The elevator doors open wide and the gleaming gold Kingwood Enterprises logo greets me. I flip it off and take a left, pushing through the spotless glass doors. Kimberly, the receptionist, smiles before tapping her watch. “Good morning, Alex.”

“If it’s still morning, I’m ahead of schedule.”

One eyebrow is raised. “Your father is in a mood.”

She’s pretty. A hot redhead with her hair in its typical tidy bun, and her librarian fuck-me glasses blocking her real beauty. My father’s fucked her. A couple times. What she sees in him is beyond me. The egotistical asshole has slept his way through a bevy of beautiful women since my mom’s death. Kimberly’s the only one I wish he hadn’t. She’s nice and talks to me as if I matter. The rest are just after his money. She deserves someone better. He treats her like shit, and I know it’s never going to be anything more than side action for him. Leaning against the counter, I ask, “You got a boyfriend these days?”

“Why? You asking me out?” she smarts back.

“Eh, I’m no good. Hasn’t my father told you?”

Her smile comes gently, sympathy built into the creases at the corner. “What does he know anyway?” She hands me a message, and asks, “How’s that pretty girl of yours?”

“Mad at me.” I chuckle remembering how tough Sara Jane tries to act when all I see is a cute little snuggler if scary movies are on.

“You probably deserve it.”

“I definitely deserve it. She deserves better.” I pat the counter twice. “So do you by the way.”

She shrugs and fidgets with a pen. “Things happen for a reason. I guess I’m willing to stick it out a little longer to find out what that reason is.”

Nodding. She’ll find out the hard way. Sadly. “Take care and thanks for the message.” I head toward the bullpen and open the door.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I reply, entering the chaos of cubicle city. Phones are ringing, conversations are whispered, and the sound of typing can be heard. I head to my desk before paying the inevitable visit to my father.

I pat Cruise on the back when I pass. “Any news?” I ask the same question every day, for reasons I don’t talk about anymore. My friend knows, and he’s proven he’s here to help me. It’s a mission that never seems to end, an emptiness that fills my gut waiting for answers.

“No. Sorry, King.”

Breathing out a sigh of relief, I realize that besides Sara Jane, that answer is the only constant in my life. “Okay.” I sit down and turn on my computer.

From the other side of the cubicle wall, Cruise says, “Your dad came looking for you about twenty minutes ago. He’s in with some suits now.”

“Alex?”

Speaking of . . . I look toward his office and see him leaning in the doorway. Waving me over. “Come.”

Treated like a dog in front of everyone, I only go because I can’t make a scene without risking everything. I enter his office and two men in suits stand and straighten their jackets. I take it as a sign of respect for me. My father takes it as a sign for him and clears his throat for the introduction.

Whatever. I’m not here to quibble. I’m actually in a fairly decent mood despite having been summoned to the office today. I put on my best Kingwood smile, the one my father’s one-night stands compliment me on, the one my mom told me I inherited from him. Under my father’s disapproving once-over, he says, “This is my son, Alex Kingwood. Alex, these gentlemen are here to help with the restructuring.”

Walking toward them, I raise my eyebrows and begin to say, “What res—” Over their shoulders my father warns me with a shake of his head, and I fall in line. For now. “My father has mentioned he was bringing in the experts.”

While shaking their hands, they smile too enthusiastically to be trusted. “We like to think so. We’ve helped many businesses make their transitions smoother. We have complete confidence we’ll be able to do the same for Kingwood Enterprises.”

They talk too fast and I still don’t know their names. They’re nervous about meeting me. A bead of sweat forms at the top of the left guy’s hairline and the other one has shifty eyes. There’s nothing to trust about them, especially in the cheap suits they’re wearing. “And you are?” I ask.

“Nastas O’Hare,” the guy with the sweat responds, then adjusts his green wool suit.

Tightening my handshake, I ensure my grip is more solid than his, which isn’t hard. Weak handshakes are for meek men.

Shifty eyes speaks. “I’m Connor Johnson. Your father has told us you have a bright future in the business.”

I trust him less, if that is possible, for having two last names and no real first. “Future?” I ask, shaking his hand. At least his handshake is more solid.

“Your college credentials are quite impressive. Tough university to get into in the first place, and building your résumé at Kingwood Enterprises adds credibility not easily attained these days.”

“Thanks,” I reply with ease, not impressed with these jerkoffs. I’m shocked they even scored a meeting with Kingwood Enterprises, much less that my father is entertaining this idea.

My father sits and tells them to take their seats. With no chair for me, I walk around the back of the desk and lean against the bureau. After crossing my arms over my chest, my father looks back, but says nothing. He likes to intimidate as much as I do. As a team, we’re menacing as fuck. It’s times like these that I forget my father is actually my number-one enemy.

At the end of the day, the end of our lives, for good, for bad, for evil, for reward, we’re Kingwoods, and that means allies. Sharing a last name secured that and my future, even if we’re the worst of allies.

