by A. C. Arthur
Fiona had swallowed, zipped his pants and sat back against the seat by the time the car pulled up in front of his building. Liam wanted more. Fiona had demonstrated that she was just the type of woman he liked to have around. There was only one other person who knew that. He owed that person a big thank you or maybe even lunch when he arrived in the office on Monday.
“Come with me,” he said, taking her hand in his.
She leaned over, touching her lips to his before dipping her tongue inside his mouth. Liam accepted the kiss hungrily. He tilted his head and let his tongue tangle with hers, his mind drifting deep into the waves of arousal forming around them. When she pulled back he was gasping for breath.
“Of course,” she replied sucking her bottom lip between her teeth.
Liam could not get out of the car fast enough, pulling her right behind him. She came willingly and the moment he had her inside the building and behind the closed doors of the elevator, his hands were on her. Her back was to the wall and his body was pressed against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and his hand gripped her ass before sliding down to the split along the side of her dress. Their lips touched again, tongues dueling while he lifted her leg to wrap around his waist. Liam pressed his once again hardened cock against her and reveled in the sound of her moaning as a result of his efforts.
The elevator door opened and Liam cursed before he pushed away from her.
She knew they weren’t finished and beckoned him in a husky voice. “Come on baby.”
They all but ran down the long hallway toward his condo. It was Fiona’s turn now and she pushed Liam’s back against the door. He cupped her face in his hands and brought her mouth to his again. She eased her hand down the front of his slacks to grab his dick. He groaned and somehow managed to pull his hand away from her to find his keys in his coat pocket. She had a grip on him, her hands warm against his aching flesh. Liam was able to turn their bodies around without breaking her grasp. He unlocked the door while she sucked on his neck and fondled his balls.
They tumbled through the door and Liam lifted a foot to kick it closed behind them. She pulled her hand out of his pants to push his coat off. He did the same with hers. She yanked at his bow tie. He fumbled for a zipper on that shimmery sexy dress. Piece by piece they undressed each other while Liam led them toward the bedroom. She pushed him onto his bed and knelt to take off his shoes and socks. He helped by pushing his briefs and pants down before stepping out of them. Her dress had been hanging off her shoulders and she stood to let it fall to the floor. She was naked beneath. When Liam stepped to her, she surprised him by pushing him back onto the bed and climbing over him.
He was embedded deep inside her warm walls in seconds and she rode them both into a blissful sunset. Liam hadn’t believed he’d ever come so hard in his life…and without a condom. Dammit! Every part of his body felt weak by the time she rolled off of him. He heard her murmur something but for the life of him had no idea what the words were. When she wrapped an arm around his waist he closed his eyes and concentrated on steadying his breathing.
At some point Liam fell asleep, only to wake to the sound of breaking glass. The room was dark and silence engulfed the space. He closed his eyes and opened them again, his heart thumping in his chest. For endless seconds he wasn’t sure what was going on or where he was. The fact that he was naked sent his recollection into overdrive. Fiona. The car. The elevator. Sex.
Fiona.
She wasn’t in the bed with him and Liam distinctly remembered falling asleep with her arms around him. He hurried off the bed, tripping over his shoes on his way out into the hallway. It was a little lighter here because the blinds on the windows in the living room had not been lowered. Manhattan’s night skyline was bright as any moon and slashes of light landed on the floor and the walls.
“Fiona?”
He called to her thinking she may have gotten up to get something to drink and knocked something over by mistake. He prayed that something wasn’t the five thousand dollar Ming Dynasty porcelain vase that he’d purchased a month ago from an online auction. But the moment Liam entered the living room he spotted the blue and white vase in its proper location and from what he could see from that distance, without a scratch. So what was that sound? And where was Fiona?
The answer to those questions would never come as Liam heard footsteps behind him. He turned expecting to see Fiona sated but ready for round two. Instead he saw a glint of light off the edge of a blade. A sickening gasp that he would never know was his own, echoed in Liam’s ears a second before he collapsed to the floor. He rolled onto his back and pressed shaking fingers to the warm blood now spurting from his neck.
This wasn’t a dream, he thought. It was a nightmare.
A nightmare Liam was positive he wouldn’t wake up from.
It was barely eight a.m. on Monday morning when Logan’s desk phone rang.
“You always did get up with the chickens,” Joanna Palmer said seconds after Logan answered the phone with his formal business greeting.
His smile was as instant as the warm feeling he always had whenever he spoke to his mother. He sat back against his black leather desk chair.
“Mornin’ Mama.”
“Good morning to you, Son. I knew exactly where I could find you and it’s not even nine o’clock. You know what that means?”
“It means you raised a child with a great work ethic.” Logan chuckled because he knew that wasn’t going to be her answer.
“Hmph. It means you need to get a life outside of that office.”
“Says the woman who still works twelve hour shifts four times a week at the hospital.”
“Says the child that got a smack upside the head for his smart mouth at least the same number of times per week,” she snapped.
Joanna Palmer was a boisterous, smart-witted, tenacious woman. She’d been married twice, raised five children and worked for thirty years as a registered nurse. She was the strongest person Logan knew and he loved her with every part of his heart.
