The Business of Love Read online

  Behind their united front, they’re butting heads—and fighting their hearts.

  Forevermore, Book 1

  Sophia Hamilton can’t believe her late stepfather split the family firm three ways. With her hard-earned master’s degree, she and her stepbrother, Allen, are perfectly capable of running the firm. Instead, she’s forced to share the reins with Dante Leone. The man who split her heart in two.

  Six years ago Sophia fell hard for Dante, but when he discovered she was a starry-eyed nineteen to his twenty-eight, he shut her out. Worse, Allen’s defection from the firm has left Dante with controlling interest.

  Dante is having a tough time seeing Sophia as anything other than the woman who lied to him. Yet her resignation isn’t the moral victory he intended. He feels her absence deep in his heart—and the company plunges deeper into turmoil.

  Sophia returns on one condition: equal partnership all the way. But their redoubled efforts aren’t working. And soon it becomes clear someone is bent on destroying not only her stepfather’s legacy, but any chance of a future with Dante.

  Warning: Contains a no-nonsense hero who thinks he can manage his heart as easily as he manages money, and the one woman capable of adjusting his risk tolerance for love.

  The Business of Love

  Anna James

  Dedication

  To my real-life hero, my husband. I love you.

  Acknowledgements

  A big thank you to my editor, Latoya Smith, for taking a chance on me and making this a great book. Thanks to my agent, Dawn Dowdle, and to my critique partners, Anna, Jenn, Julia and Pat for your brilliant insight. A special thanks to my children and family for your love and support, and last, but not least, thanks to my friends at CTRWA, CORW and RWA Contemporary Romance for your guidance and support.

  Chapter One

  Sophia Hamilton slipped into the first floor study of her stepfather’s Santa Monica, California, home and let the quiet surround her. Her eyes traveled around, taking in the cool sage-colored walls and the deep cherry wood gracing a large bookcase at the far end of the room.

  Her gaze softened when the dark brown leather sofa came into view. Set in front of the welcoming fireplace, it had always been her favorite spot to curl up with a good book. She sat down on the sofa now, leaned her head back against the cool fabric and closed her eyes.

  Outside, guests gathered in small groups throughout the first floor rooms sipping coffee from bone china cups, or perhaps a cold drink to counter the morning’s summer heat. Others noshed from the smorgasbord of hors d’oeuvres placed on the buffet until the main meal was served. Their muted conversations were a constant reminder of why they’d assembled here today.

  In here, the quiet surrounded her and seeped into her body, easing some of the tension that had built up over the last few days. Months, she corrected, ever since her father’s cancer diagnosis last fall. It had been torture to watch him suffer through the aggressive chemo and radiation treatments.

  But then, an experimental drug became available and it had been working. Over the last six months her father had gotten stronger and his condition improved. The doctors had even pronounced him cancer-free at his checkup three weeks ago.

  He’d celebrated by taking a two-week vacation to the Scottish Highlands, his parents’ birthplace, which he’d left on the very next day, much to her surprise. “It’s on my bucket list,” he’d said, by way of explanation for his unusual, impetuous behavior.

  Tears sprang into her eyes. She punched the smooth cushion in frustration and blinked them away. It wasn’t fair. How could something as innocuous as a common cold take his life?

  She stared out the window at the large cobblestone patio and the four wrought-iron chairs surrounding the glass tabletop. A canvas umbrella in fire-engine red—her father’s favorite color—provided shade from the afternoon sun.

  Seven short days ago, just after his return, she’d sat in one of those chairs and he in another. Streaks of red and orange had filled the early evening sky and a light ocean breeze provided blessed relief from the still-warm sun. They laughed and talked while he sipped at a glass of Macallan single-malt scotch whiskey, his drink of choice these days, something he discovered during the trip abroad. He’d regaled her with stories and legends of the area, the nuances of the different types of Scotch produced there and anecdotes he’d learned from the family he’d met during his recent stay. His scratchy throat put an end to their conversation well after midnight.

  She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but his irritated throat, which she’d chalked up to hours of talking, had actually been the beginnings of a cold, and his weakened immune system, a result of the harsh cancer treatments, hampered his ability to fight back.

  By the next morning he ran a high fever and the doctor admitted him into the hospital. Twenty-four hours later, full-blown pneumonia set in and the man, who fought tooth and nail and survived his crusade against cancer, lost his final battle.

  A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. “Come in,” she said, and turned on the lamp resting on the adjacent table.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” Clair, her cousin, said, “but we have a situation in the kitchen.”

  Sophia stood. “Is there a problem with the caterers?”

  Clair rolled her eyes. “The problem is with your stepbrother, Allen. He’s ripping one of the servers a new one over some screw-up with the food.”

  Sophia almost laughed, despite her grief. You could always count on Clair to tell it like it was. With a resigned sigh, she followed Clair out of her temporary sanctuary.

  It took several minutes to make her way through the large group of friends and family who’d come to the house that afternoon. People who hadn’t been able to attend the funeral service that morning stopped her to offer their sympathy.

