‘Man, I’d have loved to see his face when he heard the news.’ Rian drops a kiss on Rebekka’s temple. ‘That would have wiped that smug All American shit-eating grin from his face.’
They’re talking about Cole Hartmann.
They couldn’t stop the Hartmann Hotel in Dublin, so now they’ve gone after him another way. I still have to break the news I accepted his contract, but I’ll wait until I’ve designed Caelon’s refurb before I drop that bomb. ‘Guys, do we really need any more enemies right now? We’ve got enough to start a war.’ I sigh, lifting my glass of champagne to my lips.
Weird. It smells off. Too strong. Too sweet. My stomach turns. Maybe I’m coming down with something.
‘We’re not starting a war,’ Caelon says. ‘Yes, it is bound to infuriate a man who infuriated us by not respecting our boundaries, but buying Cannes is a strategic business move for all of us. James gets another French distillery in additionto Provence, I get another luxury hotel, and Rian gets another bar. Naturally, it comes with land.’ Caelon clinks his whiskey glass against Sean’s. Sean deals with land and property acquisition at Beckett Enterprises. ‘And obviously, a place of that magnitude will need security.’ He moves his glass to clink it against Killian’s. ‘It’s win-win for all of Beckett Enterprises. Even you, little sister. Who do you think I’m going to sanction to design the interior?’
His reasoning leaves no room for argument. And of course I want to design the interior of the deluxe hotel in Cannes. The time I’d have to spend there for “work” away from my overbearing brothers and the prying eyes of the Irish society pages would be worth it alone. Mind you, the tabloids tend to leave me alone. I’m nowhere near as interesting as my big bad brothers—in their eyes anyway.
Yep, there are worse places to work than Cannes.
Add in the weather, culture and possibility of some sexy fun, it’s a no brainer.
Yet, something about it feels wrong. Dread pools deep inside my stomach.
‘Now we’ve got this over the line, we can focus on the Barcelona project,’ Sean beams.
‘Absolutely, but not now. No more business talk tonight,’ Rian insists. ‘Cheers.’ He raises his glass in a toast. ‘To family.’
‘To family.’ The sound of clinking crystal floats through the air.
I force myself to swallow a mouthful of champagne and instantly regret it. My stomach lurches. Bile bursts up my throat. I wince at the burn, swallowing uncomfortably.
Avery’s sharp eyes miss nothing. She’s almost as observant as her fiancé. ‘You okay, sweetie?’ She steps closer, placing a hand on my forearm.
‘Yes, fine, thank you. I’m just… hot or something.’ I touch my forehead. It’s slightly clammy, but I don’t feel feverish.
Tate cuts across the room right away. His eyes are always on me. That’s what I pay him for. ‘Shall I escort you to the restrooms?’ Concern taints his tone.
I nod, excusing myself, as the weight of my family’s collective stare burns into my back.
Another overwhelming wave of nausea crashes over me.
Everything smells wrong.
Even Tate’s familiar aftershave smells repugnant as he escorts me through the wide, majestic corridor to the ladies’ room. He steps in first, scanning it as always. It’s empty.
‘I’ll wait outside the door to give you some privacy. Call me if you need anything.’ I’m eternally grateful for the day Killian appointed Tate to me. If my mother had accompanied me, she’d be fawning all over me, talking incessantly, pawing at my hair, and fussing.
I grip the cold marble sink to steady myself, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror. My appearance is frankly alarming. Exhaustion lines my eyes. My skin is pale. Sweat dusts my top lip. And for some reason, out of nowhere, I get the insane urge to devour a peanut butter sandwich.
I mustn’t be consuming enough calories.
Maybe that’s it.
I’ve been back on a strict fifteen hundred a day since I got back from the Dominican. But honestly, even the hot pilates four mornings a week has done nothing to shift the couple of extra holiday pounds I managed to gain in Punta Cana.
Maybe it’s just bloat?
I blame the cocktails. And the desserts. Not the type of dessert I indulged in with California either.
California.
I glance out the window at the full moon hanging low in the Paris sky.
Where is he tonight?
