Third Time's a Charm

Page 32

Of course, Vladimir wanted to tear the thing down because it blocked his view of the Thames.
“I’m surprised you’ve dared show your face.” His uncle strode into the office, security on his heels but always ten paces behind. “I had to pay someone to do your job.”
Bored at the always threatening tone of Vladimir, Sasha snagged an Asian pear from a fruit basket and rubbed it on his shirt. “Explosion expert is not on my list of talents.”
“Pity, it would actually make the other one less lonely if it were.”
There were times, Sasha darkly acknowledged, that his uncle’s sarcastic nature was unnervingly identical to his. He took a savage bite of the pear.
“Make it quick. I’ve more important things to do than listen to you blather on about your inheritance, your mother or what you don’t feel like doing.”
The speech he’d been prepared to make went into his mental wastebasket and what was left of his pear in the trash bin. “I quit.”
Glacial eyes bore into his. “Pardon?”
“Need a hearing-aid in your advanced years, do you?”
Vladimir cursed in Russian and advanced on Sasha. “You can’t quit.”
They stood toe to toe, but for the first time, Sasha was without fear. There was nothing his uncle could do to his mother. Phoebe’s health had deteriorated to the point that even the doctors refused Vladimir’s intimidation. A new administrator with family connections to MI6 and an amazing dedication to her patients hadn’t hurt either.
“I’m done. It’s over. Finito. Sore de kimatta. Shall I say it in your native tongue, or my mother’s?” Sasha didn’t bother to hide his smirk.
A vein pulsed in Vladimir’s forehead. His face turned red, then purple as his eyes bulged. He clutched his left arm, dropping to the floor.
Sasha rushed to his side, knocking two security guards out of his way. He loosened the tie and unfastened the collar around his uncle’s throat. “Call the medics, he’s having some kind of attack.”
Cell phones were whipped out, voices giving descriptions of what had just happened.
His uncle wheezed and gasped for breath.
“Keep breathing, because I’ll be damned if I give you mouth-to-mouth.”
“S-ss,” his uncle began, his eyes rolling and spittle accumulating in the corner of his mouth.
“Deathbed apology—not quite what I wanted, but who am I to argue with the Grim Reaper.”
A crew of in-house medics entered the room, brushing Sasha out of the way. They worked over the twitching body.
Sasha strolled over to the window, gazing down at the always busy sight of London’s streets. He supposed he should feel sorry or pity…something, but he couldn’t. He just didn’t have it in him. Tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, he started whistling and slipped out of the room.
A medic stopped him in the hallway. “Sir?”
Sasha grunted.
“The receptionist said you were next-of-kin.”
“I’m the only one who’ll claim him, you mean,” Sasha grumbled. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
Traffic was forgiving and they made it in record time. After waiting for an hour in a pleasant room with beige walls while reading fashion magazines two months out of date, a doctor entered the room.
“Your uncle’s stable.”
“What’s the good news?” Sasha asked, not really caring that the man looked aghast.
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to him.”
Sasha passed a few nurses who winked at him and waved. Beds with only curtains for privacy lined the walls as he got closer to the private rooms.
His uncle lay prone in bed, his eyes active and alert as Sasha and the doctor drew closer. “Your uncle had a stroke, Mr. Romanov.”
“Is he able to speak?”
The doctor grabbed the chart from the shelf in the wall and scanned over it. “Not at this time. The injury done to his body will require intense physical therapy. The kind that we, unfortunately, don’t offer.”
Glacial eyes hardened, one narrowing while the other’s eyelid drooped.
“Who does?” Sasha asked, his gaze unwavering on his uncle’s face.
He looked up from his chart. “St. Mary’s and, well, between the two of us, the other place isn’t worth mentioning.”
“Childer’s?” It would be divine justice to send the evil son of a bitch there. For Vladimir to be at the mercy of inattentive workers and dodgy facilities with shite conditions. He could send him there and his uncle’s days would be numbered, a revenge so tantalizing that it shimmered and tempted him to grab it. To make his uncle pay.
