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CHAPTER THREE
HISDRIVERTOOKhim the short distance to the hospital, and to a rear entrance so that he would not be seen arriving.
This must not get out.
Tomorrow morning Jobe Devereux was having a minor planned procedure, but that very knowledge would be enough to spook their shareholders.
Ethan was concerned enough to have flown home.
His PA, Helene, had given him directions and Ethan took the elevator up to the private wing.
His father might as well be in his office, Ethan thought as he knocked on his door and walked in.
Abe was there, and so too was Maurice, their head of PR.
‘Ethan!’ His father, sitting in a leather chair, looked surprised to see him. ‘What can I do for you?’
Dofor him?
There was no real welcome, and no invitation to take a seat. Their relationship had long been a strained one—perhaps because they were incredibly alike, and not just in looks.
The Devereux men were all private, but they all had an intrinsic licentious edge.
His father, though, had done nothing in his life to curb it.
‘I came to see you.’ Ethan did his best to keep his voice even. ‘And to see if there was anything I could do to help.’
‘Oh, it’s no big deal,’ Jobe said. ‘I’ll be back in the office on Monday.’
‘How was Dubai?’ Abe asked as he closed his laptop, clearly just about to leave. ‘Did you look at the hotel site?’
‘I did.’ Ethan nodded. ‘But I was thinking...’ He paused. Ethan was rather more interested in the potential of Al-Zahan, but decided now wasn’t the time to talk about it. ‘Helene’s writing up the report.’
‘Good,’ Abe said. ‘Maurice and I are going to get dinner—are you coming?’
Ethan shook his head. ‘I’ve already eaten.’
He hadn’t actually eaten since the plane, and that had been several hours ago, but Ethan simply wasn’t in the mood for more business talk, and with Maurice and Abe that was all it would be.
Once he was alone with his father it was somewhat awkward.
While it might look like a plush office or a hotel room, Ethan could now see the room held subtly placed equipment, and the antiseptic in the air gave it a slight nauseating edge.
‘Where’s Chantelle?’
Ethan didn’t generally enquire about the whereabouts of his father’s latest lover, but five minutes into his visit the conversation had already run out.
‘We broke up.’
‘When?’
‘Do I askyouaboutyourlove life?’ Jobe barked.
‘No, but only because I don’t have one,’ Ethan said.
He had asexlife, and fully intended to keep it at that. He’d seen the damage relationships caused. His father’s marital history was on par with Henry VIII’s. Well, minus the beheadings and with the added fact that not one of Jobe’s marriages had survived.
But there had been plenty of divorces.
