by Remy Landon
“Of course. Is Cassandra staying on?”
“Oh, yes. At least she's never given me an indication she wants to leave.”
“How is she?”
Ingrid huffed in surprise. “You mean, you don't know?”
He was silent.
“Carlo...are you two having issues?”
“Don't sound so pleased.”
“I don't mean to sound pleased! Truly, I don't. I can't say as I'm surprised, though...I had my doubts from the very beginning that a young, naïve girl like Cassandra could handle someone like you.”
“And just how do you see me, Ingrid?”
She gave a little laugh. “Complex. At times, dark. Generous, intelligent. A smooth operator. And sexy as hell.”
“You have quite a varied description of me.”
“That's because there are many angles to you. So why did you call me, Carlo? I'm guessing it wasn't to discuss your personality traits.”
“No, but this has been enlightening just the same. I'm calling to ask you a favor.”
“Which is?”
“I'd like to have Cassandra exercise the horses more. She had expressed to me how much she loves riding—Brownie in particular—and I'd like for her to have the chance.”
A brief silence. “She's not what I would call experienced. Brownie has had a great deal of training, beyond what Cassandra would know. He's a bit out of her league.”
“That may be true. But I'd appreciate it if you'd give her the opportunity.”
“So what you're saying is, give her the opportunity.”
“Yes.”
“All right, Carlo.”
“Thank you. And give her a raise.”
“If you don't mind my asking, what is it you hope to gain with this?”
“Her happiness.”
“She's very important to you, isn't she?”
“She is special, yes. If you could make her think this is your idea, I'd be grateful.”
“I can do that. And I'm adding 'thoughtful' to your list of characteristics.”
“Thank you, Ingrid.” Carlo ended the call and went into the kitchen to start the Keurig. He hadn't told Ingrid all that he hoped to gain with this gesture. Cassandra's happiness, yes, but selfishly, also her forgiveness. It would be a start.
Flowers might be cliché, but he would send them, with a card. They had to be special, and meaningful. He brought his steaming coffee mug back into the living room and settled in with his laptop. The room smelled faintly of furniture polish. His housekeeper had come to clean yesterday. He'd decided against firing her and was comfortable with this decision. Rose had apologized profusely, and he would give her another chance. Given some time, he could see that she had been between a rock and a hard place with him and Brock. And if he expected Cassandra to forgive and trust him again, he would need to do the same with his housekeeper.
Now, to search for flowers and their meanings. Roses were unimaginative; carnations screamed grocery store purchase, and although the simplicity and innocence of daisies seemed to suit Cassandra, he needed classy and unusual. Scanning the images on his computer, he paused at a stunning Cattleya orchid with large, white, outer petals and a ruffled, yellow and purple center pouch. He read the description: An orchid symbolizes rare and delicate beauty; proud and glorious femininity. This was Cassandra's flower. He would call the florist as soon as they opened and special order if necessary.
In a few weeks, Estelle would be calling the florist on his behalf to order an arrangement for someone else, as she had done for the past three years. He would receive a thank you in the mail and an invitation to Thanksgiving and Christmas, and he would tactfully decline.
He drank the rest of his coffee. He supposed he should have something for breakfast, especially if he was planning to work out later, but his lack of appetite and preoccupation with other things resulted in him actually forgetting to eat at times. Cassandra was at the top of the list of preoccupations, followed by the added burden of finding a replacement for Dall. He was leaning toward making an internal move...maybe promoting Wayne Senerth from his position as regional sales manager. Wayne was young, eager, smart—full of ideas but took direction well, and his confidence had grown with his region's performance over the past several years. The company could use his fresh perspective.
Company...fuck. The cigar dinner, tonight, at Bent Brook. He apparently was forgetful about more than just eating. He most definitely was not in the mood for it, but there was no getting out of this one, especially since he had invited one of his distributors. But again...fuck.
Carlo sighed, leaning back and clasping his arms behind his head. There was also the complicated matter of his libido. Knowing that Cassandra was currently unattainable made him want her all the more. His sex drive had always been stronger than average, and he'd never had a shortage of women to satisfy it. It was an unusual position to be in now: not in a relationship with Cassandra, but feeling a connection strong enough to believe he was. He shook his head at the irony of considering monogamy to someone who insisted she was done with him.
Monogamy would never be an issue. Celibacy, however...
His phone vibrated, snapping him out of his musings. Could it be Cassandra? Hope flared within him but quickly dulled when he read the text. Alexis. With incredible timing.
