Man Feast
Krista Sandor
Candy Castle Books
Copyright © 2019 by Krista Sandor
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Krista Sandor
Candy Castle Books
Cover Design by Juliana Cabrera of Jersey Girl Designs
All rights reserved.
ISBN 978-1-7330615-2-0
Visit www.kristasandor.com
For David, the love of my life.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Share the Bergen Brother Love
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Krista Sandor
1
Elle
“Eleanor Jayne Reynolds. That’s you, right?”
“Yes.”
“You’re twenty-nine years old.”
“That’s right.”
“That’s weird.”
“What’s weird about being twenty-nine?”
“No, not your age. Your name. Jayne is spelled with a Y. J, A, Y, N, E.”
Eleanor, Elle Reynolds—nobody called her Eleanor aside from her parents—cradled her head in her hands. “I don’t want to seem rude, but I think the spelling of my middle name is the least of my problems.”
“It’s kind of strange, though, don’t you think?”
Sweet. Baby. Jesus.
For eight hundred dollars an hour, Allen Parker, the man dubbed as Denver’s top civil litigation attorney, specializing in financial fraud, was not inspiring much confidence. He did look the part. Salt-and-pepper colored hair. Check. Tortoiseshell glasses. Check. A seasoned, questioning crinkle to his brow. Check.
Elle lifted her head and attempted to smile. After what had happened, however, she really wasn’t in a position to judge anyone’s credibility.
She straightened in her chair. “Would you mind if we skipped over the oddities of my middle name and dove into my case?”
Allen glanced down at the stack of papers on his desk. “That’s easy. You’re pretty much broke.”
Elle’s jaw dropped. “That can’t be right!”
The man folded his hands on the desk, the crease in his brow deepening. “Did the FBI investigators explain the pump and dump scheme to you?”
“The what?”
“Pump and dump. It’s a common type of fraud perpetrated on wealthy individuals like yourself. Well, like you used to be.”
This couldn’t be happening. She was a successful writer. She’d penned over a dozen travel guides, three novels, and several hundred articles, and Oprah had recommended her book. A studio had purchased the rights to her last book and made it into a movie.
Last she checked, her bank statement was seven figures.
Last she checked.
She should have close to eight million dollars in the bank, but now she was broke thanks to her former money manager, Monty-freaking-Morris. She should have known, any guy with a lounge lizard name like Monty Morris would be up to no good.
But she barely had time to breathe these days, let alone keep up the daily grind of bills and bookkeeping.
Her travel and work schedule over the past five years had been insane. Monty Morris seemed like a godsend when he’d come along and offered to manage her finances. An accountant and money manager for several prominent authors and celebrities, she’d figured, if he was trusted by half of the New York Times Bestseller’s List, he should be a good fit for her.
Boy, was she an idiot! A Monty-fucking-Morris level idiot!
FBI agents had knocked on her door a little over a week ago to break the news. Monty had stolen millions, urging his clients—including her—to invest in a hot stock which turned out to be a shell company secretly controlled by the fraudster himself.
Pump and dump made sense. Pump your investors for all you can get then dump them and run off with the goods.
And all the money he’d stolen? It was currently rusting away at the bottom of the Baltic Sea.
Monty had used the ill-gotten funds to buy a super-yacht under the table from a Russian oligarch in need of some fast cash. The FBI explained that Monty planned to live out his life in international waters in the lap of luxury, until members of a Latvian organized crime family, who had a beef with the former owner, sank the boat, not knowing it had been sold to an asshole American accountant.
Karma is a bitch.
Unfortunately, karma wasn’t at all good at procuring millions of dollars from shady oligarchs and Eastern European mafias.
And that’s why she was sitting across from Allen Parker. After the FBI left, she’d called her agent in a panic. He’d worked his magic, found Allen Parker, and made her an appointment.
The Monty Morris scandal had hit a few of his clients. But only she had gone all in and allowed Monty to invest the majority of her holdings.
So damn stupid!
She’d sent all her paperwork to Allen’s office, hoping that his legal team could help her reclaim some of her earnings.
Elle stared at the deepening crease in the attorney’s forehead. That crease pretty much said it all. She wasn’t going to get squat.
She lifted her chin. “What can I do? Can I sue Monty?”
The man leaned back in his chair. “Mr. Morris declared bankruptcy. He owes a lot of people a lot of money. Federal prosecutors have already charged him on several counts. We can proceed with legal action, but—”
“But you can’t get blood from a stone,” Elle finished on a defeated sigh.
“It certainly would be difficult, and the legal fees you’d incur would most likely exceed anything you’d get out of Mr. Morris,” Allen added.