“Ma, you can’t threaten me now, I’m a grown man.” He joked because he knew this meant absolutely nothing to her.
“Never too grown for me to yank you back into reality.” Joanna chuckled right along with him.
“Okay. Okay. I guess you’ve got a point there. So what’s up? Is everything alright with you and the house?”
Joanna lived in Brooklyn, in the same brownstone where Logan and his siblings had grown up. Only now, his two older brothers, Perry and Stephan had moved out. His younger sisters, Maxine and Cassie, Joanna’s children by her second husband, still lived there with her. Their father, Michael Palmer, was a fire-fighter who died responding to the World Trade Center attacks on 9/11.
“I am well and I’m having a special dinner for my family on Wednesday night at six-thirty. I’m asking you to be there.”
Joanna did not ask her children to do anything. Sure, she always phrased it as a question, but when she requested something, her children knew that meant she expected them to do it.
“Yes ma’am. What’s the occasion?”
“I need an occasion to cook for my children? Used to be a time when I came home, five hungry little ones were waiting for me to put a meal on the table.”
Those were good times, Logan recalled. In that house, with his mother and his siblings, those were very good times. It was the moments when Logan walked out of the house that the world had turned into an unkind place.
“Oh no, I love your cooking and am always ready to see your smiling face.”
“Don’t try to charm me the way you do those women you date. Just be here on time. And stop at that bakery to pick up one of those chocolate cakes.”
“Yes ma’am.” They spoke only a couple moments after that and Logan disconnected the call thinking of his favorite woman in the world.
His mother’s favorite dessert was chocolate. Cakes, cookies, ice cream. It didn’t matter as long as it was chocolate. He sent Karen an email as
king her to order the cake. He was about to dive back into fine-tuning the preliminary plans for Lakefield Galleries that he’d worked on all weekend when his phone buzzed again.
“Mr. Williams, Mr. West has a meeting conflict at ten so he would like to see you now,” Delores, Jagger’s assistant said when he answered.
“No problem. I’ll be right there.”
He did a quick spellcheck of his document before printing and stood to gather all the other materials he planned to present. Logan did not like feeling rushed so he stopped and took a few deep, steadying breaths. He’d worked hard delving through every bit of available information he had on Paul Lakefield and the business the man had built. He’d worked even harder on finding out all he could about the Lakefield family since they were going to play an intricate role in the rebranding of this company.
Five minutes after Delores’s call, Logan was on the other side of the fifth floor, sitting on the brown leather couch in Jagger’s office.
Jagger West was about three inches taller than Logan’s five foot eleven stature. He had a lean muscled build like a basketball player, dark hair and dreamy blue eyes as Logan had heard Karen and a few other women in the lunch room say. As far as Logan was concerned Jagger was just a cool guy. He was ambitious and smart just like Logan and they both had plans to go further. They’d gone to a happy hour or two in the past and in the recent weeks since Jagger had been back from Hobbs Creek, Texas, they’d had an opportunity to chat a little more. Logan sensed that was a result of the sudden termination and arrest of Brooke Radison who had also worked at The Masori Group. Rumor was that Jagger and Brooke had been sleeping together, but Jagger never mentioned it and Logan never asked.
“The family component is key to this being a success,” Jagger said from where he was seated in a matching leather armchair.
Logan sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. On a coffee table centered between the couch and the two matching chairs on either end, he’d set up his tablet with the Lakefield Galleries website on the screen.
“I agree. Paul and Noreen Lakefield will have been married for forty years next fall. They have three daughters—Monica, Karena and Deena. Three grandchildren—Sophia, Elijah and Ella. Two sons-in-law—Samuel Desdune and Maxwell Donovan.”
“Monica, formerly known as The Ice Queen, is the oldest daughter, but the last to get married,” Jagger added as he continued to flip through the report Logan had given him.
“Correct. She’s marrying Alexander Bennett, CEO of Bennett Industries, a global communications company.”
Jagger nodded. “My soon-to-be brother-in-law, sort of.”
Logan couldn’t help his look of surprise. “Huh?”
Jagger looked away from the papers and nodded. “Yeah. My brother Tyler is engaged to Gabriella Bennett, Alex’s youngest sister. I met Alex and Monica while I was in Texas. Tyler’s wedding is in May so I guess that makes us related in some way.”
Logan suspected this project had just become a little more important.
“Wow. The other Bennett sister, Adriana, she’s an actress. And she’s married to Parker Donovan, who is the cousin of Maxwell Donovan and Deena Lakefield’s husband.” Logan shrugged. “I guess the world really is a lot smaller than we think.”
“For better or for worse.” Jagger added with a chuckle. “So you made no progress with the wedding planner on Friday.”
Logan didn’t flinch at the reminder, even though he’d thought about it and the very sexy wedding planner all weekend. Almost to the point where he’d had problems concentrating. That part bothered him a little, but he was determined to push past whatever primal urgings he felt toward the dancing wedding planner.
