Heart of Ice Read online

  HEART OF ICE

  TB MARKINSON

  MIRANDA MACLEOD

  Other TB Markinson Books

  A Woman Lost Series

  The Miracle Girl Series

  Girl Love Happens Series

  Reservations of the Heart

  A Shot at Love

  One Golden Summer

  Other Miranda MacLeod Books

  Love’s Encore Series

  Americans Abroad Series

  Telling Lies Online

  Holly & Ivy

  Copyright © 2020 T. B. Markinson & Miranda MacLeod Published by T. B. Markinson

  Cover Design by Victoria Cooper

  Edited by Kelly Hashway

  This book is copyrighted and licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any forms or by any means without the prior permission of the copyright owner. The moral rights of the authors have been asserted.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  A Huge Thank You!

  About the Authors

  C H A P T E R O N E

  A BLAST OF COLD AIR ASSAULTED LAURIE’S FACE AS SHE STEPPED FROM

  the first-class Acela train car at Boston’s South Station. It wasn’t quite five o’clock, but the platform was already jammed with people attempting to squeeze through the doors of a silver and purple commuter train that occupied the adjacent track— no doubt trying to get the jump on an impending winter storm. A lifelong New Englander, Laurie never ceased to be amazed by how seriously people took warnings for blizzards that as often as not failed to materialize. Considering there hadn’t been a single cloud in the sky between Manhattan and here, she’d believe it when she saw at least one flake.

  Though there was no sign of snow, the biting wind was all too real. Laurie pulled her stylish wrap coat tighter across her front, regretting the choice of outerwear. She’d been warm enough when she left New York City, but the wool was thin and secured with nothing more than a belt that tied at the waist. She was lucky to have one at all.

  Only forty-eight hours ago she’d been on a private Caribbean island. It hadn’t exactly been a vacation. Shortly after the doctor had delivered the news that her wife Bonnie’s tumor was inoperable, Bonnie had made the year-long reservation herself and insisted Laurie take an extended

  sabbatical following her death. Winter coats weren’t exactly standard attire in… what month was it again? Laurie squeezed her eyes shut, but the date remained beyond the edges of her memory, nor could she recall exactly how long she’d been away. Sometimes it seemed only days had passed, and other times it felt like years. The biggest shock of being a widow was how disjointedly time moved under the weight of grief.

  Laurie crossed the busy terminal, stopping before she reached the exit. Across the street from the station, a set of revolving doors marked the entrance to the trillion-dollar investment firm of Emerson Management. The executive suite on the building’s twenty-fourth floor had been every bit as much a home to Laurie as her massive house across the river near Harvard Square. For fifteen years, she and Bonnie had thrived in their shared corner o ce, which Emerson employees had sometimes referred to as the shark tank—behind their backs, of course, so as not to get fired. A ghost of a smile flickered across Laurie’s lips at the apt description. The two of them had been like a pair of predators in their natural habitat, always moving, never resting. But now Bonnie was gone, and in the stillness left behind, Laurie had sometimes feared she would drown.

  Then a life preserver came in the most unexpected form: Silvio Othonos, the elusive Greek billionaire.

  The remote island to which Laurie had retreated after Bonnie’s death was comprised of six individual villas, each o ering the utmost privacy and seclusion. The sta was top-notch and known for discretion. However, Laurie had been in residence so long that some of them had started letting their guard down around her. When Laurie found out Othonos’s former mistress was renting the villa next door, it hadn’t taken much to convince the newest member of the housekeeping sta to fill her in on whatever she overheard.

  And that was how Laurie had discovered that the Mediterranean’s most elusive multi-billionaire was in the market for a new wealth management company for his vast empire. What’s more, she’d learned of it a full two weeks before the announcement was to go public. It was much more than good fortune. The news had done what nothing else had managed to do, chipping away at the icy grief in Laurie’s brain and propelling her back to the land of the living.

  Othonos was a figure of mythical proportions, the white whale every investment firm on the globe dreamed of catching. Laurie and Bonnie had spent years studying what scant public information there was on the man, piecing together little by little what made him tick. She knew how to land him; she was sure of it. But the clock was counting down.

  Once news of the search went public, every investment firm on the planet would be vying for consideration, and Othonos was likely to finalize a short list of candidates quickly. Emerson Management needed to be on that list. It wasn’t just because Laurie wanted to secure Bonnie’s legacy with the win, although that played a part. The truth was, between Bonnie’s death and Laurie’s lengthy absence, Emerson Management had been on more of a downward trajectory than Laurie liked to admit. If they didn’t snag the Othonos account, the firm could be in serious trouble the minute the next market correction hit.

  One question had been plaguing Laurie since she’d decided to return to Boston. After the magnitude of the loss she’d su ered, did she still have what it took to land the Othonos account? It would be an epic win, but the first battle would be to convince Toby, the interim CEO.

  But what if he won’t listen?

