Chapter 11 Dominic

Dominic We touch down at Heathrow around dawn and take a taxi to our hotel, a ritzy affair in the heart of downtown. Once we’re checked in, I disappear into the bathroom without a word, leaving Presley to unpack and wander around the opulent suite.

With only an hour to get ready for a packed day of meetings, I have no choice but to be efficient here. I shave, shower, comb my hair, and dress in a fresh suit without paying much attention to her.

At least, I pretend not to, because I can never stop myself from noticing Presley, no matter how hard I try. I can feel her big blue eyes following me as I move about the suite.

I know I’m being kind of a dick, but the gaping hole where our trust used to be still gnaws at me, and I don’t particularly feel like talking shit out. It’s not something that can be solved with a few words anyway. Besides, I have the excuse of a tight schedule to use in my arsenal of avoidance techniques. So I continue saying as little as possible.

“Hey, Dom,” Presley says quietly.

“What is it?” I don’t look at her, busy tying my shoes.

“Never mind, you’re in a hurry. Let me know when you’re coming back, and I’ll make sure to be here.”

I give her an affirmative grunt. The last I see of Presley is her sitting on the edge of the bed, still watching me. Then the door closes, and I leave her behind, still wondering what she was going to ask me about.

My first stop is breakfast at the very posh Ramsay Terrace with a pair of top real estate agents who will pitch the living hell out of their property before taking me to view it. I order a full English breakfast with all the trimmings—I won’t have time to grab much more than a bagel for lunch—and plenty of coffee. Correction, loads of coffee, because even a first-class pod can’t negate the fact that a bumpy airplane ride is nowhere near as restful as sleeping in my own bed, near Emilia and Lacey.

That’s not the only reason I didn’t sleep well. I was too aware of Presley just down the aisle, of her beauty and our unresolved tensions. It’s too bad I couldn’t have breakfasted with her instead of chattering salespeople. If I weren’t so damn busy this week, I could have shown her around my favorite spots in London . . .

No. I catch myself. Even if my time were my own, I still couldn’t. That’s not what this trip is about. I didn’t bring her along for some fucking romantic getaway.

Still, I feel a little bad about ditching her to fend for herself. I should have at least fed her before leaving.

Oh, for God’s sake. She’s a grown woman. I made sure she knew to charge anything she needed to the room, ensuring she could take care of herself, and beyond that, she’s more than smart enough to figure it out on her own.

“Don’t you agree, Mr. Aspen?” one of the brokers asks.

I shake myself out of my thoughts. “My apologies. I guess I’m not completely awake yet. Can you repeat that?”

I manage to focus on business for the rest of the meeting and the tour afterward. Which is just as well, because the location is absolutely stunning with a view of the bustling city beyond the iron gates where a tower once stood.

In a taxi bound for my second appointment, I pull out my phone and dial Frank, the head of Aspen Hotels’ legal department. It’s a phone call I’ve been meaning to make for days. If nothing else, I can at least address the problem that started this whole shitstorm.

“It’s Dominic,” I say. “A man named Austin asked one of our employees to infect Aspen’s computer systems with a virus. He was working for Genesis Software. I need you to get in touch with Genesis about this. Tell them to back off—preferably fire this Austin guy too, but I’ll take what I can get—or else we’ll press charges for attempted sabotage.”

A pause. Which is impressive; it takes a lot to rattle Frank. “I’ll take care of it right away, sir. In case this escalates, do we have evidence?”

“Yes. In the top left drawer of my desk, you’ll find a flash drive containing the virus and a folder marked Genesis.”

“And who was the employee he approached?”

I hesitate. Do I want to subject Presley to interrogation? She didn’t actually do anything, at least based on what she divulged, and at this point, I think I believe her when she says she never intended to. Just because this whole incident has scared me straight, so to speak—reminding me how important it is not to let anyone get too involved in my personal life, it doesn’t mean she deserves to get tangled up in legal repercussions.

Finally, I say, “I’d like to keep her out of this.”

“I see,” he says slowly, in a tone that means he doesn’t.

“If we do end up taking Genesis to court, I’ll talk to her about testifying, of course. But for now, call it an anonymous tip. I don’t want to punish employees for reporting trouble.”

“All right. Anything else you need?”

“That’s all, thank you.” I hang up.

A few minutes later my cell rings again, and I glance down as the taxi pulls to a stop. It’s Frank. That was fast. Frowning, I climb out of the car and into a light drizzle of rain.

“Yes?” I head under the awning of a nearby building, my phone pressed to my ear.

“Sir, I thought you’d want to be made aware—Austin Champlain isn’t an employee whose employment would be easily terminated. He’s the son of Genesis Software’s owner.”

“I see.”

No wonder the kid had balls—he’s got a huge stake in making sure Genesis doesn’t fail.

I step inside the glass-and-chrome building, shaking the rain droplets from my briefcase. “That doesn’t change things on our end, although I guess the suggestion that they fire him won’t be met well.”

“No, sir, I don’t see how it would. But I’ll make the call and keep you posted.”

“I appreciate that, Frank. I’m in London all week, so make sure you call my cell, and leave a voice mail in case the time difference gets in our way.”

“Absolutely. Enjoy your trip,” he says before clicking off.

• • •

My day continues how it began—in a whirlwind of sales meetings and on-location visits, until twilight falls and it’s too dark to keep looking at properties.

The last group of agents insist upon treating me to dinner at their favorite restaurant, Dalloway, which I happen to know is one of the most expensive places in London. It’s obvious that they’re trying to butter me up, but why not? It might be a chance to get a better deal out of them.

Unfortunately, Roger and his wife won’t arrive in London until later tonight, which means I don’t have an excuse to bring Presley, though part of me still wants to. But we head out right after leaving the last property—an undeveloped strip of land far outside of the city center.

“I hope we’ve made you feel welcome,” says the jowly man seated next to me, whose name I can’t remember for the life of me.

I force my most winning smile. “Except for the jet lag, everything has been amazing.”

The others chuckle politely.

Damn, that joke wasn’t as funny out loud as it was in my head. I’m off my game.

While I’m more or less satisfied with how the day has gone, I’m still exhausted and very much in the mood for a pick-me-up.

Something to relax me, something to help me work off this excess stress and my foul mood. And I know exactly want I want.

Struck by inspiration, I text Presley.

I’ll be done in one hour. Meet me at the hotel bar. Don’t wear any panties.

It’s bold of me—and who knows, she might not comply with my demand. In fact, she’d have every right not to. But something tells me the game Presley and I have been playing isn’t nearly done, and that she’ll be tripping over herself to please me. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.

Just the prospect of what I have to look forward to puts me back in shape for the rest of dinner. When the waitress comes by to pick up our plates and asks if we’d like anything else, Jowly Man nudges me.

“How about it?” he asks. “A few cocktails, Dalloway’s famous desserts—all on our agency’s tab, of course. My personal favorite is the blood orange cake with chocolate mousse.”

“As delicious as that sounds . . .” I stand up with an apologetic dip of my head. “I should actually get going. I have an early morning tomorrow.”

And a much more tempting dessert waiting for me at the hotel.