Page 3

Chapter 3

Constantine

“What do you think, Constantine?”

About? I sat taller, unsure who’d been talking to me.

“Son?” My father looked at me from the head of the table in the conference room. He’d yet to give up his throne of our empire, and I was hoping he never did so I didn’t have to take over for him.

“Why don’t you tell us what you think first?” I asked him, hoping he’d understand that I needed help.

It wasn’t like me to lose focus at work, especially while closing a hundred-million-dollar deal I’d worked on for months. But there I was, doing it anyway, thinking about a woman instead of the business at hand.

My father adjusted the knot of his purple tie and did me a solid by addressing the room, buying me time.

I stopped listening, the opposite of what I was supposed to do, and returned to thoughts of that delinquent’s mother. A mother I wanted to . . .

Fucccck, I have to stop.

I got my wallet back, Bianca’s note was still inside, and now it was time to move on. Write the whole thing off as a case of unfortunate luck that could’ve ended much differently. Only, it ended how it ended. It ended with me meeting this woman who made me feel things . Things I didn’t fully understand.

She’s a single mom—unattached, but not really unattached. She has a sixteen-year-old son to worry about—a thief, no less. According to his juvenile record, he’d been arrested for assault prior to moving to New York , so, there was that, too. Plus, maybe she was dating someone, and I was fantasizing about a taken woman. That was a hard limit for me.

My hands slipped to the underside of the table, and I pushed my fingertips against it, trying to ground myself. Find my way back to the room and the meeting taking place, away from thoughts of the goddess in teddy-bear blue scrubs.

After a few failed attempts to focus, I let my mind wander back to her.

My life was messy and complicated. The last thing Juliette needed was someone like me going anywhere near her.

I had too many meetings during the day, ensuring my family’s company thrived so that thousands of jobs would be protected. Then, at night, I hunted criminals.

Alessandro called it our volunteer work. I called it my path to redemption (if that was even possible). But after all the shit we’d been forced to do back in the day for Uncle Sam, serving as mercenaries for the U.S., I needed an outlet along with some hope I could be saved if I righted a few wrongs.

All I can offer her is drinks and sex. And danger. I’d convinced myself of that, which was why I hadn’t already run a background check on her. I could’ve quickly learned everything about her with a few keystrokes. Dating history. Food allergies. Childhood address. Mother’s maiden name. Horoscope.

Let go. Move on. Forget her. She has a son.

The montage of commands held no weight. I had a counter to every statement ready to go.

Hold on. Go forward. Focus on her. The boy could use a good role model.

I drew my hands back to my lap, searching for that grip I couldn’t seem to get. I hadn’t had such a raw, intense reaction to a woman like this since?—

“Constantine?” I looked over to see Blair in the doorway, cutting off the chaos in my mind, for which I was grateful.

Blair had tried to hide her black eye with concealer, and it was hard to look at her without remembering that Daniel had tried to mug her and, in the process of failing to do so, had hit her in the face. I didn’t care if he’d claimed during Hudson’s interrogation that it’d been an accidental elbow and not intentional.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she began, and I gestured her in. She rounded the table and whispered, “You said if Juliette Carmichael ever reached out, to let you know right away.”

I let the name puncture a hole in both my heart and brain. “And?”

“She’s downstairs with security.”

My heart was about to implode, turning into confetti. Relief. Excitement. Maybe even anxiety ripped through me.

“Sir?” I hated it when she called me that. And considering she was almost twenty years younger than me and could be my daughter, it made me feel even more over the hill.

“Tell security to send her up. Bring her to my office. I’ll meet her there now.” I pushed away from the table, ignored my father's annoyed look, and announced, “Excuse me, but you’ll have to continue without me.” I left the conference room before anyone could protest.

I hurried down the hall to my corner office, dropped into my chair behind my desk, and stared out the window, viewing the Manhattan skyline.

I impatiently waited, curious if she’d be in her scrubs again. Maybe a cotton-candy pink this time?

What is wrong with me?

Time was moving too slowly. I undid the top two buttons of my black dress shirt, my tie already gone as of this morning, then held the chair arms, trying to look casual while leaning back.

At the knock, I called out, “Come in.”

The door opened, and she wasn’t in scrubs. Instead, she was clothed in my kryptonite.

Heels, fitted jeans, and a white button-down blouse partially tucked in. Her blonde hair, with hints of auburn strands, lay wavy over her shoulders. Her lips were painted a soft pink and slightly parted as if she’d opened her mouth to say something and forgotten how to speak. Brows, a little darker than her hair, slanted over her beautiful green eyes as she took in the sight of me.

Tongue-tied. Motherfucking same.

I held the chair arms tighter as I realized she was carrying a small package. It was blue, and not just any blue— Tiffany’s blue.

