Chapter 2 - The Little Girl and the CEO
The single word cut through the ambient ballroom chatter like a silver bell.
A four-year-old girl with a cascade of dark, glossy curls and a bright pink party dress raced at top speed through the cluster of tuxedo-clad guests, dodging servers carrying hors d'oeuvres trays, and launched herself directly toward me.
Instinct took over. I dropped my sparkling water glass—which was safely caught by a passing waiter—and dropped to my knees, opening my arms wide.
“Emma! Slow down, sweet girl, you’re going to trip!” I laughed, catching her warm, bouncing weight as she crashed into my chest.
She wrapped both tiny arms tightly around my neck, burying her face into my shoulder. “I found you! Dad and I have been looking everywhere for you by the chocolate fountain!”
“Have you now?” I murmured, pressing a soft kiss into her curls.
The immediate vicinity around us went completely, suffocatingly dead. The ambient chatter faded. The jazz quartet playing near the stage seemed to drone into the background.
Marcus Mercer stared down at Emma.
Then his eyes darted up to me.
Then his gaze drifted beyond me, fixed on the approaching figure weaving effortlessly through the crowd.
A tall, impeccably dressed man in a bespoke midnight-blue Tom Ford tuxedo was walking toward us with long, unhurried strides. In his right hand, he carried a pair of tiny, glittering silver Mary Jane shoes that Emma must have kicked off while riding in his arms earlier.
Chloe turned pale, her fingers digging so hard into Marcus’s sleeve that her knuckles turned white. She whispered frantically, “Marcus… look…”
But Marcus didn't hear her. He couldn't speak. His entire body had locked rigid, his jaw slackening as color drained rapidly from his face until he looked like a corpse carved out of marble.
Because Marcus didn't just recognize the man walking toward us.
Every single corporate executive, investor, and financial reporter in the city of Boston recognized him.
Julian Rhodes.
Founder, principal owner, and Chief Executive Officer of Rhodes Capital—a multi-billion-dollar private equity firm that controlled half the major tech startups and logistics corporations on the Eastern Seaboard.
And, most critically for Marcus Mercer: Julian Rhodes was the CEO of the exact venture capital firm currently conducting final due diligence to acquire Marcus’s struggling logistics company.
Julian reached us, knelt beside Emma and me with easy grace, and handed the silver shoes to our daughter. Then he leaned in, pressed a warm, lingering kiss to my temple, and smiled down at me.
“There you are,” Julian murmured, his voice rich and steady. “I turn my back for two minutes to grab you a glass of Pinot Noir, and you wander off into the social jungle.”
Marcus’s champagne glass slipped violently in his grip, the stem snapping against his palm, spilling amber liquid across his pristine white shirt cuff.
He stared at Julian. Then back at Emma. Then back at me.
“Evelyn…” Marcus whispered, his voice trembling so badly the syllables barely formed. “You’re… you’re married to Julian Rhodes?”
I shifted Emma comfortably onto my hip, raised my chin, and looked straight into the eyes of the man who had once told me I would be a helpless nobody without him.
May you like
“Yes, Marcus,” I said clearly. “I am.”
And for the first time that night, Marcus Mercer stopped smiling.
