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later. And then he would do whatever it took to get Jesse back.

Chapter Seven
    DEVON woke late, rolled out of bed, and headed for the shower with a heavy heart. Whoever came up with the theory life began at forty was a moron. His life was falling apart. Okay, so he had more money than he could hope to spend in a lifetime. He had a nice home, owned an expensive sports car he hardly ever drove, and was head of an internationally acclaimed business. But there had to be more to life than material belongings. All the good things in his life were easily cancelled out by the bad. His mother was a cold, heartless bitch, who made her disapproval of his life choices abundantly clear, and there was a chance his best friend was not the man Devon thought he was. Added to which, the only lover he’d cared anything about in as long as he could remember had left him. In the grand scheme of things, life wasn’t beginning—it was turning to shit.
    Finishing his shower, Devon retrieved his phone from the top of the chest of drawers and saw he had half a dozen missed calls and text messages, some from his mother and the rest from Antonio, but nothing from Jesse. Disappointed, he dressed in a casual T-shirt and jeans and thought he would make the effort to go and see his mother after all. A few hours in the countryside would give him a chance to clear his head and decide what he should do about Jesse.
    Despite it being a Saturday afternoon the London traffic was light and he made good time getting out of the city, reaching the Alexander family estate within an hour. One day the sprawling country mansion and acres of surrounding land would be his, although whether he moved out of the city and actually lived there remained to be seen. He felt sure, even after she was gone, Erica’s spirit would remain in the house, watching over his every move with a disapproving eye.
    As usual, he was met at the door by Arthur, a tall, sombre-faced man who had served Erica for the last three decades as housekeeper, butler, and chauffeur. Devon often wondered if there was anything more to their relationship, although his mother always denied it and Arthur was far too loyal to ever divulge personal information about his employer. And Devon had to admit, it was unlikely his mother would ever lower herself to consort with the staff. That was assuming the woman had ever had a modicum of sexual desire in the first place.
    â€œMadam is in the drawing room, Mr. Alexander,” Arthur said formally, although Devon had asked him countless times to address him by his first name. “I’ll bring afternoon tea shortly, unless you would prefer something stronger.”
    â€œTea will be fine,” Devon replied, resisting the temptation to ask for a large scotch. If he had an alcoholic drink Erica would insist he stay the night, something he really didn’t want to do. An hour or so of his mother’s company was about as much as he could tolerate at the best of times.
    Making his way to the drawing room, Devon found his mother sitting primly on the edge of a hardback chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She had been waiting for him. No doubt she had seen his car coming up the long gravel drive and positioned herself in a manner that would sufficiently express her irritation.
    â€œYou’re late.”
    So much for a warm welcome. “I didn’t realize we had set a time.”
    â€œArthur prepared lunch,” Erica said, with a pointed look at her elegant wristwatch. “All gone to waste now, of course.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” He was already regretting being there. It was always the same, Erica asking him to come out to the house just so she could give him a hard time. So she could moan about anything and everything and leave him feeling like a complete failure. “I slept in late.”
    â€œAlone?”
    Devon looked at her sharply. “Actually, yes. Why do you ask?”
    â€œNo reason.” She