In the end, she sleeps for eight hours. When Morgan comes out of her bedroom, tousled and creased but looking sexy as hell, my brain stutters. Leaving this woman again is going to be hell. Thank God I don’t have to do it right now.
“How long was that?” The rasp in her voice makes my cock stir.
I force my mind to clear. “Eight hours.”
Her lips purse. “Are you going to force me back into bed?”
Probably at some point today, but not right this moment. There is some actual work to do. But after…
“How do you feel?”
She takes a minute to consider. “Better. It was weird, seeing him collapse and having to sit with him at the hospital. Like I was… entangled. But now I feel clearheaded.”
Meaning she’s ready to do what needs to be done. Excellent, because I’ve been putting together a plan.
“I suppose eight hours is enough.”
She takes a seat at the dining table across from me. The entire living area, dining area, and kitchen are all one open space. Her apartment is actually kind of small for how wealthy she is and contains nothing more than she needs. She doesn’t even have an office here, which is why I’ve been working at the dining table.
Me, I like to take up more space than I need and fill it with expensive, luxurious things. Probably because of how I grew up.
“What happened while I was out?” She flicks her hair over her shoulder, exposing one delicately arched collarbone. I remember how those hollows there tasted. My tongue craves it.
“Tynan?” She raises an eyebrow.
Shit, I was staring like a damn teenager. “Raven’s still asleep. Bishop just texted me.”
“So she has to get the full twelve?”
“Bishop’s much meaner than I am.”
A slight smile curves her lips. “Really?” Her tone is so arch it makes me want to drag her into the bedroom and show her how mean I can be.
“You got to sleep for only eight hours.”
“True. That makes you practically a…” She cocks her head. “A puppy compared to Bishop.”
She’s trying to yank my chain—and it’s working. Consider my chain officially yanked. “A puppy?” I dare her to try it again with my tone. And make it clear that I really want her to.
Her expression turns solemn. “You’re right. Comparing you to a puppy is inappropriate. Completely inappropriate.” Her face stays still, serious. “I should have said a kitten. A lovely, fluffy kitten.”
She’s teasing, but even when she’s teasing, she’s entirely determined to do what she set out to. Which is to rile me up.
“I’m no kitten,” I say with deadly softness. I’m sorely tempted to show her how hard I can get. For her. But we also have to focus here.
“Hmm.” Now her mouth twitches. “What about a tiger kitten? Is that better?”
“I don’t want to be any kind of kitten.” I replay how that sounds. “I’m not any kind of pet and never will be.” It’s a warning, although I don’t mean it to be so menacing. But she has to be aware, no matter how much we tease or flirt or even fuck—which is definitely happening soon—there’s an expiration date on this. She better not involve any part of her heart, and I can’t be blamed if she does.
She was warned.
Her expression shutters. I tell myself that’s exactly what I wanted. “Okay. No pets.” She sets both palms flat on the table, all business. “What happened while I was asleep?”
“Gideon had calls from a couple of Oscar’s doctors, including his regular cardiologist. There’s no change in his condition. Or his prognosis.”
A dark shadow crosses her face. I can’t tell if she’s sad or… or what. Oscar used to be like family to her. In spite of what he’s done, she might still feel something for him. It can’t be so easy as cutting all feelings for him off entirely, not for her.
For me, it’d be nothing. I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again when I leave her this time.
“Gage got in touch with Oscar’s attorney,” I say. “It looks like everything goes to a fourth cousin in Maryland. The fourth cousin doesn’t have power of attorney and can’t touch Oscar’s board vote and doesn’t seem to know anything about his potential inheritance.”
She frowns. “Why didn’t he designate someone? He’s got enough wealth and shares that his lawyer must have told him he really should plan for something like this. And he’s known about his heart condition for years.”
I shrug. “Oscar probably figured he’d live forever. Or at least wouldn’t seriously consider he might die someday. He’s got more than a whiff of psychopathy on him—he probably can’t imagine the world without him in it. So he doesn’t.”
She drums her fingers on the table. The firm set of her mouth draws my attention, holds it tight. “Has someone contacted the cousin?”
“Oscar’s attorney did.”
“And did someone let his housekeeper in?”
“Cassian told her to just come by once a day to make sure the place hadn’t burned down and saw that she’s paid through the end of the year.”
A small smile from her. “Good choice. She’s got a weakness for pretty faces.”
Something green and dark pulses through me. Does Morgan think Cassian is pretty? Does she have a weakness for pretty faces? Judging by Axel, she probably does.
But she’s not with Axel; she’s here with me. Jealousy is stupid, clouding—I need to be beyond that shit. Stay clearheaded here.
“Well, that’s what she got,” I say mildly. “And her salary, which she probably appreciated more. Archer’s been in touch with the rest of the board members. They’re meeting tomorrow at ten.”
