A Million Different Ways to Lose You (Horn Duet 2)

“Which we are prepared to wire as soon as the case against Miss Sava is dismissed,” David Bernard swiftly countered. “We have no objections if you wish to pursue the case in any other direction.”

Time seemed to expand as we waited for Mr. Imami’s agreement. Only a little thing such as the course of my life hanging in the balance, but why hurry. And then, there it was, a slow blink signaling Mr. Imami’s consent. That’s all it took to alter my destiny forever.

David Bernard rose out of his seat and extended a hand across the table to Mr. Imami who also stood. The two men shook hands.

“I’m curious––” Sebastian started, surprising everyone, including myself. “What evidence did you have against Dr. Sava?” His voice had adopted a nonchalance I recognized as artifice, though I highly doubted anybody else would. “Other than the circumstantial evidence of his suicide, and the money being wired out of the university bank account to one under Miss Sava’s name?”

Dark, fathomless orbs dueled with whiskey colored ones. I could almost see Mr. Imami’s mind working quickly, throwing up hypotheticals, measuring cost to reward ratios. He cocked his head slightly. “His personal effects held nothing of interest.” It might as well been an admission that there may have been the slight chance that my father had been innocent. “Make no mistake, no one else had access to that money.” Any other time in my life I would have jumped at the chance to argue my case, or more specifically my father’s. But something told me to stay quiet…something that felt a lot like trust.

“In that case, Miss Sava would love to have her father’s personal things back…sentimental value and all?”

A beat later Mr. Imami replied with a slow nod. Sebastian had not only negotiated my freedom at great cost to himself, but he had also restored to me what remained of my father. And for the first time in my life, I contemplated the possibility that I may have been the luckiest girl in the world.

It was midnight when I padded barefoot into the library. The distinct cuckoo of the elaborately carved Black Forest hunting wall clock marked the time. The box full of my father’s belongings remained where I’d left it on the eighteenth century table in the middle of the room. I walked up to it with more caution than necessary, as if it were radioactive. You could definitely make an argument that it was bad for my health. It had been silently torturing me from afar for two days now, denying me even a small measure of peaceful rest. Picking the box up, I sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace that was now cold and dark. Recalling what had happened hours ago put a smile on my face.

He’d found me in the library, searching for a book to read. The lines on his face put there by the burden he carried alone told me it had been another rough day at the office. Later, he would explain that the Dow had lost over seven hundred points, the consequence of which would be felt around the globe––including at Horn & Cie.

Such a remarkable man…

Thousands of people depended on him to steer the ship correctly, to make the right decisions often under pressure, and against questionable odds––their livelihoods depended on it. He made carrying all that responsibility look effortless…and never asked for anything in return.

As the conversation faded into silence, words became redundant. The longing and hunger in his gaze conveyed all that needed to be said. There was a brief moment of pause, an understanding passing between us, and then we both flew into action. Within seconds, we were both naked. More than one button on his shirt went skipping across the stone floor. My underwear suffered a more brutal and definitive demise. He had me bent forward, over the rolled armrest of the chesterfield sofa before I realized what he had in mind…or more specifically, how he needed it. With my head resting on the cushion, he took me gently, slowly––too gently. I slammed back into his groin, urging him on until the loud slapping sound drowned out my moans and cries.

The memory alone was making hot so I closed the door on that line of thought and focused on the box before me. Pandora’s box––because I had no idea what I would find inside and what the repercussions would be. Steeling myself for the worst I took the top off and began meticulously retrieving every item inside, placing each one side by side on the antique Persian rug.

Four flash drives.

Bank statements.

A diary.

His battered, dog-eared personal copy of Plato’s Republic that he was never without.

A picture of the two of us that had been taken at my engagement dinner.

And lastly, a picture of my mother…she didn’t look a day older than nineteen.