Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Gabe

T he office in this new house was also a major selling point for me. It doubles as a library, stocked with shelves upon shelves of classic books bound in rich, brown leather. It's not that I'm an avid reader, although I do read on occasion, but it's the room's atmosphere that speaks to me. White paneled walls, fabric-draped windows and dark hardwood floors softened by a deep blue and white geometric-patterned rug underfoot gives me the warmth and casual comfort I never had at my parents' home. A buttery caramel leather couch sits before a hand-carved mantel, also in white, and the cherry desk is ornate and old-fashioned.

It's traditional and charming, the absolute antithesis to the minimalist décor and concrete gray walls of the Mardraggon estate that screamed of order and strict boundaries.

In the early twilight, the moss-covered oaks and the edge of the pool house are visible outside the panoramic windows with a hint of horse pasture beyond, but those fields are empty. I'm not a horse person nor did I buy this estate to fill it with such. I don't appreciate the scenery and only spare it a glance before focusing on the thick sheaf of papers before me. I'm three hours deep into plotting the careful dismantling of Lionel Mardraggon's legacy. I plan to remove him from the head of our empire.

A knock pulls me from my thoughts and I'd nearly forgotten I had an appointment this evening.

It's her—Kat Blackburn—and I'm immediately tense with anticipation of a fight.

I've put off this meeting as long as possible. Just days ago, I was hounding Ethan to meet with me because we have some major business decisions to make about the winery and I can't make a move without his approval. But now that Ethan has delegated his duties to his sister, I don't want to be bothered with any of it.

Okay, that's not quite accurate.

It's Kat I don't want to be bothered with.

Of all the Blackburns I would've preferred to deal with on a business matter, Kat would be the last. She's the least preferable to have to pass on opposite sides of a busy street because even that close of a proximity invites disgruntlement.

It's always been that way, some occasions stronger than others, and it will never change.

But as it stands, if I want to have a pathway back to Sylvie, it seems the winery is my best chance. Therefore, I'm going to have to deal with the raven-haired beauty.

When I open the front door, she stands there in all her perfect glory, her green eyes burning promises of mayhem as they pierce me. She's a horse girl through and through and always has been. Although I've seen her at high-society functions in dazzling gowns, Kat Blackburn is most comfortable—and admittedly, most beautiful—in faded jeans, her face scrubbed free of makeup. She's got a purse over one shoulder and a three-ring binder tucked under her arm.

"You're late," I say, having glanced at my watch on the way to greet her, even though I lost track of time myself. I don't let her know that.

"Tough shit," she replies as she pushes past me into the house.

"Come on in," I mutter with an exaggerated sweep of my hand from behind her while shutting the door.

Tucking my hands into my pockets, I watch as Kat's head tips and she takes in the cathedral ceilings with coffered beams. The heavy chandeliers are dimmed and cast a warm glow on the parquet floors. Another selling point of the house—the softness of the lighting.

She glances back at me. "Could you have picked anything more ostentatious? What do you need all this for?"

I shrug, the corner of my mouth quirking. "What's the point of having money if you're not willing to spend it?"

"Spoken like a true shyster of a Mardraggon," she purrs.

"Spoken like a snot-nosed Blackburn brat," I retort.

"Better a brat than a murd—"

"Careful, Hell Kat," I warn in a low growl. "You can throw venom all you want at me, but don't you dare put me in the same category as my father."

Those green eyes flash with ire that I stopped her tirade but I see something deep within that she probably doesn't want to concede to me.

Contrition.

But she wants the last word, so she waves a dismissive hand. "This house is over the top and you know it."

"Sorry if I don't relish living in barns and smelling like horseshit," I drawl with a slow rake of my eyes down her body.

I'm not sure what it says about me when her cheeks flush red and those eyes light up with something close to hellfire, and it looks like she could happily punch me. Instead, she takes a long step and leans in close, whispering, "I just took a shower, so I know I smell good."

Fuck if my lungs don't betray me, my nostrils flaring just so I can be proven wrong. Yeah… she smells like spring flowers and spicy citrus.

I never want her to know that I need space from all that she represents so I turn on my heel and head toward my office. "Might as well get this over with," I say brusquely.

She's whisper quiet behind me but I can feel her presence as she follows. To keep things professional, I take a seat behind my desk and point to a chair on the opposite side. She settles into it, dropping her purse to the floor and placing the binder on her lap.

Kat glances around the office, eyeing the bookshelves with interest before her gaze settles on me. "So, really… what's the deal? Why did you move out of your parents' mausoleum?" She inclines her head in faux apology. "I'm sorry. I mean home. Did you buy this monstrosity because you're trying to compensate for something?"

I'm not sure why she needs to keep making her digs but I suspect it's just to get a rise out of me. I decide to quell it quickly. "You of all people know I don't need to compensate."

I hold my breath, waiting for her to explode with rage. I can feel the air crackle between us, the undeniable tension that speaks of a shared past that neither of us dare acknowledge.

But she breaks it by smiling, scoffing with amusement before her expression turns hard and unyielding. She holds up the binder. "I read the trust agreement and the other financials. I'm ready to discuss the winery."

"And like I told you when you reached out to me, we don't need to do anything right now. This meeting could have waited."

Which isn't exactly true. There are things we need to move on but I didn't want to deal with her and was hoping Ethan would come around and deal with me himself.

"Yet you were so eager to talk to Ethan," she counters with narrowed eyes.

No sense in lying. "Because I wanted to have a way in to see Sylvie."

She's unfazed by my proclamation and ignores it, probably to piss me off. "No, you told my brother that decisions had to be made regarding expansion plans. So I'm curious why you're avoiding it? Is it because you have to deal with me?"

