Chapter 45
Pane
These halls are cold to me now. Once, what feels like a lifetime ago, I would’ve swept through the grand entrance of a hotel and been electrified by the buzz of life—from the chatter at the front desk to the couples gracing the restaurant tables, to the teenagers charging devices by the grand fireplace.
All of it used to feel so real, so full. This was the center of existence for me.
But now it just seems so empty.
Without Rowe, everything is empty. As much as I’ve thrown myself into work and tried to ignore the pain, I’m hollowed out inside. Food tastes like cardboard. Experiences that should make me happy wind up leaving me emptier.
This is not what I expected being CEO would feel like.
And I’ve tried. Oh, I’ve tried. I give it all my heart every day, but everything just seems ... barren.
There’s nothing left inside me now. Nothing that feels orwantsto feel. Running a business means going through the motions. So that’s what I’m doing. Keeping things profitable. Working hard. Rising early and, at night, burning the midnight oil.
I’m doing exactly what’s expected of me.
“You’re late.” Stone shoots a look at the watch on my wrist. “I thought you’d forgotten.”
I flip the Rolex to gaze at its face. It was one of the first things I retrieved when I arrived at the hotel. My clothes, my watch, my phone.
None of it matters anymore.
“Didn’t forget,” I say. “Let’s eat.”
As the maître d’ walks us to a table, my gaze skims the restaurant. The tablecloths are crisp. The waitstaff looks sharp in dark shirts and slacks. The diners smile over glasses of sparkling water.
Everything looks perfect.
It is. I should take pride in that. But I do not.
Stone glances at me from over his shoulder. “I’ve invited someone to join us.”
“Who? Please don’t tell me you’re setting me up.”
He chuckles. “There’s no one on earth who I hate enough that I’d force them to spend time with you.”
I scowl.
“See? Exactly. Case in point. You’re barely fit company for yourself, much less anyone else. And here I thought winning the Maddox Group would make you happy. You’re more miserable than ever.”
“I’m not miserable,” I murmur.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
We’re led to a table in the very back. As the maître d’ shows us our seats and steps away, he reveals a man who’s already been seated.
He wears a brown jacket over a camel-colored cashmere turtleneck. Even though I haven’t seen him in years, I would recognize my father anywhere.
“What’s this?” I grind out.
Stone pats the air, trying to calm me down and gently remind me that we’re not allowed to make a scene. OrI’mnot. My brother can do whatever he damn well pleases.
“Pane, allow me to introduce—”
I shoot him a look that could burn the hair off the top of his head. “It may have been years, but I know Frank.”
