Chapter 8 - His Most Dangerous Proposal
Beatrice did not speak for ten seconds.
For her, that was an eternity.
“My father worked for you.”
Desmond nodded.
“When?”
“Before Hayes Capital officially existed.”
“How long?”
“About two years.”
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
“You knew him personally.”
“Yes.”
“And for five years you never thought that was worth mentioning?”
Desmond’s silence became its own answer.
Beatrice stepped back.
“You hired me because of him.”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I didn’t.”
“How did I get the interview?”
“Human resources.”
“How did my résumé reach your office?”
“Beatrice—”
“How?”
Desmond exhaled.
“Victor Shaw.”
She laughed once.
“Of course.”
“Your qualifications got you the job.”
“But my name got me into the building.”
“Yes.”
Something in her expression closed.
Desmond disliked it immediately.
Beatrice angry was manageable.
Beatrice silent was not.
“Tell me everything.”
Desmond looked around the conference room.
Daniel, Marco and Evan were listening.
He motioned toward his private office.
“Alone.”
“No.”
“Beatrice.”
“If this concerns my family, Evan hears it.”
Her brother looked surprised.
She still wasn’t ready to forgive him.
But he was family.
Desmond nodded.
“Fine.”
They remained.
Twenty years earlier, before legitimate corporations and investment committees, Desmond had owned three warehouses and a trucking company.
Patrick Gallagher had been his accountant.
“He was good,” Desmond said.
Beatrice smiled faintly despite herself.
“He was obsessive.”
“Yes.”
“He once returned a birthday cake because they charged six percent too much tax.”
“That sounds accurate.”
For a second they shared something gentle.
Then it vanished.
Desmond continued.
“Patrick found irregular transfers.”
“The ledger.”
“Not yet. Earlier transactions.”
“Connected to Nathan?”
“I didn’t know Nathan then.”
“Victor?”
Desmond’s jaw tightened.
“I thought Victor was helping investigate.”
“But he was part of it.”
“Yes.”
“What did Dad discover?”
“That somebody was using my companies to clean money for another organization.”
“Rourke.”
“His father originally.”
Evan nodded slowly.
“That fits.”
Beatrice looked at Desmond.
“What happened?”
“Your father told me to close two companies immediately.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“That threatened the operation.”
“Yes.”
“And then Dad died.”
Desmond looked away.
“I attended his funeral.”
Beatrice froze.
“You were there?”
“At the back.”
She remembered men in dark coats.
Dozens.
One of them might have been twenty-nine-year-old Desmond Hayes.
“Did Mom know?”
“No.”
“Did Evan?”
“No.”
Evan shook his head.
“I didn’t.”
Beatrice swallowed.
“What did you believe killed him?”
“Until tonight? His heart.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know.”
Her anger returned.
“You should have told me.”
“Yes.”
The admission stopped her.
No defense.
No excuse.
Just yes.
Desmond looked at her.
“I should have told you on your first day. Then the second. Then every day after that.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“At first because I didn’t want you believing your father got you the position.”
“And later?”
He was silent.
“Desmond.”
“Later I didn’t want you wondering whether every decision I made involving you came from guilt.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
“Not even some?”
“Some.”
She laughed bitterly.
“At least we found the honesty.”
“Beatrice.”
“No.”
She walked toward the window.
“I built my career here.”
“Yes.”
“I thought I earned your trust.”
“You did.”
“I thought you saw me.”
“I do.”
“You saw Patrick Gallagher’s daughter.”
“At first.”
She turned.
“And now?”
The entire room disappeared for Desmond.
There was only her.
“Now I see the woman who walks into my office without knocking.”
Marco lowered his eyes.
Daniel smiled faintly.
Desmond continued.
“The woman who corrects my contracts before legal notices the mistakes.”
Beatrice’s anger weakened.
“The woman who keeps almonds in my desk because I forget to eat.”
“You hate almonds.”
“I eat them.”
“You complain.”
“I still eat them.”
She almost smiled.
Desmond stepped toward her.
“The woman who risks her life because she believes she can save everybody without asking for help.”
“That sounds irresponsible.”