Vladimir let out a snort. Sasha didn’t know if the man was daring him to do it, or mentally calling him weak. But only a true villain took revenge on a weak man. And he was done being the villain.
“Yes, but—”
“St. Mary’s.” Sasha nodded his head. There were just some things a man didn’t do. Turn into his uncle was one of them.
“Sorry, but it’s not up to you.”
Both Sasha and the doctor turned.
“Sebastian?”
“You always did have a talent for telling us apart.” Arrogant and cold, with his pale eyes and slicked back hair, his formerly missing cousin strode into the room wearing a three-piece suit.
“Easy enough—you’re the one with the stick up your arse.”
Sebastian handed a stack of papers to the obviously confused doctor. “He’s being transferred to Childer’s.”
Sasha gaped at him. “That place will most likely kill him.”
Sebastian leaned over his father, placing a kiss on his forehead. “One can only hope.”
What sounded like a laugh burst from Vladimir’s mouth. Over and over the horrible sound like a gun being fired, until the three of them were forced to leave the room while a nurse rushed past them, hypodermic needle in hand.
Sebastian paused in the middle of the hallway. “I’ll be taking over as head of Romanov Industries.”
Astounded, Sasha stared at him. His cousin was going to waltz in and take over like he hadn’t been missing for the past six months? “Where have you been?”
“Here and there.” Sebastian sliced his hand in the air. “I have massive plans for R.I.”
“Leave Rose Holland alone.”
“If I don’t?”
Sasha smiled, slowly and with confidence. “I’ll email pictures of you and Kate in a rather intimate moment to The Daily Mail.”
“Done.” Sebastian pulled on leather gloves. “I’m not interested in partnering with Nahalah Industries.”
“And you’ll leave my mum at St. Mary’s.”
“I’m guilty of many things, but using a dying woman as leverage isn’t one of them.”
Sasha hadn’t thought his cousin was that much of a bastard, but he couldn’t be sure. For years Sebastian had followed in his father’s footsteps. Trying, it seemed to Sasha, to snatch every crumb of attention and praise from Vladimir when it was tossed his way.
“Lastly, I want my inheritance and for everyone to leave me alone. I’m done.”
Sebastian’s brows lifted, an amused smile on his lips. The first Sasha had seen since they were boys. “Didn’t he ever tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“All this time I thought you were an utter bastard.”
“Out with it,” Sasha demanded, clenching his hands into fists.
“You’ve had control of everything for the past three years. If you’d taken the time to actually go over the documents with your father’s lawyer, you’d have known.” Sebastian turned on his heel, leaving Sasha to do what he hadn’t done since Holland Springs.
“I’m getting pissed,” he said to no one in particular.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Despite Rose’s prayers and bargaining with God, Tuesday came as it always had. To add insult to injury, the sun shone brightly while fluffy clouds lazily drifted in the sky. An absolutely perfect day to auction off her home, her life and her dreams.
The clock on the microwave changed from 1:59 to 2:00 and her heart dropped to her stomach, acid eating it away. The land that Strawberry Grove had been built on was gone, sold to an international corporation for a fire-sale of a price.
She half-laughed and half-sobbed, wrapping her arms around her knees as she sat on the small sofa.
Most people in Holland Springs had probably lined up hours ahead of time to watch. Heck, they were probably bidding on it, just to make things interesting, because they sure weren’t coming to her store.
She had even heard rumblings of a party to celebrate the whole occasion. No one had done a thing to help her, not that she wanted their help anyway.
The box of clothes Gabriel’s church had sent her didn’t really count. And neither did Haven’s offer of a place to stay or the luggage she packed with all those clothes. Well, maybe that wasn’t completely fair.
She frowned and placed her chin on one of her knees. Gabriel’s church did that for anyone in need, regardless of reputation or economic status. Haven probably wanted to keep their business relationship on good terms.
