Julian finally removed his hand, letting Yvette come up for gasping breaths. Tears wetted her lashes, making her eyes seem even larger and more doe-like. But behind the tears and the gasps, he could see the fires of passion in her eyes. He knew she was even more aroused than before. And beyond the pure lust, he could see the eager look of more.
Yvette was not a woman used to being denied. Although she craved the discipline and dominance Julian provided, he knew she was waiting for more.
She wanted his heart.
But that was something Julian wouldn’t give. Couldn’t give. For any of the number of faceless women he called to his office or hotel suite, all he had to offer was a firm hand and a strong command. But his heart was never an option. He couldn’t give something he didn’t have anyway.
Feeling the creeping fingers of that lingering coldness, Julian abruptly stood up. Jerking his chin towards the expensive leather sofa that took up nearly one whole side of his office, he said in a voice of raw cut steel, “Bend over and show me that pussy.”
Yvette nearly grinned in her eagerness and scrambled to do his bidding. With her round, pert ass in the air, Julian squeezed her hips and thrust his hard cock home into her aching pussy. Yvette moaned loudly into the seat cushions. This would have to be the last time he called her. He couldn’t keep letting her carry such a hopeless flame for him.
This is all he would give
And this is all he would take.
Two
“Your coffee, sir.”
Trisha’s soft voice cut through his haze causing Julian’s head to snap up. He hadn’t heard her enter his office. She was clearing a space on his desk so she could set down the sterling silver coffee tray. He watched as she quickly set out cup and saucer and deftly poured the hot coffee. Pushing the cup forward, she added quietly, “It’s quite strong today.”
Julian was not one for chattiness and Trisha understood this. A quiet person herself, she had made the perfect personal assistant for the last seven years. In her late fifties, softly rounded, and quietly efficient, Trisha had quickly become an indispensible component of JB Enterprises.
He also appreciated her discreetness. He knew that she was aware of his midnight dalliances in his office. He knew she took care of his many personal expense reports, including regular hotel bills, without comment. And her quiet comment about strong coffee was as direct as she would get about how tired he must look.
“Is it that obvious?” Julian asked, his lips quirked as he took a sip of the hot, dark brew. It was indeed quite strong.
“Just wanted to fortify you for the day ahead, sir,” Trisha replied softly, her expression neutral yet pleasant.
Julian frowned, his brow creasing, as he tried to remember what he had on the agenda today. “Have the South American numbers come in? Make sure that Davidson has first dibs on—”
Trisha shook her head, a smile playing at her lips. “No, the numbers haven’t come in yet.” She pulled out a small stack of manila folders from underneath the coffee tray. “Today’s the day for final interviews.”
Julian’s hand paused midair, the cup of coffee steaming under his nose. “Ah,” he said quietly. “Yes.”
Trisha’s daughter was six months pregnant and had a husband anticipating a promising job transfer to Utah. Having worked as a single parent for most of her career, Trisha was particularly close to her daughter and valued her time with her. Knowing her only child and her first grandchild were about to move to the other side of the country, Trisha had quickly and quietly put in her resignation letter.
Julian had seen how difficult it had been for Trisha to turn in her letter. Julian was a man of few words who wasn’t known to be incredibly demonstrative emotionally. But he knew Trisha knew how much he valued and appreciated her. And he also knew how important her child and family was to her. He would have no chance in convincing her to stay and nor did he want to. Not if it meant separating her from her child. And grandchild.
Julian flicked his eyes over the stack of folders. Inside would be neatly typed resumes with Trisha’s written notes. For the last two weeks, Trisha had been holding interviews with dozens of potential candidates. A position under the CEO of one of the world’s most successful and well-connected companies was explosive news for the corporate job market. People flooded in with polished resumes and perfected cover letters.
Trisha had done the hard work of weeding out the least acceptable candidates then interviewing the possible ones. Now a couple weeks later, she had narrowed the list of several dozen down to six. Three this afternoon, three tomorrow afternoon.
The idea of losing Trisha made Julian’s throat tighten but he was no competition against maternal love. So all he could do was accept what was the inevitable and interview the replacement.
“Anyone promising?” he asked, taking another sip.
Trish, taking one of the leather seats across his desk, nodded noncommittally. “I wouldn’t be recommending any candidates that didn’t look promising,” she said, a playful smile at her lips. That was as close to outright teasing Trisha got.
Julian smiled. “Then I don’t need any fortification. I trust your judgment,” he said with quiet gravity. A faint blush stained Trisha’s cheeks as she stood to leave.
But before Trisha could turn towards the door, Julian called out in what he hoped sounded like a casual voice, “Any word from Montgomery?”
Whether he had actually sounded casual or not, the meaning behind the question wasn’t lost on his perceptive assistant. “He called a few minutes ago.”
