Chapter 1
Aiden stared straight ahead as he stalked through his assistant’s office and into his inner sanctum. The door swung shut behind him with a slam that should have been satisfying, but just made him wince when the bang rattled his brain. It was seven forty-five Monday morning, and already it was a bad week.
Normally he loved the beginning of the week; the thrill of new starts, new challenges, new contracts, and potential deals to close, made the endorphins dance through his bloodstream, but on this Monday, any sense of anticipation was drowned by the pulse pounding through his skull. He circled his desk to sink down into his black leather executive chair, rested his head in his hands, and groaned loudly.
The assertive knock on the door made his bones ache.
“Go away.” He squeezed his eyes closed against the intrusion, but the door opened anyway, and the click of high heels tapped across the wooden floor. Raising his head slowly, he opened his eyes.
His administrative assistant rested her hands on the front of his desk. “You look like shit. Is something wrong?”
“What’s it to do with you?” He rubbed his forehead.
Her brown eyes sharpened, and she straightened, folding her arms. “Aiden?”
He glowered at her, but Loretta, who had been his assistant as well as a friend for the last three years, wasn’t remotely intimidated by his evil mood, and he knew her well enough to realise she wouldn’t go away until he answered.
“Just a bad night,” he said. “Too much to drink and not enough sleep.” It was partly true.
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I’ll get you some coffee. And I’ll thank you not to take your surliness out on me.”
Aiden waited until she’d closed the door behind her before he groaned again, remembering there was a reason he didn’t usually drink so much. He pulled up the diary on his desktop, hoping it wasn’t too crowded. Of course, every second of the day was filled; he had meetings until seven that evening, and after that, he was taking a potential client out to dinner. He couldn’t possibly cancel.
Loretta returned with a large mug of coffee and a chocolate chip cookie.
He stared at the biscuit as though it were a cockroach. “What’s that?”
“Sugar. It’ll help. I baked it myself.” She put the coffee and the cookie on the corner of his desk. “You need to be out of here by ten. You’ve got an offsite meeting with that small stem cell company. I’ve organised a cab.”
He poked the cookie with the tip of his forefinger until it slid along the surface of the desk. “You bake?”
“I do have children. Of course I bake.” She disappeared before he had time to say anything else.
He picked up the mug and sipped the double-strength black coffee, closing his eyes as he inhaled the scent. If the caffeine didn’t kick him into action, then nothing would.
He didn’t like weekends at the best of times, and this one had been the pits. The previous night had been awful. He couldn’t believe Sasha had left him. They’d been together for nearly three years, and he didn’t care what she’d said, it had been a good three years. He loved her, and he thought she loved him, but she’d been prepared to throw him aside on a whim. Outrage added itself to his headache. If she’d mentioned earlier that she wanted to get married, he would have been prepared, but he’d had no idea, and her ultimatum had been a complete surprise. He’d handled it badly. And then she said he never talked to her.
I talk to her all the time. What about the hour we spent dissecting that godawful experimental theatre thing she dragged me to? It’s absolute rubbish to say we never talked.
He stood up, took off his linen jacket, and carried his mug to the huge plate-glass window. Below him, the towers of New York extended as far as he could see. The sky was a blue haze, and he knew that already the air would be unpleasantly muggy as heat rose from the pavement. He rested his forehead against the cool glass.
Perhaps I should call her. We can work through this. She’s probably sorry already. Why can’t Sasha understand I just don’t want to get married?
She’d met his parents, and he’d told her how their marriage worked. He’d rather live in a freezer with a dead fish than have that sort of relationship. What’s the point of going through all that unnecessary ceremony just to be miserable?
When he’d said that to Sasha she’d stared at him for a long second, swallowed her vodka and tonic in a single gulp, and slammed the empty glass down on the glass surface of the coffee table. He was relieved she hadn’t thrown it at him. The conversation had gone downhill from then on. Just because all her friends are getting married, doesn’t mean she has to run after them like a bloody lemming.
He turned back to his desk and picked up the cookie, nibbling unenthusiastically at the corner. Loretta was right. Sugar would make him feel better. He hadn’t been able to face breakfast that morning.
After Sasha had stormed out, telling him she was through with him, he’d hit the vodka, and when that ran out, he’d hit the whisky. He didn’t understand her at all, and he nursed a sense of grievance along with his hangover.
He sat down again and opened the file on the stem cell entrepreneurs.
She’d wanted children, she said. She was getting to the age where it became important, she said.
So how come she never mentioned that before? How come she never showed any interest in other people’s children? How come she’s never even expressed the urge to nurture a plant?
