Because I’m in love with your son, she thought. Not that he has ever cared.
“I’m committed to my work and it is a jealous husband. It is rather an eighties concept, perhaps, but also the truth when it comes to me.”
“We have so much in common, you know.” He picked up a heavy crystal lighter and kicked up a flame. “We are both responsible for so much.”
“My father is still running the Sutton Distillery Corporation.”
“Of course he is.” William leaned into the lick of fire and puffed up. “But that is not going to last long. Not with his illness. Is it.”
Sutton stayed quiet. The family was not yet prepared to announce her elevation to chairman and CEO, but Baldwine was not wrong. Her father’s Parkinson’s had been controlled for the last three years, however the disease was progressing, and very soon the medications and their careful timing to hide the symptoms were going to become an insufficient mask. The sad thing was that her father’s mind was as sharp as ever. His physical stamina was starting to lag, though, and helming a company like Sutton Distillery was a grueling endurance test on a good day.
“No comment?” William said.
As another puff of blue smoke rose above his head, the tobacco’s dirty-sock stench reached her nose and made her sneeze.
“God bless you.”
She ignored the platitude, well aware the bastard had lit up precisely because it would irritate her. He was the kind of man who exploited weaknesses at that kind of level.
“William, if the papers are here, I’ll sign them now. If not, call my office when you’re ready.”
The man bent at the waist and opened the long, thin drawer in the middle of his desk. “Here.”
With a toss, the sheaf skated across the blotter—and the fact that it was stopped by a framed picture of Little V.E., his wife, seemed apt.
“I believe you will find everything in order.”
Sutton picked up the packet. Reviewing page one, she went on to the next … and the third … and the—
Her head jerked up. “I know that is not your hand on my waist.”
William’s voice was close to her ear. “Sutton, you and I have so much in common.”
Stepping away, she smiled at him. “Yes, you’re the exact age of my father.”
“But I’m not in his kind of shape, am I.”
Well, that was true. William filled out his suit better than men decades younger.
“Do you want this done now?” she said sharply. “Or sometime next week with my lawyers.”
The way he smiled at her made her feel like she had turned him on. “But of course. All business, as you stated.”
Sutton deliberately sat in a chair against the wall, and she did not cross her legs. About ten minutes later, she looked up. “I’m prepared to execute this.”
“See? I made the changes you required.” He coughed a little into his fist. “Pen—or do you insist on using your own?”
“I have that covered, thank you.” Dipping in to her purse, she then used her thighs as a desktop, and signed her name above the notary public’s testament that was already filled in. “And I’ll be taking a copy with me as I leave, thank you.”
“As you wish.”
She got to her feet and crossed the carpet. “Your turn.”
William took a Montblanc out of the inside pocket of his pale blue suit jacket, and he signed on another page, above another previously executed notary public’s attestation.
“After you,” he said, indicating the way out with his arm. “The copier is next to the first conference room. I don’t use the Xerox machine.”
Of course, you don’t, she thought. Because like cooking and cleaning, you figure it’s woman’s work.
As she took the document from him and walked for the doorway, a shiver went down her spine. But then she realized that there was another piece to all this, namely a transfer of funds only she could initiate.
So there was nothing she had to fear from him.
At this particular moment.
She was just passing by the executive assistant’s desk when something caught her eye and made her hesitate. It was something down on the floor, sticking out from under the desk’s flank …
It was a piece of cloth.
No, it was a collar. To a coat sleeve.
“Something wrong?” William asked.
Sutton glanced over her shoulder, her heart pounding. “I’m …”
We are not alone, she thought with panic.
From his position squeezed into the well of the desk, Edward knew the instant Sutton somehow became aware of his presence.
As her voice trailed off, he cursed to himself.
“What is it?” his father asked.
“I’m”—she cleared her throat—“feeling a bit faint.”
“I have brandy in my office.”
“Fruit juice. I need … some fruit juice. Chilled, please.”
There was a pause. “Anything for a lady. Although I must confess, this is considerably out of the realm of my usual duties.”
“I’ll stay here. And take a seat.”