22. Dominic
22
Dominic
M onday morning. The day after “the kiss.”
I’ve been avoiding the penthouse as much as possible. Last night was a carefully orchestrated series of “urgent meetings” that kept me away until she’d gone to bed. Text messages instead of conversations. Distance instead of confrontation.
But the kiss lingers. The feel of her lips against mine. The way...
Coward , I think, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Sexual release is one thing. But a full blown, ultra-passionate French kiss?
Fuck.
I splash cold water on my face, trying to shock my system back to reality. Today is about business. The crucial investor lunch at Per Se. The meeting that could make or break the Costa Rica deal.
“The car is ready, sir,” Jake Thompson’s voice comes through the intercom.
“Be right down,” I call back, adjusting my tie one last time.
I deliberately chose a lunch meeting, knowing Tatiana would be at Christopher’s office. The perfect excuse not to bring her. I told her it would be “inconsiderate to ask her to miss work,” which is true but incomplete. The whole truth is I don’t trust myself around her now, not with investors watching. The way she affects me... making me unpredictable, throwing me off-balance... it’s not something I can afford today.
My phone buzzes. Another text from Tatiana.
We should talk about what happened. This avoidance strategy is childish.
She’s right, of course. But childish or not, it’s bought me time to rebuild my walls and reset the boundaries that one impulsive kiss threatened to destroy.
I type back: Heading to investor lunch. Key meeting for the resort. We’ll talk later.
Short. Professional. Nothing about the way her bottom lip felt between mine or how her fingers clutched my shirt like she never wanted to let go.
Eleven days. That’s all that’s left of this arrangement. I need to remember that. Need to keep focused on what matters.
The deal.
The company.
The plan.
Not the woman who’s suddenly making me question all of it.
In the elevator, I review my mental notes for the meeting, forcing thoughts of Tatiana aside. Mr. Chung will need reassurances about the recent tabloid photos. Ms. Sharma will be evaluating my stability. The other board members will be looking for confidence, certainty.
I can give them that. It’s what I do best.
Control the narrative.
Project strength.
As long as I don’t think about the kiss.
“We’ve arrived, sir,” Ric announces, pulling up to the restaurant.
Jake Thompson is already waiting at the entrance, his large frame unmistakable even in his tailored suit. He nods discreetly as I approach.
“Security’s in place,” he says quietly. “Private room is secure. Restaurant staff have been briefed. One entry point, no unexpected guests.”
If only life were that predictable.
“Thanks, Jake.” I straighten my tie. “Let’s get this over with.”
The private dining room at Per Se is elegant without being ostentatious. Mr. Jian Chung sits at the head of the table with two associates flanking him. Ms. Sharma is also present, along with three other board members.
“Dominic,” Chung says, rising to greet me. His handshake is firm, his eyes assessing. “We were expecting your wife to join us.”
My stomach tightens. I knew this would come up.
“She sends her apologies. She couldn’t miss her commitments at Blackwell Innovations.” I maintain eye contact, projecting confidence. “Christopher’s been generous about her schedule lately, but today was non-negotiable.”
It’s a convenient truth. I deliberately chose this time slot knowing she’d be handling Christopher’s quarterly review preparations. But I omit the deeper reason. That after the kiss, I’m not sure I could maintain the necessary professional facade with her beside me. One look, one accidental touch, and the careful control I’ve rebuilt might crumble entirely. The investors would see it immediately... my distraction, my uncharacteristic uncertainty. I can’t risk that, not with a billion dollars hanging in the balance.
“How considerate of you not to disrupt her career,” Ms. Sharma remarks, her tone suggesting she’s more than casually interested in the dynamics of our relationship.
“Partnership requires respect for each other’s commitments,” I reply smoothly, taking my seat. The words feel hollow in my mouth. Partnership. As if what Tatiana and I have is anything close to that.
“Indeed,” Chung says, clearly unconvinced. “Please, join us.”
As I take my seat, I notice Ms. Sharma studying me with unusual intensity. Her lunch with Tatiana must have gone well. Or catastrophically. It’s hard to tell with Anya.
The sommelier pours an exquisite Cabernet as the first course arrives. I force myself to focus on the conversation, to be present and engaged as we discuss the final investment tranche for Serenity Shores.
