Chapter 5: Another Deal

I was already pulling on clothes as she explained – Michael's condition had deteriorated overnight. A brain hemorrhage. Emergency surgery.

When I arrived at the hospital, my mother's face told me everything before the doctors could explain. The surgery would take at least two hours, with no guarantees. "The next twenty-four hours are critical," the doctor said, his practiced calm doing nothing to soften the blow.

We settled into the familiar rhythm of hospital waiting – the too-bright fluorescent lights, the antiseptic smell, the steady beep of monitors from nearby rooms. My mother clutched her rosary, lips moving in silent prayer.

"He's strong," I assured her, though my own voice wavered. "Like Father."

She squeezed my hand. "Your father would be so proud of you, Sarah. Taking on everything..."

"I'm not doing enough." The words escaped before I could stop them. "Le Mitchell is barely staying afloat. The suppliers are threatening to cut us off. And now Michael..."

"You're doing everything you can."

But what if everything isn't enough? The thought echoed as I watched the surgery status monitor, its red light a constant reminder of how precarious our situation had become.

The crisp autumn air bit at my skin as I stepped out for a cigarette – a habit I'd quit years ago but found myself returning to in moments of desperation. Through the hazy smoke, I noticed a black sedan parked across the street, its engine idling. Two silhouettes sat in the front seats – one tall and broad-shouldered like James, the other with the distinctive posture of Dr. Parker.

No, it couldn't be James, I dismissed the thought immediately. A man calculated enough to maintain a fake coma for months wouldn't risk exposure by personally tailing me to a hospital. He'd send someone else – probably Marcus or another security detail.

The sedan pulled away smoothly, disappearing into the flow of Manhattan traffic. Still, the glimpse of those familiar shoulders left me unsettled. I crushed the cigarette under my heel, trying to shake off the strange feeling.

Exhaustion weighed on every step as I returned to Moon Lake Estate the next morning. The doctors were cautiously optimistic about Michael's surgery, but the list of potential complications they'd rattled off seemed endless.

I was so tired I almost walked straight into Victoria Thornton in the main hall. William's mother looked as perfectly coiffed as ever, her Chanel suit a study in Upper East Side elegance.

"Sarah, dear." Her smile was tight, eyes sharp with suspicion. "Mrs Wilson told me you never came home last night. Already seeking out another man, so soon after your wedding?"

The implication was clear—questioning my loyalty to my comatose husband.

Before I could respond, William let out a low chuckle. "That was quick," he said, tilting his head. "Should we be congratulating the lucky guy?"

I thought of the champagne he'd tried to drug me with three nights ago. "William, how's that investigation into your attempted assault going? I hear the Metropolitan Club has excellent security cameras."

The color drained from Victoria's face. "William? What is she talking about?"

"Nothing, Mom. She's clearly talking nonsense—"

"The footage might disagree." I kept my voice light. "But I'm sure the board would love to hear your explanation."

Victoria grabbed her son's arm, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his sleeve. "We're leaving. Now."

As they retreated, I caught fragments of their heated whispers.

"—reckless behavior could destroy everything—"

"—doesn't matter, he's never waking up—"

I waited until their footsteps faded before allowing my shoulders to slump. The victory felt hollow compared to the mountain of problems still facing my family. But as I climbed the stairs to my room, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd stumbled onto something bigger than just William's personal vendetta.

I hadn't expected James to be waiting in the bedroom, a stack of papers on the antique desk before him. For a moment, my heart sank – divorce papers already?

"I was at the hospital all night," I said before he could speak. "Michael had emergency surgery, I couldn't leave the ICU."

"I know." His voice was surprisingly gentle. When I looked up sharply, he pushed the papers toward me. "This is an investment contract for Le Mitchell."

My tired brain took a moment to process his words. "Investment...?"

I stared at him, caught off guard by this sudden shift. Just hours ago, he'd coldly dismissed my request for help. Now he was offering exactly what I needed? The timing was too convenient – right after my disastrous meeting with William at the Metropolitan Club.

He's trying to keep me away from William, I realized, the thought sending an unexpected flutter through my chest. Despite all his talk about this being purely business, despite his calculated facade, was he actually... concerned? The idea that James Thornton might care enough to protect me, even if he wouldn't admit it, made my heart beat faster than it should have.

James was already seated on the edge of the bed when he patted the space beside him, a silent command. I hesitated for a moment before sitting down, the mattress shifting under our combined weight. The proximity made the air between us feel heavy, charged.

"Eight million dollars for a thirty percent stake in the restaurant."

The amount matched exactly what we needed, but– "Thirty percent? That's too much. Ten percent would be more reasonable."

He reached out, fingers brushing against my bare knee, tracing slow, deliberate circles. "For eight million? In a struggling restaurant?"

I swallowed hard, my skin tingling where he touched me. "A historic restaurant with significant brand value." I straightened my spine, willing my voice to stay steady. "Fifteen percent."

"Twenty-five." His fingers trailed higher, grazing the sensitive skin of my thigh, his touch light, teasing.

"Twenty-five."

"Twenty."

He leaned back, studying me with those dark, calculating eyes. "Twenty-five, with guaranteed non-interference in traditional recipes and operations. No operational control."

My heart raced. This was more than just money – this was a chance to save Le Mitchell on our own terms. "Include a buy-back option."

"Done." He picked up a pen. "Thirty percent."

I started to protest, but he held up a hand. fingers brushing my cheek before sliding down to my collarbone, his touch searing.

"The extra five percent is non-negotiable. But in return, you get my protection from William's schemes."

Protection. The word hung between us, reminding me of the security guard who'd intervened at the Metropolitan Club.

"Fine. Thirty percent." I took the pen, scanning the contract's terms.

As I reviewed the contract, fragments of hazy memories from the night at Metropolitan Club suddenly crystallized. The sensation of his lips on mine, the heat of his body pressing me, the desperate intensity of that kiss - it all came rushing back with startling clarity.

My hand froze mid-signature. "You kissed me that night, didn't you?" I looked up at him. "After Marcus brought me back from the Metropolitan Club."