2011: It's been ten years since the sky literally came crashing down around Yael Malkah and upended her world. Now she's returned to New York to visit her ailing grandmother. With no other family, it's up to her to take care of the family business...
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Yael wandered the penthouse, feeling restless. Haustin was scheduled on night shifts the next couple of days, and she found herself relieved at not having to deal with his emotional state as well as her own. Her mind dipped into forbidden territory, fretting over their relationship and if it'd gotten too serious too quickly. In her heart, she didn't believe three weeks was enough to genuinely know the person you dated, but she'd said it from the beginning—their bond went beyond conventional. She hoped the worst, and by that, she meant his breakdown, was past them.
When she wasn't obsessing over Haustin, her thoughts turned to Casey and the undeniable fact he'd burrowed under her skin. Dear Lord, she was a harlot with feelings for two men—and each of them brought out different sides of her. The part that scared Yael the most was she liked the version of her with Casey better. She was carefree, hopeful, confident, and looked to the future, not the past. Haustin, on the other hand, filled the constant aching hole inside her, a pit filled with her grief and loss and nightmares. Surely it wasn't the healthiest thing.
"Dammit." She rubbed her hands over her face.
If it weren't bad enough obsessing over two guys, there was also the Peter thing. Surely the man who helped her build sandcastles on the beach of her parents' Hampton home wouldn't do anything to hurt the family or the company? Yael wasn't sure anymore. Not after what Wendy told her yesterday. Bankrupt? Divorce? Arrests? It was like she'd been transported to the future in a lousy time-travel novel. And who was he paying large chunks of money to?
The lobby intercom buzzed, and she padded over to answer it, glancing at the clock on the stove. Who'd visit her at seven in the morning? Wendy and Haustin were allowed to pass right through to the elevator, Casey, too.
"Hello?"
"Miss Malkah," the doorman greeted. "I have a Veronica Hanson here to see you. Want me to send her up?"
She stared at the intercom's screen with furrowed brows. What was Veronica doing here?
"Absolutely."
Dancing in place as she waited for the elevator, Yael was torn between joy and trepidation. She felt guilty, which sounded ridiculous. There hadn't been as many meetings lately, even though she was doing great, but according to her sponsor, that bordered on dangerous territory. When you were up, there was a farther distance to fall.
The doors slid open, and Yael beamed at Veronica. She looked the same as she had when she dropped Yael at the airport and lectured her in the car for an hour, nearly causing her to miss the flight. Her light blond hair was dark at the roots, hitting her shoulders in wild waves. An avid lover of the outdoors and motorcycles, Veronica's skin possessed the tough, leather quality of years spent not caring about sunscreen and making her look older than thirty-seven. She wore her Harley jacket over an American flag shirt and jeans with a tiny tear in the knee. On her sponsor, the ensemble was stylish. Not many women could pull it off.