Julian sat up in his seat, carefully lowering his cup. “And?” he asked, his heart thudding.
Trisha looked miserable as she said, “He says we should take a break for a few weeks. The search…well, the trail has gone cold, he says. And he thinks a few weeks to step back from the gathered material might help us regroup for our next step.”
From Trisha’s worried expression, Julian could tell he had not done a good enough job in hiding his harsh disappointment. “Should I get him on the phone?” she asked.
Julian paused a moment before shaking his head. “No,” he said slowly. After another pause, he said more definitively, “No. Montgomery’s right. The trail has gone cold and a small break might help us see some kind of missing piece we’ve overlooked.”
Fuck the cold trail.
He could feel his grip tightening around his cup. Julian consciously relaxed his hand s the porcelain wouldn’t shatter in his fist. What was the point of having a net worth exceeding billions when he couldn’t even find one missing person? What the hell was he paying Montgomery to do anyway?
Maybe the trail is cold because the body’s not missing….Julian felt his heart hammer against his ribs. Stop, he told his brain. He didn’t want his thoughts to follow the next logical conclusion. But he could feel his inner devil already rushing to the surface of his mind.
Maybe the trail is cold because the body is just as cold. A dead body leaves less of a trail than a live one.
A flash of honey blonde hair and golden-green eyes flashed across his mind.
Julian abruptly reached for the interview folders, startling Trisha. No, he would not dwell on such thoughts. He had been contemplating the idea of hiring more detectives but had held off, thinking too many chefs in the kitchen would botch the recipe of evidence or clues. But now, he could see he had no choice. He’d start making inquiries tonight for the best detectives money could hire.
No, he couldn’t let the memories come to him yet. It was too early in the day. There was work to be done.
“Thank you, Trisha,” he said, his cool voice sudden and abrupt. “Please notify me when the first candidate arrives.”
But Trisha didn’t seem fazed by his mood change. She nodded and gathered some of the finished documents Julian had laid out for her on the edge of his desk. Knowing this was not a time to press him in anyway, she quietly left the office without another word.
Julian sighed as his office doors
closed behind her. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and let the coldness he had been battling consume him. He lowered his mental barriers and let that honey haired, golden-green eyed girl float into his empty heart.
Three
“You goddamn thieving little bitch!”
Gloria screamed as she slapped her daughter across the face. It was clear Gloria held nothing back as she let her hand fly. The strength of the blow snapped her daughter’s head back, making a short burst of spit spew out of her mouth. Except it wasn’t just spit. Julian could see the tinge of red.
Patrick Denton tried to hold back his second wife but Gloria was having none of it. “Don’t tell me how to raise my child, Patrick!” Gloria screamed hysterically as she threw another blow towards her daughter. But this time, thrown off balance by Patrick’s restraining arms, her hand only grazed across her daughter’s cheeks, leaving bright red scratches.
“She’s my daughter too now!” Patrick said, desperately trying to raise his voice above her strangled cries. As he wrestled with the half-crazed, half-hysterical woman, he looked towards his sixteen-year-old son who was already crouched over his stepsister, gathering her into his arms.
“Julian, take Karen upstairs, please,” he said as he wrapped his arms tightly around his wife’s middle. Gloria threw her head back and gave out a loud wail as if she had been the one who had been viciously struck and beaten.
Julian didn’t need his father to tell him what to do. He had been the first one to run into the living room as soon as he had heard Gloria’s voice. He had quickly learned his stepmother’s vocal inflections so he could know when to anticipate her moods. The high-pitched tones were indicative of an emotional explosion.
And the one she always targeted with these explosions was Karen.
Gently picking up the little ten-year-old girl, he carried her up to his room. Once inside, he shut his door then strode over to his window. Putting Karen down, he opened the window and stepped out onto the roof. He turned around and reached for the little girl. The roof was the only place where they could drown out the cries of Gloria.
Karen’s little hand grabbed onto Julian’s as she carefully stepped out to join him. Her face was swollen and red but dry. Karen rarely cried.
Although Karen had only been in his life for only a little over a year, Julian felt incredibly protective over her. How could he not? Looking at the little girl as she stepped over a loose shingle, Julian felt his heart constrict at seeing her battered cheek.
Small for her age, Julian had never seen such a child before. Quiet, sweet, and absolutely angelic, she had the timid personality of a mouse. Her dark honey colored hair reached nearly to her elbows. Her round face was soft and fair (when not marred with bruises or scratches).
But it was her eyes that always elicited the biggest response from strangers. Large green eyes with flecks of gold—they made her look like a life-sized doll. But instead of imbuing her with a childlike innocence, her eyes exuded a sadness that seemed much too heavy for someone of her years.
“Come sit by me,” Julian said, opening his arms to her. Karen nestled herself next to him, moving silently.
