The Billionaire’s Forbidden Desire(49)

“I thought maybe if we had enough children, created a large and loyal family, he’d change.” Her voice sounded wet and thick. “I was young and foolish…and, quite frankly, desperate.”

Goddamn it. Was he supposed to feel sorry for her now?

“Dane, don’t make the same mistake I made. Don’t do things because of your father or for Shirley or anyone else.”

“Believe me, I don’t.”

She went on like he hadn’t spoken. “Do them because they’re what you want to do. That’s all I called to tell you.” She exhaled, the sound tinged with defeat. “I’m sure you’re very busy. I have to go.” She hung up.

He tossed the phone on the desk and pressed his thumbs over his eyes. Easy for her to say. She hadn’t been created to serve her parents’ need for control, or to hurt each other.

He slumped in his seat and stared at the ceiling. Lashing out at her had been a mistake. All that was in the past, and he’d told himself numerous times that he wouldn’t let his parents get to him. Not worth his mental energy.

Still… Her parting remark wouldn’t leave his mind.

If he really could do whatever he wanted, consequences be damned…

He spun his chair around. The sun shone through his ceiling-high windows; outside the city of Los Angeles winked and sparkled, from the chrome-and-glass office towers to the shimmering sea beyond. It seemed like a vista of possibilities.

What would he have done with Sophia if Salazar hadn’t been in the picture?

If Sophia had come to Dane and asked for help, he would’ve given her money. Maybe even found a place for her to stay. Her father had apparently left her broke, and Dane had more money than he could spend in ten lifetimes. She hadn’t finished college—she’d said she hadn’t even started when they’d met three years ago—so he would have helped her graduate.

Her ability to see through his layers always made him apprehensive. He didn’t want her to get too close, unveil too much, but she intrigued him like no one else and had lingered in his mind for three years. That was an awfully long time…especially for someone like him.

So his reaction to her had been tainted by Salazar’s presence. The comment about “leftovers” had goaded him. But there hadn’t been any hint of impropriety between Salazar and Sophia at the family mansion. Dane squinted into the sun, considering. If he had to put a word on the way his father was treating her, it would be “fatherly”…even if Salazar had let her drive the Aston Martin.

Salazar had said he was continuing a game nobody else wanted to play. And he knew the power of perception better than anybody. Dane could very well be dancing to his father’s tune.

Dane stood up, running a hand over his mouth. Then he turned and looked at his austere, utilitarian office. On the other side of the right-hand wall was Sophia.

Fuck Salazar. It was about time he started doing what the hell he wanted.





Chapter Twenty-Two


Heart pounding, Sophia tiptoed back to her desk. The memo in her hand trembled; she realized it was actually her hands that were shaking.

She plopped into her seat.

She hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself either. The furious, barely controlled voice had made it impossible to move. She’d never heard Dane sound like that before.

If she hadn’t heard it with her own ears, she wouldn’t have believed his parents had treated him with such calculated cruelty, but Dane hadn’t been lying about the way he’d grown up. There had been an ocean of raw hurt beneath his contemptuous words.

She placed the memo on her desk and took a deep breath. Dane mustn’t know she’d overheard the phone call. It would only upset him, and there was no telling how he’d react. He seemed to have a knack for putting the worst spin on everything—not surprising, given what she’d just heard—and she didn’t want any misunderstandings between them.

The intercom buzzed. “Sophia, can you come into my office for a moment?”

She composed her features before entering. Dane’s face was as calm and placid as if he’d just come from having a pleasant afternoon tea with someone. If she hadn’t heard the conversation, she would’ve never known he’d just had a knock-down drag-out with his mother.

Ice water flows in his veins.

Elizabeth’s words came back to her. That was one interpretation for his reaction. Or maybe he’d forced himself to be cold and unfeeling so nothing could touch him. A man with ice water for blood wouldn’t have drunk all that scotch over the death of his grandmother.

“I need the memo on yesterday’s pitches.”