I have to know. “Exactly how are you two related?” I swallow and nearly choke on my dread. “Same mother or…”
Different fathers. Please say different fathers.
Adrenaline dumps into my system, but it’s not the rush I get closing a deal or the thrill of a gamble. Just pure, cold dread.
“Yes, same mother. Different father.” She meets my eyes — or almost. She addresses a point just past my shoulder ratherthan looking directly at me. Close enough to look composed. Not quite close enough to be honest. “And who are you?”
The relief is so intense, I can’t suck in a breath, can’t answer her. Daniel tells her for me. “He is Thorne Blackstone.”
Ivy goes still, her face draining of color. My reputation precedes me. She glances at Madison, then back at me, and I can see her calculating, weighing what to say, what to reveal. Then she simply nods. She's going to play this smart. We're strangers.
Good. It was just sex—something I usually forget by morning.
Except I haven't forgotten.
And even now, I want her again.
“I’m Blackstone Distillery’s head attorney,” Daniel continues, introducing himself and everyone else at the table.
Ivy nods at each introduction, her posture perfect, her face giving nothing away. A beat passes. Then she sits forward, returning her attention to Daniel. "I want to discuss Madison's trust fund. Louis set up a trust fund. Five million dollars accessible when she turns eighteen, or earlier with guardian and family approval. She’s moving to New York with me, and we need early access for school and living expenses.”
Daniel flips through his papers. “I don’t have a record of any trust.”
“Because it wasn’t handled through Blackstone lawyers. Louis used a firm in Lexington.” Ivy slides a folder across the table. “Everything’s in there.”
Madison sits forward. “Actually, that isn’t the reason for the meeting.” Her voice is shaky, but her chin lifts in defiance that reminds me of every manipulative bastard I’ve ever done business with. Warning bells blare in me.
“What are you talking about?” Ivy asks. Confusion strips away her professional mask, and for a second, I see the unguarded and real woman from the train again.
“I’m not going back to New York with you.”
Ivy blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Not yet, anyway. I want to finish out my school year and spend the summer here.” Madison’s gaze drops to her hands and she picks at her nail polish. It’s the first truly teenage thing she’s done since walking in here. “Sorry, I didn’t tell you.”
"Sorry you didn't—" Ivy takes a deep breath. "Madison, we talked about this. We had a plan. You agreed—"
“No, you told me the plan. I didn’t agree to it.”
"You're fourteen. You don't get to just change your mind about where you live." Ivy looks around the table like she's searching for an ally.
"I know, and I'm sorry, but—"
"But nothing. You can't stay here alone and I have to get back to my job," Ivy says, her words careful and measured despite the edge in her voice.
“I’ll stay with one of them.” She looks at us, then quickly away.
"Absolutely not," Sebastian says.
"The hell you will," I add.
Sebastian turns to me. "Not that you'd be here to deal with it anyway. When's your train back to Quebec? Tomorrow?"
"Why, you miss your big brother already?" I fire back.
"I miss having someone else here to handle Dad's messes instead of it always landing on me."
"Boys," Lillianna warns.
