Midnight’s Queen (Stroke of Midnight #3)

Chapter 5

“Your appointment is here, Ms. Tremaine.”

Portia frowned at the intercom on her desk. Physically and emotionally exhausted after waking up in Aleks’s bed, she’d intended to spend the morning pulling herself back together. “I asked you to reschedule anything that wasn’t urgent.”

There was a pause, then her assistant replied with a faint snap to her voice, “This looked urgent.”

Portia pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d wanted to replace Melanie for months. The woman had been a temporary hire shortly after Portia took command of her father’s company. She’d selected the best option that HR had sent up, too overwhelmed to do her own search. Time was proving that might have been a mistake.

“Is it marked urgent?” Portia kept her tone calm and even, though it was a stretch. She’d been very good so far about not releasing the Ice Queen on Melanie.

“No, but it looked important. It’s someone from the Solveig Consortium.”

This time the long pause was on Portia’s end. “Thank you, Melanie. Please offer a beverage and escort them into my office in five minutes.”

The fucking Solveig Consortium. The last people Portia wanted to deal with, especially not today.

She’d known this moment—this meeting—was coming. But the more time that had passed, the more she’d hoped she was wrong.

Why did this have to happen today? She was off her game, severely undercaffeinated, and not ready to face a representative from Dizzie’s family.

Portia took a long drink of her mocha, then stood. While she waited for the caffeine to kick in, she stepped into her private bathroom and checked her appearance in the mirror. The circles under her eyes had been there since Tommy’s death and she’d learned the coverage extent of nearly every concealer product on the market.

She smoothed her hair with first her right hand and then her left, making sure each and every hair was tucked into her bun. A final touch-up to her lipstick and a deep breath and she was as ready as she would ever be.

“Send my appointment in,” she directed her assistant when she returned to her desk.

Although her desk—the whole office, really—was designed to emphasize the Tremaine power, she couldn’t bear to sit and wait. Instead, she crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows that were the showpiece of the office.

A blanket of mist covered downtown Seattle, hiding the skyscrapers and blocking her view of the water. Hand against the window, her finger traced an imaginary skyline on the glass. She didn’t need to see the city to know it was there.

Her office door opened and Portia dropped her hand. “Your appointment is here,” her assistant announced. “Please have a seat, sir.”

“Thank you, Melanie,” Portia said. The door closed again, leaving her alone with the Solveig emissary.

Portia didn’t turn around. Not just yet.

It wasn’t just a power play. She cast a longing look at the window, wishing she could play hooky and go home. Tommy had always encouraged that kind of behavior. Every damn day now, she regretted how many times she’d said no.

“Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Tremaine.”

The hairs on her neck stood straight up.

That voice. She knew that voice.

No. It couldn’t be. Surely lots of men had that accent.

For all she wanted to drop her head against the cool glass and rage against the universe, Portia pulled herself together and faced her visitor.

It was him. Aleks.

She’d known. Her body’s traitorous reaction to his voice had confirmed it.

Last night, Aleks had told her he was in town on business. She’d intentionally avoided asking about his employer, not wanting to disturb the fragile sense of peace she felt in his presence.

At Razor Jack’s, he’d been irresistible in jeans and a long-sleeve pullover. Mouthwatering this morning in a robe and thigh-hugging boxers. She’d have bet money that nothing could top either of those looks.

She’d have lost.

The exquisite charcoal suit draped his body perfectly, emphasizing his height and his strength. His tie was an almost perfect match to his eyes. Although he could just as easily belong on the catwalk or in the boardroom, the air of danger around him said he didn’t spend much time in either.

Pull yourself together, Portia!

She tucked her emotions inside. All of them—the embarrassment, the lingering desire, the growing rage. Pasting on a cool smile, she crossed the room and extended her hand. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr.—”

His hand enveloped hers and when their fingers touched, she remembered how they’d felt on her body. Not the time, Portia. His grip was neither too strong nor too weak—he wasn’t trying to intimidate her or ingratiate himself. She’d appreciated that if she weren’t so mad at his deception.

“Aleksander Lind.”

“And you’re here on behalf of the Solveig Consortium. Is that correct, Mr. Lind?”

“Please, call me Aleksander.” His gaze held hers. “Or Aleks, if you prefer.”

Neither. She preferred neither. He’d obviously known who she was last night. Had he slept with her deliberately? Did he intend to use last night against her? Her stomach roiled at the thought.

Portia extracted her fingers as quickly as she could and gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “Please have a seat.”

Grateful for all the years of hiding her emotions behind the Ice Queen’s impenetrable exterior, she shoved her unruly emotions and questions about last night down deep. She would not show weakness in front of this man. Not again.

Spine straight, breath steady, she took her seat and folded her hands together on the desk’s sleek surface. “What can I do for the Solveig Consortium?”

“Portia... ”

“Ms. Tremaine,” she corrected, her voice as icy as her nickname.

Her tone seemed to take him aback, although he recovered quickly. “Of course, Ms. Tremaine. The Solveig Consortium has sent me here to discuss reparations.”

She raised a brow. “Reparations?”

Aleksander leaned forward in his chair. His gaze as focused on her as it had been last night when they’d flirted. This time she wouldn’t be seduced by it.

“Yes, reparations. As I’m sure you are aware, the Solveig family recently learned that they were kept—intentionally—from their granddaughter.”

Yes, you could say Portia was aware of the fact. “You’re referring to Dizzie.” Dizzie hadn’t known her true identity until earlier this year.

“Your sister,” he countered.