Then again, maybe no one knew where she was. Her store was on a side-street that only those with a purpose to shop at Carolina Dreams came down. But Haven knew, she’d taken her to the fire station near her house to get her Jeep. According to the owner of the B&B, a good Samaritan had towed it there right after emergency crews had arrived on scene.
For almost the entire weekend, she had hidden in her little apartment, only venturing out to have dinner with Skye before she left for Colorado. Skye had driven them to an out of the way café near Wilmington. They’d spent hours reminiscing and Rose had made a promise to include her in more than just the mundane things of her life.
Then she had waited until her baby sister had said good bye and driven out of sight before she let herself cry. And that wasn’t until she’d been safely locked in the bathroom, hot water falling on her head and mingling with her tears.
Rose glanced around the room. Empty shelves lined the wall where all of her extra products had once been. Her apartment felt like a place, not a home.
The fridge’s fan kicked on, humming. Other than that it was quiet. Stifling. Suffocating.
Leaning over the back of the sofa, she opened a window and peered out. Sheriff Turner walked right under her window, carrying a box. He knocked on her front door, but she‘d be damned if she answer it. Every time David showed up, he brought nothing but bad news and that box looked like it could hold more than she could handle.
Who was she kidding? The head of a pin could hold more bad news than she could handle right now.
At least she couldn’t see the courthouse from here, but she’d find cold comfort where she could. For a long time, Rose had thought she’d always done fine on her own, but a man with moss colored eyes and a sexy smile had shown her just how wrong she was. She had been completely unprepared to be alone, not fully comprehending how big of a void Ivy and Sasha had filled in her life. But now…
Now they were gone and while she might see Ivy again, she had no doubt Sasha would never come back here. No he’d soon be off (if he wasn’t already), charming his next victim out of whatever his uncle wanted. And if his next victim were a woman, he’d be charming his way into her bed.
She gave a little snort, then a soft cry. As if he needed to do that. All it had taken for her was a nap, cheesecake, helping her clean vacation homes, bringing back her chickens, cooking her dinner, painting her toes…She drew her brows together.
Sasha had done a lot for a man intent on seduction. He’d done things that most men wouldn’t have dreamed of doing. Although she could chalk it up to his training, his life for the past several years. A life that, according to him, he wasn’t allowed to live like he wanted.
Unwrapping her arms, she stood up and moved to the top of the stairs. There had to be something she could do to keep her mind off of the auction. Off of Ivy. Off of Sasha.
She jogged down the stairs and slipped into her office, powering on her desktop.
The clock on the right hand side of the screen read 2:15.
Taking a steadying breath, she began to surf the internet. With only a couple of clicks she tortured herself with pictures of Sasha. She made a face at the screen and moved to x it out, only to stop when she felt someone looking over her shoulder.
She tentatively glanced back and her mouth dropped open. Her heart resurfaced from her stomach and began pounding furiously in her chest.
“Momma?” Rose jumped up from her chair, her fingers automatically searching for the cross that Sasha still had.
Azalea Holland smiled, hair the color of honey framing an ethereally beautiful face dominated by bright lavender eyes. Impeccably dressed in a suit and skirt that matched her eyes, she looked nothing like the woman Rose remembered. A woman who’d favored lived-in jeans and form-fitting t-shirts from her favorite concerts.
Rose wanted nothing more than to curse the woman, yell at her, or even tell Azalea to get the hell out of her store, but tears clogged her throat and blurred her vision. All she could do was stand there and stare.
“Oh, sugar, it’s not that bad.” Azalea didn’t move any closer.
Waves of embarrassment washed over Rose, leaving her cold. She wanted her mother to hug her. She pressed her fingers to her eyes, trying to get her emotions under control. “Where have you been? Where were you when I needed your help?”
Azalea dug into her wide purse, pulling out a handkerchief and a manila folder. She handed Rose the handkerchief and set the folder on the shelf beside her. “I wasn’t anywhere good. And I sure as hell wasn’t fit to help you then, but now…” She tapped on the folder.