Hey...just checking in. Have been thinking about you. Are you free tonight?
Carlo gritted his teeth. Jesus. It would be so easy to say yes to his beautiful friend with benefits, especially when he was feeling a familiar aching in his loins.
He sighed. How to handle this. Alexis rarely turned him down, and he didn't want to disappoint her. But he did have the built-in excuse of the cigar dinner.
Hey. Good to hear from you. Unfortunately tonight is out. Event at club which will likely run late. Maybe another time?
Late nights have never been an issue with us. But yes, another time. xo
Grateful that Alexis didn't press him, Carlo stood up and stretched. He would hit the gym now, come home to shower and order Cassandra's flowers. Start planning for the trade show in a few weeks. Call his sister, set up a date to have lunch. And ignore his nagging sexual desire—at least for now.
chapter ten ~ Cassandra
The good day Cassandra had been determined to have came screeching to a halt beneath Ingrid's icy glare. Christ, what had she done now? The horses had all been turned out, and she was in the middle of cleaning stalls, but Ingrid was looking at her disapprovingly, her upper lip quivering against the snarl that wanted to claim it. She was always looking at her this way, even on the day Cassandra had interviewed for this position—looking her up and down as if she wasn't worthy. Cassandra had wanted to say, seriously? I'm going to be shoveling horse shit.
“I've been thinking of utilizing you differently.”
Cassandra propped her pitchfork against the wheelbarrow and wiped the stray pieces of damp hair off her forehead. Even in the autumn chill, she had worked up a sweat. “What do you mean?”
“You'll still be doing some of your regular chores, but I'm going to have you start working with a few of the horses.”
“Working with? As in, riding? Really?” This was totally random and a major surprise. Ingrid had always seemed reluctant for Cassandra to even warm up the horses. It didn't make sense that she was now, out of the blue, wanting her to—oh. Of course. It suddenly made total sense. “Carlo put you up to this, didn't he?”
“Could you possibly ask me any more questions? You have a very active imagination. This was my decision.”
“I don't believe you.”
Ingrid's caramel-colored eyes glinted with disdain. “I would advise watching how you speak to me. Mr. Leone has left all aspects of this stable up to me—all aspects, including the hiring and termination of employees.”
“Ingrid—you don't need to jump all over me.”
“Again, with your tone. I don't need any questions from you—just compliance.”
Sounds like
your boss.
“Now. Since you're far from a dressage expert, I'm sending you home with some excellent DVD's to watch. I'll also be instructing you the first few times you ride, because I certainly don't want your lack of knowledge to interfere with any of the training that Brownie has had.”
“Brownie? You're letting me ride him?”
“He'll be one of a few. But don't think this is anything beyond providing the horses with light exercise on the days that I may have other obligations. Judy and I will still be the ones doing the real training work. This will simply free me up to attend more clinics, among other things. So you're actually doing me a favor.”
“It sounds like a win-win.” Cassandra flashed the stable manager a wide smile.
Ingrid regarded her coolly. “I'll plan to have you start next week. Your hours will increase slightly, so you'll have to plan your schedule accordingly. And I'm going to be advertising for another barn worker to take Sonya's place.” She checked her wristwatch, frowning. “She's late again today.”
Cassandra shrugged. “It's okay. I can start doing her stalls.”
“All right. By the way...I suppose you're due for a raise. Your next paycheck will reflect it.”
Watching Ingrid walk away down the barn aisle, her riding boots clacking importantly on the concrete floor, Cassandra was more convinced than ever that Carlo was behind all of this. Ingrid had specifically mentioned riding Brownie and a raise. What the hell was she supposed to do? She didn't want him doing her any favors, or controlling any aspect of her life. She would need to make sure he understood this, yet she didn't want to have any contact with him. Ughh, she should have figured this would happen, what with her working at a stable he owned. But she couldn't imagine leaving here. She'd taken the job before she even knew him, and she wasn't about to give it up, not when it brought her peace. Which she obviously needed now more than ever.
Cassandra picked up the pitchfork to finish cleaning the stall. This was a particularly rough break-up—if you could even call it that, since she wasn't sure they had been officially dating. She'd never been the person to have ended a relationship, unless you counted the time in sixth grade when she wrote a long note to Danny Curtis telling him it was over after he'd tried to look down her blouse in social studies. Like she'd actually had anything for him to see. He had been crushed, giving her long, soulful looks with his big brown eyes for several days after, until he found another more willing blouse.