“The sustainability elements are especially impressive,” one of the board members comments. “The solar integration with the building design is revolutionary.”
I nod, launching into details about the energy efficiency models. This is my element. Projects, innovations, solutions. Things I can control, unlike the mess I left back at the penthouse.
“This is all great,” Chung interjects during a lull. “And I’m very happy with what I’m seeing, but... I’d like to ask about the recent press. These new photos suggesting your relationship with your wife began in Vegas. How do you address these concerns?”
Here it is. The moment I need to be the confident, controlled Dom Rossi they all expect.
“Gossip thrives on partial truths,” I say. “Tatiana and I have known each other professionally for years through Christopher Blackwell. The photos simply captured one moment before we reconnected later that evening.”
The lie rolls off my tongue smoothly, practiced.
“Your sudden marriage caused quite a stir,” Chung presses. “For a man known for his calculated business decisions, it still seems uncharacteristically impulsive.”
I meet his gaze directly. “Some decisions transcend business logic, Mr. Chung.”
“How did you know?” Ms. Sharma interjects unexpectedly. “That she was the one you would marry?”
The question catches me off guard. My prepared responses evaporate. For a dangerous moment, Tatiana’s face flashes in my mind. Not the polished professional who navigates my world with such precision, but the woman I glimpsed in her Queens apartment, surrounded by books with margin notes and photos of people who knew her before me.
“I’ve built my career on recognizing potential others miss,” I say, surprising myself with my candor. “With Tatiana... I saw someone who challenges me, who doesn’t accept the convenient version of things. There’s a clarity to her perspective that cuts through noise.” I pause, realizing how true this actually is. “In a world where most people tell me what they think I want to hear, she tells me what I need to know. Even when I don’t want to hear it. And that’s when... that’s when I knew she was the one I wanted to marry.”
The words hang in the air, more revealing than I intended. I think of our argument about the tabloid photos, how she stood her ground despite my anger. How right she absolutely was.
Ms. Sharma’s expression softens. “How romantic.”
Something uncomfortable shifts in my chest. The lie doesn’t feel entirely like a lie anymore, and that’s far more dangerous than any tabloid photo.
“Indeed,” Chung says, clearly not convinced. “And this relationship, it’s stable? Long-term? Our investment requires a steady hand at the helm.”
“Absolutely,” I assure him, ignoring the twist in my gut. “Nothing could be more solid.”
Just then, the private dining room door swings open. Jake moves immediately, but freezes when he sees who it is. The one person he has a standing order to let pass, no matter the circumstances.
My blood runs cold as my younger brother Nico strides in, his face a storm of emotion. The scarring on the left side of his face stands out starkly under the dining room lights.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Nico says condescendingly. “Please, continue discussing my brother’s stolen project.”
Fuck.
I rise slowly. “Nico. This is a private dinner.”
The investors stare in shock. I can practically see a billion dollars evaporating before my eyes.
“Private,” Nico laughs bitterly. “Like the conversations we had about Serenity Shores before the accident? When it was my concept? My vision?”
Mr. Chung’s eyebrows shoot up. Ms. Sharma leans forward slightly, suddenly very interested.
“Who is this?” Chung demands.
“My baby brother,” I say, working to keep my voice level. “Who should know better than to interrupt a business dinner.”
I turn to Jake, who’s already moving toward Nico. “Jake, please escort my brother to the bar. I’ll join him shortly.”
“No,” Nico says, his eyes wild. “I’m not going anywhere until we discuss what’s mine.”
The tension in the room is suffocating. I can see the investors exchanging glances, reassessing everything.
“Gentlemen, Ms. Sharma,” I say, turning to the investors. “Please excuse us for a moment. Family emergency. I’ll return shortly.”
Without waiting for their response, I grip Nico’s arm and steer him toward the door, Jake flanking us protectively.
“Fuck you, Dom,” Nico hisses, but allows himself to be guided out.
In the hallway, I spot a small private lounge. “There,” I tell Jake, nodding toward it.
Jake quickly checks the space and ushers us in, positioning himself near the entrance to ensure privacy.
The moment the door closes, I round on my brother. “What the fuck are you thinking? That’s a billion-dollar deal you just jeopardized.”
