by Sam Crescent
That red dress fits her like a glove, and she looks stunning. It’s not a risqué dress. The hem reaches just above her knee. The bateau neckline doesn’t reveal any cleavage. And the half sleeves give it a conservative look. But a nun’s habit on her would give me a woody.
Her long blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Can I tell you about what?” She pops a hip and narrows her gray eyes on me.
“Your father has sold several pieces of real estate for less than its listed value.”
“It’s my father’s business.” She sounds bored. “He can do what he pleases.”
“Though the company still bears his name, I am an equity partner, so I don’t feel my question is out of line.”
“Then ask the question of my father.” She waves a hand at me and walks behind her desk. She peeks at the gold clock perched on her desk, then looks back at me. “I have a meeting, Mr. Walker. Is that all?”
Her dismissal grates on my nerves. “These sales make it seem like your father is desperate for money. And they were all done without being run through the proper channels for approval. Is there something I need to know about?”
“Are you feeling left out?” She sashays in my direction and stops inches from me. She places a finger on the knot of my loosened tie and runs it down the length.
I grab her wrist and yank her hand away before it lands on my belt buckle. “This has nothing to do with my feelings, Ms. Hawkins.”
“Then what’s it about?” She glances down at where I still hold her wrist and then glares at me. “Daddy’s been in this business forever. He knows what he’s doing.”
“This job, this company, is my livelihood, too. I’ve spent twenty years helping your father to build Hawkins Holdings into what it is today.” I wave the papers in my hand. “These indicate that maybe he doesn’t know what he’s doing right now. Is he in some sort of trouble?”
“How the hell would I know?” Her tone is sharp. She doesn’t like me questioning her or her father.
“He’s your father, isn’t he?”
She pushes up on her toes so her face is closer to mine. The scent of jasmine floats around me. I inhale, wanting to bathe my lungs in her sweet scent. She flicks her tongue out over her pouty bottom lip, leaving it wet.
My mouth waters with the need to bite it.
“I’m almost twenty-six years old, Mr. Walker.” The bite in her tone forces my gaze back to hers. “I’m not my father’s keeper. Nor am I in a position to question his business moves. I am, however, in the position to demand that you release my wrist this second.”
My grip tightens on her wrist. “Or what?” Challenging her is one of my most favorite hobbies.
She steps closer. “I know you find me attractive. You still give me that same look you did when you watched me come in the bathroom at my birthday party.” Her stomach brushes against my length and all my blood rushes south. I suck in a breath.
“Release my wrist or I’ll make you come in your pants. That’d be an embarrassing walk back to your office, now wouldn’t it?” She sways to the side, giving my dick another glancing rub.
I swallow down the growl crawling up my throat. I’ve half a mind to kick her door fully closed, lock it, and take her against it. “You don’t have it in you.” I glare at her.
“I see the way you look at me. The way you watch me when you think I’m not paying attention.” She places her free hand on my abdomen.
The heat of her touch burns me in the most magnificent way.
“You wish you’d taken me up on my offer all those years ago for you to get between my legs, don’t you?”
“So a few years later and now you think you can handle it? Handle me? Ha.” I lower my head and stare into her piercing gray eyes. Our mouths are mere centimeters away. “One taste of this, Ms. Hawkins, and you’ll be ruined for any other man.”
She blows out a soft laugh, but it isn’t friendly. “I’ve never met a more arrogant man.” She pushes her upper body into me. Her breasts are flush against me and her belly teases my erection. “A man of your age and intelligence should have been wise enough not to pass up that offer. Are you sure it would be me who would be ruined?”
My chest heaves. I came in here to discuss her father and his recent poor business deals. Instead, I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life and am seconds away from fucking this woman who has terrorized my fantasies for the last few years. I need to get a grip. I’m in charge here.
