Andrea doesn’t know what to say. Lance stares at her over his cup of coffee—his expression calm and calculating. She bites her lip and looks at her father. His eyes are wide and there’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. He’s twisting the linen napkin around and around in his hand.
“Answer his question,” Anthony hisses.
“I’m asking you because I don’t understand your decision at all,” Andrea says. “You just admitted that the Aitkens Company isn’t doing so well—why are you so determined to buy it? What do you really want, Lance?”
Lance laughs low in his throat. Andrea tries to glare at him, but he’s too busy typing something on his phone to notice. His long, white fingers slide back and forth across the glass screen and Andrea shivers; she can’t help but remember how they felt on