“Your billion-dollar deal,” Nico spits. “Built on my ideas.”
I run a hand through my hair, struggling to control my temper. “You’re drunk, Nico.”
“So what if I am?” He drops into a chair, his scarred face twisted in anger. “Doesn’t make what I’m saying any less true.”
Looking at him sends a familiar wave of guilt crashing through me. The scars. The pain in his eyes.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice softer now.
“What I deserve,” he says. “What you took from me.”
“I didn’t take anything from you.”
“Bullshit.” He stands again, pacing. “You left me there, Dom. You fucking left me. And then you took my resort concept and made it your own.”
The accusation hits like a physical blow, reopening wounds that never fully healed.
Memories flash through my mind.
Sounds. Screams.
My failure.
Coward.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for what happened.”
“Sorry doesn’t fix my face,” he says, touching the scarring. “Sorry doesn’t take back the last fifteen years of mental trauma.”
“What do you want me to do?” I ask, desperation creeping into my voice. “Tell me what I can do to make it right.”
His eyes narrow. “Anything?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Anything.”
A calculating look crosses his face. “I want twenty percent of Serenity Shores profits. And a five percent stake in Rossi Developments.”
The numbers are staggering. Even if he had contributed to the concept years ago, which is a stretch at best, ideas are a dime a dozen in this business. It’s the execution, the years of work, the risk, the capital, the sheer time I’ve put in that makes Serenity Shores valuable.
“Nico, you know that’s not reasonable,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “We talked about sustainable resort concepts once, years ago. That hardly makes it your project.”
“Bullshit,” he spits. “You stole it. Just like you steal everything.”
I take a deep breath. The guilt over what happened is crushing me, but I can’t let it cloud my business judgment completely.
“I’ll consider some form of compensation,” I say carefully. “But I need time to think about what’s fair. And you need to stay away from the business side of things until the deal closes.”
“Why?” he challenges. “Afraid your pristine investors will learn the truth about perfect Dominic Rossi?”
“The deal benefits us both,” I say evenly. “I’ll work out a share for you. So don’t sabotage it.”
He laughs bitterly. “And your wife? Does she know what kind of man she married?”
I stiffen. “Leave Tatiana out of this.”
“So protective,” he mocks. “I’ve seen the tabloid photos. She’s not your usual type. Not at all. What’s the angle? Is what you have with her actually real?”
Something in my expression must give me away, because he leans forward, suddenly interested.
“Oh, this is rich,” he says. “It’s not real, is it? What is she, arm candy for the investors?”
“It’s complicated,” I mutter.
“Uncomplicate it for me,” he presses.
I shouldn’t tell him. But he’s my brother. And despite everything, I can’t lie to him. Not with the weight of my past failure hanging between us.
“We got married in Vegas,” I admit. “Accidentally. Under the influence. The news broke while the resort funding was in progress. The investors were spooked. We agreed to stay married until the deal closes.”
“And then what?”
“Annulment,” I say, the word feeling strange on my tongue after the kiss I shared with Tatiana earlier.
Nico shakes his head, looking almost impressed. “Shit, Dom. You’re even more fucked up than I am.”
I nod slowly. I probably am.
“Anyway,” he says, his voice becoming hard. “I want a number by the end of the week. And a good faith payment. Two million.”
I don’t nod. I don’t agree. That amount is ridiculous and we both know it.
“I’ll think about it,” I say instead. “But I need you to back off until the deal closes. Understood?”
He stands, straightening his jacket. “A week.” He smirks. “And tell your temporary wife I said hello.”
I watch him leave, Jake following him out to ensure he actually exits the building.
Alone in the private lounge, I sink into a chair, my head in my hands. Everything is falling apart. The investors are likely discussing an exit strategy right now. Nico is trying to extort me for millions. And Tatiana...
My phone buzzes again with her name on the screen.
I can’t talk to her now. And when I do, I definitely can’t tell her about this. Not when we’re so close to the finish line. This is my burden to bear, my guilt to pay for. Telling her would only complicate things when we need stability more than ever.
Eleven more days. I just need to keep everything together for eleven more days.
I compose a text: Late meeting. Don’t wait up. We’ll talk tomorrow.
Then I straighten my tie, take a deep breath, and head back to face the investors.