She shook her head. A tight, frustrated movement. She’d barely listened when Monty called her with the investment proposal. She’d taken the damn call just as she’d boarded a ship headed for Antarctica—her mind focused on observing Emperor penguins not the bank account she thought was in safe hands.
Elle cringed. She hadn’t even batted an eyelash when Monty had suggested she invest ninety percent of her assets.
Allen’s brow crease softened. “How about we discuss what you still have.”
Elle gasped. “My Denver apartment and the house I just bought in Vermont, are they…”
The man pulled a sheet of paper from the stack. “Those assets are all still safely yours. You paid in full for each up front.”
Elle released a tight breath and swallowed back tears of relief.
She was not going to cry.
She was Elle Reynolds. Tough as nails, Elle Reynolds.
While most women would shy away from a month at sea, sailing the dangerous waters off the coast of Africa with a crew of sun-battered, crusty sailors, she’d drank t
hem under the table and kicked their asses in poker every night.
It was going to take a hell of a lot more than this to knock her down.
But had she lost that house in Vermont, that would have come close to wrecking her because that house belonged to—
“Your mother,” Allen said, holding up another document.
Elle blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The house in Vermont is in your name and your mother’s name.”
“Yes, I purchased the home for my mom.”
“I see she recently filed for divorce from your father.”
Elle sucked her teeth and nodded. She wasn’t about to get started on Gavin Reynolds. “Yes, my mom filed for divorce a couple of months ago.”
The attorney nodded and didn’t press.
Maybe he was worth the money—and he seemed to know her finances inside and out.
Elle swallowed hard. “There should also be a trust for my mother. Did Monty dip into that, too?”
She tensed and waited for Allen to answer. She hadn’t mentioned this financial fiasco to anyone. Not to her mother. Not even to her cousin, Abby, who had recently moved to Denver. Elle loved Abby fiercely, but she was the older of the two, and Abby was like a little sister to her. It just didn’t feel right to dump all this on her.
And her mother?
Lila Reynolds had been through enough, and Elle was hellbent on making sure her mom didn’t learn of this financial disaster. She’d sell a kidney on the black market to help her mother, if that’s what it took.
Allen slid a piece of paper across the desk. “No, he didn’t touch the trust. I suspect that’s because it would have raised too many red flags. He would have needed your and your mother’s direct permission.”
Elle stared at the numbers. There was nearly two hundred thousand dollars in the account. Plenty for her mother to live on—for now. The house in Vermont was paid for, and the woman lived simply. Her mom would be all right—for the time being—and it could give her some time to save up some cash. Her mom would never have to know her daughter was broke. She could spare her that heartache.
“What do I do now?” she asked. A childish question, but she couldn’t hold it back.
Allen shuffled the papers and pulled out a few sheets. “You keep doing what you do, Miss Reynolds. I see you’ve signed a contract to work on a project with Bergen Enterprises.”
Bergen Enterprises.
Her gut twisted.
Allen’s eyebrows nearly met his hairline as he paged through the document. “Quite a lucrative contract. This could significantly rebuild your finances.”
She nodded begrudgingly. The man wasn’t wrong. At first, the Bergen offer seemed like the opportunity of a lifetime. Who wouldn’t want to spend five weeks traveling around the world, visiting five-star resorts? They wanted her to immerse herself into the brand and share her experiences, making sure to highlight the fresher, edgier aspects of the company to help captivate the modern traveler.
She’d met with the company’s founders, Harriet and Raymond Bergen. They were lovely people. Happily married for over fifty years, they’d left New York City as newlyweds back in the sixties and headed west for the Mile-High City. With hard work, grit, and determination, they’d turned one small mountain sports shop into a billion-dollar mountain sports empire with properties all over the globe and retail stores across the country.
But what sold Elle on the deal wasn’t just the money. Sure, it was flattering to be offered such a generous sum, but it didn’t come down to that. It was her rarely seen sentimental side that tipped the scales in saying yes. When she saw the way Ray and Harriet gazed at each other, she couldn’t help but smile. Ray looked ready to give Harriet the moon, and Harriet blushed every time her husband paid her a compliment.
Elle didn’t believe in Prince Charming. Not anymore. But the Bergens’ admiration for each other was all-encompassing. It sparked something small and forgotten deep inside her. It made her hopeful. For what, she didn’t know, but it compelled her to grab the pen and sign on the contract’s dotted line on the spot.
Unfortunately, the love bubble she’d created around Harriet and Ray popped when she found out she wouldn’t be working directly with the inspiring couple on the project.
Nope! Instead, she’d be working hand in hand with Ray and Harriet’s oldest grandson, Bergen Enterprises CEO and all-around master curmudgeon, Jasper Bergen.
