Nearly five hours later, the frustrated heat still scorched under her skin, but at least it had tempered from a raging boil to a seething simmer. The asshole had had the nerve to show up a second time, making a scene outside her place of business. In plain and full view of the public.

Carting a ridiculous candy pink bear hugging a red heart pillow, smiling in a sappy sort of way that made her want to rip off its fat head and release years of repressed anger. And that was just so Derek, she thought, using a letter opener to rip into the envelope of an invoice.

Grand, elaborate and empty gestures.

What part of 'get lost' wasn't computing? In how many languages and varying ways was she required to say it before the message clicked in his thick, drug-addled brain?

And the worst part was Gage had witnessed the tail end of the spectacle. Now she was in a position where she'd have to explain the entire sordid and embarrassing situation.

Well, why the hell should she? So what if they'd tumbled between the sheets? Did that mean she was obligated to dig up the festering decaying mess that was her past and dump it at his feet?

The matter was closed. The deed was done, and she'd survived. Gage didn't need to be dragged into the muck and mire that always followed in the wake of Derek Cole. She could clean up the mess without getting him covered in filth.

Sure, okay, snapping at him was out of line, but she'd apologized hadn't she?

Weakly, her conscience niggled and nagged. And you hadn't meant a damn word at the time.

Annoyed because her sudden attack of conscience wasn't allowing her to focus or concentrate on her paperwork, she shut down her computer, put away the files and decided to call it a night when her cell phone shrilled in her pocket. Lifting it out, Victory answered without taking the time to see who was calling and snapped out an irritable, "What?"

"Vee?" Niobe's voice rang with a measure of restrained temper to rival her own black mood. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Working." She slapped a hand against her thigh, drummed her fingers there as she eased back into her chair.

"Working." Niobe repeated, in a long, slow stretch of silence.

"Yes, is that a problem? I have a restaurant. Responsibilities. Bills which I must work to pay."

"Aren't you forgetting about the meeting with Suitable Elegance? The appointment I reminded you four times yesterday not to be late for?"

Dammit. "Bee," Victory sighed, pinching her nose to ward off the first furious licks of a pressure headache. "Now really isn't a good time."

"Oh no, well," Niobe raged, her sharp tone suddenly shot up to a level that would have dogs barking. "When exactly would be a good time? Would it kill you to be reliable? Supportive? So far, you've been late, or absent, forgetting appointments, shirking responsibilities. I have to chase after you—begging—and what do I get? 'I'm sorry, Bee. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry'. And I bet you forgot to call the entertainment company to arrange a sit down with their DJ, haven't you?"

That's it, Victory thought, and erupted.

"I thought that was the point of hiring a coordinator. Seriously? Do you realize what I've got on my plate." Tension headache now in full bloom, Victory wrestled within her drawers in search of painkillers. "Isabel should be the one making calls and following you to meeting after mind-numbing meeting. Giving you the required nod, smile or pat on the back you need in order to make up your damn mind." She found the bottle of Advil, thumbed it open. Empty. Great, she thought, just great.

And launched the bottle at the wall where it rebounded with a clatter.

"I see." Her voice was still shrill but Victory heard the waver of tears. "I thought as my best friend you'd want to be involved, included, and—I don't know—part of this experience. But if that's too much to ask, Victory, than I guess I won't bother including you at all."

Because she was already feeling emotionally battered, and because something in Niobe's tone struck a guilty chord with her—opening a dark and emotional pit in her stomach—Victory had to dig deep to maintain her composure.

"If that's how you feel," her voice was steady, level, while her hands shook.

Niobe held the line with a single, sweltering beat of silence before abruptly hanging up. Head throbbing and heart aching, Victory put down her phone, lowered her brow to desk.

And screamed.

#

Disasters, it seemed, like to come in threes. Or fours, or in a never-ending cabaret chorus line creating a single massive cluster-fuck that had Gage ready to beat his head into the wall. For nearly two days after his little—spat? Situation? Christ, what the heck was he supposed to call it?—with Victory, the world around him had decided to go to shit.

And now Matthias was here to add to the shit storm by swinging by for another walkthrough on what was arguably his worst day on the job.

"There's been a delay with Isis," he began, shutting the door to what was going to be the general manager's office. "We received the wrong counters for the bathroom and kitchen. Furniture for the adjoining guest bedroom was broken upon delivery, not by our team." Gage added, anticipating Matthias' question as he slid behind the desk to take the seat while Gage opted to remaining standing.

"Spent the morning bitching with the warehouse proprietor in Florence. I'm not going to tell you what that lengthy call did to my bright and sunny mood," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest because just remembering the woman's snooty attitude made him want to punch something.

Anything.