  By the time she got to the kitchen, the server in question had been reduced to tears. Sophia squared her shoulders and marched over to Allen and pulled him aside. She apologized to the young woman, who scurried off, and then turned her attention back to her older stepbrother. “What are you doing?”

  Allen glared at her and pointed to the spread on the counter. “This is not what I ordered.”

  She sucked in a breath and counted to ten, determined not to let his temper spark her own. “The caterer called yesterday while you were out. She was concerned the quantities you ordered wouldn’t be enough for the number of people we were expecting, so I had her add a few extra side dishes.”

  “You just had to interfere, didn’t you? You couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Sophia said. “The caterer needed a decision and you weren’t around to make one.”

  “As usual, you put your nose in where it didn’t belong.”

  Was he really going to pick a fight today of all days? “Allen… Please… Let’s not turn Dad’s funeral into a three-ring circus. Can’t we call a truce, even if it’s only for today?”

  “You had no right to intrude. He’s my father, Sophia, and I said I’d take care of everything. You should have given me the message. Instead, you just took over.”

  If it had been anyone else who’d told the caterer to add the extra selections, it wouldn’t have mattered, but the fact it had been her, caused Allen to make a scene. He viewed her as an interloper, always had really. If it were up to him—thankfully Aunt Caroline, Dad’s sister, and Uncle Sam stepped in, so it wasn’t—she’d have been excluded from the day’s events. “Please, keep your voice down or everyone will hear you.”

  “I don’t care. I’m sick and tired—”

  Sophia�
��s head jerked toward the door when her best friend, Trey Jackson, stepped into the room.

  “What the hell is going on in here? I can hear you two shouting from the living room and the glass doors are closed,” Trey said in a low voice.

  Allen glowered down at her. “You want to be in charge? Have at it.” He stormed out and slammed the back door shut behind him.

  A series of short beeps followed. It took a moment for her brain to realize the security alarm had been triggered. Hadn’t she disengaged it after they’d arrived home from the service? The noise grew louder. If the code wasn’t keyed in quickly, a signal would be sent to the police. She hurried over to the hidden panel. Her fingers shook as she tried to enter the correct sequence of numbers. Trey rushed to her side and punched in the disarming sequence just in time.

  “Thanks,” she said, and drew in a shaky breath.

  He slung his arm around her shoulder and grinned. “No problem. I’m here to lend a hand whenever you need it.”

  Sophia laughed and leaned her head down on his shoulder. “You always have been.”

  “Is everything all right? I heard—”

  Sophia froze. That voice. Dear Lord, no. It couldn’t be.

  “—the security alarm go off,” the newcomer finished tersely.

  Her heart started to pound. Please don’t be him, please don’t be him. Slowly, stiffly, she turned around and faced the man who’d just entered and yes, Dante Leone stood in her kitchen, large as life. Her knees threatened to buckle. No! She wouldn’t fall apart just because he was here. She straightened her shoulders and lifted up to her full height.

  So, he hadn’t been a figment of her imagination after all. She’d caught a glimpse of him at the church, but then he disappeared. When he didn’t show up at the cemetery or there after the burial, with the other guests, she’d convinced herself he hadn’t really been there at all. Boy, had she been wrong.

  Even from across the room, he was an imposing figure. At well over six feet he towered over her dressed in black trousers that fit his lean, narrow hips to perfection. His broad, muscled chest filled out a crisp white dress shirt and black suit jacket. His hair was shorter now than it had been when they’d last met. It suited him. The new style accentuated his high cheekbones and sharply chiseled jaw.

  Lord, he was even more handsome than she remembered and, Jeez Louise, how pathetic could she be?

  The man used and humiliated you, her brain screamed.

  Yet there she stood, lamenting over his good looks and, my goodness, let’s not forget those gorgeous sapphire blue eyes and…

  There you go again, her brain condemned scathingly.

  What was he doing here? Okay, that was a silly question. Dante was second in command of Baker, her father’s financial investment company. It made sense he’d attend his funeral. But goodness, she wasn’t prepared to see him again. It had been six years since he’d burst into her life and then stormed out just as quickly, leaving her to cope with the damage and destruction left in his wake.

  “Dante?” Was the croaking sound really her voice?

  Trey gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and she was grateful for his presence. He’d been there to witness the devastation that had followed their breakup. His friendship, like always, had been a lifeline.

  “We’ve got everything under control,” Trey said curtly.

  “I can see that,” Dante retorted. “Sophia, when you have a moment I’d like to speak with you.”

  “This is not the time or the place,” Trey said, in a disgusted tone.

  Dante’s lips tightened into a thin white line as he glared down at Trey. “I wasn’t suggesting we discuss business today.” He turned his attention to Sophia. “We can meet next week or the week after.”

  Next week or the week after? Wouldn’t he be back in New York by then?

  Trey opened his mouth to speak, but Dante held up a hand to silence whatever he’d been about to say. “I’ll be around, so whatever time is convenient for you. And Allen, of course.”

  He’d be around? “How long are you planning to stay?”