Morgan snaps up. “I have to—”
“Make your move then.” I’ve been thinking about this the entire time she’s been asleep. This is the chance she’s been waiting for. “You need to announce that you’ve been thinking for some time now about your dad’s legacy.”
She catches the thread easily. “And with Oscar’s condition, this is the time for me to step up.”
“To keep the leadership steady.”
“To lead the company into the future.” Her gaze holds mine. “To take my rightful place. I’ve got the pedigree, professional and personal.”
“And Oscar can’t obstruct. Or worse.”
She nods like she’s already thinking that. We used to do this before everything happened. Riff together on projects we wanted to do, places we wanted to see, things we wanted to accomplish. Not really finishing each other’s sentences… but completing each other’s story. A shared one.
She nibbles on her lip, still lost in her planning. “When he wakes up—if—it’ll be too late. He’ll be out. Should I bring up Dad’s last project? I don’t have any data or evidence to prove any of it works yet.”
I’ve thought a lot about that too. “At this point, you shouldn’t leave anything on the table. The board’s going to be shocked, grieving, ready for a steady hand. If you come in as your father’s daughter and with his last, best project, you’ll cement yourself in their minds as…” I shrug. “As his reincarnation.”
She swallows hard. I can’t tell if she’s frightened by that or merely upset. Once, she might have appreciated the comparison. Been proud, because of course she wanted to be just like him, but also apprehensive, because how could she live up to his example?
This reaction is grimmer. No pride, no hopeful fear she won’t measure up. Only a firm, set mouth and drawn brows. I suppose with everything she’s learned about her dad in the past few months, being compared to him is going to be fraught.
“Makes sense” is all she says. “But what if Oscar wakes up and decides he’s not leaving quietly?”
Gideon had been blunt when discussing Oscar’s condition. Probably even blunter than the doctors had been with Morgan. “That’s not likely to happen. If he does wake up…” I consider how much to tell her. They can’t test his brain function until he’s awake, but given the condition of his heart, his brain must have been starved for oxygen too. For who knows how long.
Morgan’s been stoic this entire time, but she might be hiding how upset she is. Certainly she used to hide how her dad’s treatment hurt her.
Despite the fact that I’m going to leave her eventually, I don’t want to hurt her any more than I have to.
“Even if he does wake up,” I say carefully, “he won’t be the same. He’s not coming back from something like this.”
She looks down, her face working. She knew that—she’s talked to the doctors too—but it’s hitting her in a new way. “He’ll never face justice, will he? No matter what we do, he’s already gotten off.”
“His health is shattered. His life as he knew it is over.” I don’t know why I’m arguing this is some kind of acceptable punishment since I don’t really believe it myself and Oscar owes me more than anyone, but I also want her to get some measure of peace. It’s all she’s going to get out of this.
Well, and control of her father’s company. Can’t forget that.
“So no, he’ll never face justice, not like you might have wanted,” I go on. “But he’ll be punished all the same.”
I don’t know if that’s enough though, for her or me. This would all be happening to Oscar no matter what he’s done—heart attacks aren’t some kind of divine retribution. If Oscar were innocent, this entire thing would be a great tragedy. Do his crimes somehow magically make this a good thing?
Morgan’s expression says no, they don’t. “I suppose I should focus on what I can do rather than what I can’t. If I can force Oscar out, keep control of Dad’s last project—for me and for Raven—it will have to be enough.”
She’s determined, but there’s a frisson of unease running through her, making her fingers open and close fruitlessly. She has to do this but isn’t certain she’ll succeed.
I could help her. Beyond what I’m already doing, but I’ll have to give up one of my own advantages. I’ve got that evidence she needs, some proof that Ira’s ideas can actually work. It was one of the last things Ira and I did together. I know where all the results are saved.
When we were working on it, I had no idea it was this big secret. That Ira was putting it all into his encrypted notebooks, making it secure against Oscar’s interference. He asked me not to talk about it, but I figured that was the usual security precautions. Not that he was building a secret, impenetrable fortress around the whole thing.
I also had no idea he was dying at the time. He kept me entirely in the dark, even when he was using me to prove his ideas correct. It makes the memories feel… tarnished. They were some of the last good memories I had of that time too. My memories with the guys are already fucked up, thanks to me thinking they tried to kill me. Now my memories of Ira are fucked too.
But Morgan… I watch her as she struggles with everything going through her. This would be enough to ruin a lesser woman, but she just keeps rising and rising to the occasion. She’s so goddamn strong. I wonder if Ira really ever understood that. Probably not, considering the mess he left, thinking to protect her.
“I should start working on my presentation.” She runs a hand through her hair, the strands spilling over her cheeks. “There’s hardly enough time to practice it even. It’s going to be a disaster.”
“No.” My tone makes her head snap up. “No presentations, no slideshow, no practiced talk. You’re not going in on a job interview; you’re not begging them for what’s already yours. There’s a problem—you’re the solution. Give them zero space to question that.”
