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PROLOGUE
OLIVER
“Don’t answer.”
I look away from the buzzing phone at my father’s proud profile. Chin raised; shoulders squared. He’s backlit by a single lamp that casts a golden glow over the study that’s almost an exact replica of his office in New York. Oiled leather, dark wood, and expensive whiskey are the sights and smells I associate with my father. We’re thousands of miles from Kensington Consolidated’s headquarters, but it feels like we could be sitting in his corner office overlooking Manhattan.
“It’s Crew.”
“Don’t answer,” he repeats.
“Stock is in fucking freefall. Everyone will be panicking, and we’re both out of the country.”
My father sips his whiskey, appearing unbothered.
“Dad,” I try again. “You can’t just leave him on a sinking ship without telling him—”
“I’ll do whatever I damn well want, Oliver.” His voice is so soft, so low, that I automatically flinch. Loud, angry exclamations don’t wound the same way quiet, intentional statements do. “And you’re neither a current or future CEO, so your opinion is irrelevant.” He sips from the glass tumbler he’s holding, staring at the snow that glitters under the starry sky.
Words meant to maim.
Meant to sting.
Meant to hurt.
I swallow and nod, compartmentalizing the ache those words incite. Falling short has always been my biggest fear, and Arthur Kensington knows it.Usesit. Dangles his approval up ahead, part of a peak above a mountain he’ll never let me reach the top of.
I’m the fool who keeps climbing anyway.
He tosses back the final inch of his drink and stands suddenly.
Glass doors lead out to the patio that’s been coated with snow and ice every visit for the past decade but is probably pleasant in other seasons. My father stares at the endless stretch of white, his body language just as still and unmoving as the frozen water.
“Ethan Gorton will be accompanying me to Chicago next week.”
My spine stiffens, the ice in his voice chilling my skin and spreading through my veins.
“I’ve worked on that offer for two months.”
“You’re needed in New York. Scarlett is expecting, and Crew’s focus will be affected. Pregnant women are volatile and needy. Be glad you’re not about to discover that for yourself.”
I pull in a harsh breath of air as he carelessly brushes against the topic I’m terrified to raise.
My relationship with my father has always been centered around work. When I answered his summons, it was easy to pretend the company’s insider trader investigation was the only current catastrophe.
Easy…and cowardly.
Suitcases line the front hall.
I step forward, sucking in another deep breath, as if oxygen equals courage. “Dad, I’m so sorr—”
I don’t see it coming.
One second, I’m moving toward the tense figure facing the snow. The next, I’m nearly toppling backward as black dots explode across my vision, reeling from the impact and the shock of the physical blow.
I gape at him, stunned speechless and still.
My father has never, ever been the warm and coddling type of parent. He issues orders and makes demands. He doesn’t ask questions or attempt small talk.
