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“Oh, I did. But you have to admit, the concern is legit. People want to know their investments will continue with the legacy and not just die off with you.”
“Then reassure them that you’ll be taking care of that yourself. Sooner rather than later.”
Mak sighs. “Yeah, yeah. Still, though, we worry about you.”
“Don’t.”
“Says the overprotective big brother.”
He can’t see it, but I do manage to smirk. “Let me worry. You and Sofi find spouses, get married, and have lots of babies. I’ll pick an heir from the bunch, and then none of us will ever have to worry about another repeat.”
The line goes silent. I didn’t mean to dredge up old, dark memories, but here we are.
“Things are different now, Pasha,” Mak sighs after a long pause. “You are different.”
“And I want to keep it that way.”
I don’t need to justify my personal choices to anyone, least of all some corporate underworld busybodies. That’s what Mak is for: getting married and having kids so I don’t have to.
A peek around the corner verifies that Brennan is wrapping up his lunch—and flirting with the waitress—which means I’ll be in the clear to leave without interruption in about a minute. I could leave now, but knowing him, he’ll keep begging for me to keep my mouth shut until I agree just to make him stop fucking talking.
He can’t afford his wife finding out about his dalliances. She’d take him to the cleaners and then some.
I’m suspicious she already knows. The woman is far more intelligent than Brennan gives her credit for.
“You’re also pakhan,” says Mak in my ear. “You have responsibilities in the family realm just as much as you do in the business realm.”
My teeth grind. He means well; I know that. I just don’t like being pressured into doing something I’ve already refused.
“Make sure the shipments get through,” I snap. “Pay off whoever you need to. I don’t fucking care how much it costs; just make sure we’re secured for next month.”
The call ends abruptly. I peek through the glass and check on the senator once more. He’s finally waddled off to do whatever it is pasty sleazebags who hold public office do, giving me wide enough berth to slip out.
Off to one side, I hear female voices rising in argument. Hysterics, really. I don’t look. The last fucking thing I want is to get roped into some hoity-toity family drama. This place is filled to the brim with overdramatic mothers and their equally desperate daughters looking for any excuse to sink their claws into the next unsuspecting, maybe-eligible bachelor?—
I pause.
I know that voice.
A familiar waterfall of hair cascades down a very tense back, swaying as she abruptly shoves her chair back and stands. It looks like the woman with her, undoubtedly her mother, is about to rip her a new one.
But then the mother pauses.
And looks over her daughter’s shoulder…
At me.
The light in her eyes and her painted-on eyebrows leaping up her forehead says she recognizes me. And I’ll be damned, but I could swear I recognize her, too. From where, though…?
I don’t catch what they’re saying to each other. I’m too distracted by the actual, tangible presence of the woman who’s been haunting my dreams for four solid months.
Daphne whirls around to see what’s captured her mother’s attention.
Like her mother, she sees me.
Like her mother, her eyebrows fly high and her jaw drops open.
Unlike her mother, however…
