doyenne.

by Anne Malcom

The corner of Ethan’s mouth turned up. “Please, sit,” he offered.

  His gaze flickered to Jacob, but he did not offer him a seat, nor did he remark on his presence or bother to introduce himself. This was a man who never introduced himself.

  “Can my assistant get you anything?” he asked, sitting and gesturing to the door. “Fiji? Wine? I have Pastel Paradise, chilled, of course. Celebration is suitable for the day, thirty-three, is it?” His expression didn’t change with the offer and neither did mine.

  He didn’t offer me thousand-dollar bottles of Dom. No, the ten-dollar bottle that no one knew I drank. The exact brand. It was a pointed threat. He had been looking into me. Hard enough to have someone follow me to the supermarket or at the very least go through my trash.

  It was meant to unnerve me.

  It did not.

  The man standing behind me unnerved me with his presence, the one in front of me irritated me.

  I smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but it is rather early for me, and I regret that I’m not going to be here long enough to enjoy refreshments. I came as a courtesy more than anything.”

  He waved off the woman who had place bottled water in front of us, leaning back in his chair. “Ah, yes, you’re here to kill the deal that’s been three years in the making, that’s losing your company at least a billion dollars.” He raised his brow. “And that’s my lowest estimate.”

  He didn’t take his eyes off me. His tone was mild. Not an ounce of irritation. Only cocky confidence that came with a man who always got what he wanted. Either by persuasion or force. I’d been around men like that before, but not like this. This was more than an upper crust sense of entitlement from men who had everything given to them because of a title, a surname or a bank balance.

  No, this was a man that was given things out of fear, and what he wasn’t given he took forcefully.

  “It isn’t the right fit for my company at this time. As a businessman yourself, I’m sure you’ll understand.” I didn’t apologize. I never did. I would if I ever did something worth apologizing for. And I hadn’t. Not in business, at least.

  He nodded. “Of course, I understand. It’s a risk. Keeping your company safe is the first and foremost of your concerns. Since you’re the face of your company, keeping yourself safe is another one of those concerns. I’m happy to see you continue to do so.” His eyes flickered to Jacob for no more than one second. “Despite your...difficulties.”

  I didn’t react outwardly. My suspicions about my attacks were all but confirmed with the words. With the glint in his eyes. “I don’t mind taking risks, Mr. Kershaw,” I replied, voice glacial. “With my company or myself. But as you said, I am my brand and my brand is me. I do not consider myself a good person by any sense of the word. But I do have morals. Principles. As does my brand. We’re high end. We are worth something. We will not tarnish ourselves or our reputation by getting into bed with someone from the gutter. All you are is a bully with a custom suit.” I stood. “You’re looking for a victim here, as all bullies always are. Looking for control. But I’m no victim. Nor am I a bully. So instead of fighting with you, instead of speaking in circles as you’re so keen to do, I’m going to be brutally honest.” I didn’t lower my gaze, and he regarded me with that same even look he’d had when I arrived. This was not a man that would succumb to petty rage, which made him all the more dangerous.

  “I’m not stooping to your level,” I continued. “I know what you had to do with my difficulties. I know you’ve had a lot to do with other people’s difficulties.” I struggled to keep the contempt from my tone as I remembered the contents of the files I had on him. “That is one of the main reasons you’re not going to merge with my company. You resorting to petty acts of violence didn’t scare me. It made me confident in my decision. I don’t do business with bullies. And I’m not scared of them either.”

  I turned to walk away.

  “Everyone’s a victim, at some point, Charlotte,” his voice called after me. “Even the most powerful of men. Or women. There’s a point where power doesn’t save you.”

  The threat hit my back and paused my step as the energy in the room changed once more.

  Jacob moved quickly and I surprised even myself by moving quicker. I was in front of him, between Ethan and him before he could do anything unwise like murder a man with whom I was concluding business with.

  “Let us not do anything that would have Detective Maloney speaking to me about yet another dead body in my vicinity,” I said calmly. “I’m thinking the third time would not be lucky in this situation.”

  Jacob’s nostrils flared and a vein in his neck jumped. Small things, but it spoke louder than a roar to me, communicating Jacob’s fury. His loss of control. It shocked me as much as delighted me, sick satisfaction overruling all fear at Kershaw’s words. It was me that made the man unravel, lose control. A part of it was satisfaction in victory, the instinctual part of me that craved winning above all else. A larger part was the knowledge that Jacob was affected by me in the same violent way I was by him. The animal part of me that craved Jacob above all else.

  I expected Kershaw to taunt him. To bait him. He may not have greeted Jacob or even acknowledged him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t inspect him closely, form a very educated guess on who he was. What he was. I knew the threat was as much for Jacob’s benefit as mine. And to gain information about the nature of the relationship between the two of us. Jacob’s reaction communicated something dangerous.

  There was nothing but silence from behind me and I didn’t glance back. Jacob was teetering between violence and resistance. I was the only thing standing in his way.

  He took an audible breath, ripping his eyes from the man behind me to focus on me, I didn’t relax even though the movement of his eyes signified the movement of his wrath from surface to slightly under. I struggled to keep steady under his gaze when I’d barely shuddered when faced with the man who’d tried to have me killed.

