Chapter 38
Chapter 38:
“She came to the house,” Aspen began, her voice trembling. “Kieran — she was different. Cold. She hit me.” Aspen gestured to the faint redness on her cheek. “She forced Dad to sign over some shares. And she said — she said the man at the club, the one who hit you, he was just hired muscle. She said her real husband is some powerful, reclusive old man who bought her. She needed the money to pay off debts. She implied Babe had gotten her into something bad. Drugs, maybe p>
Kieran clenched his good fist. The pieces clicked into place in his warped reality. The tall man was a bodyguard. Jocelyn was in trouble. Babe had gotten her hooked, and now she’d sold herself to some decrepit old man to feed her habit. His beautiful, pure Jocelyn — a fallen woman.
“I knew it,” he breathed, a dark fire lighting in his eyes. “She’s a victim. She needs me p>
Jocelyn pulled the sleek, dark grey Porsche Panamera — the car from spot B2 — up to the curb in front of The Oak Room. Gaston had texted her to pick him up because the driver had a family emergency. The car felt alien and ostentatious, and she drove it with a self-conscious stiffness.
She saw him standing under the awning.
He wasn’t alone.
A man stood beside him — tall, blond, devastatingly handsome in a light grey suit. He was laughing, his hand resting familiarly on Gaston’s shoulder. He reached out and adjusted Gaston’s lapel, smoothing the fabric with a tenderness that made Jocelyn’s stomach drop.
So this was him, she thought. The Vance from her research, in the flesh. The rumors hadn’t done him justice. This was the boyfriend. The reason for the sham marriage.
𝘘uаl𝗶𝘁𝗒 𝘵𝗿𝘢𝘯𝘴𝗅𝗮𝘁𝗂oոѕ оո
Gaston saw the car. He said something to Vance, who smiled and waved. Gaston got into the passenger seat.
“Who was that?” Jocelyn asked, trying to sound casual as she merged into traffic.
“Vance,” Gaston said, buckling his seatbelt. “My business partner p>
He noticed the flicker of confirmation in her eyes and decided not to correct her. Her misunderstanding was a useful buffer — a way to maintain a professional distance at the precise moment his own was starting to crumble.
“He’s very handsome,” Jocelyn said.
Gaston looked at her. “I suppose p>
“You two looked close p>
“We’ve been together a long time,” Gaston said, the double meaning hanging in the air between them. “Since college p>
Jocelyn nodded, gripping the steering wheel. “That’s nice. It’s good to have someone who really knows you p>
Gaston frowned. Why did she sound so sad?
“This car,” he said, changing the subject. He tapped the dashboard of the Porsche. “It suits you p>
“It feels like I’m trying too hard p>
“It’s an investment,” Gaston said. “In your new role. Tomorrow, you walk into that hotel as the owner. You can’t pull up in a cab p>
“I could take the subway. It would keep me humble p>
Gaston looked at her profile — the jaw set in that stubborn line he was beginning to recognize and, though he wouldn’t admit it, to adore.
“Humility is overrated,” he muttered.
The conference room at the Wolfe Hotel smelled of lemon polish and fear.
Twelve executives sat around the mahogany table. At the head sat Uncle Vincent — Robert’s brother, a man who had failed upward his entire career.
The doors opened.
Jocelyn walked in. She wore a white suit, sharp and tailored. She didn’t look like an assistant. She looked like a CEO.