Sexy in the City
Page 17
“Are you firing me? Or ditching me?”
“Firing you,” Lalita answered. “It is much easier for me to replace the Director of Marketing than the Love of my Life.”
“Good. Another job I can get easily, another woman might take me a little longer.”
Lalita smiled. “You could try. Didn’t my father tell you I’m irreplaceable?”
“I agree with him. Having fired me, are you going to cry at home tonight? Because, as the sackee, I may be conflicted in consoling you.”
“Perhaps we could engage in mutual consolation. However, I’m not really sacking you. I have an opportunity to present to you.”
“I’m listening,” Jeremy said, intrigued. Lalita had been having a lot of meetings lately with her father who had taken over the position of Chairman of the Board. It meant John could still keep his hand in the business without having to deal with the day-to-day stress. The appointment had appeased the Board who now whole-heartedly supported Lalita as CEO.
“We want to set up a separate entity, an autonomous division, to provide marketing advice to our clients. This new company would also be at liberty to seek out its own clients and take on other markets. The Chairman, the Board, and I unanimously support the appointment of you to lead this new venture.”
“Who would I report to? How would it be funded?” Jeremy leaned forward.
“You would hold the position of CEO and report directly to the Chairman and Board. You would be my counterpart for the new company. Evans International is willing to provide seed funding up to ten million pounds, which must be repaid in regular quarterly installments as soon as the marketing company is profitable. Once the repayments are made, you will be given forty percent voting stock, John Evans will hold twenty percent, as will I. The remaining twenty percent will be available for purchase by anyone other than the three of us. No one person can hold a majority. I suggest that perhaps your mother hold ten percent and the remaining ten percent be sold to investors.”
Jeremy was astounded. It was his dream, handed to him on a silver plate.
“What we need from you is to take the next thirty days and fully evaluate the market. Then present to the Evans International Board if it is more beneficial to buy-out a current company or start up one from scratch.”
Jeremy nodded. His mind was already reviewing the current market and the merits of both options. Before he got carried away, however, he needed clarification. He didn’t want a handout.
“One question.”
“Yes?” Lalita appeared amused.
“Are you offering me this opportunity because I’m your lover and you need to move me out?”
“You are being offered this position, by the Board of Evans International, because you’re the best man for the job. I put forward the idea of the spin-off company in order to provide our clients with an additional service. Your name was nominated by others. You’ll swim or sink on your own merit, Jeremy. I will have no input or influence on this venture. Aside from giving you whatever support you ask in an emotional or advisory level in the confines of our own home.”
“I’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity. Thank you,” Jeremy added.
“Don’t thank me, thank the Chairman and Board. I’m screwed. Now I have to find a replacement for you too. I should start my own recruitment agency. Thank God I don’t have to find someone of your caliber. I only need somebody capable of liaising between this company and yours.”
“So I should kiss John, then?”
“If that’s the relationship you want to start with your new boss.” Lalita looked relieved the conversation had gone well.
“No, I think I’ll save my affections for my current employer.” Jeremy stared at her lips. Her cheeks turned pink as she read his mind. A flicker of lust sparkled in her eyes. God, he loved this woman.
Lalita glanced at her watch. “I’m done for today. What do you say we pack up early and celebrate?”
“That’s why you’re the CEO, you have the best ideas.”
“It’s not the CEO who wants to celebrate. It’s Jeremy Lakewood’s lover.”
Jeremy laughed. Lalita was so much more than a lover. He’d have to address that title next. It was time this fling became a marriage.
Epilogue
“That has got to be the quickest wedding dress shopping I have ever done,” Julia Evans said.
Lalita, her sisters, mother, and Eliza Lakewood were sipping champagne in the cozy sitting room at the Evans house.
“I think it’s beautiful,” Eliza added.
“I told you I was decisive.” Lalita put up her feet on the coffee table. The wedding outfit, like everything else in the past two months, had fallen into place perfectly.
“Kind of spoils the fun, don’t you think, buying the first thing you try on,” Jessica complained.
“I don’t have time to be traipsing around hundreds of shops trying on identical gowns. I do run a company, you know.” The fact that she’d been able to take a Friday afternoon off to go shopping at all had been a minor miracle.
“What made you decide on a sari rather than the traditional wedding dress?” Jane asked.
Lalita glanced over at her mother, who nodded.
“I wanted to acknowledge that part of my heritage.”
It was also partly due to the fact that Jeremy loved it when she wore a sari. Or, more specifically, he loved unwrapping her from one. He claimed it was the adult version of Christmas morning.
Lalita explained to her sisters and soon-to-be mother-in-law about her birth mother. Jane and Jessica seemed stunned.
“Aisha and her husband are coming over for the wedding. I can’t wait for you to meet them,” Lalita finished. She and Jeremy had made a quick trip back to Mumbai three weeks ago to deliver the news of their engagement in person.