  Twice.

  And despite me being certain I was anything but a victim, everything had changed that night in the alley.

  I was not the victim of the man who tried to kill me.

  I am the victim of the man who saved me.

  And the gift of my life felt like something of a punishment as he taunted me with his presence.

  9

  I kept my cool the entire walk to the elevator, Jacob’s white-hot fury encasing me as he walked damn near plastered to my side.

  I’d just come out of a meeting with a criminal in a business suit, one who not only openly threatened me but all but admitted to the attempts on my life. I despised him for multiple reasons, but his brazenness was impressive. It came from a man who’d done worse things and gotten away with it. He considered himself untouchable, from things like federal or international laws. Likely he was, since I knew he was the government’s unofficial attack dog. Information that had come to my desk just this morning.

  Any kind of legal action I might try to bring against him would disappear. I would too if I tried conventional means to get rid of a criminal. Conventional means being putting him behind bars.

  But eighty percent of the CEOs I dealt with belonged behind bars, none of them would ever get there, of course. Nor would I, I supposed, if I managed to hold onto my power and sway. Not that I’d done anything that would put me in jail. And that didn’t matter. If someone wanted to try, really try, they’d find something, invent something.

  Framing someone was an amateur move, too risky, too many variables outside of your control. Which was why Kershaw deduced having me killed was the best idea when I started to look like I might back out of the deal. He’d obviously done his research and knew I wasn’t likely to change my mind, knew that I had the deciding vote and if something were to happen to me, the controlling shares of my company would be given to my uncle. Who, just so happened to be very invested in this deal going through.

  I thought about it.

  He was invested to the point
where his trademark self-control frayed, evidenced by the outburst last week. The idea that the man who took my sister and me in after our father’s death, put us through school and gave up his own career to help with my company would have a hand in trying to get me killed was likely not something normal people would consider. Normal people considered that such crimes would never be committed by blood.

  But in my world, blood meant nothing, power meant everything.

  So, walking to the elevator, trying to find my self-control and not have a visceral reaction to Jacob’s fury, I considered the highly likely possibility that my uncle had something to do with this.

  I called Vaughn.

  “I need you to get IT to send all of my uncle’s email correspondence to my computer,” I said before he could squeeze in the greeting. “And every file he’s tried to get rid of.” My uncle knew about everything, so likely he knew about this meeting. He was a smart man, he knew me, so if he knew about the attacks on my life—which he only would if he had someone hacking into police records or if he had something to do with it—he’d know my next step and would be attempting to cover his tracks.

  There was a small pause and then tapping of keys. “I take it the meeting went well, then?” Vaughn asked dryly.

  “I expect the files on my computer by the time I arrive back at the office, and it goes without saying to keep this discreet and let IT know that if they so much as think about breathing a word of this, they’ll be thrown in jail per their non-disclosure,” I said.

  I didn’t wait for the response, I hung up the phone and walked into the elevator that was ready to take us down from hell. Scripture was wrong, the devils and demons didn’t reside below our feet in the bowels of hell, they lived above the clouds, in ivory towers, controlling humans like pawns, sipping thousand-dollar wine.

  I clasped my shaking hands together as the elevator doors closed on the last person to walk out. I glanced at the numbers. We only had ten floors to go. Ten floors to breathe through the dense air that had become that much thicker with the fact we were alone. I could get through ten floors. Ten seconds. Anyone can handle anything for ten seconds. It had been a mantra I’d adopted since I found my father. I’d count to ten while waiting for the police to arrive. Ten seconds was manageable. Then when I made ten, I’d start over.

  The gentle movement of the elevator jolted suddenly and unexpectedly enough for me to totter on my heels.

  A firm, bordering on painful grip on my elbow steadied me.

  He’d pressed the emergency stop on the elevator.

  I didn’t even think people did that in real life.

  But the man with the wolf eyes, who’d killed two men in front of me and many more in the shadows was not real life.

  “You provoked him on purpose, knowing it’d get a reaction from me,” he bit out.

  I exhaled, making it sound like a sigh of exasperation when it was really a battle for control of my lungs.

  I didn’t look at him. Not directly. I focused on the area above his dark brows so I didn’t have to be assaulted with his gaze. “I don’t presume to know what any of your actions are, but I played with all information at my fingertips, and considered your likeliest actions. Even without the show, I suspect my message still would’ve been well sent.”

  “The message that you’ve got a guard dog who answers to you and you only?” he bit out.

  The pure fury leeching out of the cold tone had my heartbeats increasing, fear mingled with desire throughout my body.

  “I know you think you can do it with everyone, play your games, practice your control, but you can’t do it with me. Not fucking ever,” he hissed, his breath kissing the top of my head, grip tightening on my elbow.

  I tried to move out of his grasp so I could step forward and press on the flashing red button that would restart the motion of me going down and make sure that I would be out of this shrinking space before I started to hyperventilate.

  Of course I didn’t go anywhere. Jacob didn’t want me to move, therefore I didn’t.

  He yanked on me so my body turned to be almost flush against his.