He was sure the subject had come up early on in their relationship, but she’d moved the goalposts and, overnight, changed from a single-minded, highly-focussed workaholic into a screaming virago. There was no other way to describe her uncharacteristic behaviour. Maybe she’s ill?
Scrolling down to the financial record part of the report, he considered the figures. They made his head hurt more, but he could tell that the group really needed a cash injection. Dragging his thoughts into some semblance of order, he took a red pen from his desk drawer and made a few notes on the report. Last week, he’d had some ideas about a fundraising strategy which was just as well as he didn’t feel particularly creative at the moment.
Aiden tossed the pen aside and glanced at his watch; it was eight forty-five. His hand hovered over the phone. Sasha had been in a huge temper when she’d stormed out, completely unlike her normal, controlled self; he knew he should really check up on her. Even if she wasn’t ill, they’d both said things they probably didn’t mean.
Before he could overthink, he dialled her office number. “I’d like to speak to Miss Dooley,” he told the receptionist who, despite the fact that she obviously recognised his voice, insisted on knowing his name and his business.
“Aiden Marlowe. It’s a personal call.”
Sasha worked for a firm that specialised in intellectual property for the technology industry. He had met her when she was the legal representative for a company searching for a big investor. For a large fee and a share of future profits, Aiden’s company helped them find one. Sasha, who was a very well-regarded lawyer, handled the contracts and, after the deal was sealed, handled him. He’d been flattered. Sasha was exquisite; tall, slender, perfectly groomed and ambitious. She was well-informed and could discuss anything with anyone. Of course I love her, he thought. Who wouldn’t?
“Aiden?” Her voice was cold. “Have you changed your mind?”
Anger rose in him. Who does she think she is? “About what?”
“Your attitude to commitment.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She’s completely out of line. He’d been exclusive ever since he’d met her. “My attitude’s fine.”
“Then we’ve nothing to talk about, have we?” She slammed the phone down.
Aiden winced and put the handset carefully in its cradle before picking up his coffee cup, sipping and grimacing as the cold liquid hit his tongue. He pushed open the door and walked into Loretta’s office. She glanced up from her desk and pointed towards the coffee machine standing on a cupboard in the corner.
Aiden poured himself another cup.
“Feeling more human, are we?”
He glowered at her. “I have no clue how you’re feeling.”
She laughed.
Heartless bitch. “And I don’t care.” He heard the phone ringing again and rushed back into his own office, hoping that maybe Sasha had softened. He grabbed the receiver.
“Aiden?”
He sank down in his chair and held the phone at arm’s length. Just when he thought the day had reached rock bottom, it had to fall further. “Hello, Father.”
William Marlowe waffled on, asking about his health, the state of his company, how life was treating him, until Aiden interrupted him.
“I’ve got to leave for a meeting in an hour, and I’ve a few things to do first. Did you call for a reason?”
The sound of heavy breathing came down the phone line.
“Father?”
“I’ve got to go into hospital for a while, and then I’ve been told to take at least three months to recover.”
“What?” Aiden hadn’t seen that coming. “What’s wrong? It sounds serious.”
“Heart bypass.” His father was matter of fact. “Dr Matthews told me it’s best done soon.”
Aiden frowned. His father had lived with coronary heart disease for a while; the whole family were aware of his medications and the lifestyle changes he’d been forced to make over recent years, but he hadn’t realised it was that bad.
“When do you go in?”
“The operation’s scheduled for two weeks tomorrow.”
“I’ll fly over at the weekend.” Aiden tried to think what he would need to clear out of his diary and what he could pass on to one of his other partners.
“That’s what I was calling about,” his father said. “I want you to come back to London and take up my role at the company while I’m away.”
Aiden stared at the phone in disbelief. “I can’t do that. What about my own—”
“You’ve got partners. Your organisation’s up and running now and—”
“I can’t,” Aiden repeated. “I’ll come and visit, but I can’t just leave everything. What about Francesca? Couldn’t she do it?” His sister had worked in their father’s company since university, and Aiden knew she had ambitions as well as a sharp eye on the top job.
“I’m not asking Francesca. I’m asking you.” His father’s voice rose, and Aiden imagined his face turning purple at the other end of the phone. It wasn’t good for him.
“I can’t run your company.” Aiden tried to soothe his father, although his patience was inversely proportional to his headache. They might not get on that well, but he didn’t want the old man to have a premature heart attack. “I don’t know anything about property development and construction.”
“Of course you do. You grew up with it.”