Those words were still a punch. The fact that she had a sister both thrilled and disappointed her. She’d always wanted a sibling, but the one she’d gotten had ruined Portia’s life.

“If you’d like my sister,” she almost choked on the word, “to meet her grandparents, you’ll need to speak with her.”

Jealousy was a tangled knot in Portia’s stomach. Of course, Dizzie had grandparents who wanted to meet her. She had everything.

Killian.

The newsies’ adoration.

A life without the back-breaking expectations of their father.

Everything was coming up roses for Dizzie.

“Her assistant should be able to make that appointment for you.” She swiped her hand over her desk, activating the computer screen. “If that’s all?”

Aleks laughed, a rich deep laugh that sent shivers through her last night. But not now. She was immune now.

“I’ll arrange visits later.” He waved his hand as if he were dismissing the issue. “From what I understand, your sister doesn’t have any financial power within the company.”

“That’s correct.” Portia frowned. How had he learned that? It wasn’t a secret, but it wasn’t common knowledge either. Dizzie’s Tremaine heritage had just been revealed. There was no way Portia—or any sane person—would give an unknown entity that kind of power.

“Then she really isn’t in any position to negotiate on reparations.”

So they were back to that. “And you are?” She raised a brow. All she had was his word that he was from Solveig.

He acknowledged the dig with a nod, then slid his sleeve back to reveal a communicator. He pressed his thumb against the screen and a holographic recording sprang to life.

Portia activated a receiver on her desk to verify the authenticity of the recording.

“Aleksander Lind,” the computer voice said. An image of him swirled to life. “Authorized negotiator for Solveig Consortium.” The soft computer voice continued speaking, relaying stats and other details intended to confirm his identity.

His image faded away, leaving them alone in the room. Portia glanced at the verification results on her screen. He was authentic.

Her stomach sank. He’d known who she was. He had to have known.

“Satisfied?” His voice was gravelly.

Satisfied? Not remotely. Not while she was waiting for him to throw last night in her face. Still, she couldn’t let any of that show.

“It still doesn’t explain what your bosses think my company owes them.” She leaned back in her chair. “If anything, the Tremaine Corporation should be asking for payment given that we raised her for eighteen years.”

His lip curled and he shot her a disbelieving look. “ Raised? Is that what you call your father hiding her away in the corporate orphanage? Which I doubt was a loving home.”

What did she know about a loving home? For all Portia knew, the orphanage had been nirvana compared to the Tremaine household. After Portia’s mother died, their home had been a lot of things—quiet, sad, empty—but definitely not loving. Portia squelched her lingering grief and focused on her opponent.

“The Tremaine Corporation educated Dizzie, clothed her, and fed her. Trained her in a trade. What about that suggests that she was neglected?” Portia didn’t know if she believed the words coming out of her mouth, but her job was to protect the company.

“Interesting,” Aleks murmured. “If Dizzie had been raised by her mother’s family, she would have attended the best schools, been accepted at the top of society. Possibly even been placed in a position of authority like yourself. The two of you might have developed a closer relationship between the two companies, rather than the tense relationship now.”

“Is it tense?” It was an honest question, although Portia wasn’t sure he would take it that way. The Tremaine Corporation did little business with the Solveig Consortium. The smaller company had strong regional ties, but Tremaine had the global footprint. Prior to the bombing, Portia would have said she knew the business inside and out, but the last several months had emphasized how many secrets her father had kept.

“You don’t know?”

“We don’t do very much business with Solveig,” Portia said. “And most of what we do is handled by our overseas office.”

“It’s a good thing, then, that the Consortium is exploring a Seattle expansion. The better for them to get to know Dizzie.” A shark’s smile accompanied his words.

The Solveig Consortium wanted to open an office in her city? Over her dead body. The two companies had never been friendly and whatever goodwill that might have existed between them had died when her father seduced Dizzie’s mother, or whatever the hell had happened between them. Fortunately, the Consortium had never been big enough to truly challenge the Tremaine Corporation.

But if they wanted to set up in Seattle, they were definitely looking to cause trouble. And that she wouldn’t allow.

“I’m confused about what exactly your role in all this is, Mr. Lind. Messenger boy? Advance guard?” Seducer?

A flicker of something she couldn’t decipher passed over his face. “I’m what they need me to be.”

“You’re a fixer,” she said, her voice flat as she considered the ramifications of his presence and of what had happened last night. Had their encounter been a setup? Was she a problem to be fixed? Her stomach churned at the thought.

He winced. “I don’t like that term.”

“Let me guess, you prefer ‘problem solver.’” Her tone was mocking. It didn’t matter what fixers called themselves, they existed in the shadows, usually at the beck and call of the CEO.

“Yes, I solve problems, but not like that.” He clenched his fists and closed his eyes.

Had it been anyone else, she would have said he was in pain. But that was ridiculous. They were just having a conversation.

He opened his eyes and pierced her with that blue-green gaze that had enthralled her last night. Damn him for being so good-looking, so distracting.

“I heard you out, Mr. Lind, but as I said, I don’t control Dizzie’s calendar. I wish your employers the best of luck finding office space in Seattle.”

The corner of his mouth crooked up in a there-and-gone smile. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Tremaine. I appreciate your candor and I’ll pass on your message. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

Whether the words were a threat or a promise, Portia knew they were true. Next time she would be better prepared to face him and to deal with this new challenge.

“It was a pleasure seeing you again, Portia.” The quiet words sent shivers through her.

With a dip of his head, he stood, buttoned his coat, and took his leave. She watched him go, torn between appreciating the view and worrying about what he—and his employers—planned next.