Caine sat behind his desk, watching me. Usually he had some kind of blank or pissed-off look on his face when he stared at me. To my consternation, it seemed he was wary of me.

My only guess was that his sudden weirdness had to do with the heated moment we’d had earlier that afternoon. Not needing a reminder of that when I was around him, I threw the thought away and forged on. I told him all about Barbara Kenilworth.

His reaction was to let out a stream of expletives.

“Why are you annoyed?” I huffed. “This is wonderful. What you do is wonderful.”

“Alexa,” he huffed back. “I have a reputation for being a hard-ass, a ruthless bastard. And you know what? I get a lot further in business because of it. My donations are always based on the condition of anonymity. I make the foundations sign a goddamn nondisclosure agreement.” He stood up now, and pointed toward the door. “So you phone Ms. Kenilworth back and inform her that if she doesn’t retract that nomination and stop spreading rumors of my philanthropy all over fucking Boston, I will rip her a new asshole via lawsuit.”

I blinked in surprise at his tirade. “Wow. That actually makes me feel better.”

His eyebrows drew together. “How?”

“Well, in comparison to what poor Ms. Kenilworth is facing if she upsets you, you’re an absolute prince to me. I have had no such threats of asshole ripping.”

And then the impossible happened.

Caine’s lips twitched and that lip twitch was followed by a low huff of laughter as he shook his head, relaxed, and sat back down. Mirth glittered in his eyes as he looked at me. “Just make the call, Alexa,” he murmured, his tone actually soft for once.

I struggled not to smile in utter elation. “I’m on it.”

I spun around and walked back out of the office, a triumphant grin on my face.

CHAPTER 6

Sun streamed into the bookshop/coffeehouse in Brighton, and the heat of the sun on my face and the delicious coffee in my hand and the fact that I wasn’t at work meant I was feeling pretty great.

That was until my grandfather started airing his concerns, again, about Caine and how it was a supremely bad idea for me to be working for him.

This was our place. The coffeehouse/bookshop, I mean. It was this quiet little place I found when my friend Viv was renting an apartment in Brighton and I suggested it as the place Grandpa and I could meet without worrying about running into anyone who’d know him and let leak that he was meeting a pretty young thing in secret. If that happened, his family, aka his wife (the grandmother I’d never met), and his grandson, Matthew, and his wife, Celia (my half brother, and my sister-in-law, whom I’d also never met), would ask questions and then they’d find out that Grandpa was in touch with the black sheep of the family’s illegitimate daughter and all hell would break loose. Or at least that was the way he made it sound.

Honestly his family sounded high maintenance, and having lived with my father for nine years, I knew that my assessment was probably right.

I didn’t really want to meet them.

I sighed and relaxed back into my seat. “Grandpa, the job is not that bad, I promise. It could be worse. Caine made it out like it was going to be hell on earth. But here I am, enjoying some free time with my grandfather.”

Grandpa smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his lovely light gray eyes. They were the same eyes as my dad’s. Everything about my father was like Grandpa. They were both classically handsome and distinguished-looking. They were also very tall and broad-shouldered. They were the kind of men you paid attention to when they walked into a room. Once you started to get to know my father, that sense of power around him slowly dissipated. But not with Grandpa. I had a feeling you did not want to get on my grandpa’s bad side. He was like the Clint Eastwood of high society—no matter how old he got, you still wouldn’t want to mess with him.

“I know you, sweetheart.” He studied me carefully. “You’re looking for something out of this, and I’m worried you’re not going to find it.”

“Maybe.” I shrugged and then surprised myself by admitting, “I’m in awe of him.”

“Of Caine?”

“Yes. He didn’t let it destroy him. The tragedy he endured made him determined. Now he has more success and wealth and power than the man who helped take everything from him. He never used his private pain. No one knows about it; he just tried to put it behind him and make his life better. It’s not his fault if he’s going after all the wrong things. Still, it’s the attitude behind his actions that I respect. I’m in awe. He overcame a lot.”

In full, what Caine overcame was family drama, betrayal, death, and suicide. From what I’d pieced together from my father and Grandpa, Caine was thirteen, living in South Boston with his mom, who was a saleswoman for a store in Beacon Hill, and his dad, who was a construction worker. His mom—her name was Grace—met my dad when he came in to purchase a present for his then wife. From the way he told it, Grace was a bored young mother who felt like her life was passing her by. It was easy to seduce her with his culture and money and charm. They began an affair and he got her into a wild scene. She got hooked on cocaine and one night in some crappy hotel room she overdosed while he was in the shower. Instead of helping Grace, my father panicked and got the hell out of there. Grace died. My father used his money and influence to cover things up and make sure the Holland name wasn’t dragged into a scandal and that he wasn’t charged for drug possession or, worse, involuntary manslaughter.