Page 4 of Daigo

His wife didn't understand his loyalty. His mother had done so much for him. Now that her husband was dead, she was able to sit on the board and do so many things she had never been allowed to when he was alive. And she had so many ideas, had made so many contributions to the company. His father's loss, he thought bitterly.

"I have a meeting in a few minutes." He glanced at his watch as she came into the room. Her suit was wool, the color of blueberries. She was very conservative, one of the reasons she resented Shelby-Anne. His wife did not know the meaning of the word.

"I'll be quick." Taking a seat on one of the padded chairs, she crossed her legs decorously, tugging down the skirt over her knees. "Shelby-Anne came to see you. I hope it's not about that nonsense again. I would like to think that you disabused her of that horrible idea once and for all."

Tamping down the impatience, he pushed away from his desk and went to pour himself a cup of coffee. He had drunk two glasses of scotch and needed something to temper the alcohol. He was going into a meeting with some associates of theirs from Japan and that would require his mind to be sharp and focused. They had businesses in that country. He had not been born there, but he knew the language and the setup.

He also could speak Chinese, Korean, Italian, Spanish, and French. Nakano Global was an international company with business interests all over the world. It paid to be able to communicate.

"I've agreed to participate." He could not even say the word.

He sensed rather than saw his mother's acute shock and disapproval. It was one more battle he was going to have to fight.

"For heaven's sake, why?"

"Because she's my wife and she wants this." He drank too quickly and had the coffee scalding the roof of his mouth. He was caught in a bloody war between the two women in his life and he hated it. "And because this is between us." He turned to look at her. "I want her to be happy."

Yuna rose gracefully, even though she felt like an old woman. "You will regret this."

"Possibly." He shrugged. "We'll see."

Chapter 2

The loft was as silent as a tomb. The meeting had run over, much to his annoyance, and now it was almost ten. He hadn't called her, had barely glanced at her text, and had not responded.

He stopped just inside the lofty foyer with its soaring roof and glittering chandeliers and shed his jacket, hanging it tidily inside the closet. They did not have live-in staff, but someone came in every day except on the weekends to take care of the place. Before he was married to her, it had just been a place where he slept whenever he was around and nothing more. So the décor had been sparse, the furnishings a mix of the modern and antique.

Shelby-Anne had changed things. The wallpapers were silk and whimsical. Artworks dotted the walls, not just the very expensive, but some she had picked up at flea markets as well.

There was one along the narrow hallway of a boy fishing in a pond, with the teal-blue sky above and the green trees lining the river.

There was another with an old man sitting on an old, broken-down porch, his smile as broken as the porch, skin scorched a leathery brown. There were others strewn all over the place. His mother did not approve, but he thought it lent flavor to what had been a soulless space.

She hadn't stopped there at all. Ruby-red sofas had replaced the tan leather ones in the large sunken living room. The mantel had been refurbished and was now wood instead of tiles. His wife loved her holidays, and there were fall decorations already set up. Russet and gold vied with deep red and orange in the wreath hanging above the fireplace.

Polished wood gleamed in the firelight. Shaking his head, he continued along the hallway and swung up the stairs.

There were three bedrooms upstairs and three baths, two home offices, and a small kitchenette. The master bedroom took up most of the space and had a terrace separated by glass doors. It looked out onto a dense wooded area wild with flowers and bushes.

A fire was blazing in the hearth. He stopped just inside the doorway and stared. She had on a thin, rose-colored nightgown, the straps slipping off her shoulders. Rich transparent lace barely covered her surprisingly generous breasts. Her hair was in big twists and piled on top of her head. Large dark-framed glasses were perched on her nose as she pored over a thick folder.

As if sensing his presence, she looked up.

"I thought you would be asleep," he murmured as he stepped into the room.

"I had some things to take care of. You didn't answer my text."

"I was busy." Walking to the curved sofa, he sat to take off his shoes. A window seat piled with red, blue, and green cushions caught his attention. Another of her additions. She had changed everything so much that he barely recognized the place. He didn't mind one bit.

"Is this the way it's going to be?" She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.

"I don't know what you mean. I'm going to take a shower-"

"You're not a coward." That had him turning toward her, eyes glowing dark fire. She saw the rigidity of his face, his shoulders, and knew he was hanging on to his temper by a thread. He had once told her, when they had a fiery argument, that she was the only one who had reached deep down to pull the heat from him, the heat of temper, of passion. She could make him snap, the rigid control crumbling.

"I don't have time for this."

She shoved up on the pillows, ready for battle. She had sat waiting for him, even though exhaustion was claiming her. "I knew your mother was there, and her network of spies would have told her I came by. What did she say to you?"