by Selena Kitt
“I do read my business emails, you know.” Ric chuckled, explaining to Annalesa. “She’s an investor.”
“Oh, no.” Annalesa’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh, yes.” Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line as she looked at Ric. “And she happens to own a considerable portion of Ryker shares. But now, thanks to your stepbrother, she’s talking about selling.”
“Good.” Ric snorted, piercing a piece of meat with his fork. “If she’s going to talk that way to Leesa? She’s not a shareholder I want on the board.”
“I appreciate the sentiment.” Annalesa’s mother sighed, relenting a little. “But you know as well as I do, there are people who want Ryker shares who we definitely don’t want on the board. And now Mrs. Whelan’s millions are going to be loose on the market.”
Annalesa smirked at the image that conjured in her head. She pictured stacks of dollar bills dashing everywhere.
“I’ll buy them the minute they’re sold. Don’t worry. I’m just going to grab a beer.” Ric stood and kissed his stepmother on the cheek. “Do you ladies want anything?”
“Wine.” Annalesa nodded vehemently as her mother shook her head. “Lots and lots of wine.”
Ric gave her a knowing wink and headed for the bar.
“God, Ryker men are so maddening!” Her mother drew her hands down her face, then raked her fingers through shoulder-length chestnut hair. Just like Annalesa’s own, but with hints of grey. “He couldn’t have been nice to her for five minutes?”
“She really kind of deserved it.”
“That’s not what Mrs. Whelan said.”
“Mother, within minutes, that woman claimed I could never play piano, she said I’d gotten fat, and then she told me I was lucky I was a trust fund baby now, otherwise I’d die a starving artist.”
“She didn’t!” Annalesa’s mother gasped. “Of course, Ric didn’t take well to that...”
“He’s Ric.”
“He didn’t call her any names, did he?”
“No.”
“Well, that means Cathy Whelan was lying.” Her mother sighed. “I guess that’s not a big surprise. Although, at one time, I wouldn’t have put it past your brother to call her a little cunt.”
“What?” Annalesa gaped at her, hiss-whispering her next words so as not to be overheard. “Is that what she said? That he called her a little cunt?”
“Obviously, he didn’t.”
“No.” Annalesa smiled over at Ric’s broad back at the bar. “Actually, he was pretty diplomatic about the whole thing, considering. I think he’s really changed a lot—and I don’t mean just on the outside.”
“Still stubborn like his father, though. And now he’s gotten so fit, he’s like a big Greek god—but I still worry he’s going to turn into one of those bitter, brooding, silent types. You know, all Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights?” Annalesa’s mother stole a strip of pig roast from Ric’s plate. “But I just can’t get over how good he looks. I mean, last year he looked amazing, but now—?”
“You saw him last year?” Annalesa blinked.
“Brad and Ric invited me for an impromptu Thanksgiving. He’d lost all the weight, but hadn’t had his surgery yet, you know, to remove all the extra skin? He was keeping a low profile. I think he wanted to make his appearance when all the work was ‘complete’.”
Her mother did air-quotes around the last word.
“Right.” Annalesa tried not to feel hurt that she’d been cut out of this little family get-together.
“It wasn’t planned,” her mother said softly. “You were writing your dissertation and I just happened to be in Maine for my own reasons.”
That made it a little better. If her mother had flown over from Berkshire for an American Thanksgiving and hadn’t told her? She would have been livid.
“Anna?” Her mother was the only one who ever called her that.
“I’m fine.” Annalesa pasted on a smile. “It’s just... Ric and I didn’t talk for a long time. But... I think things are getting better now.”
“I’m glad.” Her mother gave her a knowing look. “Trust me, I tried to smooth things over for you where I could. Now, I know it’s your night, but I have a favor to ask you.”
“Uh-oh.” Annalesa couldn’t even imagine. “What?”
“I want you to call me Elsa.”
“What?” She gaped at her mother. “Are you serious?”
“Everyone calls me Elsa. Ric’s always called me Elsa,” she reminded her. “And the truth is, I’m single, and feeling my age. I think I’m going to celebrate my fiftieth all over again on my next birthday.”