"Since they're coming straight from Italy, it's going to take time for the replacements to get here. Even with the expedited rush order. Took some badgering before I talked the prim-pain-in-my-ass down to absorbing the damages by issuing a partial refund in lieu of the inconvenience, we just need to worry about shipping and insurance."

"Doable." Matthias replied, bridging his fingers in thought. "I'll just make a note going forward to remove that company from our list of vendors. How are we with the rest of the timeline?"

"Dry wall and sheeting is wrapped up in the last ten floors. Electrical and plumbing, all green lights." Gage went through the list, enumerating on his fingers as he went. "Inspector is still balking on final sign off—the beady-eyed fucker." Gage snarled in loathing memory of the shrimpy little stick figure in khakis. "Honestly, the way I read him this is more about sticking one to the high school jocks who used to bully him in tenth grade. A revenge of the nerds moment for him to lord his power and authority over us poor bastards. I'm giving him one last walkthrough to come to his senses before I deck him straight in his pug nose."

"I'm sure he will." Matthias, getting to his feet, slipped his hands in his back pockets, and made a note to look into Inspector Harris' background. Two failed site inspections, when everything appeared in pristine and prime condition, smacked of a personal vendetta. But confirming that to Gage would only ensure that the next time the inspector set foot in Sphinx he would punch the bastard.

A matter this delicate, was better left to a man with a longer fuse, and one not already lit for battle.

"Anything else I need to know and pass on to Roarke?"

"Not a damn thing. Hiccups aside, we're moving along without too much of a hitch, and the projected launch date of September 8th is still looking good to go."

"Excellent." Matthias rocked on his heels, swept a hand over his hair, tied back with a leather cord. "Just what I like to hear. Shayne's breathing down my neck about the press kits and expanding on marketing to jazz up extra buzz around the launch, especially since it will be just in time for the TIFF."

"Shayne knows what she's going." And, for that first time all day, Gage smiled. "Roarke told me she's already got half this hotel booked with celebrities."

"More like two-thirds, now," he smirked, "and at the rate she's going, I am sure that we'll be pre-booked to capacity before the end of the week."

"If she wasn't already married to my brother I swear I'd kiss her." Hooking his thumbs in his belt loops, Gage shook his head. "I can hear the money rolling in already."

"You and me both." Matthias laughed. "Practically bought out a florist. This is going to be probably one of my best openings to date. She's helped make all of us sincerely wealthy men."

"If you feel that strongly, than to hell with flowers, I want the kiss." Both of them turned to see Shayne standing in the doorway in a dress of soft pastel green, wild mane of black curls set loose to tumble around her gypsy face hidden behind sunglasses she now pushed back atop her head.

"How are a couple of my favourite men?" she asked with a beaming smile, striding in to embrace them both, one at a time.

"Brilliant as always."

"Excellent." Gage answered, but she caught the flash of lingering temper...and something deeper in the blue of his eyes. Eyes every bit as stormy as her husbands, and eyes she knew how to read as clearly as words on a page. Something was troubling him. And that didn't sit well with her.

"Matthias," she said without missing a hitch, "Roarke sent me up to let you know that he's in the Giza conference room with Hammond and the other key investors."

"Shit." Matthias grumbled, skimming his hands over his bound hair. "I thought the role of charming investors was now Roarke's burden—I mean responsibility?"

"Yes, but you're still the face of the Grayson empire." Smiling, she patted his cheek like a doting mom facing her stubborn son, balking at vegetables and homework. "Go on. And I'll make sure to make up my famous Tiramisu for dessert tonight."

His face brightened. "I get the whole thing?"

Tongue in cheek, she smirked. "That can be negotiated." When they were alone, she shifted her attention back to Gage as he stood staring out the window, lost in thought. Once she'd considered him a tough nut to crack, but she'd learned how to handle him. Touch on the right nerve, and all she had to do was sit back and let him spew.

Not business, she mused, crossing her arms, and certainly not money. Money or work wouldn't have reached the heart of him. No, this was closer to home. As far as she knew, things weren't strained between him and Roarke, otherwise he would have sneered or snarled at the mention of his brother's name. If not Roarke...

Ah.

"So," linking her hands, she strolled leisurely around the length of the desk, to stand at his side. "How's Victory?" She caught the squirm of tension ripple along his jaw and gave herself a congratulatory pat on the back for striking a flawless bull's-eye.

"Women. Who understand them?" he muttered, shook his head. Annoyed and weary in the same breath. He'd mentally exhausted the subject throughout the whole of the weekend and had yet to make heads or tails of it. "I don't know what to do with her."

"Well," Shayne lowered to the couch, crossed a leg. "Why don't we put our heads together and see if we can find out?"