I already knew about her son’s purchase with my American Express. I’d canceled all but one card after my wallet had been stolen. Initially, I’d kept the Amex active to teach the kid a lesson about stealing. After I had met his mother, that plan went to hell since I could only focus on Juliette. I’d hoped she’d discover what he’d done and show up as she was doing now.

You’re a mom. That reminder made the things I wanted to do to her ten times worse.

I’d start by setting her on my desk and tasting her pink, pouty lips before moving down to the ones between her legs.

“Come in. Close the door.” My words were rough and demanding, and I didn’t give a damn.

Her lashes fluttered as she thinned her eyes, remaining frozen. She held a hand to the door to keep it from closing on her.

“Come in,” I repeated, working hard to tone it down so it didn’t come across as a command to sit on my face.

Finally surrendering and joining me inside the lion’s den, the door shut behind her. I maintained my death grip on the chair arms, feeling like a caveman discovering fire for the first time—a cross between excited and terrified.

“I’m sorry to show up like this. I had planned to only leave a note with this for security, but when I provided my name, they insisted I see you.”

The security officers and Blair were very much aware that my anger would go from zero to sixty if she showed up and I didn’t know about it right away.

“My son used your card to buy something.” She slowly walked my way, then set the Tiffany’s box on the edge of my desk before backing up. Wise woman to keep her distance.

“I know.” I stared at her fingernails, pink like her lips. They’d been chipped yesterday. I shouldn’t have noticed, but I seemed to notice everything about her.

“Why didn’t you cancel your cards? And if you knew what he did, why didn’t you reach out? You know how to find us.” Her hand slipped to her outer thigh, and she patted her jean-covered leg before curling her fingers inward.

I didn’t want her to be nervous or uncomfortable around me. I needed her to be. She didn’t belong here. She was too good for here. “He did more than shop at Tiffany’s,” I said instead of answering her.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You have quite the Robin Hood on your hands.” I finally released the chair arms and stood. I didn’t round the desk, not trusting myself to get any closer. It’d be game over if she gave me any indication she was as drawn to me as I was to her. No chance of me remaining a “good guy.”

“I don’t understand,” she murmured.

“He donated to quite a few charities. All A-plus ratings. He did his research. A lot of money, too. He’s still keeping at it. He must’ve taken photos of my cards.”

“Oh my God.” She turned to the side, eyeing the leather couch beneath the photograph of our family home in the Hamptons. “Mind if I sit?” Without waiting for an answer, she went over and dropped down.

I allowed myself to breach the barrier of the desk, but that was as far as I let myself go.

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you?—”

“I was curious what else he planned to buy.” And I really wanted an excuse to see you again. “Who’s the necklace for?”

“How’d you . . .” She shook her head, deciding to let that question go, knowing I must’ve called the store to learn more about “my purchase.” She slowly lifted her beautiful eyes to my face. “The heart locket was for me.”

My gut reaction to her soulful look was to lean against my desk and place my palms on it for support. How do I know you? I’m sure I do. That had to be why I was so drawn to her.

“My birthday is soon. He put a picture of me holding him as a newborn inside the heart.”

“How old will you be?” I would’ve known this had I given in and done my homework. My damn conscience was getting in the way lately, and I didn’t like it.

I pushed away from the desk and picked up the box.

“Normally, it’d be rude to ask a woman’s age, but seeing as my son stole from you and bought my birthday present with your money, I guess I can answer.” I was met with an adorable smile. “Thirty-eight.” I did the math, and she quickly cut off the calculations in my head. “I know, I know. I was young when I had Colin.”

“No judgment here.” I also didn’t want to think about this woman with another man, not even Colin’s father. The harsh possessiveness I already felt for this stranger shocked me back a step. “Keep the gift.”

She flicked her wrist. “No, I could never.”

I lowered the box to my side. “It’s not stolen. It was paid for.” Two grand, in fact, before tax. “Take it. I insist.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She stood.

I assumed she’d planned to take off like a lost lamb who finally identified the danger she was in, but instead, she went over to my bar.

Curious, I returned the box to the desk. “You feel like a drink?” I joined her, and she glanced at me over her shoulder.

“It’s four in the afternoon.”

I smiled. “There’s never a wrong time for whiskey.”

“You sound like my father.” She snapped her attention back to the bar and wasted no time reaching for a bottle on the top shelf: Legacy Ridge, my favorite bourbon.

I did my best not to check out her ass in those fitted jeans in the process.

I failed.

Her ass was perfect.

She caught me looking. Of course she did.

A shy smile touched her face as she handed me the bottle, fully facing me.

And that smile was . . . everything . It was also painfully familiar. Why? “This one’s a collector’s edition,” I finally managed to say. “I’m saving it for a special occasion.”

“I suppose a mother seeking forgiveness for her son yet again doesn’t qualify as special?” She set her hand on my forearm, and it was electric, that’s what that was the moment she touched me.

