Melissa Sinclair stared at the bottom of her hand-written list. She fixated on the only box she had yet to check off. There was more than one reason why she’d left it for last. One, she dreaded conversing with that arrogant man. Two, she had hoped by the time she planned her daughter’s birthday party, she’d be single.
There was something unsettling about Preston Trice. The aura he carried was tainted with darkness and sardonic wit she wasn’t fond of. He might have thirty million dollars to his name, but he’d never make Melissa Sinclair, or Abigail Bennett feel like a ragdoll.
Oh, yes, Mrs. Sinclair had done her research. What mother wouldn’t?
Abigail had been single for years and out of the blue, she started dating a businessman who she was now head-over-heels for. But as much as Melissa hated to admit it, she had never seen her daughter this happy.
It was as if Preston had lit the fire inside her she’d given up feeding long ago. The way she looked at him with eyes blazing of admiration, truly stunned her. It was a bond deeper than that of a girlfriend and boyfriend. It was the deepest love she’d ever seen in her forty-eight years.
She felt as if she was mourning her children. In a matter of months, she’d lost her son and daughter to love. Even though they were in their mid-twenties and lived on their own, in her eyes they were still six and eight. Although she cheered their achievements and looked forward to every milestone, she couldn’t help but feel as though each spread them farther apart until the distance was so large, they’d learned to live without her.
Melissa never wanted to be the meddling parent who was her late mother. She wanted her children to make their own mistakes, but she also wanted to protect them from heartbreak. Though it was from heartbreak one gained wisdom, it was an agonizing feeling neither of her children should suffer from.
She picked up the phone and dialed the number a simple Google search produced.
“Trice Architectural Designs, Jacqueline speaking. How may I help you?”
“Good morning, may I speak with Preston Trice?’
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Melissa Sinclair.”
“Do you mind if I put you on hold for a minute while I inform Mr. Trice of your call?’
“Not at all, sweetheart.”
Elegantly dressed in her black and white pantsuit, Melissa moseyed around her office as she waited for the very busy businessman to answer his very busy phone. She caught a glimpse of Abigail as her eyes swung from a manuscript to her computer.
She had returned from Paris with a serene state of mind. Now her shoulders slumped with the weight of deadlines. Melissa wanted to offer her daughter the same serenity she’d found in Paris.
A throat cleared on the other side of the line, followed by a manly voice. “Mrs. Sinclair, what a lovely surprise.”
“Mr. Trice, nice of you to keep me waiting.”
“I apologize for the wait. I was finishing a conference call. Is Abigail alright?”
“Yes, she’s fine.” She breathed heavily. “The reason as to why I am interrupting your very important meeting is to inform you about Abigail’s twenty-fifth birthday in a couple of weeks.”
“I am very aware of Abigail’s birthday.”
Melissa rolled her eyes. He wasn’t making this any easier. She reminded herself she was doing this for her daughter, not Preston.
“I wanted to throw her a surprise party at our home in Rye. I’d like to invite you and your family to join us for the weekend of her birthday.”
“I’m sure we’ll all be able to make it. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Of course.” As she was about to say her goodbyes, Preston stopped her.
“Now that I have you on the phone, I wanted to speak to you about Abigail.”
“I am listening.”
“I will not ask for Abigail’s hand in marriage as I know you do not own her. However, I would like to make you aware of my intentions to spend the rest of my life with her.”
“Your intentions with my daughter are farfetched, Mr. Trice. If you knew her as you claim you do, you’d know she doesn’t want to be chained to a man for the rest of her life. You may propose to her, but she won’t accept it.”
“If you knew your daughter as you claim you do, you’d know she’d never deny me.”
“Preston,” she managed to say his name through gritted teeth. “If you ever break my daughter’s heart—”
He didn’t let her finish. “If there’s any heartbreaking, it’ll be your daughter holding the sledgehammer.”