Chuckling, I steeple my fingers, appraising her a moment. "You're no peach to deal with, Hell Kat."

She glares at me. "Stop calling me that."

"Why?" I probe, feeling like I have the upper hand for a change and enjoying the leverage. "You used to like it."

"That was a long time ago," she says primly, her voice a cool brush-off that doesn't quite reach her eyes. There's defiance in her words, challenge in her eyes. And for a moment, I remember why she's so attractive beyond her physical beauty.

Because she was unattainable in all ways and that only makes something more desirable. But as she said, that was a long time ago.

"Look," I say, giving a pointed glance at the binder in her hand. "You need to review more than a few profit-and-loss statements to be able to talk intelligently about the winery."

"How about you just lay it out to me like I'm a fifth grader and I'll pass it on to Ethan," she replies coolly.

"Fine." I lean forward in my chair, clasp my hands on the desk. "We have a major investment opportunity which will expand the wine distribution network. There are some innovative but risky marketing strategies I'd like to implement. Each decision could significantly impact revenue and market presence, thereby building more profit, which is ultimately all to Sylvie's benefit."

"You mean make her a bigger target to your dad," she says, her words so scathing I'm taken aback.

I slam my hand on the desk hard enough Kat jumps in her seat. My voice is low, bitterly cold and deadly calm. "I'm not going to repeat this ever again. I had nothing to do with my dad's plot to hurt Sylvie. Had I known about it, I would have stopped it. As it stands, I turned him in to the police, thereby ensuring her safety. So, while a little fucking gratitude would be nice, I sure as hell don't expect it from the likes of you. I would, however, appreciate you leaving the caustic remarks behind because all it does is make me want to boot your ass out of here so I can get back to more important things."

Kat's eyes burn with fury but she keeps that pretty mouth shut. After a moment of continued silence, which I accept as her affirmation she understands me, I say, "I will send over the expansion plans to you. I'll even summarize the important points. You pass it on to your brother and let me know what he thinks. We can communicate by email. No sense in meeting. Will that work for you?"

"That will work fine," she clips out. "But I have a request."

I cock an eyebrow at her.

"Amend the trust agreement to remove the death clause."

I internally wince at her labeling of the paragraph that gave my father the idea to murder his granddaughter. In its simplest form, it reads that if Sylvie dies before she turns twenty-one, her winery shares revert to Mardraggon Enterprises. I'm not opposed to abolishing that from the agreement at all, but I am wondering if I can use her request to get something in return. "And why would I do that?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," she snaps.

No doubt, it's absolutely the right thing to do. But not without me getting what I desperately want. "Talk Ethan into letting me see Sylvie and I'll gladly have it removed."

"Remove it first, then I'll talk to Ethan," she retorts.

I shake my head. "I need some good faith from your brother."

"And we would like to make sure Sylvie's protected. I think you're the one who should show good faith."

"Why? Because in case you've failed to notice, I've yet to act contrary to Sylvie's best interests."

"Maybe so, but you're a Mardraggon, and while you might not have had anything to do with your father's plot, and while you might have been the one to stop it from happening again, you're still a fucking Mardraggon and therefore cannot be trusted. You speak out of both sides of your mouth."

"Aaah," I say knowingly. "There it is. The real reason for your bluster here tonight."

"Whatever," she scoffs and leans over to pick up her purse. She rises from her chair and looks down at me. "We're done for now. Send over the information about the expansion plans. Amend the agreement. Then I'll talk to Ethan."

I don't agree to any of it, merely lock eyes with her. I'm going to do exactly what she asks for but she doesn't need to know that just now. We engage in a staring war, neither one of us blinking. I feel pettily triumphant when she looks away to glance down at her purse, reaching inside for something.

Pulling out a folded piece of paper, she offers it to me. "Sylvie wrote you a note."

I start to lunge for it but she pulls it back, out of my reach. "For once in your life, Gabe… do the right thing."

Kat drops the paper onto my desk and I resist the urge to pick it up. Instead, I keep my eyes on her as she turns on her heel and strides out of my office like she just closed a multimillion-dollar deal.

Granted, she probably won that round, but as my eyes land on the note, I can't be perturbed by it.

I unfold the paper and read the scrawling handwriting of my ten-year-old niece.

Dear Uncle Gabe,

I hope you are okay. I would like to see you but my dad says not yet. I am not mad at you and thank you for telling the police about Lionel. I hope to see you soon.

Love,

Sylvie

I blink against the sting in my eyes, reading over the simple words again. It's the best thing I could have been given right now because my main worry is how Sylvie views me. As much as my parents and I tried to turn her against the Blackburns to keep her in the fold, my father's actions have irrevocably turned her against my family. I didn't know if I would be lumped in with that generalization and it appears—for now—that I am not.

Tomorrow, I'll call my attorney and have him amend the trust agreement and then I'm going to push to see my niece.

I hear the front door open, then close. I'm left in the silence, Kat's defiance and demands lingering. I shake my head, ruminating about the one woman who always knew how to get under my skin.

Turning back to the shareholder's agreement for Mardraggon Enterprises, I try to force Kat Blackburn from my thoughts. She's a minor problem for me to handle down the road, but for now, I need to focus on taking down my father. Kat and these petty exchanges are a distraction I don't need to get embroiled in.

But the small voice inside me whispers that perhaps I want to match wits with her. Perhaps I want these confrontations. Because with every charged exchange, I'm reminded of a past I'm not sure I want to forget.

It's dangerous, this game we're playing, but I'm a Mardraggon.

Danger is our domain.