The only stitch in her side was the memory of returning to Joaquin’s hotel room in San Francisco to find the door propped open. A young woman from housekeeping had been sweeping up the broken glass.
“He said to tell you he had to leave, but to charge your dinner to this room and take the champagne.” The woman had pointed at the bottle in the bucket of melted ice.
Siobhan had stood there in a hotel robe over fresh lingerie that she had put on forhim.She had felt so cheap, so scorned, sofoolish, she had wanted to die.
She should have celebrated her new job alone, she kept telling herself. But that thought was always followed by a slithery reminder of how delicious the sex had been—which she almost wished had been terrible because now the bar had been set so high, she feared she was spoiled for anyone else.
Why were men so awful? Why was she so terrible at seeing how awful they were?
“I’ll be right up,” she heard Oladele say. The phone landed hard in its cradle.
Siobhan snapped out of her funk and finished removing her coat. She dropped her bag into its drawer and rushed into Oladele’s office.
“Did I miss a text about an early meeting?” It was a mortifying thought. She prided herself on being thorough and prepared.
“I only learned an hour ago that there was an emergency board meeting.” Oladele started to remove her coat and Siobhan hurried to help her. Oladele was a diminutive woman of fifty-three with narrow shoulders and a very short haircut, which formed a cap of tight curls against her scalp.
“I’ll make your coffee. What else do you need? Did you miss breakfast?”
“I did, and yes to the coffee, but we’re needed upstairs. Bring your laptop.”
“May I ask what happened?”
“We’re merging with another firm.” Oladele flicked her gaze to the open door. “That’s the language you will use,” she added quietly with a warning tilt of her brows. “I didn’t expect it to happen like this, definitely not this quickly, but here we are.”
Siobhan didn’t have time to process what that might mean. Within moments, they were hurrying off the elevator onto the top floor, which was the company president’s domain.
She hadn’t been up here yet. It was ten times more luxurious and imposing than the offices they occupied two floors below. The entire building was tastefully updated from the original construction a hundred years ago. Everything she’d seen was sophisticated and refined.
She had barely taken in the beautiful inlay of the mahogany and oak in the parquet floor, or the oval-shaped wall that separated the empty receptionist’s desk from the rest of the floor, when the sound of an age-graveled baritone struck her ears.
“You thief! You think you can do this to me? You vile piece of—” An ugly streak of insults was hurled, growing loud enough to send a spike of alarm through Siobhan.
Another male voice responded, low and cold, saying something about protectingitfor the children.
Shock waves went through her as she heard the second voice. It wasn’t just the lethal tone. He almost sounded like—
No. She was imagining things. Joaquin was Spanish, but he wouldn’t behere. That was too much of a bizarre coincidence.
In front of her, Oladele checked her step. Siobhan copied her, moving to set her back to the wall as a man with iron-gray hair strode with purpose toward them. His navy suit was well tailored to accommodate his barrel chest and stocky frame. His jaw wore a frost of stubble, as though he’d missed shaving this morning. His hair was slicked back, but untidy. His face was purple with fury.
He glared at Oladele as he passed them.
“Lorenzo,” Oladele murmured, offering a deferential nod.
“You helped him, didn’t you?” He was so livid, spittle had collected in the corners of his mouth. He glared blame at both of them. “Judas. I should have fired you when I had the chance. This is not over.” He moved past them to jab the button for the elevator.
Oladele looked shaken, but motioned for Siobhan to accompany her into a foyer where a chandelier in a recessed ceiling hung over a small arrangement of late nineteenth century furniture. Three tall windows looked onto Madrid’s business district. On another wall, shelves of old books were fronted by doors with paned glass.
“Wait here while I step into the meeting room. The board may still be in discussions.” Oladele moved through a pair of open doors into a corridor.
Siobhan shifted to read a few titles on the books, which gave her a view down the hallway. She wasn’t trying to spy, but she heard a door open and a woman’s voice said in Spanish, “I should get back. The children will be awake and looking for me.”
“Of course,” a male voice replied.Thatmale voice, the one that sent a preternatural shiver through Siobhan, making her abdomen clench and her scalp tighten.
She watched in mesmerized horror as a stunning woman stepped from the office at the end of the hall. The elegant brunette wore a wool skirt in gray plaid with a black turtleneck and a camel-colored overcoat. She was tying a green silk scarf over her hair.
Thenhestepped out. Joaquin.
