“Do we need security?” he asked.

“I’m Emma McKinley.”

His nostrils flared and he jerked back ever so slightly.

Then, after a silent pause, he lifted a gold pen from the tabletop and tucked it into the breast pocket of his finely tailored jacket. His burgundy silk tie gleamed under the discreet lighting as he straightened to full height. “If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen. I believe I can spare five minutes for Ms. McKinley.”

The men started to rise.

Alex held up a broad hand. “Please. Ms. McKinley and I will use the boardroom.”

He gestured to a wide oak door and indicated she should precede him.

She crossed the room and turned yet another ornate gold handle. The doorway opened into an impressively large boardroom, dominated by an oblong table of polished, inlayed wood. The twenty chairs surrounding it were covered in burgundy leather, and a bank of windows running down one side let in the August sun that was hanging over uptown Manhattan.

She heard the door click shut, and she pivoted to face him.

“I trust you can make this quick,” he said, taking a single step toward her, planting his oxfords wide apart.

He was even larger and more impressive up close, with broad shoulders and a deep, muscular chest. Stark sunrays highlighted the uncompromising planes of his face. His chin was square, the set of his lips grim, and his eyes were the color of gunmetal gray after a glistening rain.

She got the feeling few people crossed him and lived to tell the tale. If she didn’t know he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, she’d swear he grew up on the streets of Brooklyn.

Not that any of it mattered. He wasn’t getting his hands on her baby sister or their company.

“You are not marrying Katie,” she stated bluntly.

He gave a careless shrug. “I believe that’s up to Katie.”

“My father isn’t even cold in his grave.”