“I have a meeting, bright and early. Board meeting.”
“Okay,” I say, though there’s no board meeting. Only a breakfast of oatmeal with special vitamins added, since he usually doesn’t eat enough. Bland food, the doctors insist. Spicy food interferes with his digestion. It gives him a stomachache, but when he’s hurting, he doesn’t know why. There’s no cause and effect in his mind. The meal is long forgotten. So I have to make these decisions for him. The doctors explained that to me in calm terms, as if they were discussing the diet of my horses rather than my father.
One of these days I’m going to bring home an entire feast of curry.
Outside his room I stop and take a deep breath. Close my eyes. Count to twenty.
Christ. What a mess.
I return back to the foyer, but it’s empty. Heading deeper into the house, I pass open doors leading to the drawing room, the formal living room. And finally find her in my father’s office, sitting behind the desk.
Apparently we’re going to talk about it.
Which means I need a drink.
I head over to my father’s sideboard and pour a drink—because I’m a gentleman, one for the lady and one for myself. Three fingers. Then I cross the room and slide hers over. “Scotch neat,” I tell her, before throwing mine back in a long, hard swallow.
She takes a sip and then coughs. “It’s strong.”
“It’s forty years old. And brewed by distant relatives of the Hughes, I’m told. They have a distillery in the Outer Hebrides. Fifty percent of their sales come from Crown Hotels,” I say, referring to a large chain of luxury hotels that spans the globe.
I’m not sure why I point that out.
Except I do know why.
So that she’ll understand the importance of keeping this secret.
She draws her finger around the slender ring of the glass. It draws my gaze, because I’m a man. I want that finger stroking down my chest. I want it touching my cock. Her eyes are dark and fathomless. Everyone wants love. It’s the one human constant.
Silence. She’s patient. I’m learning that about her.
“Less than thirty people in the world know about it,” I say, propping my hip on the desk. Might as well face a problem head-on. “Half of those people are family. The other half are under strict nondisclosure agreements that would bankrupt them if they broke it.”
“How?” she asks, sounding faintly impressed.
It’s a good question. “Have you ever heard of the Hughes curse?”
“I thought that was an old wives’ tale. And I thought it was about—”
“Their marriages.” He gives a rough laugh, a sound of acceptance. “People sense that something’s wrong, but they assume that because the business keeps running, keeps profiting, keeps growing, that it’s only about their family life.”
“Because you keep it running.”
So she’s figured that part out already. This is the problem with smart women. “Early onset dementia. Devastating for anyone, really. But when there’s billions of dollars on the line? It becomes one of the best guarded secrets in the world.”
“Why keep it a secret? If people knew you were running the company, they would trust you. Considering your quarterly stock market report, business is booming.”
“You’ve been reading my quarterly reports?”
“I am a stockholder,” she says. “And I think they would trust you.”
“They would trust me, but for how long? They trusted my father, too. How would they know when my mind starts to go? How would they know what I’m forgetting as I sign billion-dollar contracts? I would be thrown out tomorrow, and that’s when the chaos would start.”
She’s quiet, and I know she’s seeing it. The distrust, the factions, the fear—they’re massive. Many levels deep. They would explode if everyone knew. “Do you have it?” she asks, her voice matter of fact, as if she knows I couldn’t have accepted pity.
“Not yet.”
“Then how do you know you’re going to get it?”
“The main Hughes branch has only had sons for the past five generations. And every single one of us has the curse. That’s what we call it, even in the house.”
“If it got out—”
“It wouldn’t be us who suffered. We have enough money stashed away to last lifetimes. It’s everyone around us who would be hurt. They’d lose everything. Most of their money isn’t liquid. It’s stocks. Real estate. The value would plummet if we lost trust. We have tens of thousands of employees who depend on Hughes Industries for their paychecks.”
“So… what? You’re expected to sacrifice your life for them?”
She sounds indignant on my behalf. It makes me smile, which is a rare thing when it comes to this topic. “It’s not such a great sacrifice. You’ve seen my cars. I have a good life. One many men would trade for. I understand my privilege. Just as I understand that I only have it for a few more years. Then everything—the memories, the knowledge—will fade away.”