“Probably, but I’ve already had a hell of a day.” The cabinet doors slide open noiselessly. An ice cube tinkles into a glass. Her hand trembles as she pours a shot of bourbon. So she’s not as confident as she pretends to be.
“How very French.” The knowledge that she’s nervous eases a bit of my anxiety. “You didn’t answer my question. Are we enemies?” I rise to my feet, follow her to the liquor cabinet, and stand beside her.
“I suppose that’s up to you.” Green eyes blaze up at me. They’re deep and clear and filled with determination. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on something that happened years ago?”
Her words cut into me. When she turns away, I grab her elbow, forcing her to look at me. “No phone call, no voice mail, no text. Nothing but empty space and silence for twelve years. I deserved more than that. You never gave me a chance to explain.”
“Explain what? That you sleep with women for money?” She struggles against my grip.
The accusation hangs on the air between us. We stare at each other with open animosity. A world of pain floats between her thick, dark eyelashes. The revelation shakes my control. Not once had I considered her feelings, that she might have been hurt too. I drop her arm.
“Slept with women for money. Past tense. Now they sleep with me for my money. Which is more than a little ironic, don’t you think?” Although my tone is glib, the words are true. Wealth brings with it a host of problems I never considered. Gold-diggers flock to me. They knock on my door daily to ask for favors and money. The people around me are the ones I trust, old friends like Tristan and Galen. No one else gets through my guard unless I let them.
“You lied to me. Liars don’t deserve an explanation.” Her gaze flits to the exit as if judging the distance, preparing to make a break for it.
“From where I stand, you’re the liar.” I thought I was over what she’d done, but seeing her has dredged up old feelings, ripped away the bandage of time, and reopened the wound.
“Not everything is about sex and money, Cam.” The tone of her voice drips with disdain. I want to wrap my fingers around her neck and choke some sense into her. My gaze falls to her lips. And then I want to kiss her until she begs me to stop.
“Was I your toy? Something to ease the monotony between shopping trips and spending Daddy’s money?”
“You’re one to talk. How many women did you screw to get to the top? A lot, right? Including my mother?”
I wince at the jab, but damn if I’ll let her see the crack in my confidence. “For the record, I never slept with your mother. I wouldn’t do that, Vanessa. No matter how shitty you treated me. As for the rest of the women, I did what I had to do. And before you point fingers, princess, you need to take a hard look at yourself. You’re far from perfect. Unlike you, I earned every penny of my fortune. Everyone knows you got this job because of who you are and not what you can do.” One step forward reduces the distance between us to an inch. From this position, I can see down the front of her jacket, the swell of her breasts rising and falling, the lacy pink camisole beneath the lapels. Her tits are still perfect, which pisses me off more. This would be so much easier if she’d gotten fat and ugly. But she’s not. She’s sexy, confident, and I’m drawn to her like a cat to catnip.
“I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate you.” Her words hit me with the impact of a slap. “And what you said reminds me of why.”
I draw in a deep, cleansing breath and put a little space between us. While I shove a hand through my hair, she glares at me. The impossibility of our situation grows with each passing second. We can’t stand in a room together, let alone run a company as partners. There’s too much bad blood between us, too many lies, and too much history. “This isn’t a game. It’s serious business. These men are going to eat you alive. It’s only a matter of time until you screw up and embarrass all of us.”
Her nostrils quiver. A sliver of guilt slices through my false bravado. When did I become such a dick? When I learned she was going to take the CEO position, I investigated her background. She’d done a fine job of running a Paris-based cosmetics company, but I can’t tell her that.
She slams the tumbler onto the credenza, sloshing liquor on the polished surface. “This meeting is over.” With her nose in the air, she makes a beeline for the door.
“It’s not over until I say it is.” I follow her into the hall. Who the hell does she think she’s talking to? No one walks out on me.
She raises a hand overhead and lifts her middle finger. The hum of conversation in the hallway screeches to a halt. All heads pivot to watch Vanessa storm toward her office, high heels clicking like gunshots on the marble tiles.
