London was gray and cold and exactly what Dashiell deserved.
He’d been here three weeks. Three weeks of sixteen-hour workdays, late-night conference calls, and very little sleep. His penthouse suite overlooked the Thames, all glass and steel and expensive emptiness.
It was 2 AM. He should be sleeping. Instead, he was standing at the window with a glass of scotch, staring at the city lights and thinking about Liora.
Always Liora.
His phone buzzed. Finlo, updating him on tomorrow’s—today’s—doctor’s appointment.
“She refused the car initially. But agreed after I pushed. Gideon will drive her.”
“Good.” Dashiell’s voice was rough from disuse. He’d barely spoken to anyone all day except in meetings. “And the care package?”
“Being delivered tomorrow morning. Everything you specified.”
“Th