  “I’m relocating to LA.”

  Her jaw dropped open and she couldn’t stop the gasp that came out of her mouth. “What?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Temporarily. Until we sort out the business.”

  Good god, no! Avoiding him when he lived in New York had been difficult enough. If he remained in LA, she’d have to see him. Every day. A lick of heat raced through her and she had to clamp down hard to stop the excitement dead in its tracks.

  She wasn’t interested in Dante Leone.

  Not anymore.

  No way. No how.

  Chapter Two

  Dante stepped into the sleek, modern lobby of the law offices of Snyder and Campbell, in downtown Los Angeles. He was there to see Martin Snyder, Gil’s personal attorney.

  His breath hitched. It was still hard to believe Gil was gone. Why hadn’t he told Dante of his illness? They’d been more than colleagues over the last six years. They’d become friends.

  Yet he’d said nothing, and Dante had gone along, business as usual, and hadn’t suspected anything was wrong. Managing the handful of Baker employees based in the New York City office meant he hadn’t seen Gil on a daily basis, as did the rest of the staff, who were based in LA, but still, he’d made regular trips.

  Allen’s call five days ago telling him of Gil’s death had been the first time he’d heard of the cancer diagnosis, and he’d been in a stupor ever since.

  “Can I help you?” A woman with dark hair styled in an elegant updo sat behind a smooth metal desk and peered up at him expectantly.

  Dante gave her a polite smile. “I’m here to see Martin Snyder.”

  The woman nodded. “You must be Mr. Leone.”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Snyder is expecting you. Please, come with me.”

  She stood and led him down a long corridor, stopping at the third office on the right. After a quick rap, she opened the closed door and poked her head inside. “Your three o’clock appointment is here.”

  “Good. Please, show him in.”

  The woman stepped aside and gestured with one perfectly manicured hand for him to step into the room. While the lobby had been fresh and contemporary, Martin’s office spoke of history and tradition. Volumes littered the shelves of tall, ornately carved bookcases reminiscent of old law libraries, along the north wall of the sizable space. A large mahogany wood desk sat opposite a window with heavy brocade fabric drapes.

  Three sets of heads turned as he entered. He’d expected Allen and Sophia to be present during this meeting. This was a reading of their father’s last will and testament. He hadn’t expected Trey Jackson. Why the hell is he here?

  A muscle in his neck jerked when Trey reached down, grabbed Sophia’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze.

  “Mr. Leone,” Martin Snyder said. “Please, come in.” Martin stood and pulled a chair from the conference table in the corner of the room and placed it next to Sophia. “Take a seat.”

  Sophia glanced over at him. Dried tears stained her cheeks, smudging her makeup, and globs of mascara clung to the lids of her red, swollen eyes. She’d been crying. A wave of compassion washed over him. If these past few days had been hard for him, he couldn’t imagine what they’d been like for her.

  While everything else about her had been a lie, the respect and genuine affection she held for her father wasn’t. Her love and admiration had been apparent with the gleam in her eye and the smile that lit her lovely face every time she mentioned him, which had been a great deal back when they’d been together six years ago.

  Too bad she’d kept a secret, the one thing he’d needed to know. She was his new boss’s daughter. Instead, she’d lied to him. And she hadn’t changed one bit over the last six years if the fiasco with Malcolm Foster was any
thing to go by. Why he’d assumed otherwise was beyond him.

  People like Sophia, who played games and manipulated to get what they wanted without a thought or care for others, were a dime a dozen among Hollywood’s rich and famous. He ought to know. Growing up in LA, with a television and movie star mother, ensured he’d met his fair share over the years. As an adult, he’d chosen to steer clear of them.

  A fresh set of tears gathered in the corners of Sophia’s eyes and she looked away. Trey lifted her hand, still linked with his, and rested it on his thigh. Hands off, the gesture screamed. She’s mine now.

  Dante’s stomach tightened. Best friend, my ass, he thought savagely. He’d have to be blind not to get the message they were involved. It was evident with every word Trey spoke and every possessive action he took. Sophia didn’t want or need his sympathy. Why was he feeling sorry for her, anyway?

  “Now that Mr. Leone is here, we can get started.” Martin broke the seal on the large, manila envelope and slid the documents out on his desk.

  Dante wondered, not for the first time, why Martin had contacted him yesterday and requested his presence at the reading. Allen had already assured him his position at Baker Investments was secure when they’d met for drinks the day after the funeral.

  “This is a codicil to Gilford Baker’s last will and testament,” Martin said.

  “Codicil?” Sophia asked.

  Martin nodded.

  Sophia peered over at Allen. “I wasn’t aware my father made any changes to his will.”

  Allen shot an imperious glance back at her. “Yes.”

  “He drew this up last fall, after he became ill. This document supersedes all other documents prepared by the deceased.” Martin handed a copy to Sophia and Allen and another to Dante. “I’ll summarize the contents, but feel free to read through the pages at your leisure. The first change names Sophia Hamilton as the executor of the estate, replacing Susan Hamilton Baker, Gilford’s late wife.”