As my father goes over some plan that’s been in the works for months, but is just now bothering to tell me about, I stare at him. There’s a reason Alexander Kingwood III gets pussy on command. He’s younger than most fathers with twenty-two-year-old sons. My mother called me a joyful surprise.

At forty-seven, Alexander Kingwood III has minimal gray hair, reserving it for his sideburns that are trimmed to perfection, and he’s as physically fit as someone my age. He knows how to talk women right out of their clothes and into his bed. They’re gone by morning because there’s something that keeps him from letting them stick around. Despite their pleas to stay, he sends them on their freshly fucked way. He claims he’s trying to be a good example for me by keeping women who don’t matter at bay. I say it’s the ghost of my mother haunting him, reminding me of years ago, the summer after Sara Jane graduated from high school . . .

“There are so many stars out tonight.”

My sweet girl leans over and rests her head in the nook of my arm, which I wrap around her. When Sara Jane shivers, I pull the blanket over us and hold her closer. She likes to be held after we make love and I’d do anything for her. So I’ll lie here as long as she wants.

“What do you dream about, Alexander?” she asks, her hand running over my chest.

“I don’t dream.”

“You must sometime.” She lifts her head up enough to look at me when I don’t answer. “Never?”

I like seeing her face. A lot. She’s fallen in love. I can see it in the inner blue coloring of her eyes and in the concern she has for me over little things like dreaming. She doesn’t realize how far I’ve fallen for her though. “I used to when I was younger, when my mom was alive.”

Resting her chin on my chest, she looks sad and I hate that I’ve caused her to feel that way. “You never talk about her.”

“There’s not much to say.”

“I’m sure there’s a lot to say, like what did she look like? Were you close? Was she strict or easy going?” With each question my heart starts beating faster, my mind racing, and my anger fueled. “Did she cook dinner? Like movies? Hands-on or off parenting? Part of the PTA?”

“Enough, Sara Jane,” I demand. “I don’t want to talk about my mother.”

That silences her, and she leans her head back down. Fuck, now I feel bad. I’ve never allowed her into my head, or my world where my mother lived . . . still might live.

I can tell she is closing off to me when Sara Jane closes her eyes. I don’t want that, so I give her what I can, starting slow. “My mother was an angel on earth. Now she’s one in heaven.”

She looks back up at me, her warmth shining again. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” We sit all the way up, and I wrap my arms around my legs. The cool night feels good while hot emotions course through my body. “I never believed in heaven growing up. Madeline Kingwood tried her best to keep me good inside. It was an uphill battle in the Kingwood home, and she knew it. She protected me from my father the best she could. She protected me from the evil she knew was leaching into our home. Dirty dealings brought unsavory sorts around, but there was no one to protect her.”

“I want to ask you about it, but I’m afraid.”

Looking at her, her frame so delicate even at eighteen. “What are you afraid of?”

“You.”

“Why are you afraid of me?”

“Because you don’t let me in.” Her honesty comes easily because unlike me, she remains good.

“I’m letting you in now.”

She nods, knowing my emotional confessional is not going to last long. “What do you remember?”

“I was a kid. I didn’t see behind the curtain. The truth. The inner workings that extended beyond Kingwood Enterprises and lurked behind closed doors of Kingwood Manor.”

A stabbing pain shudders across my chest. I hate it. I remember it too well. I always feel it when the memories haunt me.

“When she was murdered, I started to believe in heaven because I needed to know she was someplace better than this hell on earth. Souls like hers deserve the fable of the golden gates and the peace that comes with it.”

“What about yours?”

I laugh. “I’m the devil himself and hell has a special place reserved for my soul.”

“Don’t say that, Alexander.”

“If you haven’t figured that out yet, Sara Jane, it’s already too late for yours.”

. . . Nastas O’Hare is halfway through his report when he asks, “What do you think, Alex?”

When my eyes land on him, I swear a smarmy grin peaks the right corner of his thin lips.

Fucker.

I look down at the notes in front of me, quickly skimming over them. My gaze darts to my dad. “You’re selling the company?”

“Not yet,” he replies coldly. “We’ll be restructuring as we already said. During the transition, I’ll be talking to potential buyers.”

This company has been his baby, even when I was one. He always chose business over family. Over me, and over my mother. Money. He loves money. “Why are you selling?”

“We’ll talk about this later. How do you feel about this strategy?”

I look down at the paper again. “It’s rough and not well-thought-out. We can’t just throw ideas on a piece of paper and expect that to be the plan. I want to see the whys and hows. Why is this the best plan for Kingwood Enterprises? Why do you think breaking it up into smaller divisions will help to eventually sell it? How do you plan to make it more attractive to buyers? How do we go about implementing your ideas so it’s not disruptive to day-to-day business?”

With pride and a wry grin on his face, my father sits back and crosses his arms. “I warned you about my son.”