An Australian Surrender. Maisey Yates

from him, a bit of real shock in his dark eyes. “And she’s gotten away with it?”

      “It’s all in her name,” she said. “Most of my money was earned before I turned eighteen and even after that I never bothered to change anything. I mean, why would I? She had always managed my finances and I trusted her. I have no contract saying any of it should have been mine, or that I earned it. So that’s how I ended up with nothing.” She paused for a moment and looked up at the ceiling. “Well, this house is in my name, so yay me.”

      The only person who knew about her mother was the lawyer she’d spoken to. She hadn’t been able to bear the thought of telling anyone else. The fact that her own mother would do that to her. Her piano teacher had quit. Friends, people she’d toured with sometimes, were still busy making music. And she was alone.

      In an old empty house with bills that she could never hope to pay. She’d been treading water until recently, working on a plan, some sort of solution … but now she was going under. And she knew she would drown before any sort of help came along.

      Ethan knew he shouldn’t really be shocked that Noelle’s mother had betrayed her like that. A bitch like her didn’t care who she hurt. She certainly hadn’t cared about the pain she’d caused his mother. Not in the least.

      But as much as he hated Noelle’s mother for her part, it was his father Damien who had to pay for the sins of the past. And Noelle was in the perfect position to make that a reality.

      He ignored the slight twinge of conscience he began to feel in his chest, spreading to his arms, making his fingertips feel numb. He didn’t have time for a conscience. Noelle would get what she needed, and he would get exactly what he wanted.

      Everyone would win.

      Except for his father.

      “Will you be touring again soon?” he asked.

      Noelle had been touring since she was a child. He’d never been to see her, but he’d seen her name in the news frequently. She’d played at Carnegie Hall, she’d played for the Queen of England. She was a household name and had been for at least eleven years. And apparently, all of that touring had left her with nothing.

      “I’m not touring anymore,” she said tightly. “My label dropped me because I couldn’t book venues. My publicist dropped me. My agent.” She made a clicking sound with her tongue. “So, yeah, I’m pretty much done with music.”

      She looked down, lashes fanning over high cheekbones that seemed a bit more pronounced than they should be. She had that cabbage-soup-diet look about her, like she wasn’t getting quite enough to eat. He couldn’t imagine her turning down his proposition, not when he knew she needed it so badly.

      And he was tempted, tempted to come out with it now.

      But it was too soon.

      He was a master of the business deal, and tomorrow, he would set in motion the most important deal of his life. He wouldn’t allow impatience to ruin that.

      “Come to my office tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll send a car for you around noon.”

      “Why? So we can discuss where in my hundred-year-old rose garden you’re going to dig your inground pool?”

      “Not exactly.”

      He had no intention of turning her home into a hotel. He had no intention of purchasing it at all. Sure, a hotel here would bring in money, but that money would be nothing compared to the satisfaction he would gain by executing vengeance against his father.

      Noelle, and her home, were the key to that revenge.

       CHAPTER TWO

      ETHAN’S office building was warm. Noelle let it wash over her as she walked into the open, stately marble foyer and crossed to an elevator that took her to the top floor.

      Even the elevator spoke of luxury. She ached for it. For gorgeous hotels with amazing views and thousand-thread-count sheets. For heat, and for lunch that consisted of more than instant noodles with little freeze-dried chunks of vegetables.

      For a crowded auditorium and applause meant just for her.

      “You really are pathetic,” she said to the empty lift.

      Yes, she really was. But knowing that didn’t make the longing go away. Her life had never been easy, she knew that. Sometimes she’d wished for all of the fame, the practice, the shrill voice of her mother and the stern voice of her instructor to go away.

      But now that they had, she was faced with some harsh realities she’d never dealt with before.

      She sucked in a sharp breath as the elevator stopped. Her stomach turned over, her hands shook as if she was about to go out on stage. The kick of adrenaline was addictive. It was one of the many things she missed about her former life as a concert pianist.

      This was different though. The familiar spike of adrenaline was infused with a warm, honeyed sensation that pooled in her stomach and made her body ache in places she’d never given a thought to.

      She clenched her teeth and took a breath. Focus.

      She walked from the lift to a reception area and gave her name to the man sitting behind the desk. While he searched for it in the computer, she picked one of her favorite pieces—not one of her own, but one of Mozart’s—and began to run through the notes.

      Pictured her fingers flying over the keys. Effortlessly, joyfully.

      It was something she always did before a performance, to remind her of how prepared she was. That she was ready. That she wouldn’t make a mistake.

      “Just through that door there, Ms. Birch,” the receptionist said, smiling brightly.

      “Thank you,” she replied, keeping her mind on the music as she walked to the door.

      She tried to slow her breathing, keeping it in rhythm with the legato portion of the piece. Slow and steady. Don’t rush. Don’t falter. Smooth.

      She opened the door and the notes fluttered from her head like startled birds. She wasn’t prepared for whatever this meeting was, and there was no use pretending otherwise.

      Because Ethan was more frightening than a theater filled with three thousand people. He was sitting behind a broad, neat desk, his large hands folded in front of him, his expression even harder than it had been yesterday at her house.

      “Good morning,” he said, unfolding his hands and putting them behind his head, the action so casual it was maddening. That he wasn’t tense at all when she felt like a slight breeze could shatter her was beyond unfair.

      “Morning,” she said, refusing to lie and call it good. “I’m here for our mysterious meeting.”

      “Have a seat,” he offered, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

      “No.” She wasn’t going to put herself in that position. Him behind his big desk, her sitting there on the opposite side like a child about to be scolded.

      Being meek and subservient didn’t work. It didn’t keep people with you. It only made you easier to deal with. And this past year she’d come to see that she’d been being thoroughly dealt with all of her life. That was one good result of having a bomb detonated in the middle of her existence. She wasn’t going to play the pawn anymore.

      A harsh lesson learned the hard way. But she had learned it. In some ways, without her gilded cage, she was stronger now than she’d ever been. Even if it didn’t always feel like it.

      A half smile curved his lips. She didn’t like that. Because it wasn’t an amused smile, it was something else. Something sort of dark beneath the surface of the expression. “No?”

      “I’d prefer to stand,” she said stiffly.