Vote Then Read: Volume I

by Carly Phillips

  “No one told me.” Panic edges my words.

  “Why are you being crazy?” Both of his eyebrows lift, reminding me to lower my voice. As far as I know, Sam has no idea of my past with Cam. He’s the skeleton in my closet, the dirty secret I’ll never tell to anyone.

  “Michael Gordon is the president.” This has to be a mistake. Since the epic failure of our relationship, I haven’t seen Cam—not once. Why is he suddenly in my face? Karma must really be having a laugh this morning.

  “Gordon had a heart attack, and Blackwood weaseled his way in there until we appoint someone else. This meeting is his doing. He insisted.” Disdain oozes from every inch of Sam’s body. I don’t know their history, but by the twitch above his eye, it’s not good.

  “Great.” I pour a glass of water and chug down the entire thing, using the time to pull my head together. Sweat beads on my brow.

  “We need to be on our toes. He’s been breathing down my back for the past two years. I don’t trust the guy any further than I can throw him.”

  “Me neither.” Blood thunders through my ears, rendering me deaf. I walk with Sam toward the conference room, nodding, pretending to hear what he says, but all I can think about is the memory of a warm bed on a cold winter’s morning with a naked Cam beneath the sheets.

  “Have you found an apartment yet?” Sam’s voice breaks into my panic.

  “What? No. I’m moving to the hotel across the street tonight.”

  “You can stay with us. We have plenty of extra rooms, and it’s just me and Dakota in the house.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine.” The strength ebbs from my legs at the sight of the conference room door. My chest constricts. I brace a hand on the wall. Sam grabs my arm. I’ve never had a panic attack, but this seems relatively close.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nod. “I’m fine. I just need a minute.” Nothing could be further from the truth. Cam is on the other side of the door. The last time we met, he broke my heart. The hurt and betrayal come flooding back.

  “You’re allowed to be human, you know?” The hard line of Sam’s jaw relaxes. “I know how devastating divorce can be. Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe you should take a couple of weeks to get your act together. No one will blame you.”

  Although the divorce was uncomfortable, Giles and I remain friends, and I’m more relieved by the separation than anguished. I smooth sweaty palms over my skirt. At least I look good. The black suit is new, perfectly tailored to accentuate my figure, tasteful but not severe. My schedule has been packed, but I found time to purchase a few new wardrobe pieces, suitable for the chief executive officer of a billion-dollar business.

  “I don’t need time off,” I snap. “I need to work. Blackwood will expect me to be weak. I won’t let him come into our building and push me around.” My words are bold, but my insides quake. I’m no longer a nineteen year old college student wearing her heart on her sleeve. Time and experience have obliterated the last vestiges of that girl. I know who I am and what I want from life. Success. Family. Prosperity. Not in that order, of course.

  “Excellent. Put on your game face, and let’s show this guy who’s in charge.” The steel in Sam’s voice shores up my strength. “Blackwood is a snake, but we hold all the balls in our court, and you’re now the most powerful woman in this city. Remember that.”

  The door opens, and the room spins around me. Eighteen faces stare expectantly at us. Most of them belong to my team, but I wasn’t expecting so many people. I’m the only woman. The men stand, all but the one at the opposite end of the table. Before I see his face, I know who he is by the prickle along my skin.

  Black hair curls softly above the collar of his dress shirt. His suit is navy, perfectly tailored to show off broad shoulders, and brings out the blue in his eyes. Age has erased any traces of the boy I knew, but his jaw is still square, his nose straight, and his lips soft and sensual. My pulse skips a beat.

  “Good morning.” The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through my body. It’s the same voice from my memories, sinful, edged with sarcasm, tinged with humor. Our eyes meet, and I’m undone. I haven’t seen those blue eyes in twelve years, and yet I’ve seen them every day of my life since. I blink and look away, remembering the day we met, the day my life changed forever.

  2

  Vanessa

  Twelve Years Ago

  Beneath a cloudless sky, sleek brood mares graze in rolling bluegrass pastures. The horses lift their heads in unison and stare at an approaching cloud of dust in the distance. A shiny yellow Lamborghini races down the winding road to the farm. I shade my eyes with a hand over my forehead and watch the car turn down the long tree-lined driveway. The lazy bloodhound at my feet opens one eye but doesn’t stir.