“You’re going to be sorry,” I shout after her. Tristan gapes then doubles over in laughter. Embarrassment sets fire to my face. I scowl at him. “Stop laughing. Call our driver. We’re out of here.”
Cam
Twelve Years Ago
After lunch, Tristan and I take a dip in the pool. Overwhelmed by the heat, everyone else heads upstairs for a nap. I dive into the cool water and surface on the other side. White Grecian columns line the sides of the pool, interspersed with statues of naked women. Tristan swims two laps then sprawls on a deck chair. From behind his shades, his gaze drills into me. By the tension in his jaw, something’s eating at him.
“Dibs on Vanessa,” he says after a long silence.
“Huh?” I shake the water from my ears.
“You heard me.” He removes his sunglasses and stares at me. “Vanessa. She’s mine. Or she’s going to be by the time we leave here.”
“No promises.” I climb onto an inflatable raft and paddle toward him. One girl is pretty much the same as another in my world, but I like to tease him. “What if she wants me? It would be rude to turn her down.”
“I’m tired of being cock blocked by you all the time.” His tone is petulant, irritated.
“When have I ever blocked your cock?” I don’t know why he’s bitching. Up until today, he’s been a willing wingman, using his clean-cut, boy-next-door appearance as a foil to my dark good looks and bad boy persona. Unlike Tristan, I don’t have a lot going for me. I’m poor and from the wrong side of the tracks. I have to scrap and fight for every opportunity. I hang onto the ladder in front of him and wait for an explanation.
“Susan Duncan. Patty Pendergast.” His fair brow furrows. No matter how much sun he gets, he never tans, while I’m already bronzed.
“I didn’t know you were interested in either of those girls.” Tristan has a fan club of his own. He’s never without a girl in his bed. I find it hard to believe he’s heartbroken.
“What’s the point? You shagged them both before I had a chance to dazzle them with my moves.” To emphasize his point, he rolls his shoulder in a silly dance.
“Promise me you’ll never do that again.”
“Just saying, my friend. I don’t want any bad blood later. We both know she’s going to fall hard for me.” He repeats his shoulder dance.
“Not if you keep doing that weird move.” We laugh together. He might be one of them, but underneath the layers of designer clothes and high dollar haircut, he’s the nicest guy I’ve ever known.
“Don’t you think Vanessa’s hot?” He’s a bulldog with a bone; he never gives up.
“She’s okay.” A fly buzzes over my forearm. I shoo it away. Damn pest. “I’m not into blondes.” Or brunettes or redheads, but I don’t elaborate. In my experience, they all feel the same when you’re cock is buried inside them. My only goal in life is to dig myself out of the hole I was born in, using any means available. If that includes sleeping with older women for money, I’m down with it.
“Okay, my ass. She’s a Seaforth.”
This tidbit piques my interest. I cock my head. “You mean the Seaforths?”
“Oh, yeah. The very same.” He nods and waits for my reaction.
I roll this information around in my head for a second. You’d have to live under a rock to not know w
ho the Seaforths are. The Avondales are rich, but the Seaforths exist in a different stratosphere. The head of the family, Maxwell, is one of the wealthiest men in the country. His business dealings are the stuff of legend. His three children—Sam, Vanessa, and a little girl whose name I can’t remember—are going to be very powerful and very wealthy someday.
“She’s American royalty,” Tristan adds, as if I don’t already know this. With a cocky grin, he sinks back in his chair. “Hell, I don’t know why I’m worried. A girl like her wouldn’t give you the time of day.”
Even though he’s teasing, his automatic dismissal sparks my temper. I grit my teeth and count to ten. When that doesn’t help, I submerge below the surface of the water until the blood stops pounding through my veins. Tristan is a good guy, but he still manages to get under my skin now and then.