“Mum, you’re really serious?” Annalesa tried not to laugh.
“Elsa.”
“That’s going to take practice.”
“Well, as long as you remember when we’re in the company of men under forty—that’s all I ask.” Elsa peered across the room at Henrik, swigging his beer and looking stiff and uncomfortable, even while leaning back against the wall. The left side of his face was still covered in bruises from the paint pellet. “Who’s that? Poor fellow. Looks like he needs a nurse.”
“Mum—er—Elsa, he’s half your age,” Annalesa said, aghast. “And he’s just one of Arensen’s private security guys.”
Annalesa watched as a pretty redhead sidled up to the handsome but stern-looking young soldier and spoke briefly to him, gesturing to the dance floor, then walked off again, minus a dance partner. For all his godlike looks, Henrik was a little lacking in social graces. A moment later, another girl went over to him and he evaded her by going to talk to the DJ.
“Think he’s waiting for an older woman who knows what she’s doing?” Her mother cocked her head, eyes narrowing. “What do they call it now? Am I a cougar? A MILF?”
“Oh my God, Mum.” Annalesa felt heat rising in her cheeks. “Don’t ever say those words again, all right? Ever. Eh-ver.”
“You just be sure to call me Elsa in front of him.” Her mother smiled, standing and glancing around at the growing crowd. “I’d better go talk to Brad, fill him in on the situation with Cathy. Wish me luck.”
Ric made his way back over to the table, handing Annalesa a large glass of red wine. “Everything okay?”
“Mum’s asking me to call her ‘Elsa’.” There was no way she was filling him in on the cougar-MILF part of the discussion.
He grinned. “Dad wants me to call him ‘Brad’. Some kind of joint, late-life crisis, maybe? Their kids aren’t kids anymore and they’re trying to act all cool and hip?”
“God knows.” She sipped her wine and watched as their parents made their way to the back of the hall, releasing curtains to reveal a podium. They tussled over who would get up first, laughing like kids. Brad claimed his stake and raised his beer glass up, hitting it with a fork. The room grew quiet and then fell silent when Brad cleared his throat and pulled a mic out of its holder.
“Everyone hear me okay?” He grinned out at the room, his voice echoing loudly over the crowd. “I want to thank you all for coming. I know many of you have come from a long way away to celebrate this special event with us. We even dragged Elsa away from her racing stables just before Ascot season, and that takes some serious persuasion, trust me.”
Brad winked at his ex-wife who rolled her pretty blue eyes as he went on.
“There are strong and stubborn women in my family, but I’ll tell you the truth—I wouldn’t have it any other way. Elsa’s never been less silent as a business partner since we divorced, and Annalesa’s stuck with ‘Lafevre’ all these years. She just gives me that sweet little smile of hers whenever I talk about changing her name to something more hip and less hard to pronounce. Something like ‘Ryker’.”
A little ripple of laughter moved through the room and Annalesa couldn’t help glancing up at Ric. In the darkness, he took her hand in his and gave it the briefest squeeze. She returned it.
Annalesa Ryker.
Sharing that last name had taken on an entirel
y new connotation all of a sudden.
“Don’t underestimate Leesa—that’s what I tell people. Don’t let those big, innocent eyes and that sweet smile fool you. She’s one smart, tough cookie—like her mother. Leesa’s one of those quiet ones you have to keep an eye on, especially in my role as her stepfather. It’s a good thing I own a gun company—easier to keep the boys off the front porch.”
More laughter. Annalesa was glad of the darkness now, feeling her cheeks growing hot.
“I’ve missed Leesa the past few years, but she’s been keeping her little nose to the grindstone over in Europe, and she’s managed to earn herself a first-class degree—most of it written in Dutch or French.”
Annalesa looked around in alarm. That wasn’t true. She’d written one paper in French and submitted planning notes in Dutch. That was about it. As everyone turned to clap for her, she felt her face flame and wondered if there was enough space in Ric’s jacket to hide inside there.
