At lunch on Friday, I sit across the table and try not to look at her. Her bare leg grazes mine beneath the table. She gasps. I jump, my skin prickling, my knee jostling the table. Everyone looks at me.
“What was that?” Tristan’s eyebrows lift.
“Are you okay?” Trish asks Vanessa. Her eyes narrow, and her gaze bounces between us.
“Yes. Fine.” Vanessa drops her gaze to her plate, but her lips curve into a secretive smile.
“Muscle spasm,” I say.
Thankfully, I’m saved by an urgent text. The name on the message puts my life back into perspective. Mrs. Avondale glares at the intrusion. Cell phones are strictly forbidden at meals.
“I’m sorry, but I need to take this,” I say and excuse myself from the table. Vanessa doesn’t look up or acknowledge my apology. She’s too busy staring at her tuna salad. From the safety of my bedroom, I hit redial.
“Cam? Oh, thank goodness.” The answering female voice is smooth, low, and sophisticated with a hint of Boston accent. “Darling, why haven’t you answered my calls?”
“I’m on vacation, remember?”
“I know, darling. I know. I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t important.”
Instantly, I put on my business hat. She’s a good customer. “What can I do for you, Kate?”
“I need a favor. Can you come home next week? I’m going to the Bahamas for a few days and need some company.”
“We talked about this, and we both agreed to take the summer off.” I lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling while my wallet wars with my gut. As much as I like Kate and her money, she’s becoming a little too attached to me. I am, after all, her employee and not her boyfriend. On the other hand, my bank account is steadily dwindling, and my scholarship ended last semester.
“Yes, we did, but the summer is almost over, isn’t it? And no one makes me come like you do, Cam.” Her voice lowers, dripping with honey. I’m not fooled. Kate is used to getting her way and likes to control the people around her, including me.
“It’s June,” I say.
Vanessa and Trish banter as they pass my room. Everything south of my belt buckle tenses at the sound of Vanessa’s voice. Her door opens and closes. Light footsteps traverse the floor, followed by the rush of running water from the shower. Christ, she’s naked and less than a dozen feet away. It takes all my considerable self-control to keep from striding into the bathroom and taking her soapy body one last time.
I shove a hand through my hair. “Okay. Text me the details.”
Kate purrs in approval. “Wonderful. I promise to make it worth your while.”
In the morning, I grab my duffel and head to the door. Vanessa is standing in the foyer with Trish, planning their day. Our eyes meet. I look quickly away.
“You’re leaving?” Trish frowns and places a hand on her hip.
“Yes, something came up.” No matter how hard I try, I can’t ignore the pull of Vanessa’s gaze. We stare at each other. A dozen inadequate statements race through my head.
“It was nice to meet you.” Vanessa gives me a brief smile. An unfamiliar sense of regret washes through me. In my gut, I know I’m never going to see her again.
“You too.” Tristan thunders down the stairs, jumping down the last three steps, and lands with a thud at my side.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I reply, even though it’s a lie. If things were different—if I was someone else—I’d stay and spend every minute with Vanessa. But I’m not. I’m a paid escort from the wrong side of the tracks, and she’s an American princess.
20
Cam
Today
When the door closes behind Vanessa, the lid comes off my temper. I throw the first thing I see against the wall, a black vase. It shatters into tiny pieces. I always hated that thing anyway. Then I proceed to pace the length of my office a dozen times. Who does she think she’s messing with? I’m Cameron Blackwood—rich, successful, powerful. Being around her reduces my composure to shreds, muddies my thoughts, and plays havoc with my emotions. I don’t like being out of control.
I dial Tristan’s extension. “Get down here.”
“What’s wrong?” He’s alert, knowing my moods better than anyone.
“Just get down here. We’re pulling out of Seaforth Media. ASAP.”
I stare out the window at the city. New York is my home, but Laurel Falls has been my headquarters for the past five years. The street below teems with activity: road construction, tourists, traffic. My office is silent, insulated from the noise. I lean my forehead against the glass and wonder if the struggle to the top has been worth it. The upper-class still treats me like a man-whore, my father is still a murderer, and aside from a dozen overflowing bank accounts, I’m still Cameron Blackwood. Money changed nothing but the size of my apartment and the number of automobiles in my garage.
The doors slide open. I turn, expecting Tristan, finding Vanessa instead. I open my mouth to give her a piece of my mind, but she raises a hand. I’ve never seen her like this—green eyes blazing, shoulders tense, chin high.
“Miss me already?” I ask, my words acidic.
“I wasn’t finished. You don’t get to toss me out like that.”
One of my assistants trots after her. “I’m sorry, Mr. Blackwood. She wouldn’t stop. Would you like me to call security?”
I raise a hand. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll show Ms. Seaforth out myself.” In two strides, I’m at Vanessa’s side, her elbow in my grip.
“I’m not going anywhere. Not until you hear me out.” Vanessa’s voice is low, commanding, and hard as steel. “I don’t know what you imagined just happened, but you’re way off base.”
“Leave us.” My assistant backs out of the door. I stare down at Vanessa. “I’ve heard enough of your bullshit.”