Cool down, Cam. I swim underwater until my lungs burn, trying to outrace the sense of inferiority. I don’t blame Tristan. Sometimes his mouth overtakes his brain. He was nice enough to invite me to his home for the summer when he found out I had nowhere to go for break. By the time I reach the opposite end of the pool, I’m dying for oxygen. I pop above the water to find Vanessa and Trish standing on the deck in front of me. Trish is wearing a ruffled one-piece with cutouts, but Vanessa’s hot-pink string bikini has me rethinking my denial to Tristan. Her skin is tanned a honey-gold and her sun-streaked hair is piled high on her head. I try not to stare, but fuck me, if her tits aren’t the biggest, roundest, perkiest pair I’ve ever seen.
When my gaze finally reaches her face, her awaiting scowl makes me laugh out loud. Okay, so she caught me. I’m sure it’s not the first time a guy has ogled her tits. Hell, what am I supposed to do? I’m a healthy twenty-year-old dude, and the erection in my board shorts proves it. I tread water at the poolside and wait for it to subside. She sighs and rolls her eyes before taking a lounge chair in the farthest corner of the deck.
Trish descends the steps in the shallow end and squeals with every step. “It’s so cold.”
Great. Here she comes. I knew she’d be an unpleasant side effect of this vacation. I should never have kissed her last summer. I blame my drunken dick for that. He tends to get out of hand sometimes. She playfully splashes water at me. I can do this. I roll out the kink in my neck and prepare to invoke evasive measures if she gets too touchy-feely. Sure enough, she dogpaddles to my side and eases a hand down my chest.
“I thought you were taking a nap,” I say.
“We decided the pool would be more fun,” she replies. Her hand slides lower to the waistband of my shorts. I suck in a breath. My back is to Tristan, so I’m pretty sure he can’t see his sister molesting me. I back up a step. She smirks. “You must do a lot of sit-ups to have a six-pack like that.”
“Two hundred a day. Sometimes more.” I take pride in my body and work hard to keep in shape.
Her eyes widen in appreciation. She’s not an ugly girl. In fact, my friends think she’s hot as shit. Tall, slim, athletic. It’s her attitude that turns me off. I can’t stand the way she treats me like I’m second class, like I’m a loser. They tolerate me for Tristan’s sake, but the minute he loses interest in our friendship, I’ll be forgotten. Her fingers tease the edge of my waistband. I grab her hand and gently push it away. She’s Tristan’s sister, and I’m not going to violate the boundary of our friendship. Vanessa, on the other hand, is fair game.
“Why don’t we go for a walk tonight?” she asks. “Just the two of us. Have you ever been to a lake, city boy?” For each step I take backward, she takes an equal step forward.
“Yes, country girl, I have.” I don’t try to hide the disdain in my voice.
“We can go for a swim. You won’t need a suit.” Her gaze drifts down to my shorts. Jesus, this girl is persistent.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m kind of tired after the drive.” Before she can reply, I lunge up the ladder and grab a towel. From the corner of my eye, I see Vanessa watching us over the top of her tablet. Amusement curls the corners of her mouth. I wipe away the beads of water on my chest, going nice and slow, giving her time to appreciate the view. She swipes a pink tongue over the swell of her bottom lip then drops her gaze back to the tablet.
“What are you reading?” I ask, eager to detach myself from Trish. A frown replaces Vanessa’s smile. I take a seat on the edge of the chair next to her. When she doesn’t answer, I snatch the tablet away and scan the text. “The Wall Street Journal? Is this your idea of light reading?”
She reclaims the tablet and settles back with an exasperated sigh. “I like to stay on top of things.”
I have a quick, inappropriate flash of her straddling my hips, riding me like a vengeful cowgirl, those beautiful breasts bouncing. “I like to stay on top, too. We might have a conflict.” I expect a rebuke or roll of those expressive green eyes, but instead, I get a big fat nothing. Interesting. I’m used to girls chasing after me, giggling at my inappropriate innuendos. This lack of reaction is perplexing and refreshing. I clasp my hands between my spread knees and study her.
“Don’t stare. It’s rude.” Without looking up, she swipes a finger across the screen.
“It is. My bad.” This girl grows more intriguing by the second. “I can’t believe you called me out on it.”
