But she was gone.
I was happy I had my son back, but I was still miserable. I had all the money in the world, but that didn’t mean anything to me.
I had no one to share it with.
Isabella would want me to move on. She would have expected me to move on a few years after she passed away. Within the blink of an eye, more than ten years had passed. I hadn’t fallen in love with anyone, but I had purposely prevented that from happening.
I only chose women I was attracted to—not ones I cared about.
Maybe it was time for me to move forward.
Or maybe I could never move forward.
I really didn’t know.
I mingled with more associates and plastered a fake smile on my face. A young woman touched me on the arm too many times, obviously fishing for my affection. But I wasn’t interested.
I didn’t say goodnight to Thorn before I left because he seemed absorbed in his conversation with Autumn. I suspected their conversation would continue—probably at his penthouse.
So I went home—alone.
Cheyenne had been working for me since the beginning. She was a few years older than me, and she loved being my executive assistant so much that she never left. I paid her handsomely because my world would fall apart if she ever left. From the way I took my coffee to my most complicated schedules, she had it all figured out.
And Isabella had always liked her.
I guessed Cheyenne reminded me of simpler times, when Isabella would come visit me at the office with Brett and Diesel holding each of her hands. Her visits always distracted me and I ended up staying an extra hour to catch up, but I couldn’t refuse seeing my wife in the middle of the day.
I never got tired of her.
Cheyenne walked into my office and set a mug of coffee on the table—black. “I have the editor in chief of Platform on line one. Scarlet Blackwood. She wants to know if you’d be interested in doing a special fashion line for her men’s formal wear. She’d also like an interview.”
Platform was on every newsstand I passed in Manhattan. It was the biggest fashion magazine in the country, and the only reason why I knew that was because some of my girlfriends had been on the covers. I didn’t care about fashion and I had a designer pick out my clothes for me, but publicity was always important. The more celebrity I had, the better my businesses performed. Also, I was working on repairing my image in the media. It took a dive once Diesel spread our story across every front page in the country.
Cheyenne stared at me with a folder tucked under her arm. She wore a cream jacket with matching slacks. She’d just had her first grandchild a few months ago. “You want to take it, or should I get rid of her?”
I suspected I would have my first grandchild soon, now that Diesel was marrying Tatum. I wished Isabella could be alive for that moment. “I’ll take it. When’s my next meeting?”
“Two hours.”
Then I had time. “Put her through.”
Cheyenne pressed the phone to her ear. “Please hold for Mr. Hunt.” She handed the phone over.
I took it and watched her walk out of my office. “Mrs. Blackwood, how are you?” I didn’t know anything about this woman, but her reputation preceded her. Anyone who ran a fashion magazine of that caliber must be phenomenal at her job.
“It’s Ms. Blackwood,” she said curtly. “And I’m very well now that I have your attention.”
I didn’t know why, but something about her tone made me smile.
“I’d really love to do a spread about you, Mr. Hunt. I have a few suits that would look magnificent on you. You have a strong following, and you’re the leading example of a powerful businessman. Men and women are both fascinated by you.”
“I don’t know about that, but you flatter me anyway.” I smoothed my tie down the front of my chest, feeling the silk against my callused fingertips.
“Can we meet to discuss it further? I’d love to share my ideas with you.”
I wasn’t big on talking, but I could pose for a few pictures. I’d been photographed a lot in my life. I’d done a few endorsements for Connor Suede, and that always increased my visibility. I’d been associated with a lot of different brands, from luxury cars, jets, and fashion. “I’m interested. But I do have to make something clear.”
“Yes?” She had a deep voice that was naturally smoky and sultry. In my mind, I imagined her to be a woman with dark hair. To be the editor in chief of such a respected magazine, she must have years of experience under her belt, but her voice didn’t show her age. She sounded the same age as Tatum.
“I’m willing to do an interview, but there are some subjects I won’t discuss.” My private life was exactly what it was—private. I wasn’t interested in discussing the death of my late wife, and I wasn’t interested in defending myself against Diesel’s previous claims. Business was the only safe subject.
“I understand, Mr. Hunt. Nothing gets printed without your consent.”
Some publications weren’t so respectful. They would trick you into saying something you regretted just to get more readers. I’d learned to avoid those kinds of tabloids a long time ago, but my guard was always up anyway. “I appreciate that.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hunt. We’ll talk soon.”
Most of my conversations didn’t flow well because I wanted to end them as quickly as possible. But for a stranger, she was surprisingly easy to speak to. She got right to the point and didn’t interject pointless blabber. “Goodbye, Ms. Blackwood.”
Scarlet Blackwood wasn’t what I expected.
She walked into the restaurant shortly after noon, wearing a taupe skirt that flared around her hips with a white blouse that hugged her slender waistline. Nude heels were on her feet, and a black blazer with large buttons