I dropped my eyes to her hand. “Sounds like a perfect occasion to me.”

“No, save it for someone else. I’m not much of a drinker.” She retracted her hand, giving me back the breath in my lungs and the ability for my heart to beat again. “You have exquisite taste to own that bottle, though.”

“The brand was recommended to me a long time ago.” Damn the knot in my throat. “It stuck with me.”

“May I ask by whom?” There was a sweet innocence to her question, and something told me this was an answer I didn’t want to get wrong.

I cleared my throat. “A stranger.” I closed my eyes when memories of my past unfolded in my mind, whether I wanted them to or not, becoming a damn tornado, working hard to wreck my composure.

Aruba. Seventeen years ago, as of this month. On leave from the Navy. There’d been a woman with the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen (maybe until now). She’d told me to go for the Legacy Ridge instead of the Maker’s Mark I’d ordered, and it’d been my go-to ever since.

She’d been the only woman I’d ever felt anything for and developed an attachment to.

“It’s my dad’s brand. He owns Legacy Ridge.”

My eyes flashed open in surprise. The unspoken words sat uncomfortably between us as she bit her lip.

Shock fell like a curtain, making it hard to see anything but the past, which was now standing squarely before me in the form of this woman.

No. No fuckin’ way. It can’t be you. You can’t be her.

So much time and too many things had happened since I’d been on that island, so her face was no longer as vivid as it used to be. But those hours we spent together were still clear in my mind, and for good reason.

I opened my mouth, unsure what to say, but then the door swung open, sending her back two steps.

My old man’s dark eyes darted back and forth between us. “I can’t close this deal without you.” He switched to Italian so Juliette wouldn’t understand the lecture he was giving me, making me feel sixteen and not forty-three.

When he left and the door thudded shut, I set the bottle back in place. “Give me a minute. Stay here, okay? Don’t leave.” I had to know the truth. I had to know if she was the woman on that island forever ago. It didn’t feel possible, but I’d spent half my life deep diving into the land of impossibilities, so why not?

“Colin’s home alone. Since you haven’t canceled all your cards, who knows what trouble he’s getting into.”

No, you’re just scared. Scared to find out the answer to the question I was sure she was too afraid to ask me.

I reached for her shoulder and leaned in. I didn’t care if Colin bought a Ferrari as long as she didn’t leave my office. “Stay,” I begged. Mouth to her ear, I felt the shiver in her body hit my palm as I whispered, “Just give me five minutes.” I let her go, already regretting my decision to do so. “I’ll be right back.”

I went to the door, glanced at her, and took off.

“Everything okay?” Blair asked me outside the conference room.

“Don’t let her leave. Got it? Stay with her.”

“Yeah, okay.” She nodded, and I went back to the meeting, anxious to hurry shit up so I could get back to Juliette.

I helped negotiate the terms of the deal, wrapping it up so fast that even my father was impressed. When I checked my watch, racing back to my office, I realized it’d taken fifteen minutes instead of those promised five.

“She’s gone.” Blair’s words anchored me to the floor, stopping me dead in my tracks. “She said her son called, and he needed her. I couldn’t exactly keep her hostage.”

I would have, dammit. I went into my office and slammed the door behind me. The Tiffany’s box was on my desk with a note tucked beneath it.

I’m sorry I had to leave. I think we need to talk, though. I have a twelve-hour shift tonight from seven to seven and another tomorrow. How about Saturday? You know how to find me.

It was Thursday, and Saturday felt like forever away, especially since I had an op planned between now and then. I had to get to the truth, though. I had to know if it was her.

Curious if she remembered to remove the photo, I opened the box.

The photo was still inside the heart—Juliette with her son when he was a baby. I stared at the image for a minute as another wave of familiarity washed over me. I wasn’t sure if I was just seeing what my heart wanted to see or if it was really her. What were the chances it was? A million to one? Maybe greater.

I forced myself to close the heart, set aside the necklace, and went to the bar for a different bottle of Legacy Ridge.

Pieces of my past clicked into place with each step I took.

The woman I’d met that night had been celebrating her twenty-first birthday, and Juliette was about to turn thirty-eight this month. Her son was sixteen, so she had him a few months before she turned twenty-two.

I opened my phone and looked at the photo of Colin I’d saved during my search to find him.

My vision became hazy as I continued to focus on the image of him. “Colin Carmichael.”

I abruptly dropped to my knees.

Pain stretched through my limbs.

Clawed from the inside out with sharpened blades and ripped out my heart.

The kid may have had the same facial features, hair, and build as me, even the same attitude, but that didn’t mean he was my . . .

No, it can’t be. It’s not possible. We used protection.

I peered up at the top shelf and to the Legacy Ridge bottle. My favorite bourbon was owned by Colin’s grandfather, of all people.

No. You can’t be mine.

You can’t be my son.