“Where are my damned kids, anyway?” Brad shaded his eyes against the glare of the spotlight, scanning the crowd. “In their early twenties now and still trying to hide at the dinner table—c’mon up here, you two!”
Ric nudged her gently through the crowd but she kept a fierce grip on his hand, hauling him behind her. If she was going to have to stand at the front with a red face, so was Ric.
They made it through the crowd and went up to stand on one side of the podium. The crowd had gone back to light chatter and laughter, but when Ric escorted her up onto that platform, a hush fell.
It took her a moment to realize what it was about.
Most of them hadn’t recognized him.
Until now.
Ric gave them all a little wave as the crowd of two-hundred stared at him in disbelief. They had moved from stunned silence to hushed whispers. Brad grinned at his son with extreme pride.
“I’d like you to meet the guy who’s going to be heading up Ryker Arms one day. Looks the part, doesn’t he?”
Brad’s voice got lost in the sudden, rising applause and Annalesa felt her eyes prick with tears as Ric looked down at her. He was clearly floating on the acceptance but had looked to her—needing an anchor. She linked her arm through his and felt him relax, just a little.
“Some of you may have noticed that Ric’s kept to himself these last few years—and I guess we can all now see why. He’s a whole new man—but that’s not all that’s changed.” Brad’s face softened as he put a hand on Ric’s shoulder. “It took a fierce determination to lose a hundred and twenty pounds.”
The number made the whole place gasp in unison. Even Annalesa was stunned by the math. She felt a little dizzy, like she had during the trust meeting. How much? How much?
“Ric once told me he didn’t think he could ever fill my shoes at Ryker. Now he not only knows he can—he wants to. And I think he’ll do as good a job—honestly, between you and me, I think he’ll do much better—than his old man ever did.”
Ric put a hand out to shake his father’s, but Brad turned it into a bear-hug that went on until Annalesa’s hands—and, she imagined, the rest of the crowd’s too—were sore from clapping. When Brad pulled away, he looked moist around the eyes.
“I’m sure the kids are going to want to say something, but I want to hand you over to the guy who’s looked after Ric’s development for the last two years, and who will be his right-hand man for the next few. Anders Arensen!”
Ric stepped back next to Annalesa as his mentor took the stage. Ric’s face was shining. He was like a light that had just realized it could burn all by itself, from the inside. She was thrilled to see him so happy. A tension she hadn’t known she was holding eased in her back and belly, and she even managed to clap enthusiastically as Arensen claimed the mic.
“I’ll be honest, it’s been a challenge transforming this soft-bodied, soft-hearted, sensitive soul into a hard-headed man—but Ric Ryker has risen to that challenge and delivered one-thousand-percent.”
Annalesa suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.
“The man you see in front of you now has the heart, body and mind to fight his way to the top of the international arms industry. He’s got his father’s fierce independence, but also a keen strategic eye for the future of Ryker Arms in the globalization of the economy. Armaments are changing. The reasons for holding them are changing. And we can all count on Ric to strike the right deals with the right people to make the world a safer place. He’ll have tough choices to make, but I’ll be behind him every step of the way—and I know you’ll all be there to support him. Let’s hear it for Ric Ryker!”
This was followed by more applause as Arensen stepped down. Brad motioned at someone standing at the conference room doors. Annalesa squinted, watching someone wheeling a cart through the crowd. Something was hidden on it, under a beautifully-stitched red and gold shroud. Whatever was under there, Annalesa knew it wasn’t a car. Brad put his arms round Elsa’s shoulders and beamed at Annalesa and Ric, waving them over.
As soon as they got within a foot of the mystery object, the shroud was whisked away to reveal a glass case containing two guns. The label beneath the left read ‘Lady Sif’, the one on the right, ‘Bifrost.’
“Dedicated to you and Ric,” Brad told her. He looked so proud and happy, she didn’t have the heart to disappoint him.
“It’s...” Annalesa drew out her smile as long as she could, feeling Brad and Elsa’s expectant gazes upon her. “It’s... lovely!”
