Page 23 of Sweet Poison

The garden.

Fairies.

Cold winter nights.

Christmas Eve.

Bittersweet memories with him.

Madden Hunt, my once foster brother, the one who had given me countless magical moments in my childhood and my first friend aside from my cousins. The boy who was my superhero and the one who made me feel safe when the world outside seemed so very scary. But most important he saw me for me and not my disability.

I feel a rush of emotions hit me all at once—surprise, sadness, and a touch of disbelief. My heart races as I try to process the fact that someone from my past, someone who meant so much,is standing right in front of me now, in the middle of our meeting here in Brazil.

Is he the owner? I wonder still struck by his presence.

Madden’s expression shifts subtly, a flicker of something that seems like recognition flashes in his eyes. For a brief moment, the uncaring and grumpy façade slips, and a hint of something familiar crosses his face. But as soon as it appears, it fades. But he masked it too late, I saw it.

Madden…

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The room seems to dissolve further as I sit still unable to find my next breath.

My mother is a firm believer in fate and from the first moment I told her about this trip she knew something magical awaited me here.

She was right.

Now the question lingers: Was it coincidence, or was it fate that brought him back into my life?

Madden

“Good luck in there, boss,”Lincoln mutters from behind me, clearly amused. The fucker knows I hate being told what to do, and this damn meeting has been irritating me ever since I found out about it. Remi called and convinced me that meeting with the researchers from Green Planet Lab, amid all this media circus, would be good for not only my reputation but for my hotel as well.

Ignoring the nuisance, I push through the heavy doors of the conference room, the dull thud of them closing behind us echoing in the large room. As soon as I enter the first thing I see are more atrocious Christmas decorations.

Fucking great.

Large red and white ornaments on every available corner of the ceiling. Twinkling lights flashing in tune with the low sound of Christmas carols in the background.

Mistletoes.

And then there’s them.

Five of them to be exact.

Just what I need—a room full of research geeks talking about shit I have zero interest in. I barely stifle a groan as I scan the room with a look of disinterest.

The two young men catch my eye first. The first one, the man with brown hair and the boring as hell taste in clothes, has an intense look about him—he’s staring down at his notes as he scribbles furiously on the paper. The other guy’s face is lit up with a grin so wide it might split his face in half. He’s practically bouncing on his heels, and I can already tell he’s the type who’ll try to impress me with every little detail about his research. Then there are two women, young and excited, also bouncing in their seats, their eager smiles grating on my nerves. I don’t even bother to nod at them, my eyes sliding past each face with an air of detached boredom.

And then, my gaze lands on her.

Time seems to freeze. The rest of them blur into insignificance. My usually loud mind goes quiet, except for the undeniable fact that she’s here, and suddenly, nothing else seems to matter. The energy in the room shifts, and my usual bravado falters under her gaze but only for a split second.

Those eyes.

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