She didn’t use the term curmudgeon lightly. She saved that word for the crabbiest, crankiest of killjoys. In all her travels, to every continent and remote corner of the world, she’d never encountered anyone more inflexible or more infuriating. She’d known brick walls with better personalities.
She’d only met with him once, but that was enough to know what she was up against. With his starched collars, dour expression, and that minute twist of a smirk, just the thought of the man made her want to smash something. She glanced around Allen’s office looking for something to chuck against the wall when the attorney broke into her thoughts and halted her near-homicidal urge.
“Pardon me for asking, Miss Reynolds, but isn’t your cousin engaged to one of the Bergen grandsons?”
Christ on a cracker! Allen Parker, Esquire, did his homework.
Elle nodded. “Yes, my cousin, Abby Quinn, and Brennen Bergen are engaged.”
She held herself back from groaning out loud.
The fucking Bergen brothers!
Now there was no escaping them!
There were three brothers in all, and not only did she have to work with the oldest brother, just a few days ago, her cousin had agreed to marry the middle brother. The youngest Bergen brother was overseas living the life of a hermit in Europe—thank God—because she wasn’t sure she could handle another.
Granted, Abby’s fiancé, formerly one of Denver’s biggest playboys, had fallen ass over elbow in love with her cousin and seemed to have changed his womanizing ways. She had to give him that. And his laid-back persona, oozing with Colorado mountain charm was almost—almost—starting to grow on her. Still, her skeptical heart wasn’t ready to let its guard down yet.
The attorney’s features softened as he relaxed into his high-back chair. “That’s wonderful news! I’ll have to congratulate Ray and Harriet the next time I see them. You’re quite lucky to be connected with the Bergens, Miss Reynolds. They’re good people, and it looks like they’re your best hope in getting back on your feet.”
She forced a smile. “That certainly seems to be the case.”
Allen narrowed his gaze. “Do you like honey?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Excuse me?”
The man chuckled. “My wife and I do a little amateur beekeeping on our ranch outside the city.”
Elle bit back a grin. That was one thing she loved about Denver. Between the surgeons who moonlighted as bathtub craft beer brewers and the tech entrepreneurs by weekday and urban farmers cleaning out backyard chicken coops on the weekends, there was nothing odd about her high-powered Colorado attorney dabbling in beekeeping.
She released a resigned breath. What the hell else was there to do? “I love honey. When I was a girl, we used to get some from a little stand near where I grew up in Maine.”
The man’s face lit up. “You’ll have to let me know what you think of our Colorado honey.”
“Honey’s sort of my thing. I like to try to find it when I travel.”
She’d sampled honey from India, Turkey, Ukraine, New Zealand, and Mexico. Food was an integral part of her work. She might not always speak the language of the places she visited, but the language of taste was universal and partaking in a country’s sweet treats was one of the best parts of her job.
“What’s your favorite?” Allen asked.
“Still the honey from that little booth in Maine.”
The attorney watched her closely. “Good memories?”
She thought of her parents, before she learned the truth. “A few.”
The man went ove
r to a cabinet near the door and removed a glass jar filled with the dark amber-colored nectar.
Elle came to her feet. “You keep the honey in your office?”
“I only give them to my favorite clients,” he said with a fatherly nod.
She took the jar, remembering simpler days when there were no money managers and no signed contracts.
Allen patted her shoulder. “I wish I could have done more to help you, Miss Reynolds. I’ll have my people take another look at all your financial statements, but my advice to you is to move forward. You’re young. You’re talented. Don’t let the past hold you back.”
She froze.
Don’t let the past hold you back.
That was a hell of a lot easier said than done.
She regained her bearings and slipped the honey into her travel-worn leather backpack—a purse didn’t fit into life on the go.
“Thank you for the honey and for your time,” she said as it hit her.
Time!
Shit! She was due up at Bergen Mountain today. Harriet and Ray were throwing Abby and Brennen a little engagement party at their sprawling mountain mansion.
She left the lawyer’s downtown office and headed back to her apartment on foot. Early spring in Colorado could mean a lot of things. It wasn’t at all uncommon for a blizzard to blanket the budding flowers starting to poke up through the dormant soil.
But today wasn’t one of those days.
Elle stepped onto the sidewalk and turned her face toward the sun, allowing the warmth to seep into her bones. With the blue sky and the buzz of the city around her, she steadied herself. She may be broke, but she still had a home and didn’t have to worry about this setback affecting her mother.
She pulled out her phone and checked the time.
Man Feast (Bergen Brothers Book 2) Page 1