  “Somebody’s coming,” I say to no one in particular.

  On the lawn, my friend Trish cavorts with her younger brother and sister in a game of badminton. At my announcement, she turns toward the drive and stares. “It’s Tristan.”

  “Tristan! Yay!” Her siblings, Kit and Rob, drop their rackets and race to greet him.

  Trish’s face lights. “He’s brought Cam.” There’s no mistaking the excitement in her tone.

  The car stops in front of the house, and the doors lift. Two beautiful young men unfold long limbs and climb out. They’re dressed in jeans and button-down shirts, casual in an I-just-came-from-the-country-club kind of way. Tristan’s rusty brown hair ruffles in the wind. He lifts a hand in greeting. I wave back. The kids collide into him, almost knocking him down. He draws Trish into a one-armed hug. Their laughter echoes across the distance and sparks my envy. I lean back and still the porch swing, fascinated by the emotional display. It’s sweet and foreign and irritating at the same time. I haven’t seen my brother Sam in three years or my sister Venetia in four. My parents hadn’t bothered to attend my high school graduation last month, citing a “packed schedule.” On the outside, I pretend not to care, but inside, the snub still smarts. Trish has no idea how lucky she is to have a family who loves her. She takes them for granted, something I’d never do.

  The other guy, Cam, is tall and dark. The tail of his shirt is untucked, and his black hair hangs to his shoulders in loose curls. It’s the kind of hair that begs to be touched—glossy, silky, and a trifle unruly. He draws two duffel bags from the interior of the car and shoulders the straps. While Tristan jokes with his siblings, Cam draws in a deep breath, like a stallion scenting the air. His broad chest swells. There’s a primal rawness in the action that tugs on something low in my belly. I sit up and give him a closer look. The cut of his clothes is decent but not expensive, his square jaw unshaven but not slovenly. It’s his eyes that take my breath way. Even from a distance, I can tell they’re intensely blue. When they land on me, a wave of heat rushes into my face.

  “You made it.” Mrs. Avondale floats onto the porch and waves at the boys. As usual, she’s the picture of southern perfection—hair in a low chignon, yellow skirt and blouse immaculate. “Come inside. Leave the bags. Reginald will get them. Cam, it’s nice to see you.”

  Tristan takes the steps two at a time. He pauses on the top riser, nudges my sandal with his deck shoe, and smirks. “Like the car, Vanessa?”

  “Very pretty.” Cars don’t do it for me, and the last I knew, my father had two of this model. I don’t want to ruin Tristan’s excitement, so I smile and nod.

  “Pretty? Cars aren’t pretty,” he scoffs. “Wanna go for a ride later?”

  “Maybe.” I’m not sure I want to be alone with Tristan and his wandering hands.

  “You got here just in time, boys,” Mrs. Avondale says. “Lunch is in ten minutes. We’re having a buffet on the back porch. Kit, Rob, run upstairs and change.”

  The two children slump in disappointment. “Do we have to?” they ask in unison.

  “Yes. You know we always dress for dinner.” Mrs. Avondale’s voice is soft but stern. Her gaze lands on Cam. I can’t quite decipher her look. It lingers so
mewhere between admiration and disdain. “Cam, you can borrow a tie from Tristan if you need one.”

  “I’m good,” he says in a low, rich bass that rumbles into my core and causes my toes to curl. This boy is sin on a stick.

  I stand to go inside at the same time Cam reaches the porch. He towers above me. Our shoulders graze, and an electric tingle races down my bicep. “Sorry,” I murmur.

  “No problem. After you,” he replies.

  I turn to go up the circular stairs, conscious of Cam’s gaze burning my backside. Trish bounces up the steps and into my bedroom. When the door closes behind us, I exhale in relief. The room is charming with flowered wallpaper and priceless antique furniture. Gauzy curtains flutter at the windows. The coziness calms my unease.

  “Isn’t Cam yummy?” Trish belly-flops onto the mattress and kicks her feet in the air behind her.

