Nolan leaned back in his chair, savoring the rich taste of scotch as it warmed his throat. The dinner had been exceptional, and they had both passed on dessert in favor of vintage scotch on ice. His gaze settled on Connor, noting the deep lines etching his friend's once-smooth face and the noticeable weight loss. "What's going on with you, Connor? You look exhausted and seem completely distracted."
Connor dragged his palm across his face with a heavy sigh. "I'm not just here on business. I'm searching for someone—a woman."
Nolan's interest piqued as he leaned forward, elbows on the table. "I thought you were set to marry the Powell heiress. What happened?"
"That's off the table now." Connor's voice dropped. "Before my father arranged that match, I was involved with someone else. Lyla Palmer is practically a child—she only turned eighteen last month."
