For the second time since they had met at Harvard, Jake lost his temper. “That’s bullshit, Dom. You want to send Priestly to China? Send him. You’re absolutely right—you’ve made me a very rich man. I don’t need this. But heed my warning: you won’t be a billionaire for long if we both step away from the helm. A lot is riding on this contract. The lawsuits alone will freeze your assets if you screw this up. You invested too much of your own and you’re playing with the big boys now. Governments are not very forgiving when it comes to last minute walk outs.”
The speech should have shaken Dominic, but it barely breached the numbness that had settled in since he’d received the phone call from his father’s lawyer. What did all the money matter anyway? He’d wasted fifteen years amassing an empire that would allow him to throw down a forced buyout contract on his father’s enormous mahogany desk. Dominic should have taken action years ago, but no level of prior success had felt like enough. He’d choreographed the day from both sides, building his company while undermining his father’s, always working toward that one absolute win. Dominic had counted on his father’s desperation finally forcing him to confess what had actually happened to his mother.
It was that loss he mourned today.
In its place was a carefully orchestrated set of instructions from his father’s lawyer. No, it wasn’t enough to simply disinherit his only son—Antonio Corisi had also included provisions in his will to ensure that Dominic had to attend the reading. He’d used Dominic’s one weakness, his one regret, to reaffirm his control, even from the grave.
Jake coughed, reminding Dominic that a response was required. What could he say? As usual, Jake was correct in his assessment of the situation. Dominic had used his own wealth as well as that of his investors to back this venture. The risk had seemed worth it. The government contract would crack China’s software market wide open for them while their global influence would double exponentially. It was a daring move that, if carefully implemented, could put Corisi Enterprises on a stratosphere of power few companies ever acquired—a goal that a week ago had seemed imperative.
Jake could handle the negotiations. Dominic had always been the one to charge forward, shaking the situation up and clearing the way. This time would be no different. Jake would merely take over a few documents earlier this time. Priestly was good at the local level, but he was no Jake.
“One week, Jake.” It was the closest to an apology Dominic was able to get out. He hoped it was enough.
Sounding more like an older brother than a business associate, Jake said, “Take two weeks if you need it. Just get your head together. I can wrap up the China contract, but it’ll need your final signature and your presence. I’ll do a press release today and ask the media to respect your need to mourn in private; that should give you at least a few days before they descend.”
“Call Murdock.” The man owes me a few favors.
“Do you mean the Murdock? I thought he’d retired.”
Ah, there is the real difference between us. By not fighting in the trenches of financial warfare, Jake’s business associations had remained above reproach, but he lacked the backdoor connections to those seemingly innocuous individuals who wielded real international influence. Dominic casually gave Jake a number that many would have paid a small fortune to dial just once. “Men like Murdock don’t retire, they delegate from warmer climates. Tell him I don’t even want a good spin on this. It’s non-news. He’ll understand.”
Jake whistled softly in appreciation. “Is there anyone you don’t know?”
“Yes, you if you call me again today.”
Jake laughed, but they both knew it hadn’t been a joke. “Do yourself a favor, Dom . . .” Jake continued in an unusually authoritative tone.
What now? Dominic sighed.
“Put down the Jack Daniels for a night and pick up one of those models you like to date. You’ll sleep better.”
Dominic gave a noncommittal grunt and hung up. If only it were that easy.
Chapter Two
Arms full of bed linens, Abby Dartley froze at the click of the front door opening. Darn it. She couldn’t get caught here, especially in an oversized shirt and jeans instead of her sister’s maid uniform. Lil needs this job. Cleaning the brownstone of a man who never actually occupied it had sounded like a relatively simple, albeit annoying, way to help her sister remain employed.
“Do not let anyone see you,” Lil had pleaded between the fits of sneezes that had accompanied her low, but persistent fever. “They’ll fire me in a second if they find out you went in my place.”
“Can’t you just call in?” Abby remembered suggesting hopefully.
“I already used my two allowed sick days for Colby.” And then the tears had come.
A year ago, Abby would have let her sister add this lost job to the long string of employment she’d already tried and failed at and would have covered her expenses until she found a new job. They’d been through this cycle countless times, resulting only in Lil resenting Abby more with each passing year. The closeness they’d shared before the death of their parents was a distant, surreal memory.
Abby had considered asking Lil to move out, hoping that some separation would give Lil the independence she said she wanted, but that was before she’d held her new niece in her arms. It wasn’t just about Lil anymore. Colby deserved a mother with a stable career and Lil was so close to having one. She was one semester from finishing her administrative assistant courses. Even when Colby’s father had walked out at the news of his fatherhood, Lil hadn’t crumbled. For the first time since they’d received the news of the accident that had claimed the lives of both their parents, Lil wasn’t hiding from her responsibilities.
Colby had changed that, too.
It wasn’t Lil’s fault she’d caught the flu. Half the city seemed to be either recovering from it or succumbing to it. More importantly, it had been a long time since Lil had actually requested help, rather than merely grudgingly accepting it. Abby didn’t want to put too much significance on such a miniscule connection, but she couldn’t shake the hope that things could get better between them.
Her first impression of him as he stood in the entrance, unaware of her existence, was that he looked more tired than a man his age should. Dark circles were evident even against his olive complexion. His expensive suit did nothing to conceal the slump of his wide shoulders. According to Lil, he’d paid to have the brownstone cleaned on a weekly basis, but hadn’t actually been there in over a decade. Something had brought him back and whatever it was, it had steamrolled right over him.
He looked up and through her as he crossed the foyer. “You can go now.”
She considered following his weary command, but something held her immobile.
“Are you deaf? I said you can leave. Finish whatever you’re doing tomorrow.”
Mr. Armani sounded like an overtired child, although she was fairly certain he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison. The wisest choice of action would have been to do as he said and leave before he had a chance to question her attire, but she couldn’t.