She struggles against my hold. I wrap an arm around her waist and tug her to my chest. The round, soft mounds of her breasts mold to my chest. Years have passed, but the attraction is still there. Anger vibrates through every inch of her body. I hate myself for still wanting her, almost as much as I hate her for coming back into my life.
“If you want me, you can have me. We can do it right here.” She’s no longer struggling.
The woman in my arms is powerful and in control, even though I’m twice her size. The thought of bending her over my desk, propping her round ass in the air, and taking her from behind unleashes a hidden treasure trove of desire. I let go but don’t step away. She raises a hand like she’s going to slap me but grips the back of my neck instead. Our mouths snap together like magnets. My hands go to her bottom and squeeze, pressing her hips into mine. A growl rumbles through her.
Her kiss is punishing, brutal, just the way I like it. She takes my mouth with hers, plunges her tongue against mine, daring me to submit. My dick stirs to life, lengthening between us. One step forward shifts the balance of power from her to me. I tug the pins from her hair and dig my fingers into the silky strands, tilting her head back, exposing her throat. She’s vulnerable like this, completely at my mercy. My senses are on fire with the sweetness of her scent, the softness of her curves.
“You’re over your head here, princess.” I nip the column of her neck, just below her chin. Her skin tastes like honey. “Don’t come into my office and kiss me like that and think you’re going to walk away without getting fucked.”
“I’m already fucked.” Her ribs swell and contract with each harsh breath. Lipstick smears across her mouth. The stubble of my jaw leaves her smooth complexion reddened. “By you and Giles and this damn business.”
“Did you ever think maybe you’re not cut out for this? Maybe you need to go back to Paris, play housewife, have more babies.” A glance down at her heaving breasts gives me a peek of the black lace bra beneath her blouse. My thoughts tumble over each other. Desire blurs with anger. She should have been my wife. Those should have been my babies.
“Why do you want to hurt me?” With
both hands, she pushes against my chest.
“Not everything is about you, princess.” I release her and run both hands through my hair. This situation has gotten out of hand. I’m ashamed by my lack of restraint, the sharp edge of my words, the way my body reacts whenever she’s around. “You’re not worth the trouble.”
She glances at my crotch, to the visible erection behind my zipper, and flushes an adorable shade of pink. After a deep inhale, she straightens her jacket and smooths a hand over her hair. A wall of calm washes over her. “I came back to tell you that you can take Seaforth Media and shove it. No one treats me like that. Not you. Not anyone.”
“I’ll be sure to get right on that,” I say, living up to my reputation as an asshole. I want to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the moment, but there’s nothing amusing about it. Instead, I lean back on the desk and cross my arms over my chest. Inside, I’m shaken to the core. I’m not over her, not by a longshot, and it pisses me off.
She waves a hand in front of the doors then scans the wall for a way to open them. I watch, biting my lower lip to hold back a chuckle. She’s too proud to ask for help. After a sigh of exasperation, groans in exasperation. “Really, Cam?”
I press the button on my desk. The doors slide and open and she walks out of my life—again.
21
Vanessa
Today
When I get back to my office, I ask Elena and Ivan to cancel my calls for the next hour. I need time to regroup. Like my pride, my lips are still tender and swollen from kissing Cam. I don’t know what came over me. The sight of his handsome, arrogant face, taunting me, sent me over the edge. If he hadn’t heeded my pleas to stop, I would have torn his clothes off and screwed him on his desk.
Once I’ve gathered my composure, I begin damage control. There was always a chance that Cameron would pull out, but I thought I could bring him around. I replay our conversation over and over in my head. You haven’t done your homework. What does that mean? Did I miss something in the contract? My head throbs until my temples burn. Two aspirin and a glass of water do nothing to dispel the ache.
“Elena, please ask Sam to call me this afternoon.” I scan through the mountain of documents in Cam’s file then press the intercom once more. The legal jargon blurs my vision. “And get the legal team in the conference room. Now.”
Within minutes, seven men line the sides of the long table. The male to female ratio in this company is atrocious. I make a mental note to seek out qualified women employees. These men are my father’s friends, members of the “boys club”. Their faces reflect tolerance but nothing more. I call the meeting to order without prelude. “Please explain the details of Cameron Blackwood’s partnership to me—in plain English.”
Vince, the head of the legal team runs through the terms, including Cameron’s ability to call for dissolution of the partnership without cause. Nothing else stands out as unique or consequential. What is Cameron alluding to? I tap impatient fingers on the conference table.
“Perhaps we should call Sam?” the eldest attorney suggests. “He has a good grasp of the situation.”
My temper begins to sizzle. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the CEO.”
“We don’t mean to be disrespectful,” says the man to my left. “But Sam’s got experience in this area. Maybe you should leave the specifics to someone more qualified.”
Did he really say that? The other men nod in agreement. I close my eyes and count to ten before speaking. “Like it or not, I’m calling the shots. If you’re not okay with that, perhaps we should part ways.”
The color drains from the man’s face. He sits back in his chair. “I’ve been with this company for twenty-five years. I’m sure your father will have something to say about that.”