The doorbell rang, and a moment later Jeremy appeared in the room, having been let in by the housekeeper. He kissed his mother on the cheek before sitting next to Lalita. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed each of her fingers, his gaze promising more once they were alone. Lalita had trouble remembering there was anyone else in the room.
“Honeymoon is all booked. Steve has promised a holiday we’ll never forget.” Jeremy’s husky voice had already transported her to the distant Indonesian island.
“Three weeks to the wedding. Is there some reason you’re in such a rush?” Jane’s voice broke through Lalita’s daydream.
“No, Jeremy just doesn’t want to wait. Plus, it was the only two-week break that either of us can take for the next year.”
“As it is, we are stopping in Chile to check out the new Evans office there and meeting a client of mine in New York,” Jeremy added.
“Sounds like more business than pleasure. I think I’d have killed Wesley if he had suggested we stop and visit some of his clients while on honeymoon,” Jessica put in.
“Trust me, there will be plenty of pleasure going on,” Jeremy promised. Lalita’s face burned and her sisters laughed.
“When do you move into your new house?” Eliza asked.
With his severance package from Evans, plus his promised bonus from the increase in profits from Asia, Jeremy had surprised Lalita with a three-bedroom house fifteen minutes from their respective offices.
“I’m moving in next weekend. Lalita insists on waiting until she is Mrs. Lakewood to join me.”
“Mrs. Evans-Lakewood, don’t you mean,” Lalita reminded him.
“As long as the missus is in front and Lakewood is in there somewhere, I don’t care,” Jeremy conceded. They usually had this discussion naked in bed.
“I think you should change your name to Jeremy Evans-Lakewood,” Lalita teased.
“Now you go too far, woman.” Jeremy pulled her into his lap and kissed her until she was breathless.
The wedding … the fling was indeed flung.
About the Author
Alexia used to travel the world, meeting new people, experiencing new sights and tastes. She’s lived in Canada, New Zealand, Australia, England, and France and spent two months in Russia. When life demanded that she stay rooted in one place, she took to vicarious voyages through the characters she created in her romance novels. Her stories reflect her love of travel and feature locations as diverse as the wind-swept prairies of Canada to the hot and humid jungles of Guyana. To discover other books written by Alexia or read her blog on inspirational destinations, Journey to Love, visit http://Alexia-Adams.com.
More from This Author
An Inconvenient Love by Alexia Adams
A Place to Rest My Heart
Galen Rose
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2012 by Rose Kahn
ISBN 10: 1-4405-5218-5
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5218-2
eISBN 10: 1-4405-5217-7
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5217-5
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com
Acknowledgements
To my husband Kris, son Ryan, my Mom & Dad and brothers Michael & Robert for their wonderful love and support. It has taken me awhile to get here, but you didn’t doubt me!
To The Council: Barbara, Cindy, Marnie, Tama, & Terena. Five awesome ladies whose friendship means the world to me!
To Tim G. who prodded, and to Bob M. who pointed me in the right direction. To Mike R. for being Superman. To Lauren Murray for helping me get my foot in the door. To Terena Scott of Medusa’s Muse, Prof. Dara Hellman, JoEllen Conger of Conger Books Reviews, Lynna Banning, and Suzanne Barrett for all of their patience and editing assistance.
And last, but not least, Jennifer Lawler, editor at Crimson Romance, for opening the door and welcoming me in!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
About The Author
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
Chapter One
I’ve gotten good at starting over. Starting over has never been a problem for me. It’s living the middle part that’s really the challenge. I know that saying “it was a dark and stormy night” sounds like a cliché, but it really was dark and stormy when I arrived in San Francisco. I stood inside the Greyhound bus station watching the rain run in small rivers down the windows as the wind picked up trash and scattered it across the parking lot. My thoughts felt as far adrift as those pieces of trash, tossed around with little or no direction. I had no job, no place to stay, and my leather jacket had seen better days; it seemed my luck was not immediately improving. No need to ask if it could get any worse — I knew from experience that it would. I knew Murphy’s Law intimately. Hell, I was pretty sure by now that I had the law memorized.
I bundled up my long hair under a ball cap, stepped outside, and gained my balance against the wind and lashing rain. No cabs waiting at the curb, so I started up the street. A few minutes later I managed to hail an empty cab; better than walking in the rain, and no one knows a city better than a cab driver. The man sitting in the driver’s seat appeared to be about a hundred as he looked at me through his rear view mirror and smiled. He actually smiled. A cabbie that smiled? Go figure. I noticed that his cab didn’t stink, either. There was no foul cigar smell or lingering odor of lunches long past in the air. It smelled of lavender and chocolate chip cookies. Cookies? I should have gotten some inkling, right then and there, of just how much my life was going to change. Being as dense as a post at times, I just chalked it up to a freak occurrence of nature and enjoyed the warm, dry cab.