Chapter 6
For half an hour, every time Annalesa glared over at Ric, she caught him trying to quash his grin and pull it back into a straight face. When that failed, he attempted to hide it behind his beer. She felt another silent chuckle vibrate through the arm looped over her shoulders and gave his wrist a sharp slap.
“Will you stop? It’s not that funny!”
Ric lost it, pulling his arm away and burying his face in his palm, his shoulders shaking.
“‘It’s... lovely!’” he squeaked in perfect imitation and didn’t even flinch at her mock punch in his ribs.
“How was I supposed to react?” She sniffed. “Finding out I’m the inspiration for a range of deadly weapons? It’s like saying ‘I was thinking of you and felt the need to design a new gun’.”
“Line.”
“What?”
“Line, not range. A new range of guns would definitely be over the top.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. She was itching to punch him again. “You know, he hired an extremely expensive designer for the matching holster and belt. Just be glad he didn’t force you to strap it on and wear it all night.”
“The belt is very nice. Just... maybe not with this dress.” She worried that Brad might’ve taken her refusal to wear it a little personally. “You don’t think I hurt his feelings, do you?”
“Doubt it.” He tipped the neck of his beer towards the dance floor, where their parents were throwing themselves into the Thurman-Travolta dance routine from Pulp Fiction. They acted more married now than they had when they were married, she thought. “Seems happy enough to me. He took the news about Mrs. Whelan’s walk-out pretty well too.”
Annalesa couldn’t help smiling. It was true, the first couple of months after Brad and her mothe—Elsa—returned from the Antilles were stressful. Whatever had happened, things had clearly been ‘said’ while they were stranded.
But then they’d met for dinner after talking to the lawyers, and from that point on, the divorce had been as smooth as silk. As far as Annalesa knew, her mo—Elsa hadn’t seen anyone seriously in the last four years, and neither had Brad.
Sometimes she just didn’t get it.
“Will you look at them?” She shook her head. “It’s like they never split.”
“Well, they were good friends before they started dating.” Ric shrugged. “I’m glad they didn’t lose that.”
She glanced up at him, wondering if he was thinking the same thing she was. They’d been friends, too—she and Ric. Good friends, for a
long time. Now, they were contemplating more. Would they be able to recapture what they once had, if things didn’t work out between them? And was it worth risking, to attempt something more?
Ric shocked her by putting his bottle down on the bar and grabbing her hand to haul her onto the dance floor. She couldn’t remember Ric ever dancing before, at least not in her presence. He had taken some sophomore girl to his senior prom, but she doubted he’d actually gone out onto the floor and danced. He’d been too self-conscious, she remembered. He wouldn’t even dance with Annalesa when they were alone at the house and she was just playing around with Brad’s sound system in the den—although he’d been happy to watch her.
“Ric!” She looked up at him in surprise as he gave her a spin, taking her breath away. Then she grinned as they threw themselves into the Jack Rabbit Slims boogie with the same enthusiasm as their parents. Ric was really good! Where had he gotten so good?
Annalesa loved dancing. She loved the physicality of it, the way it made her feel, although she’d rarely had a partner she felt could match her, if not in ability, then at least in energy.
In her experience, most men fucked like they danced. The ones who could really move on the dance floor could fuck like animals. It excited her that Ric more than matched her—he was larger than life.
She actually blushed when he tugged her into the side of his body with another spin-and-wrap move that pinned her hard against his chest. She caught a great big breath of his cologne, and it mingled wonderfully with the deep musk of his own scent. She found herself peering up into his face as the lighting dimmed and the music quieted on a force-fade from the DJ.
A steady, soft drum beat picked up in the room as the mellow intro of I Want to Know What Love Is piped through the speakers. Clearly, their parents had chosen the tunes—she remembered this one from their wedding—but Annalesa didn’t mind.
The two of them swayed, looking at each other. Ric gazed down at her, transfixed, like she was the only person in the room. She felt the sudden urge to slide her arms easily around his waist, rest her cheek against his chest, and let herself drift away with him.