“It is.”
“And annoying.”
“Extremely.”
Beatrice’s voice softened.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Desmond stopped directly in front of her.
“The woman I would burn this entire empire down to protect.”
Nobody moved.
Marco looked at Daniel.
Daniel looked at the ceiling.
Evan whispered, “I should probably leave.”
Beatrice’s heartbeat was suddenly impossible to ignore.
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I might believe you.”
“You should.”
She stared at him.
Then the absurdity of the moment hit her.
Nathan was missing.
Rourke wanted the ledger.
Her brother had returned after fourteen years.
Her father may have been murdered.
And Desmond Hayes had apparently decided now was the correct time to admit feelings.
“This is terrible timing.”
“Yes.”
“Truly terrible.”
“Yes.”
“Possibly the worst timing in human history.”
“I disagree.”
“Of course you do.”
“Tomorrow could be worse.”
A laugh escaped her.
Then Desmond did something nobody expected.
He reached inside his jacket.
Marco’s eyebrows rose.
Daniel stopped smiling.
Desmond removed a small velvet box.
Beatrice stared.
“No.”
“I haven’t asked anything.”
“You carry that?”
“For three months.”
The room went completely silent.
Beatrice looked at the box.
Then at him.
“You’ve had a ring in your pocket for three months?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Desmond seemed almost irritated by the question.
“I was considering asking you to marry me.”
Daniel coughed violently.
Marco turned away.
Evan’s mouth fell open.
Beatrice stared as if Desmond had announced plans to move to Mars.
“You were what?”
“Considering.”
“For three months?”
“Yes.”
“And in that time you never thought perhaps a date would be appropriate?”
“We have dinner four nights a week.”
“They’re meetings.”
“Not all of them.”
“Desmond, discussing quarterly revenue over steak is not dating.”
“It can be.”
“No.”
“I paid.”
“You expense it.”
“That is irrelevant.”
She covered her face.
“This cannot be happening.”
Desmond opened the box.
A simple diamond ring.
Elegant.
Not enormous.
Which somehow made the gesture more serious.
Beatrice lowered her hands.
“You cannot propose because someone is trying to kill us.”
“I’m not.”
“You opened the box.”
“I’m making a point.”
“What point?”
“That my feelings about you began before tonight.”
She stared.
“You bought that three months ago.”
“Yes.”
“The same month somebody attempted to sabotage my car.”
Desmond’s expression hardened.
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“Daniel told me afterward.”
“And you did nothing?”
“I did a great deal.”
“Such as?”
“I bought your building.”
Beatrice blinked.
“That was why?”
“Yes.”
“You bought an entire luxury apartment building to improve my security.”
“Yes.”
“You could have installed an alarm.”
“I did that too.”
She stared at him.
“That is insane.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By me.”
“Frequently.”
She laughed despite herself.
Then her expression softened.
“Put the ring away.”
His face changed.
“Not because I’m saying no.”
Hope appeared so quickly she nearly smiled.
“I’m saying not now.”
Desmond closed the box.
“When?”
“When we survive this.”
His gaze held hers.
“Then you’ll give me an answer?”
“I’ll let you ask properly.”
“Define properly.”
“Without Marco in the room.”
Marco raised both hands.
“Strongly agree.”
For the first time in days, everyone laughed.
The moment lasted less than a minute.
Then Marco’s phone sounded.
He read the incoming alert.
His expression darkened.
“What?”
Desmond asked.
“Rourke just sent invitations.”
“To what?”
“A private dinner tomorrow.”
“Guests?”
Marco turned the screen.
Four names.
Desmond Hayes.
Beatrice Gallagher.
Thomas Rourke.
Nathan Vaughn.
Beatrice stared.
“Nathan is meeting Rourke?”
Daniel shook his head.
“Or one of them is planning to kill the other.”
Desmond looked toward the ledger.
At the bottom of the invitation was one sentence.
BRING THE BOOK, OR CHICAGO LEARNS WHO DESMOND HAYES REALLY IS.
The dinner was not a negotiation.
It was an execution waiting for a victim.
May you like
They simply did not yet know whose.
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