She’d had a rough evening. Maybe she’d needed some girl time. Or maybe she’d overslept. He wouldn’t blame her if she showed up at the very last minute to avoid any chance for personal talk, then attempted to leave the minute the clients did so she could be assured there’d be no confrontation. They couldn’t allow that. They needed to have a very in-depth chat with her—one that ended up with her right back in bed where she should have been last night.
The three of them had stayed up damn near all night discussing how to deal with Belle. They’d made progress, though he still didn’t think Kell saw the big picture. Right now, they all had to put their energy into a little groveling and begging, but Belle was a reasonable woman. She wouldn’t be any different in this situation. He hoped.
Kell shook his head. “Belle doesn’t pout. I don’t see her skipping a meeting to cry to her best friend. Whatever’s wrong is bigger.” He put a fist to his lips as if trying to hold in another curse. “This isn’t good.”
Eric looked for a logical way to refute him, but he couldn’t find one. Kell was right. He wanted so badly to run back to Belle’s room and see if she was there, if she would talk to him.
But an approaching man in an impeccable navy suit and severely short blond hair approached, flanked by two men who looked very much like him—minus the severe expression.
“Good morning.”
Oliver Thurston-Hughes had gained back some of the weight he’d lost after his wife’s death, but there was no way to mistake the grim look in his eyes. Yasmin had been a cousin to the ruling family of Bezakistan, but she’d also turned out to be a murderous traitor. She’d sold her cousin, Alea, into slavery. When the poor girl had figured out that her own flesh and blood had nearly ruined her life, Yasmin had attempted to kill her. She hadn’t cared that Oliver got caught in the crossfire. The incident had turned the once happy-go-lucky aristocrat bitter.
“Thank you for meeting us,” his brother Rory, the youngest of the three, greeted them in his equally upper-crust British accent.
The last of the Hughes brothers simply nodded behind a pair of aviators. There were already whispers going through the café about the Callum Thurston-Hughes. The man had the kind of face that lent itself to posters and print ads, and he’d made a very nice fortune smiling for a camera. Currently, however, he was on a farewell tour with his professional soccer team. If the man could hear his thoughts, Eric had no doubt Callum would roll those famous eyes of his and remind him the correct term was football.
Rory slid into his chair with a smile. “Let’s get this over with. I met a girl last night at a bar, after the reception. I’ve been in America for four days and I haven’t gotten any action yet.”
His brothers both groaned as they sat. After ordering coffee, the group immediately dove into conversation about their American businesses and all the objectives they hoped to accomplish with this trip. The dog wedding had been a nice—if painful—reason for Oliver to see his late-wife’s family, with whom he’d maintained ties…and maybe get some closure.
Eric lost himself in the complex conversation. Their group had several legal tangles to unravel before they could buy more property in the States and proceed with their planned endeavors. Eric spoke with the confidence of someone who knew this area of the law well, while Kellan offered his expertise when needed. Tate cited specific facts and precedence, jotting notes along the way, as he often did. Everything should have felt much the same, but nothing did without Belle’s smiling face or efficient manner.
Thirty minutes turned into an hour, and before Eric knew it, they were paying the check. The Hughes brothers stood and offered their hands.
“Until our follow-up meeting next month.” Callum nodded.
And the truth punched Eric in the gut. Belle hadn’t shown up. Discreetly, he double-checked his phone. Nothing. She’d never once skipped a meeting the whole time she’d been with them. She’d never even taken a sick day in fourteen months. Now she hadn’t even called to let them know she wasn’t going to be there. It was so unlike her.
Rory smiled as he shook Eric’s hand. “Tell Belle we’re sorry we missed her.”
Eric might just let Kellan deal with this one. Yes, they’d been assholes, but she was still a part of their business and he’d never dreamed that she would shirk responsibility because she was sulking. “I’m sure she’s sorry to have missed you as well. She’s not feeling well.”
Though the clients wouldn’t care, he felt the urge to cover for her. Or maybe that’s what he wanted to believe because it was easier than contemplating a scarier possibility.
Oliver’s brows rose over his sharp blue eyes. “She looked perfectly fit this morning.”
So someone had seen her today. She was still here. Eric breathed a silent sigh of relief.
Tate leaned in. “Where is she?”
Eric exchanged a glance with Kellan. They had to teach Tate how to adopt a halfway decent poker face.
“I don’t know. It actually wasn’t morning when we saw her, more like the middle of the night.” Callum chuckled. “We went out drinking a bit after the reception. It was three a.m. when we returned. I was surprised she would leave at such an odd hour.”
“Leave?” Tate demanded.
“We presumed she was,” Rory said, pushing his chair in. “She rolled her baggage out. That’s an ugly dog, by the way.”
Eric gaped, realizing that he wasn’t doing a good job of hanging onto his own poker face. “She left with her suitcase at three a.m.?”
“She had a dog?” Tate looked really perplexed.
Kell elbowed Tate. “Did she say anything?”
“Not a lot, simply that she planned to start a new business.” Oliver shrugged. “I’m sad to see her go. She was always efficient and quite kind. But it looks as if she’s making out all right. That Mercedes was a beauty of a car. Brilliant.”
Rory sighed. “There’s something terribly wrong when you notice the car before a woman as beautiful as Belle. I sincerely hope, for everyone’s sake, that your libido makes a reappearance soon.”
Callum took a swipe at the back of his little brother’s head. “Stop being a barmy fuck.”
Oliver’s expression turned even colder. Eric could barely remember the Oliver he’d first met—the life of every party, the first with a joke or a smile.
Now, the man simply nodded their way. “Thank you for breakfast. I’ll be on my way. Gentlemen.”
As he walked away, Callum and Rory sighed.
“Sorry about that. He’s still not himself. I’d hoped coming on this American tour with me would revive his spirits. It’s been over a year since Yasmin’s death.” Callum watched his older brother go, concern etched all over his famous face.
Eric knew more about the story than most. Not only had Yasmin tried to kill her husband, she’d aborted several of his children, all the while calling them miscarriages and using her “grief” to extort money from her mourning husband.
Yeah, Oliver might never trust a woman again.
Rory leaned in, obviously not one to let a little tragedy keep him down. “Hey, when you hire your next secretary, make sure she’s at least as hot as Belle. Gorgeous girl, but she took that rule about not dating clients far too seriously.” He shook his head. “I tried. More than once. Shame.”
After a good-bye Eric barely heard, the Brits walked away. And he felt a nasty hollow gnaw at the pit of his stomach. Anger threatened to take over.
“She went back to Chicago without us?” Kellan’s jaw formed a tight line. He was obviously as furious as Eric felt.
Tate was already on his phone, but he hung up quickly. “It’s going straight to voice mail.”
The other two looked to him. What the hell should they do? Giving Belle time to herself hadn’t done anything but allow her to run. Worry started to shove aside the anger and guilt. She’d gotten on the road at three in the morning? By herself? She couldn’t have had any sleep. She shouldn’t be driving on lonely highways while exhausted. “We don’t know that she went back to Chicago. That’s a long drive to make by herself.”