Lucas examined the purchase agreement for twenty thousand shares of Blake Corporation stock in the name of one of his insurance conglomerates. With this latest acquisition, he owned almost half of Jason's company. Cold pleasure filled him, and he savored its icy embrace.
So close. He was so close to fulfilling the promise-ruining Jason Blake-he'd vowed over his father's grave so many years ago.
"No red flags?" Lucas glanced up from the contract.
"None. With you buying relatively small amounts through different corporations over the last couple of years, no one has caught on. As far as Jason Blake is concerned, he still retains the controlling shares in the company."
And he had. Jason possessed 44 percent of Blake Corporation's shares, the remaining split up between many stockholders. If any of the stock had been steadily scooped up by one entity, the company would have been put on alert that someone was attempting a possible takeover. But for two years, Lucas had been quietly purchasing stock as it became available through the many firms and businesses under the Bay Bridge Industries umbrella. As of today, he effectively owned controlling interest in Jason Blake's company.
Fruition of his revenge dangled like an apple on a just-out-of-reach branch. His fingertips grazed the prize, but couldn't grab it. Yet.
There remained one final step before he could claim victory. The step he relished above all the others.
"Have legal draw up a contract demanding Jason Blake resign as CEO and chairman of the board of directors of Blake Corporation."
Even as he uttered the request, an unbidden image of Sydney appeared in his head. Her, standing at the railing of the Seattle home, glancing over her shoulder and gifting him with one of her rare, unguarded smiles.
"Have you told Sydney about your past with her father?"
Sometimes Lucas swore the other man was a mind reader. And those times-like now-were damn annoying.
"No." Lucas tossed the contract on his desk. "I haven't."
Aiden scowled. "Why the hell not? So I guess you also haven't informed her of your plan to buy out her father's company from under him?"
"And risk her telling Jason? No. She has no loyalty toward me."
"She might if you told her the truth. If you told her about why you've set this whole Machiavellian scheme in motion. But if you don't at least give her the benefit of the doubt, you're going to lose her."
"Lose her?" Lucas scoffed, falling back in his chair. "You say that like I ever had her."
The truce he and Sydney had agreed on in Seattle had remained intact since their return to Boston three weeks earlier. Their lives had fallen into an alarmingly domesticated pattern: he left early in the morning for the office, and she spent most of her day at the youth center. She arrived home before he did and arranged for dinner to be ready when he walked through the door. They dined together, discussing neutral topics such as her work at the center and invitations she'd accepted on their behalf. Afterward, he'd disappear inside his study to finish up anything he hadn't been able to address during the day. And then … then he entered their room, where he and his wife had sex until neither one of them could move. At the bedroom door, all polite civility ended, and they took each other with a wild abandon that pleased and shocked the hell out of him.
And left him hungry.
Not just for her body and all that startling, amazing passion, but for her. The parts of herself she doled out to Yolanda and Melinda Evans and the girls at the youth center, but not to him. Unless she was writhing under him in bed, losing control. Only then did she lower her guard. He'd believed he would be satisfied with sex-didn't want any more than that. He'd been wrong.
Especially when Tyler had possessed more of her than Lucas had. Her ex-fiancé had earned her friendship, her esteem, her affection. Hell, on their wedding night, she'd asked for more time because of Tyler. Lucas clenched his fist, hating the dual serrated edges of helplessness and jealousy sinking their jagged teeth into his chest.
"The world is not some fairy tale, Aiden. You and I know that better than anyone. Sydney married me because I blackmailed her. She wanted to save her father from jail, and I wanted to prevent Jason from getting his hands on Tyler Reinhold's money." If he hadn't interceded, she would be planning her engagement party to another man at this moment.
"Yet you're the only one winning in this situation. Jason may not go to jail, but you're going to ruin him. And you used his daughter to do it. Have you even considered how that's going to devastate her?" Aiden snapped.
"What do you want me to do?" Lucas shot from his chair, as if trying to escape the guilt that slicked his skin, invaded his pores. He stalked to the large window overlooking the financial district as well as the west entrance to the Public Garden. If he squinted, he could make out the statue of George Washington on horseback. Normally, he enjoyed the view. But at this moment, he hardly noticed it. "Turn my back on the promise I made to my father? Just let Jason Blake get away with the damage he's done? Because of him, I grew up without a father. He laid waste to my life."
"No, he didn't," Aiden murmured. "Luke, you are a successful, respected businessman who owns and runs one of the largest conglomerate organizations in the world. You've achieved the impossible from most people's viewpoint-emerging from the inner city of Chicago's South Side to beat the odds as a powerful, wealthy man." He sighed, pushing himself out of his chair. "I'm your friend, so when I say this, I'm leaning on that friendship. It isn't Jason Blake's fault you grew up without a father … It's your father's fault."
Lucas remained still, but inside, he flinched as if Aiden had sucker punched him in the chest. "Everything I've done, everything I am is because I swore one day he would pay for all the pain and loss he's wreaked. And you want me to choose between my father and a woman I met less than two months ago? A woman who's made it clear her first loyalty is to the man who stole the one person I loved most and my childhood from me?"
"No," Aiden said quietly. "I want you to choose between living and existing."
…
"Thank you, James." Sydney smiled at Lucas's driver as he clasped her hand and guided her from the backseat of the luxury town car. "I should be ready about one thirty. If I'm running later than that, I'll call you."
He dipped his head in acknowledgment. "I'll wait here for you, Mrs. Oliver."
Mrs. Oliver. One month, and she still hadn't become used to the new last name. Or the enigma that was her husband. After the week in Seattle, she'd believed they had at least established a basis for friendship. But after they'd returned home, Lucas had become remote-more so than before their honeymoon.
Except at night.
At night he changed into the fierce, passionate lover who'd introduced her to a pleasure beyond her wildest imagination. As if the moon spilling across the hardwood floors of their bedroom transformed the cold, reserved man into a voracious beast.
Putting those thoughts out of my head right now.
God, if she walked into this restaurant for lunch with her mother flushed and aroused, Charlene wouldn't stop pestering her until she ferreted the truth out of Sydney. And as nosy as her mother could be, she doubted Charlene would appreciate all the salacious details of her daughter's love life.
And they were salacious.
Smoothing a palm down the side of her black pencil skirt, Sydney double-checked the white peasant-style shirt for wrinkles and the stiletto boots for scuff marks. Her mother's vision could shame an eagle into visiting an optometrist; she wouldn't miss the slightest imperfection.
Inhaling, she entered the upscale restaurant at which Charlene had called and requested Sydney meet her for lunch. Threading through the semi-crowded dining area, she spotted her mother at a table near the wide front window.
Charlene rose and lightly kissed her on either cheek. The familiar scent of Chanel No. 5 enveloped Sydney, and a rush of emotion poured through her-joy at seeing her mother after weeks of no contact, sorrow at the estrangement, apprehension over the confrontation. Because with her mother, there was no such thing as a simple lunch.
"What did you do to your hair?" Charlene grimaced, pinching a curl. "God, Sydney, you look like a ragamuffin. Does Lucas Oliver not allow you to visit a stylist or at least buy you a dryer?"
The criticism stung, but Sydney covered it with a courteous smile as she lowered to the chair across from Charlene and fought the habitual urge to apologize. Not only did Lucas seem to like the full tumble of spirals, but she'd grown to love the natural style. At what point did she stop allowing her mother to make her feel like a five-year-old instead of a twenty-five-year-old capable of making her own decisions? Of feeling unworthy?