Summer Escape With The Tycoon. Donna Alward

She put down her fork.

      He faced her. “It’s not you. I mean, this afternoon was embarrassing, and yes, I’m judging you on something superficial, but I just went through a major divorce. Let’s just say it was nasty and I lost a lot of money.”

      “And you lost your wife, too, right?”

      He gave her a cold look. “Don’t act like you care about that. Her lawyer certainly didn’t. It was all about the numbers, and putting a price tag on the six years we were married. Apparently I was such a horrible husband that she deserved five million a year in compensation.”

      She knew that wasn’t how it worked, but that he was speaking from a place of bitterness. Moreover, he had to be loaded. Thirty million? He’d paid his ex-wife thirty million dollars?

      “Your lawyer should have done better for you,” she said firmly, picking up her coffee cup. “Children?”

      “None, thank God.” She sloshed some of her coffee and he shrugged. “Not that I dislike children. Quite the contrary. I’m just glad we didn’t have any to get caught up in a custody battle.”

      She relaxed a little and met his gaze. “I know.”

      “Do you?”

      His tone was accusatory but this time she let it bounce off her. She did know. Her parents had stayed together but custody agreements were tough, and if anything made her cry in her job, that was it. Children were not possessions or assets. And sometimes there was an internal struggle between fighting for her clients’ interests and trying to do what was right for the kids.

      “I think I’ll go up now.” She put down her cup and started to push out her chair.

      “Nantucket,” he said, his voice firm and definitive. “You outbid me, Ms. Quinn.”

      Her cheeks flamed as she put her napkin on the table. “Yes—yes, I did. I wasn’t sure you remembered. Mr....?”

      “Chambault. And I remembered.” His gaze was hard, his body language sharp and edgy as he reached for his drink. “You held out to the last minute.”

      “I play to win.”

      “Not everything is a game.”

      “No, but strategy matters. Good night, Mr. Chambault.”

      She turned on her heel and walked away, her heart pounding. The evening hadn’t gone as she might have liked, but at least she’d ended it with the last word.

       CHAPTER THREE

      MOLLY STRETCHED IN front of her window and took a deep breath, taking in the view. Dawn had come about an hour earlier, and now the morning sun sparkled off Victoria’s inner harbor and the pristine white sailboats docked within it. She’d slept soundly; despite the turmoil of dinner, the mattress had been most comfortable, the pillows plump, and the dose of melatonin she’d taken for the time-zone changes had carried her off to sleep. Today they’d leave for the Cowichan Valley, where they’d visit several wineries, do some tasting and spend the night in luxury before heading for their more “rustic” adventures.

      She was just about to head for the shower when her phone rang. A quick look at the screen showed it was her father, and she let out a sigh before answering. He’d thought her trip was foolish and ill-timed, but then she realized that her parents had kept to the same schedule for most of Molly’s life. A condo in Antigua every January for a week. Two weeks in Europe in May, before it got too hot. They stayed in the same places—the right places—with the right people and never varied. The idea of taking off on a whim had caused such an uproar that she’d had to postpone her originally planned trip and rebook.

      Now he couldn’t even leave her alone for the ten days she was gone. She didn’t want to resent it, but she did. A lot.

      “Good morning, Dad,” she said into the phone.

      “It’s noon here.”

      “I know.” She rolled her eyes. “What’s up?”

      “I wanted to keep you up to date on the Morrison-Cleveland case. She’s asking for less alimony in exchange for full custody.”

      Molly pinched the top of her nose and closed her eyes. “Which arrangement benefits the children more?”

      “He’s our client, Molly. Not the children.”

      A familiar feeling of rebellion rose into her throat. “Well, you know how I feel about this. Look, I know he’s our client but he had affairs and got caught, and then got stuck with a DUI charge. They’re going to have a more stable life with their mother at this point, and it would be great if we could keep them from using their children as leverage. He’s not a family guy, Dad. He’ll pay less in alimony and you can negotiate a fair visitation schedule.”

      “I knew that was what you’d say.”

      “Then why did you call?”

      “You dropped the ball on this one. The idea is that he gets to keep his kids and a bigger portion of his money. You know that.”

      Molly sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m not sure I agree.”

      “You’d damn well better, for the fee he’s paying. Molly, we didn’t get where we are by being soft.”

      There was a long pause, and then Molly said, “I’m on vacation, you know.”

      “Oh, believe me, I know.”

      The words I’m sorry sat on her lips. For leaving, for leaving her caseload with him, for disappointing him, for whatever else she might need to be sorry for. For being the child who’d survived? But she didn’t say it. She was so tired of apologizing when something didn’t go exactly to plan. Of daring to actually try to have a life of her own. She couldn’t always be Jack. His death hadn’t been her fault. But placating her parents was her fault. She’d got into the habit and now had a hard time getting out of it.

      “You know you can do this in your sleep, Dad,” she replied instead. “You don’t need me there.”

      “Not really the point, Molly. You left your clients in the lurch.”

      Now she was getting truly irritated. “So you’ve said. But even you take a vacation. I’m back in ten days. The firm won’t fall apart.” She sighed and stood once more. “I’m late, so I’m going to have to cut this short. Bye, Dad.”

      She hung up, knowing she’d catch hell later for hanging up on him. But seriously. Wasn’t she entitled to a holiday? And at twenty-nine years old she could figure out when and where she wanted to go. She didn’t need his approval, though for some reason both her parents seemed to think she did. She turned off her phone and shoved it into a shoulder bag. Her stomach growled. If she didn’t grab some breakfast soon, they’d be on the road and she’d be running on empty.

      She called for a bellhop to get her cases, and once they were collected she adjusted the strap on her bag and headed for the coffee shop. What she needed was a huge coffee and something to take away the gnawing in her gut. In a matter of minutes she was sipping on strong, black brew, with a cranberry muffin in her other hand and a banana tucked into her purse.

      The group was congregating in the lobby, waiting for their transportation, chatting up a storm. Molly knew she should join in, make some acquaintances. That was what last night had been for—breaking the ice. Right now she held back. She was still irritated by her father’s call and that work life had intruded when she’d been gone only twenty-four hours.

      Eric was standing by the sliding doors, talking to the couple she’d met at dinner last night. He was relaxed and smiling, and suddenly he laughed at something, the warm sound carrying across the lobby and sending goose bumps over her arms. She lifted her coffee and took a gulp, the hot liquid