“I have thought about taking your mouth.” I rub my thumb over her plush bottom lip, smearing a little of her red lipstick. “Maybe push you against the door and hike that damn dress up over your hips. I’d finally get to show you how it feels to be fucked by a real man. A man who knows how to draw out every last whimper, every last tremor of your orgasm.” I brush my lips over hers. It’s a soft touch, almost nonexistent, but she inhales and her eyes flutter closed. My heart races. “I’m certain I’d ruin you for anyone else.” I release her wrist and step back. I slap the papers on her table over the architectural plans. “Take a look at these and talk to your father. He’s playing with my life here, too, and I’m not likely to be as nice as you.”
I turn on my heels and strut out of her office.
Chapter Two
Celia
I watch Eric leave my office. His black slacks pull tight across his perfect behind with each step and his crisp white button-down shirt hugs the muscular planes of his back. My heart thumps like I just ran a race. I close my office door and lean back against it. My chest heaves. That man sparks all sorts of things—has for many years.
I had a secret crush on him for a few years before my twenty-first birthday celebration. I’d help Daddy at the office during the summer and watch Eric rule every meeting like he was the CEO. Occasionally, he’d show up at our house for an event or dinner and I’d turn green over whatever bimbo he’d bring as his date. Most teenagers and college students crushed on their teachers or professors. I fantasized about my father’s business partner.
Something about Eric turned me inside out. Still does. He stands six feet-plus. His body is all lean, hard muscle despite being forty-five. His chestnut-brown hair salted with just a few grays gives him a sexy but distinguished look. How do men get sexier with age?
His crystal-blue eyes see right through me. He seems to know some of my sass is simply bravado and he challenges me. I shouldn’t like it, but I do. He makes me want to be brave and do something crazy.
His nose is straight and pointed but for a notch in the middle, proving it had once been broken. Evidence that Mr. Walker may not always be able to harness his control. A button I’ve been pushing for years now in hopes of seeing him drop the reins.
His entrance into the bathroom that fateful night hadn’t been planned, but I didn’t shy away from it either. I’d touched myself many times envisioning a similar scenario—him walking in on me having sex with another man. Only in my fantasies, he threw the guy out and took his place.
That night, the smoldering in his eyes, the lick of his lips, and the bulge in his pants had proven he found me attractive, but he wouldn’t act on it. And I didn’t understand. I had little problem landing a guy. Why not this one?
Sure, there’s the obvious reason—I’m his business partner’s daughter. But he hadn’t even used that reasoning. He claimed I couldn’t handle him. I’d be ruined for all men. Ha!
His cold rebuke that night lit a fire inside of me to test his resolve at every turn. I have. I still do. His breath kicks at the base of his throat and his nostrils flare every time we’re in the same room. Our lust-hate relationship is entertaining even if I am a ball of sexual energy every time I see him.
I close my eyes and inhale deeply, trying to calm my breath and my racing heart. I smooth a finger over my lips. They still tingle from his feathery touch. I wouldn’t call it a kiss, but it’s the closest we’ve ever come. I should have bitten his lip.
After several minutes, I walk over to
the table where he slapped some documents. I pick up the papers and flip through several. Eric’s right. These sales are way off. By tens and hundreds of thousands.
What is going on, Daddy?
I walk back to my desk and sit. I rest my forehead in my hand and stare at the report before me. I don’t understand. Daddy has always been an excellent businessman. He built this real estate business from the ground up, owning a decent portion of the Tampa Bay area. What could possibly cause him to be so careless?
I pick up my cell phone and find Daddy’s contact. It’s almost six o’clock. I could call him even though he and Mama are in England and it’s eleven at night there. He’d answer his phone. They will be back tomorrow evening. It’ll be easier to discuss in person anyway.
My desk phone rings. Jill’s extension blinks on the screen, and I pick up the receiver. “Yes.” The word comes out a little sharp.
“Uh, I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Hawkins, but your six o’clock phone conference is on line two.”
