Yes, I hear it. Pot. Kettle. Whatever.
At least I’m managing the fuse while Eli is itching to light the dynamite.
“Rumors are spreading,” he warns. “Investors are rattled. Every minute she delays adds more weight to the damage.”
“Not as much as if this goes public. Spare a thought, just one, for what will happen if someone latches onto this and starts digging.”
Silence.
I don’t kid myself that I’ve swayed him. I can practically hear him gritting his teeth, fists clenched, fury boiling just beneath the surface.
“I should step in,” he grates.
I slide from the bed. “This situation’s volatile enough without your Midas touch of malevolence.”
“But I’m not emotionally invested like you are.”
“I’m not emotionally invested,either.” I struggle to keep my tone in check. “Just give me some fucking time, Eli. There’s too much riding on this to screw it up by pushing too hard.”
A timid knock on my door slices through the tension.
My pulse increases at the thought of it being her.
“I have to go.” I snatch my suit jacket from the end of the bed and slide it on. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“In themorning?I’m not waiting until the fucking?—”
I disconnect the call.
“Come in,” I bark.
Elena opens the door, pausing inside the frame, her hands clasped in front of her like she’s bracing for impact. “Sorry to disturb?—”
“Is she ready?”
She winces. “She hasn’t said so, sir. That’s why I came. You mentioned she needed to stay onboard to make a press announcement, but… I’m not sure she’s in a state to complete the task. I was thinking maybe I should show her to a guest cabin.”
I narrow my eyes. “What state is that, Elena?”
“Inebriated, sir.” Her face pinches with regret. “I’m sorry. I should’ve noticed sooner. She didn’t eat much dinner and?—”
“It’s not your fault.” I adjust my lapels with a sharp tug. “Clock off. Get some sleep.”
She blinks. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll handle our guest.” I stride past her, descending the spiral stairs slowly, every step taken in forced calm despite the pulse pounding in my ears.
Isla’s exactly where I expect her to be—lounging inmychair at the head of the dining table, hair a tangled mess, posture liquor-loose. She cradles a wineglass in her palm, the stem nestled between two fingers like she’s a goddamn art critic as she swirls the golden liquid.
I stop two feet inside the room, keeping distance so I’m not tempted to strangle the stupidity out of her. “I heard you’ve decided to drown your responsibilities in alcohol.”
She raises her glass in a lazy toast, her glazed eyes meeting mine. “Unfortunately, I’m in no state to deliver a coherent statement.”
Her tone is light. Playful. It’s perfectly measured intoxication—not drunk enough to lower her defenses but just buzzed enough to derail everything.
Smart move, sweetheart.
“At least you provoked me in style.” I nod at the open bottle of Montrachet, the liquid arrogance coming in at five grand a pop. “You’re lucky I don’t charge you your firstborn for the indulgence. Though your father wouldn’t bat an eye at doing so.”
