Sienna Roberts was making him crazy.
He kept the artwork close. To remind him of the fate of his brother, and who exactly was responsible. He’d studied it every night since Clinton’s death. Thought of Clinton’s words, “I guess this Dyson wasn’t good enough.”
He’d told himself the drawing was in his bedroom to keep him on task. However, he now found himself wondering if it wasn’t there for an entirely different reason. One that had little to do with revenge.
Letting out a sharp sigh, he opened his eyes and pushed himself from his chair and walked over to the window. His office comprised the entire northern corner of the top floor of the DMC main office building. It commanded multi-million-dollar views of Sydney Harbor, views that normally set his mind at ease.
“Not today.” He scowled. Not for a while actually.
Not since he’d first laid eyes on Sienna.
She’s playing me. Remember what she did to Clint.
She’d made a mistake fooling with the Dysons. But she would learn. He’d see to that. He’d deliver retribution. The Dyson way.
He would lead her on and make her feel like the world was hers, and then bring that world down around her in an almighty crash. Just like she had to Clinton. He would use her and cut her loose. The same way she had Clinton. He would take complete and utter possession of her body and her mind, and then reject her and leave her life shattered. The same way she had Clinton. He would carry out his plan. He would see that justice was done.
The way he’d promised his brother he would.
Sienna Roberts didn’t stand a—
The door to his office opened, shattering the dark, disquieting thoughts. Jaw knotted, he turned.
Harvey Dyson strode into the room, attired in an impeccable suit, his steel-gray hair slicked back from his hawkish face. “James.”
“Dad.”
“I didn’t find you here last night.” Disapproval turned Harvey’s smug smile to a frown. If there was one thing Harvey didn’t like, it was people not meeting his expectations. Those people suffered.
Harvey Dyson was a hard man, cold, ruthless, and unforgiving—in both business and family matters. He’d forged a media empire from nothing and was arguably now one of the most powerful and influential men in Australia, controlling the majority of what people heard, read, and saw. On the way to this auspicious end, his marriage to his childhood sweetheart had dissolved, his school and university friends had turned away from his brutal ambition, and he’d come close to working himself to death more than once. He had no weaknesses and expected the same dedication and sacrifice from everyone around him, from his sons the most. If you didn’t make the grade, you were cast aside.
James moved to his desk and sat down as his father took the chair opposite him. “I was in the gym for a while and then had some personal business to attend.”
Harvey’s gray eyebrows rose. “Personal business, ’eh? She must be good to keep you from returning to work.”
How would the old man react if told his only surviving son had spent twenty minutes only yesterday afternoon with the woman responsible for Clinton’s death? A surprisingly hot and thoroughly enjoyable twenty minutes?
What would Harvey say of his plans for the sensual, manipulative artist?
What plans are those? The plans to seduce her, or the plans to destroy her?
The unexpected stab of guilt at that last thought surprised him. Why in the hell was his mind sending him mixed messages? Where had his cold hatred gone? What had replaced it? Interest? Surely not. And since when did he ever feel guilty? He leaned back into his high-back chair and leveled a steady gaze at his father over the desk. “Are you here for a reason, Dad? I thought you were in New York.”
Harvey mimicked his movements, threading his fingers behind his head. “Got in last night. Thought I’d drop in and find out how things are going with DMC. And my son.”
“Both are fine.”
Harvey pursed his lips, his narrow-eyed inspection crawling over James. “So are you going to tell me who she is?”
“No.”
“Keeping secrets from your father? Tsk, tsk.”
“She’s not your type.” Keeping the growl from his voice was harder than he thought. Why the hell was he feeling protective of Sienna?