Fuck. I completely forgot about my call. Before Eric entered my office, I’d been reviewing the developmental plans for a new residential neighborhood east of Interstate 75, preparing for this call. The architect had created several floorplans for review, as well as designs for the clubhouse and pool area. Decisions needed to be made soon in order to break ground timely.
Between the overwhelming presence of Eric and the news of Daddy’s recent poor business dealings, I lost track of time and my schedule. That doesn’t happen often nowadays.
“Thank you, Jill.” I try to sound more pleasant. I shouldn’t take things out on her. Daddy always told me to treat the support staff well. They can make or break a person’s career. “I apologize for snapping. I had lost track of time. Thank you again.”
“No worries,” Jill says. Her voice is kind.
I hit the button for line two. “Celia Hawkins. Who do we have on the line?”
****
I breeze through the front door of my parents’ house. I grew up here in this mammoth home with just the three of us. Silly, sort of. Such a waste of space for just three people. But I didn’t complain. Who wouldn’t want to live in a gorgeous house on the intracoastal?
Some people have called me spoiled. They’d be right. Though I’d always longed for a brother or sister, my parents often joked that I was more than a handful. I tried to live up to their expectations every chance I had.
I miss this place. Living in a two thousand square foot condo in downtown St. Petersburg isn’t a hard life either, especially overlooking Tampa Bay and just a few blocks from the office. But it’s not this.
“Daddy,” I bellow. My mother had texted me when they had landed safely. I’d given them plenty of time to get home from the airport.
“Celia, is that you?” my mother yells from the kitchen.
I walk in her direction. She’d skin me alive if I didn’t go to her first. Even though I am daddy’s girl, my mother is still the ruler of this house. Gliding through the kitchen archway, I find my mother standing at the counter, sipping a glass of water.
“Mama.” I kiss her cheek. “How was London?”
“Cold and rainy, but lovely.” She kisses me back. “We toured Buckingham Palace this visit. We hadn’t done that in years.”
“Sounds wonderful. I know how much you love the British royalty.”
“Why on earth are you here tonight? You rarely greet us upon return from a trip nowadays.” She smiles. “Not that I mind. It’s always good to see you, sweetie.”
“I needed to talk to Daddy about work. Some things have come up.”
“They couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” She shakes her head. “We just got home.”
“Sorry, Mama. It can’t.”
“I don’t know why I care. He immediately went to his office as soon as he walked in the door. Seems he can’t stay away from work either.” She huffs out a breath and rolls her eyes.
I kiss my mother on the cheek again. “I’ll swing back through before I leave. Glad you’re home.”
It’s clear my mother knows nothing about my father’s latest business dealings. She didn’t involve herself in the business. She has her own bookstore she runs in downtown St. Petersburg. My father always called the Book Shelf my mother’s hobby, but it was always more than that to her.
I could spend hours sitting on one of the leather couches in the Book Shelf, sipping on a skinny latte and flipping through page after page of A Moveable Feast, imagining myself with Ernest Hemingway and the rest of the Lost Generation traipsing through Paris. But I could never work there.
I need the excitement of negotiating deals, especially in this man’s world. So many people raise their eyebrows and look at me sideways when I enter the room to negotiate or sign the deal. I know what they’re thinking. But they see me differently by the end of the meeting. I’m no longer a young woman—I’m Celia Hawkins.
I march down the hallway toward my father’s office. My pulse races as I open the door. I haven’t confronted my father on much since my teenage years, and I’ve certainly never questioned his business decisions.
I enter the space. He sits behind his large white wooden desk, his face alight in blue from his computer screen as no lights are on in the room. I flip the light switch. His hand moves feverishly with his mouse and he snaps his head up at the glaring light.
“What the…? Celia? What are you doing here?” He clicks several things with the mouse before giving me his undivided attention. A large picture window looks out over the now-dark intracoastal. Lights from homes across the waterway sparkle like stars.
