Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(46)

Then I take it in my hands and turn it around, wondering what it could be.

I decide he never told me not to open it.

In fact, the seal is already open.

So I decide to take a peek, flipping the flap back and pulling out what seems to be a photograph. It looks old, slightly yellow, and worn at the corners.

It’s a picture of a family, one with a teenage version of James, a girl who looks just like him, and a little toddler next to a beaming pair of adults. The perfect family.

Without a doubt, he has a sister, good-looking parents, and a kid brother who clearly admires him.

Had, I think with a pang as I remember what he told me.

It was an accident. He LOST this family.

And this is his most precious belonging . . . their last image together? Maybe the only image of them together that he has.

I picture him moving on his own, taking care of Charlie, doing anything possible to succeed and get ahead. Then I think of how punctual he now is, how he does everything I ask him even when it’s difficult and driving him crazy. I admire his dedication and how he’s able to keep that sense of humor after all he’s been through.

I lost my mother. But my mother gave up on me. James’s family hadn’t . . . and he lost them all except Charlie.

I put the photograph back in the envelope and glance at my phone, tempted to reach out to him.

And say what, Lizzy? “Did you like the cologne?”

We went shopping what feels like ages ago. I used my plastic and bought him articles that we, at Banks, don’t have. Designer shoes. My favorite men’s fragrance. The coolest Ray-Ban shades. And a pair of silk pajamas, like all gentlemen should wear.

James grimaced at the pajamas.

“I won’t use ’em,” he assured me.

“You will. They’re silk, and they’re delicious.”

“Not as delicious as sleeping without a stitch.” He smirked at me playfully, that devil’s gleam in his eye.

I huffed and turned away to hide my flush, and now I’m wondering if he’s wearing them—or if he’s wearing nothing at all. At least the bottoms?

About that time, Dad calls. “I hear things are progressing with the new guy.”

“Yes.”

“LB sent me the brief you gave him. He looks good, if a little mysterious. What’s his background?”

“Um, well—”

“LB says he hasn’t met him in person, though, and you’ve been working from home. Any reason you can’t work at the office?”

LB.

UGHHHH.

Ratting on me to my dad. I know LB wants to be CEO. I know he’s desperate for me to fail at this. But I also know that this project is my baby, and I’m protecting it at all costs.

“I’ve checked in a few times,” I say defensively.

“Remember we’re a team at Banks Limited. And whatever reason you are not sharing yet fully with LB . . . I hope it’s not personal. Don’t get too attached with your project or your model, Elizabeth. We form professional relationships. Keep your personal life away from the office.”

I clear my throat. “Of course, Dad.” I glance at the calendar on my phone. “How’s Minnesota?”

“Cold.”

“When will you be home?”

“I might head over to China to meet with some of our fabric representatives.”

“Oh.” I’m disappointed but don’t show it. “Okay, so then we’re good to go with the new model?”

“Introduce him to LB,” he says. “He’ll give you the final say-so.”

Oh, hell.

“But—”

“Lizzy, I don’t want to hear it. If I head to China, I’ll be there over a week. I’m probably going to be cutting it close for West Coast Fashion Week. LB can make the assessment.”

I frown. No, he can’t. He’s been taking bets as to whether I can pull this off. I could present Prince Harry to him, and it wouldn’t be good enough. LB simply has to tell my father that he’s a mess, and the plug will be pulled. Game over.

So the name of the game now? Keep LB out of my way, as much as possible, for as long as possible. It’s not much longer now anyway.

I decide to change the subject. “And are you taking your meds?”

“I am. Thank you for taking care of your dad. How are you?”

“I’m good, too, Dad.”

“All right then. Take care.”

The line goes dead, and as soon as I hear the tone, I curl up on the bed and imagine that we’re still talking. He tells me everything that’s going on in Minneapolis, and I tell him . . . ask him. For fatherly advice. Not afraid of being judged. Simply wanting to know what he’d say to his daughter, if he truly loved her and she were falling for a guy so different, so exciting, so wonderful she can’t even resist.

But of course I can’t ask him that.

Dad’s already said goodbye, but in my mind, the conversation lives on.

Like it or not, things haven’t changed much. I’m approaching thirty, and I’m all alone. Living the independent career woman’s dream. And still dreaming of more. And dreaming, not for the first time since he came into my life, of a lone dimple and gorgeous, intense eyes that tempt me to take a risk on something other than business. Something more precious and personal than that.