Valerie

Val

Someone was banging at the door. Who the hell was banging at the door? I blinked my eyes open slowly and realised three things at once: I wasn't in my bedroom, the banging was an alarm blaring, and I was completely naked. I jerked up in bed, reaching out to shut the obnoxious alarm off before my gaze landed on the equally naked man beside me. I froze—images of the dark-haired stranger and everything we'd done last night assaulted me in HD. Holy shit. I had had a one-night stand with some guy from my sister and ex-boyfriend’s wedding. My cheeks flamed as I slipped quietly from the bed, gathering my clothes as stealthily as possible so as not to wake him. I couldn't deal with this; I had an important business meeting that morning. Shrugging on my clothes at lightning speed, I hesitated only long enough to scribble my number on the notepad by his bedside table. As I jumped into an idling cab downstairs, I felt like the biggest fool on the planet for leaving my number for a one-night stand.

Twenty minutes later I was striding into the Dover Hotel conference room in a crisp navy suit and four-inch heels, hair pulled into a ruthless bun. "Val," my father nodded curtly as I took my seat at the enormous oval table. "I didn't think you would be here. Especially not after you abandoned your family last night." My jaw clenched. "I didn't abandon anyone." "Then what would you call slipping away in the middle of my wedding?" Zane hissed from my other side. "If you can't be happy for me, it's fine, but at least be happy for your sister." "You can both burn—" My father's pointed look snapped my mouth shut. "I was feeling a little sick and had to leave," I said stiffly. "I should have let you know. I apologise." "It's not me you should be apologising to. It's your sister who was hurt by your absence." I fought an eye-roll. "I'm surprised to see you here instead of halfway across the world on an enchanting honeymoon." Zane smiled — a shark-like widening of lips that made me shudder. "Oh, you know how it is with Alice. She's going to spend the whole day packing so I thought I should be here." "You're a hardworking man, Zane," Father praised. I stared at him in disbelief. Zane came into work maybe twice a week, knew nothing of the business, hadn't bothered to learn—yet here he was collecting pats on the back while I'd broken myself to keep the company alive and earned derision in return. "Thanks, Dad," my ex said meekly and I nearly exploded. The door opened then, cutting me off, and a line of men marched in. I tracked them with disinterest until the last one and felt my head spin like a kicked football. No. Oh God no. My stomach lurched as the dark-haired man in a three-piece gray suit walked in.

"Mr. Finnegan," my father stood and held out his hand. The man whose bed I'd left less than an hour ago flicked his dark eyes over my father's palm, ignored it, and took the head of the table instead. My hands folded in my lap, fingers twisting the fabric of my pants. "I have to admit I was disappointed that you didn't honour our wedding invite," Zane began, forcing politeness like a mask. The man's voice was harder now, colder—nothing like the teasing stranger who'd coaxed me to leave the party and get drunk. A disordered flash of memory tried to fit itself into sense. "Of course, you are," Zane chuckled nervously beside me. I knew I couldn't hide forever. There was no way I had been foolish enough to sleep with Killian Finnegan—my father's biggest rival and the thorn in our company's side.

"I'm here to discuss a takeover," Killian said, "My lawyers have been kind enough to draw up documents—" "We're not selling the company to you," my father barked. "Why not? You're on your last leg and only a miracle can stop your company from going under," Killian said with amused disdain. "No bank will loan you money because your financial records are a mess, and no other company will partner with you. How do I know that? Because I've put out the word: siding with you means siding against me." Father leaped up, slamming his palms down on the table. "Enough!" he roared. "You are never getting my family legacy in your greedy hands. You may have bought off everyone else, but the three of us in this room hold final power. Without us, you can never take this company. If you have nothing else, we're done here." My stomach rolled; I tried to shut out the buzz of the room. Then something glinted on my lap—a scrap, a corner catching the light. What the hell? Killian's cold voice cut through the hum and I lifted my head to find his eyes locked on mine. "I want you to remember, Mr. Atwood, that I gave you a choice," he said smoothly. Rage ripped through me. "You bastard!" I shook with fury. His mouth curved into a smile I had seen in bed and in a bar, and the soundless freeze of terror and recognition pooled in my veins. "Hello, wife."