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Teddy always tried to be the peacekeeper when I would start a fight that ended with Willow storming off, Piers chasing after her, and me left by myself. Teddy would sit there looking so distraught and give me that knowing stare, like you’ve messed it up again, Scarlett.

Once, when we were kids, he asked, “Why can’t you just be nice to her?”

I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now. I just know it hurts that she’s always had everything I never did. Everything I wanted. It’s more than jealousy, I can’t even put into words, and I hate myself for it. I turn my attention to my lap. Enough scenery. I’d rather not have memories if they’re going to be tainted with her.

I take out my phone and catch up on emails for the remainder of the ride. When we pull up to the large stone estate where the Anderson retreat is being held, I see they already have several large white tents set up outside for the activities. I’d rather just go to my room and sleep, but that’s not what I’m here for. Glancing at my phone one last time, nothing. I still haven’t heard from Piers. I’m sure he’s too preoccupied to care.

After being shown a lovely en-suite room in the guest house, I quickly freshen up and change into a white linen shift dress with a bold floral print. I pinch my cheeks for color and apply some gloss before looking at myself in the mirror and deciding it’s good as it’s going to get considering my little binge last night.

I follow the tiki torches and head down to cocktail hour to find the party is in full swing. Huge white tents, filled with linen covered tables, overflowing with tropical flowers and lush greenery set the stage for a paradise themed dinner. The light breeze carries the sweet scent of ocean flowers around the room. Loud music, laughter, and booze might sound like the perfect way to let loose, but I would actually prefer some Adele, an espresso, and a warm bath—especially after getting so legless last night.

But instead, I’m walking into a crowded tent and a frothy drink with an umbrella is being pushed into my hand by Alan Anderson. Old man Anderson’s son is on me like a leech. He thinks he’s going to get a seat on the board, should the deal go through, but not if I have anything to do with it.

“Hey, love,” he breathes against my cheek as he pulls me in for a hug.

“Alan,” I reply stiffly, my guard instantly up.

“Let’s make the rounds.” Something about him makes me nervy, but I smile and act interested in what he’s saying, while very carefully pretending to sip the drink he handed me. When he’s not looking, I set it down on the tray of a passing waiter.

I finally break free when he gets stuck talking and make my way to the bar to order a vodka and cranberry, deciding I just might need that drink after all to make it through this evening.

“Vodka girl?” he says with a wink, and my skin crawls.

“Less calories,” I tease, not really giving two shits about calories. That’s one thing I’ve always been lucky with, I suppose: my tall, slim figure. The only thing I can say I’m glad to have genetically inherited from my egg donor…or my mum, as I would loosely refer to her.

“I figured you for a wine lover,” he slurs, brushing his cold tumbler down my bare arm. “I’d love to show you my family’s private cellar, if you’d like to take a walk.”

“Maybe some other time, thanks.” I walk away, not even caring if it was rude. I need a minute. Walking to the edge of the tent to get some fresh air, I sip my drink as that same tingling sensation that I’m being watched settles in my belly. Probably just Alan, the arse.

I’m used to dealing with men like him. There was even a time when I gave them what they wanted, in exchange for what I needed. Money, a new handbag, documents signed. I was my own personal commodity. Thankfully, those days are behind me. At least I hope so. I take a deeper drink.

The taste of alcohol burns my throat when I recall the night before. Did I throw up? It seems like I did, but I can’t quite remember. There’s still a lot of fuzziness to what went on the night before, which reminds me I need to figure out how the hell I got home. I make a mental note to check my purse for all my cards when I get back to the room.

I mingle with a few other guests, people I’ve seen at charity galas or events such as this. As the evening winds down, a light dinner is served, but the focus seems to be on the booze. Of course, Alan sits next to me at dinner, and I do my best to avoid his advances over the spread of delicious seafood and vegetables.

After dinner, when the men have their cigars and the ladies are supposed to retreat to do whatever it is that the plus ones do, I find myself standing on the veranda having a small glass of brandy with old man Anderson.

“So tell me, Scarlett, how do you think this deal is going to pan out?” He cuts to the chase.

“To be honest, sir,” I address him formally, “I think it’s going to be an awesome opportunity for all parties involved.”

“I’ve known James Black for many years, respect the tough old bastard even. So imagine my surprise to see one so young take him down, and then ask me to place my trust in him.” He takes a hearty puff of his cigar, and I wait for him to continue. “How do I know your company won’t do the same to me? How do I know Piers Nichols is the right man for the job?” The man who’s not here.

But there is no place for bitterness in this conversation, so I smile my biggest smile and prepare to close a deal that’s going to make us all very rich. “Mr. Anderson, you needed investors, and he has the money and wherewithal to take your business to the next level. I think we all stand to make a lot of money. It’s the smart thing. With the merger, you still hold a seat on the board, you’ll still have the power, but with sharing some of that power, you will also be sharing the risk and responsibility. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

He exhales and nods thoughtfully before taking a sip from his tumbler. “Smart girl. I can see why he keeps you around.” One thing I love about old Mr. Anderson is he treats me with respect and sees me as more than a pretty face—something I truly respect about him.

“Thank you, Mr. Anderson,” I reply, taking a sip of my own drink. This is going better than I could have expected.

“Please, call me Walter.” He smiles kindly before continuing. “And what do you think about having my son take my place, as the seat on the board?” His thick white eyebrows raise in question. There it is.

Taken aback by his bluntness, I take another drink of my brandy and stall, unsure of how to reply. If I offend him, the deal could fall through, but if we agree for Alan to have a seat, it could be a bad choice for all parties. Not wanting to come across as hateful, I tread lightly.

“Well, sir…Walter.” He nods expectantly, taking another puff. “I’m just not sure if it’s the right fit for the alternate seat. Maybe with some training and after time—”

“Enough said, young lady.” He holds up his drink, and my heart drops. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Wha—I don’t understand.” I’m at a complete loss for words.