“Good evening, young lady.” His Irish brogue was slight. “Where to?”
I couldn’t help myself. I let the Irish accent that had been beaten out of me come slipping right back over my tongue like warm honey. “Well to be sure, on a night such as this, I am in need of a good place to eat for starters.”
“Well now, lass, you have come to the right cab,” he said, and began whistling as he hung a couple of illegal left turns and headed up a busy street. “I just happen to know that the best food in all of San Francisco is at Muldoon’s. I am willing to bet, Miss, that you will find all that you need there.” His smile, reflected in the rear view mirror, held a hint of mischief. Eventually, far down the road of life, I would have to agree with him. I had no idea then that Fate drove a yellow cab.
When I leaned in through the window to hand him some money, he smiled knowingly at me, “I hope you enjoy your stay here.” He gave a wink, a tip of his cap, and drove off, making an illegal U-turn right in the middle of the street to honking horns and shouted curses. Turning back to the building with a shake of my head I stared in disbelief at what was Muldoon’s Pub.
I’d seen quite a few pubs, and this was not in the realm of ordinary. It was a large building with big bay windows that spilled light onto the well-swept sidewalk. Each window had a flower box overflowing with colorful blooms. Inside it was crowded with people but spacious, with plenty of tables and booths. A waitress could walk through and not get bruised before delivering her order.
It also didn’t smell of stale beer and burnt fish and chips, which seemed to be de rigueur for many pubs. No, Muldoon’s was alive with the scent of fresh-baked bread, Guinness, and spices.
I’d nothing to lose at this point and my stomach growled loudly. I stepped further inside to get the lay of the place before I headed to the bar. Normally I liked sitting in a booth, but judging by the number of people in the pub, getting a booth or a table would be out of the question. As luck would have it, a stool became vacant as I walked up to the bar.
As I dropped my duffel bag at my feet and sat down, the bartender turned to face me. The huge mirror along the back wall afforded him a grand view of the entire pub’s comings and goings, so I knew he hadn’t missed my arrival.
“Good evening, lass. What can I get for you?” He was a huge man, at least six four, with broad shoulders and a thick Irish accent, his hair a salt-and-pepper blend of black and white. I pegged him to be in his mid-fifties but he moved with the ease of someone younger. He also handed me a towel. “You’re dripping on my counter, darlin’.”
I accepted his towel with a mumbled, “Sorry,” as he handed me a menu. I started to ask for a Coke but had to clear my scratchy throat. Damn it all to hell, I was coming down with a cold. Now what?
“I’d like a Coke and a shepherd’s pie.”
“Good choice, but some good hot tea would do your throat better.” Still smiling, he started through the stages of building a pint of Guinness for a customer.
“Fine … whatever.”
“Whatever, to be sure,” he mumbled before calling out my order to the kitchen. I looked at him for a minute with the uncomfortable feeling that I was not fooling him for a second.
&nbs
p; “I’m Muldoon. Tommy Muldoon.” He extended his hand to me. My own hand was lost in his as he shook it. “Now this is the part where you give me your name.” His hand still held mine in a firm grip.
“Laney. Laney Murphy,” I said, trying to keep the accent from my voice. I failed. The accent was back as if it had always been there. Truth be told, it had always been there, just deeply buried along with the rest of my life.
“You have a bit of Irish in you, don’t you, Laney?” He asked letting go of my hand to take the cup of tea a waitress had brought to him.
I looked at him for a long minute trying to decide how to answer. “Some,” I finally answered. His smile told me he figured I had more than some but he kept his own council as he set the tea and honey before me and went to the other end of the bar to take an order.
He returned a few minutes later. “So, Laney Murphy, what brings you to my end of the world?”
“A cab,” I mumbled, with a cough.
He laughed and set a plate in front of me. “Well tuck into that and see if it doesn’t do the trick.”
After the first bite, I was in heaven. My God, this was not pub grub, this was a delight of textures and scent. No mushy peas or dry, day-old mashed potatoes. The shepherd’s pie was wonderful and I told Muldoon so before I could stop myself.
“This is the best meal I have had in … well, forever.”
“Well now, thank you kindly, lass. So are you just passing through, or are you staying in our fair city?”
“I closed my eyes and chose San Francisco on the map. I don’t know if I’m staying yet.” I took my last bite and gave a thought to licking the plate but my aunt’s voice, shrieking about good manners, jumped into my head. I set my fork down and drank some more tea instead.
“I was living in San Diego. It didn’t agree with me.” More like fading away there, I thought, but I didn’t think he needed to know that. Although something told me he probably wouldn’t bat an eye if I told him only a few days ago I had been thinking that life truly wasn’t worth living without William.