“If you want to make twenty-six, you need to readjust your thinking,” I reply. “My father isn’t coming back. He’s bedridden and unable to speak. If he recovers, he’s going to prison for tax evasion. This company is in crisis. I don’t have time to stroke egos or play games. If you want to walk, you’re welcome to leave. The door is that way.” Uncomfortable quiet circles the room. I stare at the men and lift my chin. Beneath the table, my knees tremble. After a long minute, I clear my throat. “Good. Let’s get back to business. I need to figure out a solution to this problem. Today.”
A young woman with vibrant red hair enters the room with a carafe of coffee. She sets it on the credenza and fills two pitchers with ice water at the wet bar. I’ve seen her around the office before, but her name escapes me.
“What about his profit structure?” I had assumed it was the same as mine. The sound of shuffling papers fills the silence.
“He doesn’t draw a salary,” says one of the men.
“Then how does he get paid? It has to be in the contract.” The men study the table top. No one speaks. “Really? What am I paying you guys for?”
Vince clears his throat. “It’s not our job to police Blackwood’s bank accounts.”
“These contracts were drawn up by a former associate,” someone else says.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath.
“Excuse me.” The young woman lifts a hand, glancing nervously in my direction. “Mr. Blackwood donates all his profits from Seaforth Media to charity.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, sitting up in my chair. The girl is in her early twenties, plump, and wears thick, black-framed glasses. “I’m Mr. Watt’s assistant.” She nods toward a short, bald man two chairs down from Vince. “And my friend is an administrator there. They work with victims of domestic violence and provide shelters for battered women.” She presses her lips together and glances at the men, like she’s afraid she’s said too much.
This tidbit sucks the breath from my lungs. I’ve been accusing Cam of greed and unscrupulous behavior when his actions suggest the complete opposite. Snippets of our conversation in the gazebo float to the surface of my memories. With all his success, he’s taken the initiative to give back to those less fortunate. Failure of Seaforth Media would mean the end of his charity. No wonder he’s pissed. I pass a hand over my forehead. I’m such a bitch.
“What’s your name?” I ask the young woman, pushing aside my self-loathing. There will be plenty of time to chastise myself later.
“Flannery.” She pauses to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “O’Dell. Flannery O’Dell.”
I scribble the name in the margin of my notes. She’s given me more information in ten seconds than this entire room of advisors has in a week. “Do you have a degree, Flannery?”
“Yes. Two, actually, from Brown.”
“And you’re making coffee?” The words stick in my throat. “Come see me tomorrow, would you? Get with Elena. She’ll find a time for you in my schedule.”
Flannery’s face flushes. “Sure.” The door closes quietly behind her.
I send the men on their way. I need time to process the information. Cam was right. I made a mistake taking over for my father. I have no idea what I’m doing. The players on the field are twice my size with tons more experience. Maybe I should resign, turn the reins over to Sam, who seems to handle these kinds of problems without blinking. But failure has never been an option. I’ll die before I give Cam or my legal team the satisfaction of seeing me fold.
The intercom beeps, and Elena’s disembodied voice cuts through my thoughts. “Ms. Seaforth? I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have your children on line four. I thought you’d want to talk to them.”
“Yes.” A surge of joy replaces the fiasco of my morning. I hit the speakerphone and pick up the call. “Hi, babies.”
“Hello, Mama,” they reply in unison. Their voices are a balm to my soul.
“How are you? I miss you so much.” Tears burn my eyes. We’ve been apart for over a month. The longest we’ve ever been separated. My chest aches with maternal need. When I close my eyes, I can smell their clean scent, their shampoo, the fabric softener in their clothes.
&n
bsp; “Gaston broke Papa’s camera, and Papa grounded him from his phone,” Lisle says. “But I’ve been good, Mama, just like I promised.”
“She has not,” Gaston protests with a growl reminiscent of my father, whom he’s never met. “She won’t stay out of my room.”
They speak with a peculiar mix of English and French accents. During my marriage to Giles, we moved around a lot, splitting our time between a flat in London and our chateau in Paris, with a short stint in Germany. Both children are fluent in four languages, learning new ones with ease, but they never picked up my American accent.
“Gaston, Lisle is only six. You need to cut her some slack. You’re the big brother. You have to be patient with her.” He sighs dramatically. “And Lisle, you listen to your brother, okay?”
“Okay.” Lisle’s tone turns petulant. “When are you coming home, Mama? I miss you.”
The tears renew at her question. Even though Giles and I explained the divorce to the kids, Lisle still has trouble grasping the logistics of our new living arrangements. I swipe at the moisture on my cheeks with a tissue before answering. “Mama lives in Laurel Falls now, remember? And you’re coming to stay with me in the fall, just like we talked about. You’ll have a brand-new school and new friends. And you’ll spend the summers with Papa.”
“I don’t see why we have to change schools,” Gaston says. “Why can’t we stay here? I don’t want to move.”
Of the two children, Gaston is having the most difficulty coping with the new living arrangements. I hear the anger in his tone, renewing my feelings of guilt for uprooting their lives. More doubts fill my head. Maybe I should have stayed with Giles until they were out of school. Our marriage, however, had become intolerable for both of us. I never loved him, and I seriously doubt that he ever loved me.
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