‘If this merger doesn’t happen, Peregrine Airways won’t make it to the end of the fiscal year.’
For a second, I’m sure I’ve misheard him. My father, the man who built Peregrine Airways out of nothing, who’s spent his whole life lecturing me about stability, about perception and control, is saying that the company is broke. I press a hand against the wall to steady myself, but it’s no use. The world tilts.
‘That’s why you should tell her,’ my mother insists. ‘If she knew, she’d—’
My father lets out a brittle laugh. ‘I’mprotectingher. The less she knows, the better.’
‘She’ll never agree to marry him if she doesn’t know why.’
‘She doesn’t need to know the truth,’ my father snaps. ‘She just needs to get it done.’
‘Malcolm—’
‘Don’t,’ he bites out. ‘Do you think I want this? You thinkI wanted to barter our daughter’s future like a corporate asset? But Peregrine is hanging by a thread. This merger is the only thing that keeps us in the air. Without it, we’re finished. She needs to do her part.’
I don’t remember backing away from the door, but suddenly I’m halfway down the corridor, my heart pounding so hard it hurts. The maître d glances up as I pass, and I force my face into something neutral, nodding politely like my entire world hasn’t just shattered around me.
Once I’m outside, I stand on the kerb and try to breathe past the sting in my throat. I breathe in too fast and too hard, trying to keep the tears from spilling.
All this time, I thought I was being used just to help get a deal over the line, and that was bad enough on its own. But the truth is much, much worse.
My father isn’t just using me to strengthen a business alliance; he’s using me tosavethe company and he doesn’t even have the decency to tell me the truth. Every fight we’ve had since the day he demanded I marry Asher, every reminder of my ‘duty’ suddenly snaps into awful, perfect focus.
This is nothing but desperation. This is a man trying to keep his empire from crumbling, even if it means selling off his daughter like she’s an asset on a balance sheet.
A deranged laugh slips past my lips as I wrap my arms around myself and stare out at the street, headlights blurring through my tears.
I have no idea if I’m angry or heartbroken.
Maybe it’s both.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENAsher
I haven’t seen her in sixteen days. Not that I’m counting. Except, of course, I am.
Sixteen days, three hours, twenty-four minutes, and an admittedly embarrassing number of unread messages from me sitting in her phone. At least, I have to assume they’re unread because I haven’t had a single response from her.
At first, I told myself to be patient. She needed space. Time. Breathing room. France had blurred lines we weren’t supposed to cross, and we both knew it. It would make sense for her to want distance after that – afterus. But the thing is, space has never felt this loud before. Every time my phone buzzes, I hope it’s her. Every time it isn’t, I feel like an idiot.
I know exactly why she’s avoiding me, and I can’t even blame her for it because we both know what’s coming. Our fathers are gearing up to announce the merger and, alongside it, our engagement. Of course she wouldn’t want to be anywherenear me right now. Not when she’s about to be forced to do the one thing she’s been fighting against this whole time.
I drag a hand through my hair and stare out the window of my office. If I had it my way, I’d take her far from here, to some quiet place by the water, where it could just be the two of us again. My mind drifts back to the weekend in France like a reflex. I’ve replayed it more times than I can count over the last sixteen days (three hours, thirty-nine minutes) and I crave it more than I’ve wanted anything else in my life. I want to see her smile and laugh and look at me the way she did back in my suite – as if I wasn’t part of the problem.
A thought takes root in my mind. Maybe I can’t fix everything, but maybe Icanremind her of what it felt like when it was just us in that suite. When the world fell away around us and it was just me and her.
The thought quickly turns from wishful thinking into something real and tangible. I reach for my phone and do something I don’t think I’ve ever done once in all my life.
I call my father.
I’ve sat in meetings with investors who could ruin the company with a single sentence. I’ve stood behind podiums, delivered speeches that have decided the fate of entire projects. I’ve even stared down my father when he was at his angriest.
Somehow, none of it compares to the feeling of waiting in the lobby of Imani’s building right now.
The concierge keeps giving me wary glances over the top of his computer screen, probably wondering why I’vebeen pacing a dent into the marble floor for the last twenty minutes. I don’t blame him. With my sweaty palms and the way I keep jumping and nervously looking over to the door whenever it opens and closes, I know I look suspicious. I’m pretty sure the only reason he doesn’t call security to shoo me away is because he recognised my last name when I showed him my ID.
Being a Vouvalis does have it perks; I just wish it didn’t come with the strings attached.
Every tick of the clock above the concierge desk sounds louder than the last. My nerves are already stretched thin, pulled taut like I’m waiting for a verdict instead of a woman. I’ve rehearsed what I’ll say at least a dozen times in my head, each version worse than the last. Currently I’m at:Hi, Imani, surprise, I’m here to kidnap you—temporarily, of course. Not exactly my smoothest opening line.
