His Surrender (Empire State of Love #6)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

DEAN

Idon’t make mistakes.

Not little ones and certainly not the kind that costs millions. And I definitely don’t have trouble focusing, like the last ten minutes in my board meeting, where I’m staring at the same slide without hearing a damn word anyone has said.

“Dean?”

My assistant, Brady’s, voice cuts through the fog.

I blink. “What?”

He doesn’t bother hiding the concern on his face. “Sawyer asked if you approved the revised numbers.”

Shit. I glance down at the packet in front of me, realizing I’m still sitting on page one. Across the conference table, Sawyer studies me over the rim of his coffee mug.

His eyebrows turn up with interest. “You’re somewhere else.”

I sit up tall. “I’m listening.”

“No,” he corrects me matter-of-factly, “you’re pretending to listen.”

I look around the table and notice a few executives suddenly become very interested in their laptops.

Normally, I’d have a sarcastic comeback ready, but today, I don’t. I don’t have the energy.

“I’ve had a rough week,” I reply, hoping that doesn’t invite more questions.

Sawyer’s forehead creases. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

I don’t press him on what that means. Have I dropped the ball on other things? I know I’ve been distracted, but I thought, up until now, I’d managed to fool everyone.

Of course Sawyer would be the one to notice. He’s my best friend—has been since freshman year of college sixteen years ago.

We grew our tech business from nothing our first year out of college after building a software platform our junior year.

I manage to get through the meeting without completely looking like an incompetent asshole. As soon as Sawyer closes it out, I grab my stuff and make a beeline for my office.

The sun illuminates my corner office as the view of Manhattan in the background beams with reflecting light along the buildings.

I shake out of my gray jacket and toss it on the back of a chair in the corner, then walk to my desk. I feel the cool brown leather of my chair as I take a seat.

Brady knocks on the door, though that doesn’t stop him from walking in anyway. “Do you want me to cancel my dinner plans tonight? I know those numbers that Sawyer wants approved may take some time.”

“I’ll take a look at them at my place tonight,” I reply.

“Oh, uh, sure. I’ll be around if you need me.”

“Thanks, Brady.”

As soon as he leaves my office, my body relaxes only for a moment. There’s only so long I can keep up this lie I’m living.

It’s not like I’m hiding something dark. I’m just not ready to share this part of my life with everybody yet. Not while I’m trying to figure it all out myself.

Before Sawyer can corner me and ask more questions, I dip out of the office at five.

I never leave at five. Not unless I’m going home to get ready for a business dinner.

My driver, Louis, is leaning against the black SUV when I step outside onto the street. The crisp fall New York City wind hits me and blows my tie just as he opens the door for me.

“Mr. Ledger,” he says with a nod.

“Thanks, Lou. Just going home for the evening.”

I slide onto the leather seat. The moment the door closes, my head falls back against the headrest.

I don’t remember ever being this tired before. I’ve worked back-to-back all-nighters before, and never once did it hit my body like this.

I could easily fall asleep on the drive home, but I know it’s not worth it. It’d just be a tease. A glimpse into what my body desperately needs but will not get.

Lou opens the door for me.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Lou. Take the weekend off.”

His eyes open wide. “Of course, Mr. Ledger. Enjoy your weekend.”

Right. Enjoy my weekend.

Instead of thinking too hard on that, I step into the private elevator that runs up to my penthouse. It takes me directly up to my floor.

For fifteen years, I have paid people to make sure my place looks exactly the way I like it. Cleaned, controlled, and quiet.

As I walk through the foyer, I see a stuffed giraffe lying in the middle of the floor. The kitchen has bottles soaking, and a burp cloth is draped over the back of a chair that cost more than most people’s monthly rent.

I don’t even bother picking anything up.

“You’re home.” Frieda steps out of the kitchen, keeping her voice low. “She finally fell asleep.”

I glance toward the living room, where the motorized swing rocks back and forth beside the windows overlooking Manhattan. Inside it is the little human who turned my entire life upside down seven days ago.

My two-month-old daughter, Liana.

She doesn’t even stir when I walk over and crouch beside the swing. Tiny fists rest near her cheeks; her dark eyelashes fanned against impossibly soft skin.

It’s still surreal that someone this small belongs to me. Seven days after meeting her, I haven’t gotten used to it. I’m not sure I ever will.

When the call came from Child Protective Services last Friday, I thought they had the wrong number.

Now I find myself memorizing every little detail about her—the swirl of dark hair at the crown of her head, the way her lips purse in her sleep, the small sigh she lets out every few minutes that somehow makes my own lungs work again.

“She had four ounces about an hour ago,” Frieda says quietly behind me. “She’ll probably wake in another forty-five minutes.”

I nod, even though I’m still pretending I know what four ounces is supposed to mean.

A week ago, I could’ve told you the revenue projections for every division of Ledger Technologies without opening a spreadsheet. Today, I’m celebrating because I remembered to warm a bottle without overheating it.

Frieda watches me with that same patient expression she’s worn since the day she arrived.

“Long day?” she asks, her soft voice covered with a hint of sympathy.

I exhale slowly. “The longest.”

She smiles knowingly. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

A tired laugh escapes me. “I’m getting the hang of surviving.”

Her smile fades. “I wish I could stay longer.”

And there it is. The sentence that’s been sitting between us since Monday.

I straighten, slipping my hands into my pockets because I suddenly don’t know what else to do with them.

I drag a hand through my hair. “I understand. You’ve already committed to another family. You can’t push back the start date. I’ve called three agencies.”

“Any luck?”

“They can send résumés.”

“But not by next week.”

“No.”

Silence settles between us, broken only by the gentle mechanical sway of the swing.

For the first time in my life, I have absolutely no idea how to solve the biggest problem in front of me.