ass the minute he got sick.
But, as the saying goes, beggars can’t be choosers. With mounting medical bills, we need the money. Pride doesn’t come in to it. It’s as simple as that.
“How can I help?”
“It’s Mr. Barron’s son. He arrived here a little while ago, and something is wrong. He was clutching a bottle of bourbon as he made his way up to the CEO’s office. Someone needs to get here and ensure he’s okay.”
I don’t recall babysitting rich pricks being part of my job description. “Can’t you just put him in an Uber and send him home?”
“He won’t talk to me. You’re closer in age. Maybe, you might have more luck.”
I snort. I’ve heard the rumors doing the rounds in the office about the boss’s son. That he never dates. Just acquires fuck buddies. And, apparently, he has a thing for older women. I might be a few years older than Charlie Barron, but I very much doubt I’m his type or that I’d stand any chance at getting through to him.
Mr. Barron Senior is a coldhearted prick, and I’ve zero desire to help him or his manwhore offspring. Not unless it’s something I’m contractually obligated to fulfill. “Sorry, Danny. I need to get home to Dad, and I’ve had a couple gin cocktails, so even if I was available to help, I can’t drive.”
“I’ll get Shirley, my wife, to pop round to your place, and I kinda already have a car on the way to pick you up,” he sheepishly admits.
“I don’t even know the guy, Danny!” I throw my hands in the air in exasperation even though he can’t see me. “And what makes you think he’ll talk to me?”
“Everyone loves you, Demi. And you’d be doing him a favor. He’s drunk off his ass, and if his father discovers he showed up here in such a state, there’ll be hell to pay. It can’t hurt to try. Please.”
I sigh, already knowing I’m going to regret this. But Danny is one of the few colleagues who was good to Dad after his stroke, one of the few who keeps in contact with him and makes the effort to visit, on the odd occasion. “Fine,” I huff. “But I’m only doing this for you.”