  “He’s alright, I guess.” In front of the Victorian vanity, I run a brush through my hair and try not to think about his thick-lashed blue eyes or the way my insides knotted when our gazes met.

  “Alright? Are you freaking kidding me? He’s crazy hot, and you know it.” The pages of a fashion magazine crinkle as she thumbs through the latest designs.

  “Okay. He’s attractive.” While she studies a designer bathing suit, I strip out of my shorts and into a breezy sundress. “Aren’t you going to change?”

  “Huh? Yeah, I guess. Mom, will have a cow if I don’t. Can I borrow something of yours?”

  “Sure.” I throw open the double doors of the closet. Yes, I over-packed for this trip, but a girl has to be prepared for every occasion. The Avondales cling to a more formal way of life, showing off their assets with extravagant dinner parties and balls.

  Trish pops off the bed. “You’ve got good taste. Maybe we can go shopping, and you can help me pick out some new outfits.” The hangers rattle as she roots through my wardrobe. She chooses a white dress with green dots and crisscross straps in the back. “How about this? Do you think Cam will like it?”

  “That’ll look good on you. You’ve got the legs for it.” Trish is runway model tall and slender with strawberry blond hair. Everything she wears looks good. Me? Not so much. I’ve got thick thighs and too much junk in the truck. And my breasts? They’re enormous, so big that I have to have my clothes altered.

  “He kissed me once, you know,” she says and peels out of her jeans. “I think he likes me.” I zip up the back of the dress for her. She pirouettes in front of the full-length mirror. The full skirt fans out around her. The neckline sags. She cups her breasts and smooshes them together. “It’s a little too big in the boobs, don’t you think?”

  “Here. Raise your arms.” With two safety pins from the vanity drawer, I pin up the slack.

  “I wish I had a pair of melons like yours.” She drops her arms and frowns.

  “No, you don’t. My back hurts constantly, and I can never find clothes in the right size. Anything that fits my boobs is too big in the waist, or if it fits my waist, it’s too small in the bust.”

  “Maybe, but guys love a girl with a nice rack.” She dismisses my complaint without contemplation and adjusts the shoulder straps. “Tristan’s got his eye on you. Daddy thinks you guys should get married. He said it would be the union of the century if an Avondale married a Seaforth.”

  At the mention of marriage, I wince. No boy has ever won my heart. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even capable of love. Not that it matters. In my family, marriage is considered a business transaction. Since I was a toddler, my parents have stressed the importance of marrying a man who can uphold the Seaforth name and carry on the legacy. My brother Sam married for love, the cook’s daughter, and my dad disowned him. Part of me admires Sam’s rebellion, and the other part wonders why in God’s name he’d give up his inheritance for a girl. I’ve known Dakota since elementary school. She’s nice, but not worth all the family drama. I have no intentions of following in Sam’s footsteps, but I can’t imagine marrying someone I hate either. No, if I marry, it’ll be someone I respect.

  “Tristan’s nice,” I say and avoid her gaze.

  “Pfft. He’s a dick, and you know it.” Her laughter cracks my reserve, and I smile. “I just thought it would be fun for the four of us to double date this summer.”

  “What about William?”

  At the mention of her boyfriend, she rolls her eyes. “What William doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, he’s in Nantucket for the summer. He can’t expect me to be faithful when he’s not around, can he?”

  Her disdain for monogamy unsettles me. I don’t believe in true love, but I don’t believe in cheating either. A person’s word is a priceless treasure, more valuable than money. My father has a mistress, and I know how much it hurts my mother. When—if—I ever have a boyfriend, I’ll never cheat. I’m not looking for a relationship, but if the right guy comes along, I’ll be all in.

  3

  Cam

  Today

  The room falls silent as Sam and Vanessa take their seats. Although I knew she would be present, no amount of mental preparation readied me for the sight of her face. I don’t want to stare, but I can’t help it. She’s curvier than I remember, blonder. A subtle air of confidence cocoons her. The sadness in her dark-lashed, jade green eyes is unexpected and almost—almost—earns my sympathy. She’s not the girl I remember, and I’d be a fool to think she is. This is a powerful woman, the one who crushed my heart a dozen years ago and my most dangerous adversary. She stole the coveted CEO title at Seaforth Industries from under my nose, a position I had plotted and connived to possess. I don’t like to lose, especially to her. Watching her at the head of the table renews my determination. I’ll never lose anything to her again.

