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PROLOGUE
ISAAC
I walk down the same flight of stairs my father once strode every day, and my grandfather before him. The marble with the gold pattern inlay is softly sloped from a century of heavy use, taking guests from the restaurant to the lobby.
It’s old. It’s used. And it’s still beautiful. The aged aspects of the Winter Hotel, historic and unique, are what allows us to charge thousands of dollars per night.
I let my hand slide down the bannister and take the steps in quick succession. It’s been another late night at work, going over our international expansion. Our almost-finished resort in the Caribbean has shown enough promise that we’re scouting locations in Greece for a second one, with the same resort feel and Winter luxury, surrounded by turquoise ocean rather than New York’s concrete jungle.
I walk across the smooth checkered floor of the lobby. Outside the front doors, the daylight is gone. It’s late, and there’ll only be a few good places left open on the block to get takeout.
My staff could bring something up, but I need the walk, and the air. I roll my shoulders back and feel the telltale protest of stiff muscles.
“Sir,” Andrej says from behind the front desk, with a nod of greeting. He’s in his mid-forties, originally from Croatia, and has an eye for impeccable detail. He’s in charge of everything in reception.
One of the finest men I’ve hired during my tenure as the president of the Winter Corporation.
“Evening,” I say. “Is everything running smoothly?”
He nods. “Sure is. We’re almost at capacity.”
“Great,” I say, and lengthen my stride. Flake’s down the street has good enough food. I can be in and out in under half an hour and still have enough time left over tonight to hit the gym.
The sound of high heels on marble echoes behind me. The pace is furious, the speed unrelenting.
A woman is racing from the emergency staircase with the wings of her camel coat open and flowing behind her. The half-run alone is unusual, but it’s her face that stops me in my tracks.
Tears stream down her cheeks, and she reaches up to wipe at her face, her steps quickening.
She looks destroyed.
A pair of Winter security guards appear behind her. They must have followed her down the staircase. They’re hard on her heel and I see Larry hold a finger up to his earpiece, talking to someone.
Are they calling in reinforcements for a crying woman?
I’m moving before I make the conscious decision.
“Here,” I say and draw her behind one of the old stone pillars in the lobby and out of sight of the guards. “Ma’am, are you all right?”
She shakes her head and struggles to catch her breath. Mascara has smudged beneath her eyes and tears streak down cheeks rosy with exertion.
“You’re okay,” I say. I put a hand against the pillar to block her from view. “Just breathe. Take a deep breath... Yes, that’s it.”
The woman nods and takes a shaky breath. Small diamond studs in her ears glitter beneath the hotel lights and her brown hair hangs blow-dried and smooth around her face.
She’s younger than me, but not by much, I’d guess. Finely dressed. A guest?
She reaches up to wipe her eyes. Two rings flash on her left hand. A wedding band and a diamond-studded engagement ring. “Oh my God,” she whispers. “I can’t… I just…oh my God.”
“What’s wrong?” I reach inside my suit jacket and pull out a packet of tissues. She takes one with a breathless laugh that sounds anything but amused.
“Thanks,” she murmurs and wipes her face. Her breathing is starting to come fast again. “I just caught him red-handed. In the act, even… Oh my God.”
“Caught who?”
“My husband,” she says, but her voice breaks on the word. Her eyes well up again and something inside my chest twists. I can’t stand the sight of people crying. Never fucking could. “I suspected forsolong. And I knew he was using the Winter Hotel because he loves this place, and I found those tiny shampoo bottles in his bag last weekend, and he always,always,steals the hotel shampoo. I don’t know why. But he does. And he said he had a business meeting tonight but I came here instead, because I suspected…”—another another broken sob—“and I was right. I wasright.”
The picture is clearing up by the second. I hand her another tissue. “You were?”