  Almost.

  There was a calculated distance between us, so my pointed Choos only just touched his scuffed boots. Less than an inch. But it may as well have been an ocean.

  I didn’t shrink away from this show of force, I met his eyes, hopefully not betraying my growing panic.

  “Let me go,” I demanded.

  “Not until I make my point, Boots,” he murmured. “Not until you understand. And I’ll do anything to make my point.” He leaned in closer, so his scent and his very presence enveloped me.

  My already rapid heartbeat increased at his proximity, the dangerous and erotic promise threaded through his words, through the air.

  “Let me go,” I repeated, sweat beading on my forehead. My body started to vibrate with the extension of time being stationary inside the shrinking metal box.

  My vision blurred.

  Panic crawled over my skin at the loss of control and my response to it. I liked it. Jacob snatching away any and all agency I had over my body and mind. Something that was integral to my identity, my survival. I should’ve hated it. My panties shouldn’t be dampening, my core clenching from the visceral reaction to his violent touch.

  He didn’t speak. He watched my reaction, and I knew he noted my panic, my discomfort, because he was Jacob and he noticed everything. He saw what he was doing to me, and he didn’t stop, just observed me unravel with nothing but his proximity and stare.

  “You’ve made your point,” I bit out, struggling to keep my tone even.

  “Have I?” he asked, leaning forward so there was only a sliver of air between our mouths.

  I could taste him. Mint and menace.

  “You try and do shit like that again, you won’t need me to protect you from fuckers like Ethan Kershaw. You’ll need to protect yourself from me. And even you won’t be able to do that.”

  The threat hung in the air, fear pumped through my blood with more intensity than it had in a room with a glorified mass murderer. My panties were drenched, as if I were turned on with the prospect of my destruction.

  I was.

  I ached to cross the tiny distance between us, to rip at Jacob’s clothes, his skin and unravel him, destroy him in a way he was destroying me.

  I actually leaned forward, to commence that destruction, but Jacob flinched back as if I were about to strike him. Something changed in his eyes. Something that wasn’t flat menace.

  Something that might’ve resembled panic. Fear?

  No, the man could not be afraid of me.

  He stepped back, pressed the red button. The elevator moved with a jolt and descended back to earth.

  My mind, my heart, stayed up in hell.

  Not with Kershaw.

  With Jacob.

  Because he carried hell around with him.

  I wasn’t surprised to see the evidence of my uncle’s betrayal in the files.

  I wasn’t hurt either.

  Though I was slightly disappointed in him for making them so easy to find. They were banished to a junk folder, not even erased from the hard drive—something that would’ve taken my IT, the best in the world, slightly longer to find.

  There should have been a sense of victory in this, if not some kind of pain at having a family member do such a thing.

  There was neither. Just a hollow kind of determination to get him out and make sure I wasn’t vulnerable to such things again.

  The emails didn’t betray any knowledge or involvement with my attacks, but if he had been involved, he was nowhere near stupid enough to leave evidence of such a thing anywhere.

  It wasn’t beyond the scope. He knew my schedule, and he might’ve known I was taking the short walk on that night in the alley. He’d been in my apartment a handful of times when I hosted obligatory parties. My doorman—who had been fired for letting in the second man who tried to kill me—knew him and his relationship to me. It
actually made perfect sense. But that in itself made me hesitate. Rarely did such deception make perfect sense. It was a straight story—the successful uncle surpassed by the niece he took in, forced to work under her is bitter from the change in power and looking for ways to come back out on top.

  It was the plot of too many elementary thrillers.

  Life was always stranger than fiction, and never as predictable.

  Or maybe there was a sentimental part of me I didn’t even know I had who was trying to make excuses as to why it couldn’t be him, look for another villain, further removed from me.

  But villains were usually the ones with the closest relationships to their targets. I wasn’t sure I wasn’t a villain myself, in one way or another.

  My mind flickered to Jacob, who hadn’t spoken to me since the incident in the elevator. He’d left me in the foyer and stalked off somewhere, his promise, his threat imprinted onto every part of me.

  No way he was the hero. He was worse than any kind of villain. He was his own monster.

  The door opened and closed and I looked up to Vaughn, his face was tight, grave.

  “I’m sorry, Char,” he said.

  Obviously he’d seen the emails.

  I should’ve berated him for looking at them before I did, but I didn’t.

  “Why?”

  He folded his arms. “Because you’re sitting in front of evidence that your uncle not only was engaging in corporate espionage at best and was involved in an attempt on your life at worst?”

  I snapped my laptop shut, standing. “This is not bad news, Vaughn. It’s good. I am cleaning house, at an opportune time since I need to start moving against Kershaw before he tries anything else. Is Abe on his way up?”

  Vaughn wasn’t shocked at the way I brushed it off, he’d been with me long enough to likely expect my reaction. Or lack of one.

  He nodded once. “I called Rambo too, just in case things get—”

  “I doubt that my uncle would try and assault me in the middle of the office,” I said. “He’s not that crass.”

  Vaughn regarded me. “I’d prefer to have Rambo here, just in case. You’ve been through enough, Char.”