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The research she’d conducted on the new CEO of Lykaois Shipping, the third generation to hold that title since the company was founded, had been fascinating. Griffith Lykaois was known to indulge in pleasures most people couldn’t even dream of. Six-figure bottles of wine. A contemporary painting that would have paid for two dozen students from her tiny hometown to go to college. Black truffle and caviar dinners at the most expensive restaurants in the world. And of course, as evidenced by the numerous photos taken over the years, a revolving door of glamorous women on his arm. Even when he had finally settled down for more than a week with one woman, it had been a supermodel famous for sporting the world’s largest diamond during a photoshoot...and little else.
Yet despite his predilection for obscene luxury, he also had the rare distinction of showing up to his office and working. The British division of Lykaois Shipping had soared under his guidance. He played hard, yes, but he worked just as hard.
Or at least had until a drunk driver had T-boned Griffith’s Lamborghini, killing his father and leaving Griffith with severe injuries and a patchwork of scars. Some theorized a plastic surgeon would ensure that only the tiniest wounds would be visible. Others whispered that the reason Griffith had taken a leave of absence for an entire year had been because he was too ashamed to show his face in public.
The interview his ex-girlfriend Kacey Dupree had given less than two weeks ago certainly hadn’t helped squash those rumors.
Whatever had happened, Griffith Lykaois had left behind his life of vice and hedonism for isolation.
She did feel sorry for him, had felt a kindred pain of loss when she’d read about the accident, seen the photos of twisted wreckage and bits of glass scattered across the road. But even if he wasn’t engaging in decadent endeavors, he was still making selfish choices. Choices that had made her life hell, from the veiled threats from Mr. Nettleton about her future at the firm to the embarrassment of being escorted out of the Diamond Club.
She shook off her frustration and focused on the bittersweet, earthy scent of oak that filled the air, the occasional flash of warmth when a sunbeam fell across her face as she walked. She had been so driven for so long, so intent on working hard to get out of the town her parents had told her over and over was too small for what she was capable of, that she hadn’t stopped to just breathe.
Or think about what I wanted.
Uncomfortable at the path her thoughts had taken, Rosalind shifted the strap of her bag to the other shoulder. It wasn’t her parents’ fault they had wanted the best for her. It wasn’t their fault she had never gotten the courage to tell them she wanted something else. How could she, when they had looked at her with such pride? With hope that she would continue down the path they’d set for her.
You’ll be a senior lawyer at Nettleton & Thompson one day. I know it. You won’t give up on that, will you?
I won’t... I’ll make you proud, Mom.
Her parents had married young, scrimping and saving to buy a tiny house with a constantly leaking basement and three small bedrooms they’d crammed themselves and four kids into. Rosalind’s older brother had been destined to follow in their father’s footsteps as a lobster fisherman. Her two younger brothers had been adamant about going straight to work after high school, to make their own way.
It had fallen to Rosalind to achieve her parents’ dream of having a child graduate college. A dream that had surpassed their wildest expectations when she’d been accepted into law school in Chicago, followed by the internship and then the job offer.
She’d never questioned herself before. Had simply accepted the praise they’d heaped on her, preened at the knowledge that her parents thought her so capable and merrily gone after each goal they encouraged her to reach for.
Her mother had lived long enough to see Rosalind try on her cap and gown the month before she graduated from law school, to learn about the job offer from Nettleton & Thompson. Rosalind was on track to do exactly as her mother had wanted.
So, why didn’t she feel excited by that?
All too soon, the lane curved and she emerged from the trees and turned to find herself in front of the gate. Constructed of wrought iron, and flanked by two stone pillars topped with statues, it certainly put the little white picket fence back home to shame. Her eyes traveled up, landing on the figures atop the stone pillars guarding either side of the drive—women garbed in dresses that reminded Rosalind of ancient Greek statues. Both statues had tumbling hair threaded through with what looked like stars. One woman held a rose clutched to her chest, while the other held a thorned flower up to the sky, as if offering it to the heavens.
A few hundred meters behind the gate lay the chateau, a sprawling manor house with rows of arched windows gleaming in the sun and topped off by a steep roof. Even at this distance, it exuded elegance. The kind of place her mother had described when she’d tell tales of princesses and princes, palaces and dungeons, enchantresses and beasts.
A brisk wind tore through the bars of the gate. She put her head down and shivered at the sudden coolness as heavy gray clouds scuttled across the sky and chased away the summer blue. An even bigger cluster of clouds loomed up behind the manor. Bonar had mentioned a storm moving in from the sea. But he had said it wouldn’t hit until that evening.
She headed through the gate. She would get in, make her pitch and walk out with Lykaois’s signature, and be back in Étretat before the storm really got going. Bonar had told her to call him if she needed a ride back to the village. Given how Lykaois had behaved so far, she doubted he would be so kind as to offer her a ride himself.
Rosalind took in more of the chateau as she got closer to it. Mr. Lykaois’s New York penthouse sat on Billionaires’ Row at the southern end of Central Park. It had been featured in a luxury real estate magazine, all glass walls and gleaming metal. The California beach house, fashioned in the shape of an L and colored gray, presided over a private beach and included a saltwater infinity pool that overlooked the Pacific. The Tokyo apartment overlooked Tokyo Tower and included access to a library, bar, spa and a private dining room serviced by international chefs.
So why had he chosen a centuries-old manor to hide out in? It was beautiful, yes. Expensive? Absolutely. Sweeping stone staircases trimmed in black railing framed either side of a three-tiered fountain. The steps curved up to a long terrace and massive double doors constructed of golden-brown wood with an arched window just above. The house had been maintained with not only great care but devotion to the original design. The final result was stunning.
But a very different feel from what Griffith Lykaois otherwise seemed to prefer. New, modern, flashy. Not historic and elegant.
Rosalind gripped the handle of her bag as she reached the stairs and started up. She needed to get her emotions under control. She’d had a strong reaction to him in the Diamond Club. But, as she’d told herself repeatedly in the days since, it had been understandable. Emotions had been running high. A lot was riding on her finally coming face-to-face with him and she’d read enough about the man, watched enough interviews from before his accident, to feel like she’d met him, knew him. Finally seeing him had pushed those emotions over the edge.
It made sense, too, that with her limited experience she would have a stronger response than the average woman. How often was anticipation better than the actual event?
Besides, she had other things to think about other than her hormones. Things like getting the contract signed and finally being promoted to midlevel associate attorney.
The thought of going back to London, of presenting the signed contract to Mr. Nettleton, should have buoyed her. Instead, it quickened her steps, as if she could outrun the restlessness that had been growing these past few months. Outrun the question that had been haunting her for months.
Do I want to keep doing this?
The strap of her bag pressed into her skin, the weight of her decision growing heavier with each step. She liked her work, liked hearing people’s stories and what had become important to them over the course of their lives. Yet as time had gone on, the once dignified atmosphere of Nettleton & Thompson had started to feel more like a prison.
She had always considered herself a happy person. Even on days she’d slogged through thirteen hours of paperwork and client meetings, she’d been able to find the positives, like successfully navigating a will with a difficult client or watching the moon rise above the nearby Buckingham Palace.
