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Now I understood, and my rage slowly turned to horror as I looked into the future and saw myself tied down to a stranger. “Mom, there has to be another way.”

“Do you think I would push so hard for this if there were another way?” Her amber eyes searched my face while desperation lifted the pitch of her voice. “She is ready and willing, and I’ve already received assurances that she would pump money from her trust directly into the company as an investment.”

One question rang out loudest over the cacophony in my head. Why? “What the hell is in it for her?”

“Did you ever consider that you’re a handsome, successful man with nothing but promise ahead of you?” I tipped my head back at her question and released a bitter laugh, meaning she doubled down with increased intensity. “It’s the truth. You’re making a name for yourself. This production has the potential to be a huge hit. Who wouldn’t want to be the wife of a famous, sought-after producer?”

My fevered brain latched on to part of what she said and held on tight. “So why bother marrying me off to her if you’re so sure the money will come rolling in?”

“We can’t afford to wait,” she informed me, her voice flat again.

Think, think! There had to be some way around this. I had to come up with something. “Listen to me,” I demanded, pushing away from the desk and pacing the short distance from one end to the other while she watched, blinking back tears. “You’re going to show me the real numbers without your edits. I want the unvarnished truth. I need to know exactly where we stand. Understood?”

Her head bobbed in silent agreement.

“After that…” I continued, “… I’ll figure something out.”

Springing to her feet, she took me by the shoulders and squeezed hard. “Would you listen to me for once? There is nothing to figure out. You could marry Isobel within a month, and all our problems would be solved. Don’t you see how easy it would be?”

“Sure, if I’d only marry a complete stranger to clean up a mess you got us into. Oh yes, that sounds so easy,” I muttered, shaking her off me. I caught her wince from the corner of my eye, but that was nothing compared to what I wanted to say, the accusations I wanted to hurl at her.

Everything I had planned on, worked toward, dreamed of was dying in front of me, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it because none of it was my fault. Well, nothing besides trusting my mother to make smart choices and not present me with lies.

How could she? There was no wrapping my head around it. What the hell was she thinking? “You’ve been selling things off, haven’t you?” I realized, watching the light leave her eyes. “The paintings in the foyer. What else? Can you even afford the taxes on the house? What about the Bentley you cruise around town in?” Every question sent more bitter poison pumping through my veins.

“Please. Stop.” Covering her face with trembling hands, she sank into the chair again. Her shoulders shook like she didn’t have the strength to hold back her sobs. Was it possible to witness my own mother’s misery and feel absolutely no sympathy whatsoever? And did it make me a monster?

Do I care?

It was safer for her if I left then and there without another word. She sickened me too much to spend another minute breathing the same air, belittling me, questioning my choices, sitting in judgment when she was the one responsible for us coming this close to destruction.

Acting like selling me in marriage was the answer.

“After everything I did for you,” she called out behind me in a thick, tear-choked voice. “Every sacrifice I made. I could’ve sold the business when your father died. Do you realize that? I had countless offers. I could have moved on with a new life, but no, I stuck with it for your sake. I took over the business so you could carry on the family legacy!”

A legacy she had pretty much fucking destroyed. I didn’t let her reminders slow me down. If anything, I walked faster, craving fresh air and a lot more drinking than I’d done so far. By the time I reached the car, my mind was made up.

“Aiden?” I asked when he picked up my call, pulling away from the house to spend the rest of my night getting good and hammered. Maybe I could forget for a little while. “We’re going out tonight.”

8

WINTER

After two weeks of rehearsals, it was official—I would have to kill Jackson.

Something had changed. Back in the day, he knew his place in a production. Sure, he would hang around, puffing out his chest and making sure everybody knew they needed to get their shit together if they expected to stay on the stage. I lost track of the number of times I rolled my eyes at the other performers whenever he came strutting around, offering opinions to the directors, questioning cues, and wondering if different choreography or blocking should be used. Who does the guy think he is? A question I asked myself all the time since I’d never heard of a producer taking such a hands-on role.

Back then, I learned to understand, at least a little. He wanted to prove himself. Those were his early days, just like they were mine, and we both wanted to make good. My opinion probably softened around the time we started sleeping together. No big surprise there that I would start to see him in a different light. The nights we’d lie together in the dark, whispering our dreams like two kids having a sleepover instead of two adults who’d just finished screwing each other’s brains out. I learned to see through his impossibly stubborn attitude and recognize the earnest desire to succeed at his core. To step out from behind his family name and become his own man, his own brand. My entire view of him had softened and shifted until I could endure and even excuse his incessant demands.

Now? When we were working with my dancers, my choreography, and my goddamn production? It was something that came from my heart, something I had carried and birthed just like I had carried and birthed Liam. How was I supposed to stand by and let him act like such a prick without getting a little ruffled?

“I thought we talked about this,” he murmured close to my ear, startling me. I had barely noticed his presence in the wings while running through a fast-paced combination with six dancers. Three of them had worked with me overseas, the other three newcomers, so the level of crispness and precision was a little uneven.

I rolled my eyes, knowing he couldn’t see from where he stood over my shoulder. All it had taken was a couple of weeks of rehearsal for me to start dreading his presence. That was the worst part. There were a few days when it seemed like we could work well together. I appreciated having him around and even looked forward to seeing him. I might not have realized it at the time, but I understood it now, when the opposite was true, and the idea of seeing him in the theater filled me with dread, not nervous excitement.

Though the spicy, musky cologne that clung to him still did terrible things to my body. It didn’t matter how furious he made me when he made my pussy wet, all because his cologne hung in the air, along with his warm breath on the back of my neck. It made the fine hairs stand on end before I shivered slightly.

“We’ve talked about a lot of things.” I was speaking to him but watching the dancers, raising my voice for them to hear me over George’s playing. “Sharper, come on, I know you can do it!”