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Christmas Day had been spent working out, going for an outdoor run. Then he’d ended up at the Quarter, though he’d never left the bar.
Aviana joined him for a drink, then kicked his sorry ass out after informing him he deserved his heartbreak. He denied that’s what it was.
“You need to be honest with yourself at some point, Frost. And I warned you not to play with her. Leave the innocents alone.”
Back at home, chastened, he’d stared out the windows in the dark, drinking, watching the revelers below. Families together, couples laughing. Everything he didn’t have.
Yesterday morning—at least he thought it was the previous day—he’d gone through the motions of looking at financial statements for both companies, prepared a revenue forecast, outlined his one-year and five-year strategic outlooks, jotted notes for changes, and he finally accepted a call from Brigette who said she should fire him.
He’d agreed, then added his final thought.“But you know damn well you’re getting better results than you would with anyone else. So enjoy your vacation and leave Christoff the hell alone.”Then he’d hung up and instructed Jolly to block any more incoming calls from anybody on the company’s board of directors—something he should have done days ago.
After that, he’d consumed enough whiskey to drown in, but even that hadn’t been enough to vanquish the haunting image of Kaylee’s tear-streaked face.
Yeah, he’d done that to her. And it was his greatest shame.
Heartless bastard.
Aviana was right about playing with innocents. But Kaylee was so much more than that: complex, fierce, a warrior in her own right.
“Shower’s running.”
“You bothering me for some particular reason?”
“You have work to do. You’ve missed calls from the catering company and the DJ for your New Year’s Eve party. And the housekeeping staff would like to confirm their schedule.”
He winced, as much against his headache as the realization that a hundred of the city’s elite would descend on him in a few days. “You’re the chief of staff. Handle it.”
“Very well. Looking forward to creating your playlist and sending out your dedications.”
“What?” Playlist and dedications? How was he supposed to know that?
“I’m confirming the number of attendees at 102, so you have the right amount of food and alcohol. Assuming you’re removing Ms. Robbins’s name from the RSVP lists since you were mean to her.”
The headache raged. “I was not—”
“She cried.”
Jesus.Why was he fucking arguing with a computer? Bonds’s AI systems are unreal. “Update me on the changes in the last”—how long had he been in a drunken stupor, unaware of anything going on around him? Forty-eight hours? Seventy-two? More?—“five days.”
Jolly listed off names, then added,“Mrs. Delaney has confirmed, plus one.”
He threw back the bedcovers and got out of bed. Then he saw it. Kaylee’s ring on his nightstand.
When had he dug it out of the tiara box and put it next to him? Besotted idiot.
“A Mr. James Hollingsworth III.”
What?Frost shook his head. “Who?”
“Your grandmother’s companion will be Mr. James Hollingsworth III,”Jolly repeated.“Hollingsworth is a former commodities broker from Chicago. He’s seventy-three years old, has two ex-wives—one a Chicago debutante, another a California socialite. He has seven children, along with four grandchildren.”
“I mean who is he to my grandmother?” And how long had she known him?
“Mrs. Delaney didn’t say.”
Which meant he needed to find out. A beau? A friend? A gold digger? Gran’s wealth made her an attractive target.
“Are you staying in bed all day?”