“It’s because you always forget to give her her lunch money, sweetheart! She wasn’t stealing!” Patrick’s voice could be heard echoing through the house. God only knew what the neighbors thought of them. “She was hungry! She was getting money for lunch!”
“Thieving bitch!” Gloria screamed.
Anger boiled within Julian. Gloria hadn’t forgotten to give Karen her lunch money. She purposely had withheld it. It was as if Gloria waited until Karen became so desperate that she would have to sneak money so that Gloria could finally have her temper tantrum.
“What did you do at school today?” Julian asked, more to distract Karen from the shouting than anything else.
His arms wrapped around her fragile shoulders, he could feel her shake her head noncommittally. “Anything fun?” he pressed, wanting to get her mind off of the evening’s drama.
Julian waited patiently, wanting to give Karen a chance to speak. She was so quiet. With such a loud and dramatic mother, it seemed as if Karen’s own voice had never gotten a chance to develop.
“I drew a tree,” Karen whispered.
“You drew a tree?” Julian asked encouragingly. “What kind of a tree?”
“A big one. Big ones can’t be moved.”
Julian paused at that. What a strange response. “And little trees can be moved?”
Karen gave a small nod. “Principal Avery moved a bunch of small trees to the front of the school last week.”
Oh I see, he thought, suddenly realizing what she was talking about. The school had planted a row of small saplings at the back of the playground when the principal had a change of heart and had them uprooted and moved to the front of the school. To a ten year old, that must’ve looked like quite a feat—to move a tree.
“Why did you draw a big tree then?” Julian asked.
There was a silence before Karen softly whispered, “I want to be a big tree.”
It was so soft, Julian wasn’t sure if he had heard her at all.
But Karen continued, a little louder, “If I was a big tree, I couldn’t be moved. I’d get to stay where I wanted and would be too big for someone to push me.” Wrapping her arms around her knobby knees, she tucked her head down. “I want to be a big tree.”
Six weeks later, Gloria disappeared with Karen, leaving no trace of their whereabouts, save the trail of broken and confused hearts.
Julian looked up at the high ceilings of his office. It was getting harder and harder to bring forth Karen’s memory.
It had been so many years now. All his memories of the little girl were now just faint impressions—flash of golden hair, a brush of her knobby knees. He could barely remember her features or her voice.
And the family had hardly been together long enough to take any decent photographs. That had been especially hard for his father since Patrick had nothing to show the police when filing a missing person’s report.
She would be twenty five years old now. Would he even recognize her if he saw her? Julian sat up as he looked across his desk. Trisha had left the folders of potential new assistants. Inside were six neatly printed resumes.
One thing was for sure: if Karen saw him today, she would not recognize the man he had become at all.
Four
Cora Rámon quickly stepped out of the subway and shoved her way through the crowd of people streaming against her. She gripped her jacket tightly, covering her white blouse. The last time she had carelessly shoved through the subway like this, a man had spilled his coffee down the front of her blouse. Today, of all days, she could not risk such an accident.
As she skipped up the steps of the subway exit, she tried to breathe through her rising nerves. Today was her final interview with JB Enterprises, the international business empire. The company had fingers in seemingly every industry. From shipping to technology, there seemed to be nothing JB Enterprises didn’t do. And if that wasn’t intimidating enough, Cora was about to interview for a position as the CEO’s own personal assistant.
Street level now, Cora ran a quick hand through her short brown hair. It was a funny thing. She’d notice most women in corporate America had either long hair that was always pulled back into an elegant chignon or bun or they had very short, almost androgynous, haircuts. Cora, with her chin length bob and errant wavy strands, had a lived in look about her hair and it was often frowned upon.
Cora knew she should’ve changed her hair immediately once she had learned which way the corporate dress wind blew but by that point she had given up or altered so much of herself already. She just wanted to keep one thing, no matter how silly or small, to herself.
Pulling out the tiny yet chic business card for JB Enterprises, Cora reoriented herself with the target address before briskly walking down Fifth Avenue.
Down Fifth Avenue, she passed by the beautiful manicured nature of Central Pa
rk. She watched Upper West Side moms in expensive yoga pants jogging through the wooded trails. Children laughed as they played around the rim of a fountain. She saw one little girl petting a dog walker’s many clients.
No matter how long she lived in New York, Cora didn’t think she’d ever get used to such a city. It was just so different from the way she grew up. She had never even heard of yoga until she had come into the city four years ago. The first time she was introduced to the idea of dog walkers, Cora laughed. The idea was so ludicrous. She was used to strays and vicious mutts roaming alleyways, half starved and sometimes rabid.
But then again, southern Mexico was quite a different place than New York City. And poverty in Mexico was a completely different beast than poverty in New York.
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