The guard raised his baton, ready to strike, but paused when he saw my face. Recognition flickered in his eyes—not respect. Malice. He signaled his buddies. They grabbed my arms, dragging me toward Summer.
Summer set down her coffee, cruel delight dancing in her eyes. "Well, well. If it isn't the cuckoo who stole the nest."
She looked me up and down. "You pitiful little worm. Now that I'm back, you can join this group of cripples and get the hell out."
Gone was the fragile victim from the villa. This was pure, unadulterated entitlement.
I turned my head. Jonathan stood nearby, a bright red handprint searing his cheek.
I wrenched against the guards' grip. "Do you have *any* idea what you're doing? You're gutting this company!" I shouted. "Let me go and rehire these people immediately!"
Summer scoffed. "You? Command *me*?" She jerked her chin toward the stairs. "That old geezer—is he your lover?"
She made a gagging noise. "So *that's* why you refused the marriage alliance. You have a thing for geriatrics? God, Sister, your tastes are disgusting."
Before I could retort, the elevator doors pinged.
A group of men in sharp suits strode in.
"Which one of you is Ms. Simmons?" the lead man asked.