  “Please, be seated, gentleman.” The sound of her voice, low and sophisticated, shimmers across the table. “I’ve got a packed schedule today, so let’s get to it. What can I do for you?”

  Tristan kicks my chair and lifts an eyebrow. Since NASA acquired my little college project for an astronomical sum ten years ago, he’s been at my side, as a valued advisor. While I build my fortune, he watches my back, and I pay him handsomely for it. I clear my throat to speak, but nothing comes out.

  Tristan glances curiously at me a second time then picks up the thread of conversation, launching into a full-scale synopsis of the business. “Seaforth Media took a hit with all of your father’s problems. We’d like some reassurance that this disappointing trend won’t continue under your control.” His words blur and fade while I stare at the only woman to hold—and destroy—my heart.

  Vanessa studies the PowerPoint slide, her face a smooth blank. How can she sit there, unaffected, like we were never anything to each other? I’ve seriously underestimated my self-control and my ambivalence. The more I think about what she did to me, the angrier I get. She used me, ghosted me, pushed me aside like I never existed, then married a man twice her age a few weeks later. Beneath the table, my knee bounces.

  The legs of my chair screech across the floor as I shove away from the table. Tristan halts mid-sentence. My voice comes out raspy. “Could you excuse us for a minute? I’d like to talk to Ms. Seaforth alone.” We need to clear the air before I can conduct business. Otherwise, I’m going to be stuck in an endless loop of questions and speculation over something that happened too long ago to be important.

  Sam glances at Vanessa. “You okay with that?”

  The color drains from her face. She draws in a deep breath. “It’s fine.”

  We wait in uncomfortable silence while the men filter from the room. Her fingertips drum on the table. The air thickens until I can barely breathe. The door clicks shut, and we’re left alone.

  “Cam. It’s been a long time.” The way she says my name conjures up memories of lazy mornings in bed, her nails clawing my back, the clutch of her thighs around my waist. Shit. I’m getting hard, and that’s the last thing I need.

  “A very long time.” Whatever existed between us is long gone, killed
by my poor choices and her narrowmindedness. Annoyance replaces nostalgia. Screw the past. I want resolution. Now. “Congratulations on your new job.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Which you stole from under my nose, by the way. Nicely done.” It would help if her outfit was a little less sexy. A bit of cleavage peaks from the V of her blouse. Experience tells me her tits are soft and voluptuous and worthy of a centerfold. Every time she crosses and uncrosses her legs, showing a glimpse of toned thighs beneath her skirt, a tug pulls in my groin. My dick has a mind of his own and a history of poor judgment. Vanessa tops the list.

  “Were you surprised?” The tip of her tongue slides over her lower lip, a gesture I remember with fondness. Stop it, Cam. What the fuck is wrong with me? I hate this woman, but I can’t stop picturing her lips around my dick.

  “Very, but I don’t know why. Seaforths have a reputation for being ruthless.”

  “Don’t be a sore loser. All’s fair in love and war, right?” Her pink fuck-me lips part in a cocky smirk. Confidence looks good on her. Damn, if I don’t want to fuck her right now, on this table, with her skirt up around her waist, and that sassy mouth begging me to make her come. For an instant, the notion seems plausible until I remember the way she used me.

  “Is this war? Are we enemies, Vanessa?” Why am I flirting with her when I despise everything she stands for? She’s old money, one of them, society’s elite—something I’ll never be, no matter how rich I get or how many companies I own.

  “Would you like a drink?” She rises, giving me a prime view of her sweet, round bottom, and walks to the liquor cabinet. I like a woman with meat on her bones, enough flesh for a good handhold. Vanessa’s got the perfect amount. It’s great to see a woman with real curves.

  “It’s a little early, don’t you think?” I shift in the chair to ease the pressure behind my fly. Traitorous dick. Good thing I’m in control of this situation, or he’d have me panting at her heels.