It’s a blank slate.
He then gives me a new wallet, which holds my picture ID and some cash. That’s it. No credit cards.
The assistant takes the suitcase, watch, wallet, and phone. My gaze tracks his every movement as he stows them in a box before locking it in the plane’s safe.
What is going on?
“Your mother will see you now,” he says with a hand flourish, gesturing to her office.
Finally.
As I enter, the smell of the cabin hits me—bergamot and cotton. It’s clean, comforting, warm. I should know. I created it, making it the signature scent for all the Maddox hotels.
My gaze follows my nose. Inside the cream-on-white office space, my mother sits like a queen behind her ivory desk—shoulders high, chin lifted. Her dark hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and her white pantsuit is immaculate. The only piece of color on her is a sapphire brooch pinned to her lapel.
Stone’s already seated across from her on the pale couch. He’s dressed similarly to me and looks uncomfortable, irritated, as his foot bounces atop his knee.
“Pane,” she says in greeting.
I lean over and kiss her cheek before taking a seat beside my brother.
“It’s good to see you,” she tells us in her cold, affectionless voice. “Thank you for coming all this way to meet me.”
“You’re welcome,” Stone replies with forced cheer, foot still bouncing.
He’s worried, same as me.
This feels like a trap, but I can’t predict what’s going to happen next.
“Before we begin, Pane, I heard there was a scuffle this morning.”
My gaze slides to Stone, who pretends to pick lint off his jeans.
“No scuffle,” I tell her.
Her left brow lifts in a calculated look. “You’re sure? We don’t need any more Georgia scandals.”
An old pain hits me in the solar plexus. My jaw flexes as I work out, “There won’t be any scandals.”
“Good.” She leans back in her ivory chair and taps her lacquered fingernails on the slick surface of her desk. “Nor do we need any fortune hunters. Your father was quite enough.”
Beside me, Stone tenses. He scrapes the backs of his fingers down his cheek. “Can we move on from Dad?”
Mom’s eyes flash on him. We never refer to our father asDad. We don’t refer to him at all.
Instead of questioning Stone, she shoots me a pointed look as if I’m the one who made the mistake of marrying our father instead of her.
“No scandals. No fortune hunters,” I assure her.
“Glad to hear it. Now, on to business.” Dramatic pause. When neither of us interrupt, she continues. “As you know, I’m retiring. For these past few years, as vice presidents in the company, you’ve done amazing work. Pane”—her laser focus lands on me—“with you guiding the East Coast, we’ve seen a renaissance. During a tumultuous economic time, not only has our flagship hotel remained steadfast in terms of profits, but your idea to create a competitive rewards program, along with focusing on wellness vacations, has benefited our other locations. In short, you’ve done an exemplary job and have exceeded my expectations.”
A compliment from the ice queen? I’ll take it. “Thank you.”
“And Stone,” she says, and he puffs up his chest like the peacock he is. “Under your tutelage, the West Coast hotels have increased their market share by twenty percent.”
He flashes me a wink but says to her, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Her cool gaze shifts from my brother to me. “But you both know that only one of you can be president.”