  Laurie placed her right hand to her head, brushing back a strand of blonde hair as she massaged her temple. It was a real possibility. Toby was stubborn and foolish. Bonnie should have known better than to trust him with the company for so long, but Toby had always been a bit of a blind spot for her, and Laurie had known enough not to argue. Even so, there were plenty of ways to get around the man. If Laurie couldn’t manage that small feat, she might as well give up on the rest of it, but there was no way that was going to happen. Laurie the Hatchet could slice through any obstacle. She never gave up.

  Squaring her shoulders, Laurie took a series of deep breaths, focusing on the movement of air in and out of her lungs. She’d paid a therapist more money than she cared to admit over the past several months to learn how to do such a simple exercise. It was ridiculous. Breathing oxygen should come naturally to a human, right? Yet, in those early days without Bonnie by her side, even the most basic things in life had started to feel impossible.

  This company was all she had left, her wife’s legacy. If she lost that, she’d lose everything they’d worked so hard to build, and if that were the case, she might as well have joined Bonnie in her shady plot in Mount Aub
urn cemetery a year ago and saved herself all the pain of bereavement.

  Laurie focused her eyes across the street, watching as men and women in power suits spilled out from Emerson Management’s revolving doors. A few steps was all it would take. Come on, Laurie. You can do this.

  She headed back out into the cold and scurried across the street.

  Using one of the building’s windows as a mirror, she smoothed the lapel of her navy jacket then gave a slight tug at the waistband of the matching tailored skirt. It moved freely, a full size too big on her now. At the age of forty-

  nine, Laurie was the thinnest she’d been since her freshman year of college. It had happened by accident, another side e ect of grief. She’d had to set a reminder on her phone to make sure she remembered at least one meal a day.

  For a moment, her confidence wavered. It didn’t help that her loose suit made her feel like a child playing dress up.

  After almost a year of exile, she could barely remember anymore what it felt like to be the woman who’d worn clothing like this every day. Will I ever feel at home in my own skin again? She reached behind her and readjusted the safety pin she’d employed to tighten her waistband, pulling it as snuggly as she could. There’d been no time to fix it properly, so it would have to do. Lifting her chin, she faced her destination with as much courage as she could muster.

  You’re still you, she assured herself as the stop light turned green and she started across the street. Laurie the Hatchet is alive and kicking, somewhere in there, ready for a comeback.

  Laurie entered through the revolving door. She strode across the lobby and toward the turnstile that cordoned o the private entrance to the executive elevators. With her head held high, she sought to make eye contact with the security guard who was standing beside it, a young guy she’d never seen before. He stared absently over her head in that way people sometimes have when they know full well you’re trying to get their attention but they’ve decided it is definitely not their job to help you.

  “Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, vaguely recalling that Harold, the security guard who had manned this position for as long as Laurie could remember, had retired sometime in the past year. Harold had been a real old-school gentleman, greeting her and Bonnie every morning by standing at attention and holding the elevator door open before she’d made it two steps into the lobby.

  She’d taken it for granted, of course. It had been good to be queen.

  Laurie dug in her handbag for the plastic badge that would allow her access to the secured area. After a moment or two of mild panic, she found it all the way at the bottom, sitting in a gritty pile of crumbs and other debris. Laurie blew a piece of lint from the magnetic stripe before swiping it through the turnstile, but was greeted by an obnoxious buzzing that could only mean no dice. Confused, she swiped it again, slowly with an iron grip. More buzzing. The security guard didn’t even blink. Who’d hired this guy, anyway?

  Laurie crossed the wide lobby to the main security desk, pumping her arms vigorously as her blood pressure rose with each step. A woman—also new since Laurie’s last visit, and perhaps a year or two older than she—looked up from her computer screen. “Good evening, miss. Can I help you?”

  Miss? Despite her annoyance, Laurie’s cheeks tingled with an uncharacteristic flush of pink. With her fiftieth birthday months away, she’d been firmly in ma’am territory for so long she could barely remember the last time she’d been mistaken for a miss. Then again, her careful skincare regimen had been about the only selfcare she’d remained consistent with even on the most di cult of days, so it was nice to know it had been worth the e ort. Focus, woman, she urged herself. Stop acting as distracted as a high schooler the week before prom.

  “I have an appointment with Toby but there’s a problem with my badge.” Laurie set her ID down on the countertop.

  “With Mr. Emerson, you mean?” The woman snatched up the ID, her face paling as she studied it, her spine sti ening like a soldier. “Yes, of course, Mrs. Emerson.”

  Laurie felt a thrill at the sudden deference. It was good to know her name still carried weight after her lengthy absence.

  She didn’t enjoy being a nobody, not one bit, and especially

  not in her own building. While the woman fussed with the faulty badge, Laurie contemplated whether she should let the new elevator guard o with a warning or fire him on the spot.

  “I apologize about that, ma’am. I’ll have to put in a special request with security, but I can have a new one for you tomorrow.”

