continued as if she hadn’t spoken, a trait he’d inherited from their father that made her teeth grind. ‘The Morris Building... It was scheduled for demolition a year ago. Did you know that?’
Damn.
She glanced away, shoulders heavy. Why didn’t she know that? Something else she’d overlooked? Another mistake? The throb intensified at her temples.
Ash leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees.
‘Perhaps he’s hiding something from you too.’
Inside, Harley shrank into the sofa. Fatigue dragged her down. She was so tired of doubting herself. So tired of expecting to fail, no matter how hard she tried.
Ash took her hand. ‘If he’s such a stand-up guy, why is he trying to sell you a building that was only good enough to be knocked down? Do you think he’s out for some sort of revenge?’
Good question. Her sore head spun, nothing to do with the Scotch. It was bad enough that she doubted herself, without her brother checking up on her every move. When would people see past her dyslexia? See what she’d built?
She wasn’t some green sap, playing around with her hobby business and falling back on her trust fund. Shock turned to anger.
‘Thank you for pointing that out to me.’
‘Harls—’
‘There must be an explanation.’ She had no patience for Ash’s interference, no matter how well intentioned. ‘But don’t you think I did my due diligence? Don’t you think I vetted his company prior to commencing negotiations, even before I knew that Demont Designs was Jacques Lane?’ Anyone with a lick of business savvy would do the same. And she might not have the MBA, but she’d gleaned enough business skills from her family her whole life by watching and listening. It wasn’t enough to satisfy Hal. She’d never be enough. But she’d expected more from Ash.
Her shoulders, now somewhere around her ears, twitched, her body draining of fight and energy. He was right. She’d made another mistake. Missed critical information. How long had Jack owned the Morris Building? Was he even aware himself about the aborted demolition? Was he keeping his own secret?
She stood, her fatigue multiplied tenfold since she’d trudged up the stairs twenty minutes ago. ‘I’m going to bed.’ She’d heard enough. There was only so much self-flagellation she could tolerate in one day. And where Jack was concerned, her head chased the same problem around and around.
Ash stilled her, his hand reaching for hers. ‘I’m sorry. I only have your best interests at heart.’ She nodded, her throat too tight and her brain too fuzzy to speak. She was lucky—Ash always had her back.
‘Do you want me to look over the contract? You haven’t signed it yet, have you?’
She had. It was in her purse, ready to be couriered first thing Monday morning. She swallowed a swirl of nausea souring the Scotch in her stomach, and shook her head. Whatever mess, or not, she’d got herself into, it was her job to extricate Give from the clutches of a bad decision. And extricating herself from Jack...? Would that be as easily achieved?
She squeezed Ash’s fingers, letting him know she understood his sibling interference and his motivations. He kissed the back of her hand, regret shining in his eyes.
She was almost to the stairs when he spoke again.
‘Love you, Harls.’
She nodded, too choked to speak, and hurried down the stairs heading straight for the bath she’d promised herself. Perhaps, by some miracle, the hot water would scald all her niggling doubts and insecurities away. One thing was glaringly obvious. She didn’t know Jack beyond his astounding bedroom skills. Why, then, did the tumult spinning around her head and crashing behind her ribs feel suspiciously like emotions she had no place feeling? Stupid, naïve emotions she’d left behind long ago?
She sighed, submerging herself fully under the hot water.
Emotions or not. Business was business.
THE FOLLOWING EVENING Harley adjusted the halter-neck top and fluffed out her hair. Taking an hour to primp and preen, try on multiple outfit choices and perfect her make-up stopped her from checking her phone every five minutes. So determined to ignore the hateful device, she’d not only switched it off, but she’d also put it inside the fridge for good measure.
Jack had sent three texts throughout the day. A series of flirty, suggestive missives that yesterday would have made her toes curl and her panties wet. But Ash had planted his seed of doubt deep in the fertile soil of her mind. And her dilemma to tell him about the affair drained all her residual energy. She just wanted to forget the mess her life had become in a relatively short time. Personal and professional.
Probably the reason she’d accepted an invitation to go clubbing with Hannah, who was celebrating a promotion amongst the Jacob Holdings ranks. One thing about Hal Jacob—he believed in his children working their way to the top. Nepotism at its finest.
Harley jumped when the buzzer sounded, announcing the arrival of her sister and her friends, and reached for her clutch.
Hannah had chosen one of New York’s chicest nightspots, a place frequented by the elite. As they spilled from the car and tottered towards the entrance, bypassing the queue, a series of photographs flashed behind the cordoned-off area. On the rare occasions she partied with her friends, Harley preferred the quieter clubs, ones less likely to be filled with celebrities, and therefore less likely to attract paparazzi. But this was Hannah’s night.
Harley turned her head away and tugged her sister towards the entrance. The sooner she made it to the dance floor, the sooner she could banish the restless energy pounding through her.
The club heaved with bodies, glamour and good times on the agenda. Hannah had reserved them a VIP booth, which eased Harley into the groove, one she struggled to feel despite hoping it would provide a distraction from her doubts over Jack and her disappointment with herself. She downed a couple of shots, trying to get into the swing for her sister’s sake. But she wore her reservations and fears like an extra layer of clothing—thick and itchy and hard to shake.
After a suitable length of time drinking with Hannah’s friends they headed for the dance floor. Harley closed her eyes, and succumbed to the heavy beat of the dance track thrumming through the floor and into her bones. The vodka-dancing combo worked its magic. Her mind settled, all thoughts of Jack and her botched business deal relegated to the corners while she lost herself to the thumping beat and the flashing lights.
Hands settled on her hips and her eyes fluttered open. Expecting to see Hannah’s smiling face, she faltered when the recipient of the hands came into focus.
Phil.
Her stomach flopped. Of course he’d be here. Perpetually single, her ex collected beautiful dates like trophies. His lucrative salary at Jacob Holdings and his social-climbing sense of entitlement meant that clubs like this one provided the perfect hunting ground for him.
He shot her a grin that carried nothing friendly. He’d never quite forgiven her for breaking off their engagement. But for her, Phil would be heir
