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“Sir, the board called for an emergency meeting. I don’t think they’re too happy about the proposed expansion,” she informs me.
I massage my temples. Exactly what I needed after such a stressful day.
“Schedule a meeting for eight a.m. tomorrow. And make sure to tell them to bring their manners along. If there’s another repeat of an outburst like the last time, I’ll make sure they regret it.”
“Xander,” Declan pipes up, “I would advise against threatening your board of directors. They control forty percent of the hotel’s shares.
“And I control sixty. They’d better keep their attitudes in check.”
“Well…” Declan says to my secretary, “warn them that the big bad wolf is just itching to sink his teeth into them. I think that would be effective.”
She gives him a small smile before exiting the office with my files. After making sure that everything’s in order at the front desk of the hotel, I leave as well. Declan and I get on the elevator and head to the first floor. The valet will drive our cars to the front.
“Kathy’s anniversary’s coming up,” I say. My voice comes out gravelly.
Declan looks up at me and a shadow passes over his eyes. “I see.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I see? That’s all you can say?”
“What do you want me to say, man? You’re going to start planning the party, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” I reply with a nod. “I don’t see why not.”
“Well, I do. Xander, I understand, truly I do. But every year for the past five years, you’ve had a party to honor your dead wife. You invite her family and all her acquaintances. There are pictures of her everywhere, and you display everything that she used to love. I just don’t think it’s healthy. I miss Kathy, I really do, but we don’t need to have to remember her so vividly every year on the day that she died. That’s not moving on, Xander. It’s being stuck in the past.”
“We’ve had this argument before, Declan. And when it comes to this, I don’t give a fuck about your opinion,” I snap.
Declan loosens his black tie as he glares at me. “Why can’t you just mourn her the normal way? Visit her grave with the kids. Place flowers there and just talk to them about their mom and the amazing woman she was.”
I haven’t been at my wife’s grave since the day we buried her, and I don’t plan to.
“You can take them there if they want to go,” I say icily.
Declan doesn’t say anything else after that. He heads to his bright green Porsche and drives off.
I hate that car.
* * *
As soon asI’m through the foyer of my house, I take off my suit jacket and practically rip off my tie. I hear giggling from the kitchen and it’s then I remember that I didn’t call the kids’ nanny and ask her to leave. I’ve never met the woman before.
Usually, I try to avoid contact with people I don’t care to meet. I made sure her identity was triple-checked before she was even allowed to meet my kids. And they adore her, which is all I really need to know. They usually don’t open up to a lot of people. Meeting the woman isn’t high on my priority list, but I don’t have much of a choice today, seeing as I need to tell her to leave.
My mood is still pretty dark, however, thanks to Declan. He’s in the house somewhere, judging by his hideous car parked outside. I don’t hear his voice anywhere so I’m guessing he’s trying to cool off before seeing the kids. I take my cue from him and head up to my room.
I stop short in the hallway when I catch sight of an open door and light emanating from it. A door that hasn’t been opened in five years. My first instinct is to head back downstairs and ask the kids if they wandered in there. But I know they wouldn’t.
Then I hear the sound of something falling to the floor and my blood begins to boil. Someone’s inside. Very slowly, I approach the door. I open it fully to find a woman standing in the middle of a dimly lit room staring intently at one of the paintings.
I’m shocked to find her there. To find anyone there. I can’t see her face but I know for sure she isn’t my kids’ nanny considering I heard her talking to them before I came up here. Which can only mean this is some stranger in the room that nobody is allowed to enter.
I’m spurred into action when the woman stretches her hand toward the painting she had been staring at. I’m beside her in a second, holding her suspended hand. She gapes at me while I shove her hand backwards —gently, considering she’s still a woman.
She stumbles slightly but doesn’t fall. “Ow,” she cries, rubbing her wrist.
She’s young. Late twenties, if I had to guess. Her eyes are the first thing I notice. Which is normal, considering she’s currently glaring at me. They stand out, a lot. Even in a room that has barely any light.
I finally find my voice and the first thing I say is, “Leave.”