A new light comes into her eyes. “You’re right. This is mine. I’m taking it no matter what they think.” With her jaw set and that spark in her eyes, she looks beyond beautiful. Like she could take over the world and not break a sweat doing it. “And you know what? Screw what my dad thought. I can be trusted with this. I was born to do this.”
“Damn right,” I say, unable to help the curl of my mouth. Morgan aflame is impossible to resist. So I don’t.
Well, I do some. Because what I’d really like to do is pull her into her bedroom—which is probably as bare-bones as the rest of this place—and show her how alive she is. How alive we both are. Seeing Oscar go down like that… it brought up dark memories. I didn’t linger on them, but the emotions won’t go away. I can make myself not see that last glimpse of Ira’s face, but I can’t make myself stop feeling like I’m seeing it.
If I were alone, like I have been the past five years, I’d immediately pick up everything and move. Toss away everything from my life and start over. Nothing helped me to forget like making everything new.
I can’t do that now. I’ve got to stay here with her and see it through. Being with her doesn’t help me forget. But it does make everything easier to bear.
Unfortunately, she’s got to take over a company tomorrow. And even though she’s spent hours sleeping, she could use more rest. The more competent and confident she is, the easier it will go.
And I can help too. “So, about having no data on the neural-interface project…”
She raises her eyebrows, her gaze open, trusting. So different from the first time I was here that it hits me almost like a fist. This is the Morgan I remember. The one I…
I squash the rest of that. Not the time or place, not that it will ever be. “I did some preliminary testing on it. I didn’t know it was this big deal or that he was hiding it from Oscar. But if you need something to present to the board tomorrow, I’ve got it.”
Okay, now her expression is more than open. It’s grateful. So much so, I feel like an ass for not mentioning it earlier even though I’m giving away my evidence of ownership here. I came to help her and get what was mine, thinking those were separate things. But they suddenly seem way too intertwined.
“Thank you,” she says huskily. “That would… You didn’t have to help me. And I won’t forget part of this is yours.”
I can’t make myself be blasé or cold or flippant in this moment, not with her looking at me like that, not if my life depended on it. “Your dad wanted you to have this. He should have been open about it—should have been open about a lot of shit—but in the end, he knew it was you who was his true heir.”
If Ira had meant for me and the rest of the guys to be his heirs, he would have simply handed the project over to us and let us take our chances with Oscar. Instead, he built this elaborate scaffolding around it, trying to set us in place as guardians so it could be passed on safely to his daughters. Maybe if he’d shown anyone a little more trust, it might have worked.
But Ira always held on to some part of himself, always held something back. Kind of like a parent in that respect—as much as he cared for me, I understood I’d never really know him fully. Part of him would always be a mystery. And since I had my own secrets, I didn’t mind.
His daughters minded though.
Morgan is blinking rapidly now, her breath coming in little puffs. Shit, she’s about to cry, which is the last thing she needs before tomorrow’s meeting. So I distract her.
“If you give me a machine, I’ll show you that data. Assuming some eager beaver hasn’t wiped it to make space for his music library.”
She laughs, a burst of damp amusement. “That would never happen. Dad’s rules about never erasing anything are still in place.”
A few moments later, I’ve got my hands on her laptop and Morgan is leaning over my shoulder, walking me through the security on the archives.
“This is a lot better than it used to be,” I mutter as I encounter yet another security challenge. Without Morgan guiding me, this might have taken me days to crack.
Morgan laughs softly as she leans closer. A strand of her hair brushes my neck, cool, silken. She doesn’t seem to notice. My breath hitches, my skin tightening.
“Gage upgraded things a few years back.” She glances at me from the corner of her eye. Suddenly her pupils widen as she realizes how close we are.
I don’t give her space. “Then thank goodness you’re here to help me through it.”
“Did it work?” She doesn’t look at the screen.
I’m tempted to not look myself because her eyes are so damn enticing. Addictive, even. Breaking this moment is going to take will.
Still, I do it. I’m not here to fall into her eyes. “Yeah, I’m through. And there it is.” I point to the file with everything in it.
Something comes over her face when she sees it. “This? This is the one?”
I don’t understand the weight in her words. It’s just named a random text string, the better to hide from prying eyes. It’s not like it’s got a neon sign pointing it out. “Yeah. Why?”
She wets her lips. “This is the file we thought… This was the message you left in the self-driving computer that Cassian found. We found this file, but we couldn’t break the encryption. And then it turned out to lead to your profile in the secure messenger. I thought the file name was meaningless. But it was all here, all the time.”
I should say that it was an accident, that I pulled that text string out of thin air. That it all means nothing. Simply chaos making coincidences. But I can’t seem to; because there’s so much in her face, it reduces my dismissals to ash.
Because it feels like this is potent with meaning. That this is all coming together exactly as it was meant to.
“I can decode it.” But as I say it, I’m pushing away from the table, pulling her down to me. “I can give you everything you need.”
“I know,” she says as her mouth meets mine.