Page 31

DORIAN

Caroline’s head rests on my chest, and her arm stretches across my middle, asleep. The faint thump of her heartbeat reverberates through my rib cage. Her long hair cascades down her narrow back, and her soft breasts press against my side.

Outside, snowflakes glint when the light catches them right, and behind them is a wall of black. I should check the weather, see if conditions have changed.

The phone on my bedside table lights up, darkens, and lights up so regularly it might be Morse code. I should check that, too.

But I don’t want to move. I don’t want to leave this spot—ever.

I can’t remember feeling this at peace. Even when we were together before, when everything was new, I didn’t feel this peaceful.

I was too young; I had too many pressures, and if I’m honest, I didn’t appreciate the fragility of our relationship.

With marriage, an impressive diamond on her finger, and an unlimited spending black card in her wallet, I believed she’d never leave.

Not unless I cheated, and cheating was never an option.

Sure, my father’s wives all eventually left him, but he flaunted his indiscretions.

I believed if he hadn’t cheated, any of his wives, even possibly my mother, would’ve remained, no matter how empty the marriage.

I underestimated Caroline.

The press declared she was nothing but a social climber, but she proved them wrong.

Dad told me to be prepared for an attempt to break our prenuptial agreement and for tears, begging for additional funds. She proved him wrong.

Our only disagreement, one we’re still technically battling, is over a piece of land she inherited while we were married. I never wanted the land. I fought her on principle. Or that’s what I told myself. In reality, I was angry. I wanted to make leaving me as difficult as possible.

I’m no longer angry. I’ve gone through all the emotions: anger, sadness, depression, denial, acceptance. A healthy person goes through the cycle once. Lucky guy that I am, I cycle through the emotions annually.

Nick’s call from earlier comes to mind. He said she’s safest here. With me in Colorado. I should check in, learn more, but that requires moving. It requires contact with the outside world and breaking this solitude.

The screen on my phone brightens an area on the bedside table, lighting up with a call, then darkening, then lighting up again. It’s Friday evening. Who the hell is so persistent?

I don’t want to move to check the phone, but given Nick’s advice, instinct blended with curiosity urges me to check.

I stretch slowly, doing my best to leave Caroline undisturbed.

She needs her rest because I’m not done with her.

Not by a long shot. I’ve also realized something over these last twenty-four hours.

She could be eighty and walk into a room, and I’d still want her.

There’s a connection between us that’s hard to describe.

It’s as if my soul recognizes hers, even when my brain gets lost in other matters.

The question I keep coming back to is what will it take to win her back?

And what will it take to keep her? I don’t think I’d survive her walking out again.

Stretched across the bed, my fingers reach the phone, and I finagle it into my hand to check the screen. Thirty-five missed calls from my assistant. The hair on the back of my neck rises.

No texts. No stock market is open. Did war break out?

Begrudgingly, I slip off the bed, pull on sweats and a thermal, and silently pad out of the room, pulling the door closed quietly. On the way through the house to my office, I press call.

A sense of dread fills me as my mind swirls with the possibilities of what could have happened. I’m barefoot, and the tile chills my feet, and a fleeting thought passes that I should’ve grabbed socks.

A vision of Caroline sprawled in my bed flashes, and I’m gut-punched with regret that I’m not lying in that bed with her. But no, I’m headed to the office. My command center.

“Jay,” I say the second I hear him pick up. “What’s going on?”

“It’s your father.” I halt in the glass corridor.

Flakes swirl haphazardly, lit only by the light streaming from the side of the house, twisting about in a winding, downward fall.

“What?”

“He’s fine, but he had a tough afternoon.”

Jay has been my executive assistant since I moved Zenith’s headquarters to Denver—hand-picked from McKinsey, with the security clearances and discretion required to handle both my corporate empire and family matters. He’s one of the few who know the truth about my father’s health.

“He’s railing. Wants to see you. The nurses aren’t sure what to do. Prashi, she’s the head weekend nurse, recommended we consider a sedative, but you’ve got in his chart?—”

“He’ll calm down.” I’m not actually opposed to sedatives, but my father is. Although, we may have reached the stage where he’s not lucid enough for his preference to matter.

