Trillion - Winter Renshaw Page 0,68
I’ve seen, she seems bright and happy and cheerful. If Trey were to make a fuss of this, if word were to get out that Nolan knocked up a high school girl and adopted the baby, Sasha could read about it someday. I’m not even sure she knows she’s adopted. She looks so much like Nolan …
“It’s too late,” I say. “It’s not like I can get her back. And it’s not like he’ll ever apologize. Even if he did, it won’t change anything.”
Trey exhales, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. “Tell me who he is anyway. You’ve already told me everything else, yes?”
“I haven’t said his name in eight years,” I say.
“Seems to me there’s a lot you haven’t said in eight years …”
I open my mouth to speak. But I stop myself.
“It doesn’t matter who he is. He’s in my past … and I need to focus on the future … like you said.”
His thumb grazes my lower lip. “Yes, Sophie. You do.”
Trey crushes my mouth with a kiss so tender my eyes burn—until a flood of euphoria rushes my veins.
“I’m falling for you.” The words are weightless on my tongue but heavy in my chest.
“Oh, Sophie …” His mouth curls. “I know.”
Forty-Four
Trey
Present
“I feel embarrassed to ask this as I should’ve done it by now … but this business deal you’re trying to nab, the one that requires you to be a family man … what kind of business is it?” Sophie asks as we disembark my jet and make our way to a waiting Town Car. “What makes it so special that you’re taking such extreme measures to get it?”
We climb inside and wait for our luggage to be loaded.
“It’s a steel and oil company,” I say, taking her hand. I haven’t stopped touching her since we took off a few hours ago, haven’t taken my eyes off her. Instead of her usual weekend jeans-and-t-shirt, she dressed in a fitted navy dress, her hair twisted into a low bun as she wanted to make a memorable first impression. She’s Jackie O. and Marilyn combined and then some. “Landing this would be a record deal for me. It’d go down in history as one of the biggest takeovers Westcott Corp has ever done. Not only that, but it would allow me to control a significant portion of the U.S. oil market, which could influence my electric car agenda. I’m also planning to remedy their environmentally destructive practices and uncompetitive worker’s wages. They’re a parasite of a company, and I intend to fix the error of their ways.”
Her hand turns clammy in mine. “What’s the name of this company?
“Ames Oil and Steel,” I say. “Soon to be Westcott Oil and Steel …”
Her gaze falls to her lap, then out the window. To our left, a vast body of water holds bobbing sail boats and yachts in all lengths. Since my parents perished in the Atlantic, the idea of dipping my toes in that ruined ocean makes me slightly nauseous, but with Sophie by my side and this historical deal on the horizon, I’ll make an exception.
Shingled houses and colonial-style shops and restaurants line the street on both sides as we enter a quaint seaside town. The sidewalks are peppered with people in carefree, vacation-esque attire, bags in tow.
“We’ll be staying in the guest house,” I say. “So fortunately we’ll get a social reprieve at the end of each night.”
I lift her hand to mine and kiss its top. She’s trembling.
Up until now, she was excited about the trip, saying she’d never been to Martha’s Vineyard. All of last night, her phone glowed in the dark of our bedroom as she researched its history and shared fascinating bits of information. And before that, while packing, she held up dresses and brimmed hats and asked my opinion as I chuckled and reminded her we were only going to be there for two days.
Her face is turned away, attention focused outside.
“Can we pull over?” Her breath quickens and she releases my hold to fan herself.
“Of course.” I lean forward and tap the driver. “We need to stop. Immediately.”
He pulls into a packed parking lot on the side of a café. She opens the door before we’ve stopped, rushing to the trunk side of the car.
I hurry around back, finding her hunched over, hands on top of her knees.
“Jesus, are you sick?” I reach for the small of her back as I opt not to check the gravel at her feet.
Wiping