  We’re back to ma’am again, I see, Laurie reflected, feeling as though she’d aged a few decades in the blink of an eye.

  Still, she’d be lying if she said the obeisance didn’t give her a thrill.

  Laurie pointed to the badge. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s been, uh, de-deactivated,” the woman stuttered.

  “I’ll need a special override code to fix it.”

  “Huh. I wonder how that happened.” But Laurie knew. It was Toby. Deactivating her badge and making her jump through hoops to reach the twenty-fourth floor was exactly the level of pettiness she should’ve expected from such a toad. At least she knew what she was up against and could go in prepared.

  “Give this temporary slip to the guard by the elevators, and he’ll let you through.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been a great help.”

  She headed back to the turnstile that had refused her entry before. This time she waved the slip of paper she’d been given, and the guard, whose name tag introduced him as Josh, came over with a bored expression, unlocked it for her, and pressed the call button for the elevator. By the time the elevator doors closed behind her, Laurie was certain he’d forgotten she was ever there. Laurie, on the other hand, never forgot anything. Like names, for instance. Josh.

  Someone really needed to teach Josh a little common courtesy. A few months of being demoted to the graveyard

  shift would do wonders for the boy’s manners. Laurie made a mental note to email the head of security about the matter.

  When she reached the twenty-fourth floor, the first thing Laurie noticed was that the cheerful yellow walls she and Bonnie had chosen together had been painted over in the type of nondescript beige usually reserved for rental apartments. It was a stab to Laurie’s gut. Gone, too, were the tasteful paintings they’d curated from the company’s extensive art collection, replaced with a hodgepodge of framed prints that looked like they’d been bought in bulk from the local IKEA.

  How dare he? Laurie fumed as she exited the elevator.

  Even a slipshod renovation such as this one incurred enough costs that Laurie should’ve been looped in on the decisions during her absence. Why had no one asked her permission?

  She’d been on leave, not dead.

  She rounded the corner to Executive Row—a long corridor so named for the half dozen heavy wooden doors running along one side that led to the o ces of Emerson Management’s executive o cers—and stopped short, her anger bubbling and churning as she took in the foyer at the far end that led to her spacious corner o ce. Specifically, it was the table in the middle of that foyer that provoked her ire. In all her years with the company, that table had always been graced with arrangements of fresh flowers that were replaced twice a week. This was the first time Laurie had ever seen it empty. The whole space was dark, deserted, as if in mourning. If it were anyone but Toby, she might believe the change had been motivated by grief, but honestly, the man was cheap.

  What the hell has Toby done to this place?

  Laurie’s head swiveled madly as she looked for someone, anyone, to lay into. She demanded an explanation, right bloody now. But she was all alone. Outside each o ce along

  Executive Row was a desk where an administrative assistant would normally be stationed until well into the evening.

  Tonight, all of the desks were empty. This was another first for Laurie, and one she liked even less than the lack of fresh flowers outsi
de her o ce. Instead of running a tight ship, Toby’s time at the helm of Emerson Management was turning it into a leaky rowboat, and she wanted his head on a pike.

  The door to Toby’s o ce creaked, but instead of the man himself, a no-nonsense woman with silver hair pulled back into a tight bun emerged. The woman looked up as Laurie approached, and a smile lit up her face as recognition dawned in her eyes, accompanied by a hint of surprise.

  “Laurie, is that you?” The woman let the o ce door shut behind her.

  “Marian,” Laurie said, blinking rapidly to keep back the tears. Bawling in the o ce would never do, but it was hard to keep her emotions in check at the welcome sight of her former assistant, whom she’d promoted to senior o ce manager before going on leave. “It’s been way too long.”

  “It really has been.” Since the day of Bonnie’s memorial, a fact that hung in the air between them.

  “How’s the family?”

  Marian’s grin grew wider. “I have two grandkids now.

  Christina had twins!”

  “Twins?” Laurie covered her open mouth with one hand as she recalled the preteen in pigtails she could still remember reading books behind her mother’s desk on the days when school let out early. Could she really be a married woman in her thirties now? It seemed impossible to believe.

  Laurie, who prided herself on knowing everything about everyone, hadn’t even realized Christina was pregnant.

  “What brings you by the o ce?” Marian asked in a casual way, but Laurie sensed some trepidation in her sti ening

  shoulders as she slid her phone back inside her purse.

  “I have a meeting with Toby.”

  “Toby?” Marian’s brow knitted. “I’m afraid he’s in London on business. Flew out last night.”

  “But I texted him yesterday morning to let him know I was coming.” Laurie’s eyes narrowed as she searched her coat pocket for her phone. “Is his assistant around?”

  “You’re looking at her.” Whatever emotion lurked beneath the woman’s words, it definitely was not pride.

  “You?” Laurie let out a flummoxed laugh. “But you’re not an admin anymore.”