Jocelyn Lyndon-Holt, clad in a pristine designer suit, was white in the face and vibrating with barely concealed fury. Zac might have enjoyed her agitation if he’d felt more relaxed, but he had a bad sense of foreboding.
She stalked towards him on thin legs and threw down a sheaf of papers on his desk. ‘You can tell that little tart of yours that I didn’t appreciate her visit yesterday, and that she’ll be facing the full might of my legal team if she thinks she can break the contract she signed with me. Not to mention the non-disclosure agreement. Needless to say the press will have a field-day when they discover that she set out to deliberately seduce you for her own gain.’
The dread Zac had been feeling solidified in his gut. He looked down at the sheaf of papers on his desk. Torn-up papers. Legalese language: I the undersigned do hereby agree to... I agree never to disclose...
He looked at his grandmother, his brain locking on to one thing. ‘She visited you?’
The older woman’s too-smooth face couldn’t show her full fury, but it came through in her shaking voice. ‘She had the gall to come into my house and demand to see me—to tell me that she wanted her baby to be a Valenti. She’s a romantic and naive fool indeed if she heard your sob story and now thinks that you can offer her some sort of a happy ending. We both know that doesn’t exist—don’t we, Zachary?’
We both know that doesn’t exist...
Zac felt as if someone had just shocked him back to life... Hadn’t he on some level, ever since he’d learnt about his parents, hoped that it did exist? Hadn’t he based his whole resurrection on some kind of hope for...more?
He hadn’t let himself believe in it in an emotional sense—too cowardly after a lifetime of being denied love—so he’d channelled it into his work. Believing that power would fill the gap of more.
And then he’d met Rose and the gap had opened again—painfully—showing him that he did want so much more, and to believe in purity and honesty. Until he’d found out that she’d betrayed him and he’d felt like an abject fool.
He walked around the desk to his grandmother and bit out, ‘When did she come to see you?’
She glared up at him. ‘That’s all you care about? When you know I can crush you and your reputation to pieces?’
He restrained himself from shaking her. ‘Old woman, tell me now—or, so help me God, I’ll bury the name of Lyndon-Holt so deep that it’ll never be spoken of again or remembered.’
Something of his deadly cold fury seemed to get through to her and she said grudgingly, ‘Yesterday afternoon.’ Her voice became vitriolic. ‘She didn’t even want money, stupid girl. She just wanted her father’s operation to be paid for. I should have known then she was a useless sentimental fool, and I had my doubts—especially when she left her sorry little note saying that she couldn’t go through with it—but then I forced her to meet you again and she actually got pregnant...’
Zac turned to ice. He couldn’t deny the truth any longer. Everything slid into terrifying, horrifying place. Rose really had been just an innocent, scared woman. Very naive, yes, but innocent. Dear God, above all innocent.
He managed to restrain himself from exploding and said frigidly, ‘First of all, she is not stupid. Not even remotely. Second of all, you found a distraught, upset employee and you took advantage of her. You used her sick father’s life to manipulate her. And you have the temerity to judge her?’
Zac’s voice had risen almost to a roar by the end.
Jocelyn Lyndon-Holt’s cold blue eyes narrowed on her grandson. No hint of love or emotion. She said disdainfully, ‘You really are your mother’s son, aren’t you? Repeating history all over again. You’ve fallen for a naive little innocent when you could have had everything, Zachary. There would have been no limit to where you could have ended up.’
Zac just shook his head. He thought of himself looking back to where he’d left Rose in that ballroom the previous evening and seeing nothing but an empty space. He thought of the empty apartment and her note.
‘You’re right, you know,’ he said bleakly. ‘I could have had everything but I let it go. Now, get out of my sight—before I have you thrown out.’
* * *
Rose held
her father’s hand in hers. Tears blurred her vision when he opened his eyes and squinted at her, saying croakily, ‘Roisín, is that you, love?’
She brushed away the tears. ‘Yes, Dad, it’s me. I’m right here.’
He sounded wonderstruck, his eyes clearing. He looked around. ‘It’s over, then? And I’m still alive?’
Rose let out a half-laugh full of relief and gratitude. ‘Yes, it’s over. And, yes, you’re alive. You did amazingly. The doctor said you’ve got another thirty years in you, at least.’
‘Oh, now...’ her father said, with a tired but relieved smile. ‘Sure, what would I be doing with another thirty years?’
She took his hand and put it on her belly. She said emotionally, ‘Well, for a start, you’ll be helping me with Junior and telling him or her all about where they come from.’
‘So it wasn’t a dream, then?’
She shook her head and forced a smile. No, it hadn’t been a dream. It was a bit of a nightmare, actually, now that she’d have to figure out how best to deal with Zac and the inevitable repercussions from having stood up to Mrs Lyndon-Holt. But for the moment things were good. Her father was safe and that was all that mattered. She would worry about the rest later.
Her father frowned. ‘The father, Roisín—’