She calls down an elevator that works with voice recognition software and escorts us to the top floor. When we step out, Damian Hart himself is waiting in a large reception area featuring an eclectic collection of art. He’s wearing a dark suit like me, and like me, his regard is sharp and observant. If he didn’t already know who I was, he would’ve done an extensive search on me to arm himself with every piece of information he could lay his hands on. Of course I’ve done the same with him. The little media and company photos I could scavenge don’t do him justice. They portray his strong form and handsome features, but not the cunning edge to his manner or the dangerous vibe only someone of the same making can recognize.
Walking toward us with long, confident strides, he pulls his sister into an embrace and kisses her cheek. The resemblance is striking. They have the same good bone structure and dark hair—that is, when Zoe doesn’t dye hers. Zoe is a female version of her brother, smaller and paler, but not less stronger. In her own way, she’s a warrior, a fighter for justice, a spokeswoman for love, and a formidable little con artist when she wants to be. Or shall I say escape artist?
“How are you?” Damian asks, searching her eyes. The question is loaded.
She gives him a broad smile. Her cheeks are flushed from the stressful situation, but it works in her favor, because she looks like a woman in love. “Good. Damian, I’d like you to meet Maxime.”
Damian turns on me with ice in his stare, but he offers a hand. “Belshaw.”
His handshake is strong. I like him. “Let’s skip the formal address, shall we?”
He tilts his head, examining me like an obstacle he’d love to pull apart. “As you wish, Maxime.”
Our voices bounce off the high walls and marble floors. It’s a rather unwelcoming reception, but I get the point he’s making.
His demeanor only warms when he takes Zoe’s arm. “Let’s take a seat.” When she limps next to him, he stops. “What happened to your foot?”
“Kitchen accident.” She waves a hand like it’s nothing. “I broke a glass and stepped on a piece.”
“You have to be careful,” he says. “Is the cut deep?”
“It’s just a scrape.” She’s flustered, but one could easily mistake her reaction as embarrassment for having been clumsy. “Don’t fuss.”
He leads her to a leather bench facing a wildlife painting. “Tea?”
“No thanks.” She looks at me like a considerate girlfriend would.
I shake my head.
Pulling her down next to him, Damian motions for me to take the single visitor’s chair. He flinches with annoyance when I drag it closer, the feet scraping over the floor.
“This was speedy,” he says, scrutinizing me with his cold smile.
“We’ve worked things out,” Zoe says. “Maxime asked for a second chance.”
“You’re giving it to him?” Damian asks with a hint of disbelief that makes me want to plant a fist on his clean-shaven jaw.
“She hardly needs your permission,” I say, drumming my fingers on the armrest.
Damian looks at me with so much scorn if he was the devil he’d set my chair on fire. “I carry my sister’s best interest at heart. Do you?”
Zoe places a hand on Damian’s arm. “I want this. I know how I arrived here didn’t put Maxime in your good books, but I also carry part of the blame. I’ve been wrong about many things, including not writing to you, but I’m going to be a better sister this time and be regular about staying in touch so you don’t have to worry.” She looks at me with a challenge in her eyes.
Clever little sly girl. She knows I’ll keep any promise I make to her brother. Promises are not things I like to break, and there’s an unwritten code between men like us. I may not be signing a contract for Zoe, but it doesn’t mean the regular rules of said contracts don’t apply.
“Of course, cherie.” I lean over to brush a finger over her wrist. “Anything you want.”
Damian traces the caress like a rabid bitch about to pounce to protect her litter. “How did you find Zoe?” Smoothing down his tie, he adds in a taunting tone, “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“She called me.”
Zoe’s eyes flare, but Damian doesn’t notice because his eyes are trained on me like torpedo missiles. I know she hates lying, especially to her brother, but I can hardly tell him I’ve had his wife followed. Men like him are protective. He’ll rip me apart and feed me to the dogs begging downstairs in the street before sending Zoe home with me if that particular piece of information comes to light.
“Is that right?” Damian asks, turning his attention back to his sister.
Zoe blushes. It’s the lie, but it looks innocent enough when she says, “I tried to move on, really I did, but I was only lying to myself.”
“You should’ve told me,” he says.
She shrinks into herself. “I know you went to great lengths to get me a new identity and start a new life. Please don’t think I don’t appreciate it. It was a moment of weakness. I’m sorry.”
His smile is warm. “Don’t be sorry for your happiness. That’s all that matters to me.”
“Thank you.” She takes his hand. “I’ll never forget what you did for me.”
I don’t think her tears are tears of joy. She’s playing her role brilliantly. A part of me feels like a bastard for putting her in this situation, but I accept the strange and unfamiliar attack of guilt like I accept the good feelings she gives me. It’s a package. I can’t have one without the other. What I do know is I’m never giving it up, which is why I draw Damian’s focus back to me before Zoe falls apart right in front of his eyes.
“My apologies for the hasty departure, but I have business to take care of. You’re welcome to visit. I was hoping soon.”
“No,” he says a tad too harshly. “Not soon.”
Ah. His wife is too far into her pregnancy to be allowed to travel. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’d like to have a word with Maxime in private,” he says to Zoe.
She shoots me a panicked look.
“Of course.” I get up and straighten my jacket. Kissing the top of her head, I say, “I’ll be right back.”
Damian leads me into a big office with glass walls and elephant statues. I admire him for building all of this up from scratch. Word is he used the fortune his wife inherited to buy back his stolen mine, but he earned his own riches by doing dirty work in jail and investing that money in the right places. Me, I was born with what I had. A man like him who came from nothing deserves my respect.
He walks to the desk and leans against it, crossing his arms. The fact that he doesn’t invite me to sit is another clear message, one I accept not as an insult, but as the ire of a brother watching out for a sister.
“So,” he takes me in with a narrowed gaze, “you’ve worked things out.”
“Yes.” I go to the window. The view stretches out over skyscrapers to mine dumps that glitter yellow in the distance. “I’m eager to take Zoe home and start our new life.”
“What I’d like to know,” he says to my back, “is why you came for her when she called.”