I close the door behind me. “Daddy, I need to talk to you.”
Lines etch his brow, and he frowns. “Sounds serious. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I am.” I pause and inhale deeply. On my exhale, I say, “Are you?”
“Of course. What’s that mean?” He fidgets in his seat.
“I know about the sales of property for ridiculously low prices. Are you in trouble?”
He widens his eyes. Then, his brows pinch together. “Are you going through my things at the office? Those are commercial sales—none of them are your business.”
“Eric came to me yesterday about it.” Just thinking about that man sends heat coursing through me, and I hate it. Not the way I feel about him, but that I have no control over my feelings.
“Eric knows?”
“Of course, he knows, Daddy. He’s Executive Vice President of Operations. How the hell would such sales get past his keen eyes?”
“Fuck.” The word was more a breath than anything. “I honestly thought he’d overlook these smaller sales. He’s usually so engrossed in the large projects.”
“Are you in some sort of trouble?” I can’t imagine what my father could be involved in that would cause him to shortchange his livelihood.
“It’s not your concern, baby girl. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”
“I work for Hawkins Holdings. It’s my legacy. So it is my concern. And even more, you’re my father. Is there something I can help with?”
“I’ll chat with Eric tomorrow. Don’t worry your pretty head.”
His rebuff pisses me off as if being young and female makes me less savvy in business. “I am worried, Daddy. Even if I don’t handle the commercial sales, I can understand desperation when I see it.”
“I owe some money, but it’s not anything I can’t handle.”
“Who do you owe money?”
“Celia, I’m serious. This isn’t your concern.”
“I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not a kid anymore.” I frown and clench my jaw, standing straighter and placing my hands on my hips. Even though my father brought me into the business with enthusiasm, he still occasionally treats me with kid gloves. The you’re-not-adult-enough treatment makes my temperature rise.
He blows out a harsh breath. “I owe Seth Malcolm some money.”
“Seth Malcolm?” My voice pitches. Seth is
a well-known bookie—one of the biggest and one of the most ruthless. He’s made some folks extremely wealthy. Others, he’s stripped of everything. He isn’t someone to play around with. I’ve known some kids in high school who dabbled in betting on college football games. When they lost their fifty-dollar venture, Seth’s goons arrived timely to collect. If they didn’t have the money, those guys would waltz back down the senior hallway the next Monday with a split lip or black eye. I imagine the kind of money Daddy lost would involve more than a punch to the face if he didn’t pay. “You’re gambling?”
He bows his head. “I lost a lot of money in the stock market on a particular investment, so I’ve tried winning some of it back. You know I have a penchant for sports. I made some good money last year on the World Series, the March Madness basketball tournament, and a few boxing matches. Maybe a horse race or two.” He stares at his hands poised on his desk.
He’s always placed a bet here and there to make the game more interesting, he used to tell me. But I hadn’t realized he’d gone this far. This sounds more like an addiction.
“This year hasn’t been so kind. I have several bets placed that should cover some of the debt.”
The enthusiasm in his voice disturbs me. Paying back a gambling debt by gambling didn’t sound like a wise move.
“And what if you end up more in the hole?” I’m not sure what to think of this situation. What if he loses everything? My mother’s business couldn’t sustain the lifestyle both of my parents are accustomed to. And I’d be out of a job. Fortunately, I’ve done well in investments and savings that I wouldn’t lose everything, but it would be an adjustment. What if Seth goes after the Book Shelf? My mother would never forgive him. What a mess!
“I won’t. Trust me.” He runs a hand over his gray hair.
“How much, Daddy?” My question startles him.
“How much what?”
“How much do you owe?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it?” My voice hitches to a soprano level. I’m not accepting the brush-off again. “You’re making bad business decisions and then taking the money from those bad decisions to pay off your debts, exposing the company. You’re stealing from the company. I work for Hawkins Holding, too. It’s also my future on the line. And those of your employees. How much?”