CHAPTER THREE
GEMMA
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That was childish of me. I’m on my third glass of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and, right now, I feel like it was a reasonable reaction.
It’s probably not a good measure though.
Ugh, I’m so out of my league here and know I’m being emotional, but what do I do?
I throw my head back against the sofa cushions and groan.
“Goddamn you for dying and leaving me in this mess, Anthony.”
I haven’t heard from Drew since he hung up on me, and I didn’t show up at the OCP offices. I was expecting a letter from his lawyer. Instead, there has been silence.
This isn’t good.
I know it isn’t.
And if his reputation does in fact precede him, when I do get a response, I’ll wish I had put on my big girl panties and gone in.
I’m risking a lot by digging my heels in.
I’m risking our home.
But I had never been so furious in my life as when I overheard Drew talking on the phone.
She has an emotional attachment to the company, so we won’t be including Mrs. Ford in discussions at that level.
It stung.
Not that I was expecting to be told everything every step of the way, but I thought we had a professional relationship and he respected me.
Clearly fucking not.
We’d been in the Manhattan flagship store that day, and I was so angry I just walked out.
I sip my wine angrily, remembering that day last week.
Chloe, his PA, phoned me this afternoon to advise me that a parcel had shown up. She asked when I was going to be back in the office, and while her call might have been innocent, I wasn’t sure if he’d asked her to do it.
So, I passed on my choice message.
Go to hell.
“I will let him know,” Chloe replied, and I swear I could hear her smile.
Let’s go back to the beginning and explain how we got here, with me sitting on the sofa drinking New Zealand wine like it's water and waiting to be served...
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Four weeks ago...
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I WALKED INTO the OCP offices, head to toe in a black Prada suit, surrounded by my lawyers, trying to look as professional and competent as I could muster.
When I say surrounded, there were two of them.
In contrast, Drew Carrington stood a few feet away, actually surrounded by a team of six suited men. His expansive boardroom had floor to ceiling glass and seemed to have a view of the universe.
It really didn’t matter, I was there to sell him my company because if I didn’t, it would ruin me for the remainder of my life.
Shame hung heavily on my shoulders as I shook Mr. Carrington’s hand and ignored the glint of sexual interest.
I was used to that.
Men hadn’t acted on it previously as I was a married woman. Now I was a widow, and apparently the rules had changed, even if I hadn’t. Men had asked me out. Women had asked me out.
To date, I had declined them all.
But there was something different about Drew. His glint wasn’t just a spark of interest; it was almost a demand. Like it reached out and slid its metaphorical finger down between my breasts and smirked.
My core had tightened, and the way the corner of his lips lifted, it was as if he knew.
That had been the start of everything.
It was impossible to ignore his presence. He sucked the air from the room. His body looked too big to be seated in the chair, his arms straining to be let free from his jacket despite being custom made.
Sliding his hand across his patterned tie as the two legal teams began to talk, Drew watched me like a hawk ready to pounce.
I could lie and say I didn’t want him to, but with his olive skin, dark curly hair, and strong, clean-shaven jaw, his steely blue eyes drew me in and seemed to play my body like an instrument.
I was soaked the entire meeting.
When I got home, I shut the bathroom door behind me and tore my panties off. Then slammed my fingers inside myself, moaning.
A week later we signed, and I drove to the Hamptons the next day to tell Marsha Ford, Zoe’s grandma.
“I’m so sorry, Marsha, there just wasn’t any budget to hire a General Manager, and I wasn’t able to turn things around.”
There seemed to have been money issues for a while, but I wasn’t able to make sense of the books. The accountant who had been with the company for a long time, Harold, left soon after Anthony died.
“Was it really that bad when Anthony died?” she gasped, hearing about it for the first time.
I kept it from her after she lost her husband and then her son only a few years apart. Like me, she’d married into the family and was proud of the stores and what the men had created.
I nodded.
“Anthony never said a word.” Marsha shook her head and looked out across the ocean. “His grandfather and father ran a tight ship. Why didn’t Anthony tell us he was having trouble?”
That was the million-dollar question.
“He never told me, either. I’m sure he had a plan, but his life was taken,” I said, not really believing it.
I loved my husband, but something didn’t seem right.
How could it have got so bad?
But what did I know?
I’d spent a year trying to fix it, but I had a marketing degree I’d done very little with and had then been focused on raising Zoe. I was ill-prepared.
A week after our first meeting, I’d returned to the OCP offices and yet again, Drew had stirred sexual feelings in me that were both arousing and unwelcome.
“Would you like me to turn down the air, Ms. Ford?” Drew had asked when I removed my jacket, using the incorrect title as he’d done a few times.
“Mrs.,” I reminded him.
He didn’t respond. Instead, his lips twitched, and I realized he was playing with me, like a cat with a mouse.
“That brings us to clause twenty-five B,” Lawyer number one said. “Ms. Ford—”
“It’s Mrs. Ford. Please ensure the contracts reflect my correct married status,” I snapped.
Drew took a slow sip of water.
I did the same with far less composure, sloshing it down my front and causing my blouse to become see-through.
I’d wanted to scream.
“That was my error,” Drew shared. “I thought you were unmarried. Eligible.”
“Eligible for what?” I snapped once more, while the men shared humored looks. “For goodness sakes, I’m a widow.”
That shut them up.
But Drew wasn’t at all perturbed by my response and remained watching my every move.
“So, back to clause twenty-five, Mrs. Ford. Obsidian Partners require you to stay on as a consultant for three months during the transition of the Open Leaf business.”
I’d been made aware of this via my own legal team. “Yes.”
I agreed because the generous salary would contribute to my living costs and the ten percent holding I retained would hopefully allow me to keep the penthouse.
But not for long.
I’d have to secure another source of income soon.
After all, we didn’t know how well Open Leaf profit in the coming year, and the bank manager wanted more security.
I could barely sleep at night worrying.
Knowing I had no choice, even though I would have preferred to never see this man who stirred feelings in me.
When I signed the documents, Drew had rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip, signed his copy and then stood, rounded the table and shaken my hand.
I hated how attracted I was to him.
Smiling politely, I thanked him and then said I would see him in two weeks.
I had cried that night and the following nights after that. I felt like I’d betrayed Anthony. I’d had to sell his family's legacy—Zoe’s legacy—and had found myself enormously attracted to the man who bought it.
Night after night, as my eyes closed, Drew Carrington’s face would appear, and my body would come to life. Craving, desiring, fantasizing about things that broke all the promises of my wedding day.
Despite Anthony’s death.
I remembered the feeling of Drew’s hand on the small of my back as he opened the boardroom door and steered me out.
How my eyes had closed, drawn in his masculine woody scent, and hated myself for it.
Two weeks later, I stepped into the OCP offices and began my contract.