I clutched the phone tighter, the silence on his end stretching too long. “Do you need me?”
“Always.”
“Scotty, listen to me.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, choosing each word with care. “That little girl may or may not ever know the truth about you being her father. But she’ll grow up loved by a man who finally has the chance to be one. That’s the gift you gave Oliver. Focus on that. If you keep feeding the guilt, it’ll eat you alive. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he answered.
“Iknowyou,” I pressed. “You’ll let it consume you if you don’t learn to let go.”
“Mm-hmm.”
A faint smile tugged at my lips. “Scotty, are you fidgeting right now?”
His low laugh rolled through the line, warm and rough. “Can you read minds, sweetheart?”
“As good as it gets. I’m the goddess of badass fuckery, remember?”
“You are, indeed.”
“You’ll be fine,” I said. “Focus on your trip to Hong Kong tomorrow. Jason Zhou’s the world’s casino king, right? If you land him as a client, your real estate game changes. That deal could open doors you haven’t even imagined yet.”
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to figure out the best way forward. Days like this make me wish Nick were still alive.”
“Nick?”
“My ex-brother-in-law. Nick Quinn’s presumed dead. No body, just an explosion on his boat years ago.”
“You think Saira did it? I mean, to kill her own brother?”
“There’s no proof, but she despised him.” Alistair sighed. “Nick and I had plans to bring our companies closer. More than just a strategic alliance, but a JV. Scott-Quinn Enterprise. He was a real estate guru and finance wizard. I need to get back to reviewing the proposal.”
“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”
“Yep,” Alistair murmured. I pictured him running his fingers through his hair. “I’m leaving on a flight at nine in the morning. Will you ride with me to the airport?”
“I have work tomorrow.”
“I know. If my driver picks you up at six-thirty, he can drive you to work after dropping me at the airport. You’ll be at work by eight.”
“So, you’re after my company now?” I teased, admiring his impulsive streak.
“I need you more than anyone else.”
Tuesday morning, May 2
His hand.
His warm hand.
His warm hand on mine.
His.
The limousine ride to the airport unfolded in silence, heavy but steady, like a symphony scored in minor keys. I breathed in Alistair’s cologne, layered over the faint smoke of polished leather. He looked devastatingly composed in a dark-gray suit and crisp white shirt, his tie knotted with precision. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. The quiet wrapped around me like a balm, more soothing than any hollow reassurance. His hand held mine, firm and grounding, while his other foot tapped an impatient rhythm against the floor.
I turned to the window, the morning sun spilling over the skyline in fractured bands of color. When I looked back, Alistair’s fierce green eyes were locked on me, shadowed by a hard frown. His hand tightened around mine, the silent squeeze saying more than words could.
“Vera, have you ever been in love?”
