Page 87 of Crimson Love

I’m anxious to change the subject, so I ask about the meeting that Devon set up for me at the end of the day. “You’ve lived in Winslet all your life. What do you know about Payne Deacon?”

Felicity frowns. “Are you thinking about dumping Jett?”

“Oh my gosh, no. I have a meeting with Payne this afternoon to represent me, should I need it. I’m nervous, that’s all. I don’t know what to expect.”

Felicity looks relieved. “Well, then. Not that I don’t like Payne. I do. He’s a real looker, even more now than he was when he was young. I’m older and married, but I can still see.”

I smile. “Hey, you’re only human.”

“That’s right. Anyway, he was a high-falutin attorney before he moved home when all that stuff happened with his parents. He took over the family business when he wanted none of it right out of college. I heard he wanted out of town. I’m not sure why he ended up coming home. If you think you need a lawyer, you can’t go wrong with Payne.”

“I just want to be prepared for anything, you know? Thank you for always being so kind. It’s really hard for me to trust new people.”

She stands and clutches her oversized lunch box. “It sounds like you’re on your way to fixing all your problems. We’ve become awfully attached to you. Your home could be right here if you allow it. I hope you stay.”

“I hope so too.”

Her expression turns stern. “Don’t you dare leave the office until Jett can come and get you. We don’t need anything else to happen.”

And with that last demand, our lunch break is over. She turns and leaves. She doesn’t have to worry about me tempting fate. I’m not going anywhere until Jett is done with his emergency board meeting.

Jett T he last twenty-four hours has been a trip to hell and back with a pitstop in Death Valley to fuel up for the experience. And half of the journey has been instigated by a money-hungry, power-tripping board member.

The last year has not been easy on my birth father. He was drugged into a coma by his then wife who was having an affair with his right-hand man, Allen Foster. Foster is now serving time for a list of crimes so long, I’m sure the media was bored out of their minds by the time they dug to the bottom of it. He’s also the one who gatekept me from Patrick and Harlow. Then he almost managed to have Harlow killed. He knew I was a second heir and did everything he could to keep me from Patrick.

Had Harlow not foiled her ex-fiancé’s murder plot, I wouldn’t be standing here healthy for the first time in years, have a woman in my bed who I cannot stop thinking about, and with a life expectancy of a normal, healthy man.

Foster almost took out the entire Madison family, even if I’m not a Madison by name.

During my cram course of the history of Stonebridge, I learned that while Patrick was in a medically induced coma, Allen Foster was working a business deal with Helix Dominion. Stonebridge has made great strides in data-intelligence over the last few years.

On the outside, Helix seems legit. But when I read into their list of clients, they dabble in contracts around the world that are iffy at best—governments that like to act like democracies but aren’t. Governments who do not do what’s best for their citizens and are a cover for terror organizations.

I would know. I spent a career in the Army taking down filth just like them.

Allen Foster might be rotting away in prison, but the deal is thriving and set to be voted on by the board next week. And that deal on paper is worth so many millions, it’s closing in on a billion. When a contract is this big, it’s the board’s job to approve it.

Or kill it.

Foster might be put away, but it’s still being pushed through by Lex Warner. He stepped in and positioned himself as the head honcho for the contract, and he’s spinning more side deals left and right. If the contract is approved, word is he’ll resign from the board and align himself with Helix as their newest Vice President of intelligence. Warner will go from a well-off man to a wealthy one. So wealthy, it makes my new trust fund look abysmal.

I’m the wrench in this impending deal. While Allen Foster rots in jail, I’m stepping into his seat on the board. There are nine positions. Before I accepted the seat, they were split down the middle—four to four—on if the contract would go through.

The deciding vote is mine.

And four people in that room aren’t happy about it.

I look through the double doors from where we’re standing outside one of the smaller ballrooms where this shitshow is about to start. Harlow, Chrissie, and Patrick stand next to me, ready to walk into what looks more like a war room than a ballroom. The vultures are huddled and planning their attack.

“Which one is Lex Warner?” I demand.

Chrissie doesn’t mince words. “The one with the stick up his ass who’s looking down his pointy nose at the rest of them.”

I frown. “They all look like they have a stick up their asses.”

“Ew.” Chrissie’s face screws up as she stares at one of the cliques off to the side. “He just dragged the back of his hand across said pointy nose. Do not shake hands. I repeat, do not shake his hand.”

“He’s the one in the gold tie—the one on the late end of middle aged. You can tell he dyes his hair.” Harlow leans in and lowers her voice. “Oh great. Now he’s staring at us.”