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had, no doubt, lost that sweetness.
    Yes, Trystan was a man, and therefore she would treat him as one when next she saw him. After all, Vienne knew how to “handle” men.
    “I don’t have any recourse, do I?” she asked after another sip.
    Angelwood shook his head. “I don’t believe so. Kane didn’t break any laws or oaths by buying up interest in your scheme. His behavior might not have been completely honest, but he’s done nothing criminal. You have all the capital you need, Vienne, and a partner who has made a reputation and a fortune in commerce. I understand being upset over losing complete control, but the situation could have been far worse.”
    He was right, of course. Angelwood usually was, but that didn’t make hearing it any easier. Vienne was unused to depending on anyone else. She was not good at sharing and trusted in her own instincts above all others.
    And her instincts told her to get as far away from her new partner as possible. There was nothing for it. She was going to have to show Trystan Kane who was in charge.
    W hen a note from Vienne, saying that she wanted to get together to discuss their collective “vision” of the emporium, arrived later that day, Trystan was not surprised. Vienne had time to think about the situation, and now she would have come up with a strategy to either get rid of him or manipulate him.
    Obviously she was intelligent enough to know getting rid of him was not an option—especially not with the amount of money he’d already invested in the scheme—so this meant that she was going to sally forth with manipulation. She wanted to meet him for drinks at Saint’s Row later that evening. Was he available?
    Smiling, Trystan set the note aside and leaned back in his padded leather chair, propping his feet on the polished walnut top of his desk. He would make himself available —of course!— if for no other reason than to discover exactly what she had in mind.
    He pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket and checked the time. He had an appointment he needed to get to.
    He swung his feet to the floor, stood, and swept his jacket from the brass rack in the corner, slipping his arms into the sleeves as he left the room. He almost forgot his hat, whirling abruptly to snatch it up. He neatly tucked the key to his apartments into his pocket after he locked the door. His rooms took up half of this floor; Jack Friday’s took the rest. If Jack and Sadie renewed their relationship when Jack returned to London, they could offer up his rooms as a luxury suite for wealthy visitors.
    Trystan paused on the threshold of the lift, his hand braced against the gate. Luxury suites! Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? So much of Grosvenor Square and Mayfair land was tied up in leases. He might be able to acquire a large house or a parcel with smaller buildings nearby, or he could build a series of opulent accommodations—all for those who traveled to the city not in need of an entire house, such as bachelors or ladies without husbands or children. A home, albeit smaller, for when you’re away from home. Brilliant!
    The boy who operated the lift looked at him. “Are you all right, sir?”
    Trystan’s head jerked up and he grinned at the boy. His embarrassment at being caught dreaming paled in comparison to his enthusiasm for the new idea. “I’m more than all right, Jones. In fact, I think I might be something of a genius.”
    A wide smile claimed Jones’s young face. “Won’t argue with you there, Mr. Kane. Down, sir?”
    With an enthusiastic yes, Trystan stepped into the cagelike box and rode it down to the foyer. The marble floor gleamed, the windows shone, and everything smelled clean and fresh. He took a moment to stand there and glance around. Perfectly groomed and uniformed employees smiled and waited on guests from Britain and the Continent, all of whom were there because the Barrington was not only the finest London had to offer, but one of the best in all of