“Well, I thought you’d like to know.” Is it my imagination, or is there the tiniest hint of a smile teasing the corners of her mouth again?
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
Mrs. Avondale steps onto the patio. She’s changed clothes yet again, the third time since I arrived a few hours ago. “Trish, is your dress ready for the dinner party?”
“Yes, Mom.” Trish sighs and rolls her eyes.
“Tristan, please try on your tuxedo today and make sure it fits.” Mrs. Avondale’s gaze lands on me. “Cam, I’m so sorry you won’t be joining us. You’re welcome to take the car into town for dinner, if you’d like. Or I can have cook fix something for you.”
The insult slices between my ribs, pointed and painful, but not unexpected. “I’ll be fine.”
“Great. You’re a dear.” She smiles at me but her eyes are cold. They light again for Vanessa. “Do you need anything, Vanessa?”
“No, thank you.” She doesn’t look up. After a few seconds, Mrs. Avondale presses her palms together and returns to the house.
“Cam? Would you put some lotion on my back?” Trish beckons from a few yards away.
“Better run along,” Vanessa says. “We don’t want Trish to burn.” She glances up through her lashes, and our gazes connect. A pulse of electricity zings through my limbs. I want to know more of this girl, but it will only lead to trouble—for us both.
4
Vanessa
Today
After showing my ass to Cameron and the staff, I retreat to the refuge of my office. Sam follows on my heels. Even though I can’t see him, his irritation singes the hairs on the back of my neck. He slams the door behind us and follows me to the threshold of the attached bathroom. “What the hell was that? I told you to be calm and in charge, not piss him off.”
My hands shake as I splash cold water on my wrists and neck. “Just give me a minute.” Using my foot, I close the door in his face. In the mirror, a stranger stares back at me, someone hard and angry. I study her reflection, not liking this woman at all. Calm self-assurance has always been my biggest asset, but I’ve never been hateful. How did Cam manage to get under my skin so quickly?
Maybe Sam is right. My divorce has only been final a few weeks. The kids are an ocean away, and I miss them. I’m lonely, homeless, and this job is way over my head. Seeing Cameron shook my confidence to the core, and I don’t know why. He means nothing to me. Our history is a closed book, one I don’t care to reopen. Unfortunately, fate has decided to shove him in my face.
I smooth my hair before returning to my desk.
Sam sits in the overstuffed chair across from me and steeples his fingers in front of him. “Well?”
“I lost my temper.” I pretend to search through the stacks of files for a nonexistent report. “He’s a dick.”
“True. But whatever that was, it wasn’t about the company. It was personal, and the boardroom isn’t the place to air your dirty laundry. Care to explain?”
“No.” Heat rushes into my face. I rummage through the desk drawer for a pen. Like this job, everything is new and unfamiliar. Finally, a ballpoint slides into view.
“I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” Amusement tinges his words. “Did you screw him?”
“Sam!”
“That’s not a denial.” He’s enjoying this way too much. “Is he the reason you got a divorce?”
“No. Stop it.” I throw the pen at him. He catches it neatly and tosses it back.
“All kidding aside, if he’s as angry as he looks, we’re in trouble.”
Sam’s right. Seaforth Industries comes first; my personal life must take a back seat. I decide to give him the sanitized version of the story.
“We had a relationship in college.” The words come haltingly at first but pick up speed. “In retrospect, I didn’t handle the breakup very well. Instead of talking to him about it, I ran away. Today is the first time we’ve seen each other since then.”
Sam’s belly laugh echoes through the room. “No wonder he’s pissed.”
“I’m glad you find it so amusing.”
The grin fades from his face. “I wish you would have told me.” He pats my hand. The uncharacteristic show of affection brings a lump to my throat.
“I didn’t want to bother you. You had your own troubles.” My father made Sam’s life hell by meddling in his relationship with Dakota, ultimately causing their divorce. They’ve since remarried and put the past behind them. A dozen questions about their reconciliation invoke my curiosity, but I don’t want to pry.
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