Page 130 of Falling for the Enemy

Aldrich would gain years of guaranteed high-volume freight, and Hawthorne Fishery would see unsurpassed revenue. All they needed was an agreed-upon number and a majority vote from the board, then the contracts would be signed.

A done deal.

“There he is.” Warren Aldrich carved through the crowd with both hands extended, seizing Soren’s the way a man greets a son returned from war. “The man of the hour. Come, there are people who’ve been dying to meet the new face of Hawthorne Fishery.”

“Warren.” Soren shook his hand, bracing for the schmoosing about to unfold. “Quite a house.”

“My grandfather’s folly.” Warren laughed, clapping Soren’s shoulder and steering him deeper into the throng with a proprietary grip.

He presented Soren to a senator and his young wife draped in Harry Winston, then to a man who controlled half the ports on the Eastern Seaboard and an excellent contact to have. To a knot of investors, brokers, and various connectors in the shipping industry.

Through every introduction, Warren kept a hand on Soren, displaying him, claiming him, and the easy paternal pride should have prickled, but some human part of Soren remained innocent enough to still crave such approval, even if it was past all reason.

Warren was not his father. He was nothing like Magnus. But damn, he couldn’t help but imagine how having such a mentor might heal old wounds his own father carved.

“Ah, gentlemen, you all remember my daughter, Olivia.”

Soren turned and the warmth curdled inside of him. She moved through the crowd like a shark sensing blood in the water. Her ice-blue silk gown rippled from every curve, and her blonde hair, swept off her neck, revealed a string of diamonds at the base of her throat. She was elegance incarnate, and as dangerous and unpredictable as a squall ripping through a cobalt sky.

“Soren.” She laid her hand flat against his chest, over his heart, as if invited to do so. “You certainly clean up well.” Her smile blazed for the room as eavesdroppers chuckled at his expense. Her fingers smoothed his lapel, a wifely little performance staged for her father.

Warren’s eyes tracked the motion and raised his glass in a silent salute, as if offering Soren his blessing. But Soren wasn’t interested.

Taking Olivia’s hand, he lowered it back to her side with a warning squeeze of pressure. She caught his message and laughed, as if to say, we’ll see.

“How long have you two been an item?” a woman in a deep emerald gown asked.

Before he could correct her mistake, Olivia answered for the both of them. “Soren and I have been friends since childhood.” She looped her arm around his, closing her fingers over the hand that had just tried removing her touch. “Remember how we used to play on the docks together whenever my family summered in Hideaway Bay?”

Stunned by her deliberate implication, his eyes narrowed on her smiling face. Such performance and artifice. He wondered if there was anything real there at all. Now, he only saw her with frigid clarity, a woman with a motive and a penchant for always getting her way.

He wondered how he ever misjudged her enough to think her agreeable and pliant. A mistake he wouldn’t make again.

From the soft laugh to her gentle poise, he’d misjudged breeding for warmth. But this was no mild, agreeable creature. This was a piranha, beautiful, even ornamental at first glance, but capable of stripping prey to the bone in seconds flat.

Every calculated touch advanced her in this little game she was playing. She’d inserted herself as a pawn, working her way across the board, dead set on crowning herself queen. He nearly admired the artistry. But she’d fixed her sights on the wrong king.

Pressing close to his side, she rose on her toes as if to whisper a tender word against his cheek. “There’s still time for Daddy to change his mind, you know.”

“This way,” someone called, and Soren turned just as light flashed, scoring white across his vision. He blinked as a photographer dissolved back into the crowd.

He’d had enough.

Squaring his cuffs, he broke from Olivia’s octopus-like grip. “If you’ll excuse me. I see someone I must catch. Olivia, why don’t you tell the ladies about the work you’ve been doing with your father?” Anchoring her to the group of nosy women, he made his way toward the door.

Texting his driver, he ordered his car to be brought up right away.

When he crossed paths with Warren again, the older man once again tried to monopolize him. Like father, like daughter. “Soren, come meet the Rasputins.”

“Hello.” Soren offered a quick greeting, stood for a few minutes of small talk, then told Warren he’d see him on the green first thing.

Mercifully, he made it in and out in under two hours. But when he texted Jocelyn to see if she was still awake, she sadly didn’t answer.

Disappointment only stung for a split second. She needed to rest up. Tomorrow was a big day for her, and afterward he planned to keep her up all night.

On the drive back to the hotel, he called Logan again.

He sounded tired when he picked up, and the television played softly in the background. “Your dog’s afraid of thunder.”