“We’re actually supposed to meet today.” Logan pulled his phone from his pocket to see if Cheyna Dansfield had responded to the follow-up email he’d sent before leaving his office.
She had not.
“She wanted to check-in with Monica Lakefield this morning and then we were going to meet to go over the preliminary plans for the wedding,” Logan continued.
“After meeting Monica, I’ll bet it’s going to be a grand event. She didn’t strike me as an ordinary woman, but one with high expectations and a penchant for the best of the best.”
Logan frowned. “Isn’t that all women when it comes to their wedding? Especially all rich women.”
“I don’t think so. At least from the way Tyler talks, Gabriella is taking a more low-key approach to their wedding.”
“Well, Cheyna Dansfield worked for six years at ZV Events, one of the premier event planning companies in Manhattan. They also have an L.A. and a Paris office. She left two years ago to start her own company, Prestige Events and Productions. Her clientele includes an A-List actor, a music industry mogul, a federal judge’s daughter, and a host of other people with deep pockets.”
“In other words, she’s a high-end event planner who knows how to do her job well or she wouldn’t have been able to walk away from a top company and successfully run her own business, let alone snag the Lakefield/Bennett wedding,” Jagger said.
“In other words, you want me to tread lightly while dealing with her.” Logan didn’t like the implication that he would have handled this event planner with anything less than his normal professionalism, but he didn’t say that.
Jagger tossed the report on the coffee table and sat forward to stare directly at Logan.
“In other words, I want you to do whatever it takes—kiss this event planner’s ass, offer to dance at Monica’s wedding, make wedding favors, try on bridal gowns—whatever it takes, to clinch this deal. Give Paul Lakefield and his family every second of your attention and deliver on the promise of The Masori Group. You do all of that,” Jagger said and then sat back in his chair. “And you’ll get a bonus, a raise, and a new office with the Director of Branding title.”
Any rebuff Logan felt by Jagger’s words a few moments ago, were now lost. Everything Jagger just offered him was everything that Logan wanted. His smile was slow even though adrenaline pumped fast and intense through his blood.
“Understood,” Logan replied. “No worries. I got this.”
Chapter 4
“I don’t get it.” Logan’s face was scrunched like a kid who’d just tasted a sour piece of candy.
Cheyna resisted the urge to sigh with frustration. Not at his words exactly, but because the soft earthy scent of his cologne was tickling her nostrils and sparking a sense of need that she’d buried for professional purposes. “You have to visualize the entire event when you’re looking at a venue.”
“And why exactly are we looking at venues instead of the happy couple doing this honor?”
Cheyna continued to look around the space, jotting down notes on the pad she held. “Because Monica has back-to-back meetings today and a new show opening tomorrow. She’s totally swamped this week and Alex decided that the venue and overall vision for the wedding is Monica’s choice. So she sent me this list of venues she likes and wants me to choose the right one. My job is to do whatever makes my client happy and your job is to incorporate the wedding I create into your rebranding project. Does that adequately answer your question?”
She glanced over to see him once again frowning. This time the insolent look almost made her laugh. Wearing a slim-fit black suit with a black and white striped shirt and royal blue tie that gave the dark ensemble a trendy punch, he looked professional and if she were being totally honest, handsome. His sunglasses were round frames with a tinted blue lens, the silver stud sparkling in one ear. He too carried a notepad, but he held it down by his side as he continued to look around the space.
Logan took a deep breath, rolled his neck on his shoulders and shook his arms at his sides as if he were preparing to run a race. “Okay, give me the vision one more time and I’ll try to see it.”
Cheyna cleared her throat and decided she appreciated his words that would bring her back to business. Why her mind had wandered to the way he looked and smelled, she w
asn’t sure.
“Monica’s style is classic elegance with vintage touches. While Alex strikes me as having a more laid back and flexible attitude for the wedding. I had the opportunity to speak with both of them via a Skype call this morning and believe I have a good idea of which direction to go in.” They’d been standing on the paved pathway looking at the stately dwelling, but now Cheyna walked them through the front door.
“The Wave Hill House was once the estate of Mark Twain. It sits on twenty-eight acres of land. In addition, this venue also features celebrated gardens and spectacular views of the Palisades. It fits the bill for classy without overstating the obvious. And there are wonderful places for great photo shoots—the Elliptical Garden, Glyndor Gallery and the Aquatic Garden.”
Logan nodded as she walked and talked. He looked around the main entrance and up the grand staircase.
“You’ve nailed classy. But I don’t really see vintage here. I see historic which might be considered the same thing. But what about glamour? The Lakefields come from a line of quiet glamour. From the Gold Rush, to the steel mills and now the art world. I plan to show that beneath the undeniable glamour of their lives, that they’re just like any ordinary family.”
Cheyna wasn’t too proud to admit that she liked his thoughts. “I think you’re right. Alex is all about family. His nieces and nephew—they’re triplets—are the highlight of his life trumping any business deal. He actually said that in an interview earlier this year. The reporter was shocked because once upon a time Alex had been as serious and entrenched in his job as Monica. Now, the two of them have mellowed substantially and I’m guessing that their relationship and their families have a lot to do with that.”