“It might help if you visit him. Or call him. He’s irate. He broke a lamp. Threw a glass against the wall.”

I turn in the opposite direction.

“I mean, I know it’s getting late. He may have calmed down by now?—”

“I’ll go.”

“I have to warn you, sir. He doesn’t sound…”

The hesitation in Jay’s voice tips me off that my father is railing about me. The demons in his head are screaming that I’ve earned his disapproval. He spent time with Caroline today.

“Say it.”

“He’s been shouting about your wife. That she’s going to rob you blind.

That you’re too weak and we need lawyers, stat.

He successfully reached a lawyer, by the way.

One by the name of Duncan Wallace. He’s not one of ours.

I’m not sure where he got the number. Possibly Google directory.

I called his office and canceled the emergency meeting he requested.

Prashi has his phone now. I think that’s part of the reason he’s so angry. ”

Once again, my feet have stopped. I pinch the bridge of my nose. I can’t deal with my father when he’s out of his mind. Seeing Caroline set him off. He must believe no time has passed. He’d been livid with me back then because I refused to use his legal team to handle my divorce.

“Tell Prashi that she has my approval to administer a sedative.”

“I’ll text her. She’ll want it in writing. I’ll include you in the exchange.”

“That’s fine.”

“I have a couple of other urgent items while I have you on the line.”

Jay isn’t one to label an item urgent unless it is.

“You’ve got me for five minutes.” I shoot a wistful glance in the direction of my bedroom but turn on my heel to my office.

“The president doesn’t want to wait until Tuesday for an in-person meeting. He’s requested a time on Monday. I told him you would make yourself available.”

What could he possibly want?

“Schedule it.” The curt response is automatic.

“Droga sent through an email he wanted you to read.”

“What’s it about?”

“He has a notation that only you can read it. His assistant called before she sent it and explained that he doesn’t want anyone but you to read the contents.”

It’s probably some news he’s debating running. Drago owns a publishing network that covers most English-speaking countries in the Americas and Europe.

“I’ll check it out. On my way to my computer now.”

“You have calls scheduled with Australia and Japan on Sunday evening. I’ve left you a reminder. Do you want me to initiate the calls?”

“No, if the information is in my calendar, I’ll call. Who’s it with?”

“Ah, let’s see. Both are for Zenith.”

“Can you ask Suzette to cover?” She’s my COO. She should be able to handle anything.

“She’s the one who scheduled the calls, sir. These are one-off conversations.”

He goes on to repeat the names of pompous, egotistical men who want to ensure I bribe them appropriately before they rubber stamp our government contracts.

I’ll make the time for the meetings. These aren’t just satellite contracts; they’re strategic plays in the larger game of global telecommunications dominance. When you control the orbital infrastructure, every conversation with foreign officials has layers of implications.

“Fine.”

“I think that’s it, sir. Droga asked that you get back to him as quickly as possible.”

“Is this from yesterday?”

“No, about an hour ago. I had trouble reaching you. He also called to check that you were okay. He saw the news about the crash.”

“I’ll check it.”

“Will you be available tomorrow?”

Saturday . Movement in the doorway catches my attention. It’s Caroline, wearing one of my button-down shirts, thick wool socks, and nothing else.

Fuck me, she’s gorgeous .

My gaze locks with hers.

“No. If something urgent arises, text, don’t call. Tell me what the issue is, and I’ll respond if it’s warranted.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jay knows to limit the content of his text, but as a precaution, I add, “Limit what you share, of course.”

He’ll understand. In any lawsuit, texts and emails can be subpoenaed.

I end the call and push up from my desk, but as I do, I remember Droga. If he’s sending over a story as a courtesy, and I delay in responding, he might release it, and I’ll lose my chance to bury it.

Unfortunately, Caroline reads me.

“Do you need some time?”

She claims I keep things in my head, but she’s so good at reading me it often feels I don’t have to speak. “Unfortunately. Give me ten minutes?”

I hope she can hear the apology in my tone.

“No problem. I should check in.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

She pauses, waiting, and I take in her long, lean legs and the flirtatious curve of the hemline. “Keep that outfit on. Okay? No changing.”

Her smile reaches her blue, blissful eyes. I take that as a win.