“No. Father, I can’t do this. I—” He was cut off by the disconnect sound. He replaced the receiver and ran his hand through his hair, realising he’d have to ring the old man back. He returned to his stem cell report.
Ten minutes later, the phone rang again and he snatched it up. “Yes?”
“Aiden?” The crisp voice belonged to his mother.
“Mother? I heard about father’s operation. How—”
“That’s what I’m calling about,” she said. “You do know how ill he is, don’t you?”
“I—”
“He’s got coronary heart disease.”
“I know. I—”
“It’s worse than they thought. He’s a very sick man.”
“I’m coming over at the weekend,” Aiden said, wondering why his parents still made him so defensive. They’d farmed him out to boarding school, tried to force him down a career path he had no interest in, and expressed disapproval of his chosen—and extremely successful—career, so why did their opinions even matter to him? “I’ll have to return to New York for a Tuesday meeting, but I’ll make sure I’m back again when he goes into hospital.”
“He wants you to take on the CEO’s role,” his mother said, as though it was a small thing to request. “He hasn’t asked anything of you since you walked out on the company and—”
“I didn’t walk out on the company,” Aiden said. “I was never part of it.”
“Don’t interrupt.” His mother’s voice slid from cool to icy.
“Why can’t Francesca do it?” Aiden ignored her. Icy was his mother’s default setting. “That’s what she’s wanted since she was a teenager.”
“She’s engaged.”
“So?” Aiden knew that. He’d been to the lavish engagement party, and he’d met Gareth, the fiancé (who was a smooth, smarmy snake if ever he’d met one). “Married women work now, you know?” His mother had never had a job outside her home.
“Don’t be sarcastic.” She paused. “Gareth’s part of the senior management team at Marlowe’s. Your father thinks it would be a conflict of interest.”
“What?” The conversation was giving him a worse headache. “Why on earth—”
“Your father says there’s something going on,” his mother said. “Corruption? Embezzlement? I wouldn’t know, but he thinks it’s serious, so this is not the best time for him to be absent. He wants someone completely unconnected to get to the bottom of things.”
“But—” Aiden rubbed his forehead.
“You are doing this.” His mother had the command voice perfectly honed. “You can see why he doesn’t want Francesca involved? She’s too close.”
“I need to think.” Aiden clutched the phone.
“Don’t think too long,” his mother said. She disconnected.
Aiden checked his watch and hurriedly printed out the details for his ten-thirty meeting. He slipped his jacket on and was about to leave the office when the phone rang again.
“Yes?”
“Thank you, Aiden. I’m grateful.”
Aiden didn’t remember agreeing to anything his father should be grateful for. “What—”
“Aiden?” Loretta stood at the door. “Your taxi’s here. You need to leave for your ten-thirty meeting.” She frowned at him critically. “You need a haircut.”
He dragged his fingers through his chin-length hair. “Anything else? Do you want to tell me what to wear?”
“What?” His father sounded confused.
“I’ll talk to you later. I’ve got to go.” He put the phone down.
Loretta narrowed her eyes. “You look fine. Nice suit.”
He was wearing navy blue linen, in recognition of the excessively hot weather. “Glad you approve.” He hoped she recognised the sarcasm.
As the elevator doors slid open, he turned back. “Can you set up a meeting with Patrick and Chas?”
“This afternoon?”
“After five if possible,” Aiden said. “Reschedule anything else that’s in the diary.” He needed to let his partners know that he might have to be away for a while. As he descended in the elevator, he couldn’t believe that he was considering the idea. He thought he’d escaped from his family’s attempts to influence him. He got on far better with all of them from a distance. New York was just about right.
~ ~ ~
“You must be insane.” Chas propped his elegantly shod feet on the surface of the small conference table and leaned back in his chair. “What do you know about construction?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Aiden agreed, exaggerating things slightly. “I’m only doing this to keep the old man happy. My mother says he mustn’t be excited.”
“It’s a bit extreme,” Patrick said, leaning his elbows on the table. “Surely there’s someone in the company who can take over. It’s a pretty poor organisation if there isn’t.”
“When she says excited, she means thwarted,” Aiden said. “I’m hoping that if I stay until he’s on the road to recovery, I can find someone to take on the acting CEO role.”
“So you might not be gone that long?”
“I hope not,” Aiden said, “but just in case, I want to brief you all on where my projects are at the moment. I’ll know more after the weekend.”
Chas groaned. “As if we haven’t enough on our plates.”
“Take on a new business analyst,” Aiden said. “That should help a little, and we’ve been talking about it for months.”