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“What happened in Dubai?”
“I’d been negotiating to purchase a property I’ve had my eye on for several years. A landmark hotel in a prime location. The family who owned it for three generations fell on hard times and was eager to sell. Most of them, that is. We had the signoff from four of the shareholders, but the last one—their grandfather—had been stalling the deal from day one. Since he held controlling interest at fifty-one percent, nothing was going through until we moved the old man to our side.”
Luxury hotels. Jetting off to conduct real estate business deals in London and Dubai. Nick mentions these things as if they’re all par for the course for him on any given day. I’ve never been outside the States, let alone somewhere as far-flung and foreign as the Middle East. As for the kind of money Nick’s talking about, I can’t even begin to imagine. If I’d been trying to guess at the level of his wealth before, now I’m all but certain it has to start with a “b.”
“I take it the deal didn’t go as you hoped.”
“No. Not quite.” I hear the rasp of his hand scrubbing over his jaw. “The old fool had too much pride for his own good. He couldn’t admit to his family’s mismanagement of their fortune. Because of his blinders, the hotel was suffering too. It was headed for bankruptcy long before I set my sights on acquiring it, but he couldn’t be convinced it was time to let go.”
As he speaks, my anger toward him slips a bit from my grasp. I distantly note how the city continues to pulse around me—cars and taxis and buses roaring by on the street, groups of chattering people strolling past on the sidewalk—yet all of my focus is trained on Nick and the darkening tone of his voice. He is all I hear. He’s all I can feel as I wait for him to tell me the rest.
“I suppose it should’ve been a clue when he abruptly phoned my team in London to say he was ready to be done with the whole ordeal. Hell, in retrospect, maybe I did know where things were heading.” He blows out a short exhalation, a vague laugh devoid of humor. “The old man insisted that we meet at the hotel in Dubai, in his penthouse suite. When my team and I arrived, he was outside on the terrace that overlooks the gulf. He’d been drinking. He demanded that he and I talk privately out there, away from his traitorous grandchildren and the two teams of lawyers.”
I don’t say a word. I’m not sure I’m capable at the moment. My breath is trapped in my lungs, my heart pounding in dread for what’s coming next.
Nick goes on, his voice level, inscrutable. “I knew immediately that he hadn’t called us there to wrap up the deal. He had a different agenda. What he wanted was to tell me to my face to go to hell. So, he did. He said he’d rather die than sell a piece of his soul to someone like me. Then he lunged for the terrace railing and leapt off the building.”
“Oh, my God.” My hand flies to my slack mouth in horror. “Nick, how awful.”
“His family was inconsolable, naturally. Everyone was in shock over what he’d done.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I’m sorry you had to be there to witness something like that. I’m sorry for the terrible things he said to you.”
He grunts in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t the way I’d have preferred to close the deal, but sometimes things don’t go the way you plan.”
“Wait. What?” My brow pinches as I register what he’s telling me. “You still went ahead with the deal to buy the hotel?”
“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly. “After an appropriate delay for the family to mourn and organize his legal affairs. We finalized the sale last night.”
I gasp at the level of his apparent detachment, although I’m not sure why I should feel so shocked. “Nick, that man killed himself. In front of you, no less.”
“Yes, he did. It’s not as though I pushed him.” He goes silent and I wonder if I’ve struck a nerve. After a long moment, he clears his throat. “It’s just business, Avery.”
“Right. Just business,” I say quietly, as something Nick said to me that first night at the gallery skates across my memory. “And when you see something you want, you reach for it.”
My crisp reminder of his own admission doesn’t escape him. “Does that bother you?”
“What bothers me is being made to feel like a fool. Why didn’t you tell me you own the gallery?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ve been talking with Margot.”
“She’s my friend, Nick. Do you know how stupid I felt when I told her I’d met someone that night—that I’d slept with you—only to find out you’d already been with her too?”
“She told you that?” He sounds displeased, his deep voice lowering to somewhere near a growl.
“Not in so many words, but then, I don’t hear you denying it.” He goes silent and my head fills with steam again. “She told me you were damaged. That you hurt anyone who gets too close to you, that you cut them loose. She warned me to stay away from you.”
He chuckles, but there’s little humor in it. “I met Margot Chan four years ago, before she came to the gallery and before she married David Levine. We had a brief affair, nothing more. I realized it was a mistake, and it ended as abruptly as it began.”
“Why?” I demand. “How come you ended things with her?”
“I decided I’d rather have her managing my gallery than warming my bed.”
I want to believe him. Since Margot still manages to work with him, he can’t be all bad. Still, her caution that he isn’t like other men I might know—the implication that he is somehow dangerous—keeps my protective walls in place. I’ve been wounded before. I’ve been damaged in ways I can never speak of, least of all to this man.
“Why didn’t you tell me Dominion is your gallery?”
“Why does it matter to you that I own the place?”