Would Carlo move on to someone else quickly? Was he looking, right now, for another challenge? And a better question, why should she care? She didn't. Although the thought of his beautiful mouth on someone else's, his strong hands up under another woman's hair, his tongue between someone else's—stop. For Christ's sake, she needed to be strong and rational about this. He had betrayed and humiliated her. He had hurt her. Intentionally or not, it had happened. End of story.
A tiny thought, nestled deep within the recesses of her mind, broke free and wriggled to the surface. But there is more to the story...what about his reason for the game?
Carlo had said, not that anything can justify it, but hopefully once you hear more, you'll be able to understand...there was an event in my past...
What was this event? And would it be enough to exonerate him from playing the game?
Cassandra sighed, pushing the wheelbarrow down the aisle to the next stall. Life had gotten just a bit more complicated than the days of Danny Curtis. Of course, it wasn't like her childhood had been all sandboxes and swing sets. She had her father to thank for that. The thought of him triggered a familiar stomach-lurch, remembering how he had treated her mother. But it was more than that. He had abandoned her, too—his only daughter. Walked out and never looked back. Her mother had just taken his shit, and Cassandra had, too. She'd watched her mother take his cheating and lying and indifference, saw the way the muscles in her mother's cheek would tighten when she'd explain that Daddy wasn't coming home tonight, and then tonight turned into ever. She had watched her mom shrivel up and fade away, until there was nothing left.
A choking sensation in her throat, her eyes burning with hot, angry tears. Her father had robbed not only her mother, but Cassandra as well. And he had gotten away with it.
Her father had robbed her of the kind of dad a girl could grow up adoring. But he'd given her other things. His parting gifts were mistrust, wariness and disillusionment. She kept them wrapped up as tightly as she could, but there were many times, like now, when the ties loosened, and the hurt and anger carefully packaged inside her slipped out. The gifts that kept on giving.
She had told Allison that one of her goals was to take charge of her life. To be stronger. Be a little Ingrid-ish. Not the complete deluxe bitch model, but take a lesson in that the woman was intimidating as hell and did know how to get a point across. Cassandra's mother had been the polar opposite, and Cassandra herself had been more on the doormat end of the spectrum. She was working on changing this in her present, but maybe she also needed to focus on her past—to take charge there as well.
Which would include finding her father.
chapter eleven ~ Carlo
“Mr. Leone. It's good to see you, sir.” Ken, the head waiter at Bent Brook, lifted Carlo's water glass and poured.
“It's good to see you, too, Ken. How's the family?”
“Doing very well, thank you.”
“Ken, this is David Shillings, one of my newest distributors.”
David extended a beefy hand for Ken to shake. He was a big man with a robust laugh and an even more robust appetite. He'd get plenty to eat tonight.
“Welcome to Bent Brook, Mr. Shillings. I'll be back with your appetizers, gentlemen. Artisan Charcuterie with olives, cornichons and grain mustard.”
As Ken walked away, David turned to Carlo with a grin. “What the fuck kind of place did you bring me to, Leone? Didn't know I'd need a translator for the menu.”
“It's basically sausages with olives and sweet pickles.”
“I can handle that. And when do the cigars come in?”
“After every course. I assure you, you will have your fill of food and alcohol, and you'll go home smelling like a small house fire.”
“Perfect. My wife's gonna kill me. Last time I smoked cigars with my buddies, she made me sleep on the couch in the basement.”
“I'd suggest putting your clothes in the wash right when you get home and taking a shower, so it'll all be good with the wife.”
“Sound advice.” David glanced down at Carlo's hand. “I don't see a ring. You married?”
“No.”
“Good for you. Got a woman?”
“We're in negotiations.” Not wishing to discuss the subject further, Carlo looked around the dining room. It was packed, as cigar dinners usually were, with men in bright shirts and chinos. Some had even gone the loud, Hawaiian shirt route. Carlo was wearing a silk, coral camp shirt and clay-colored linen pants, preferring this casual theme over tuxedos. There was a heavy din in the room, punctuated with bursts of raucous laughter. It would only get louder as the drinks flowed.
This was a much different night than Gianna's engagement party. Everything seemed different, now.
He wondered what Cassandra was doing—waitressing, or sitting at home alone, or out with friends. The thought occurred to him that she could soon be pursued by someone else. Or she could even be the one in pursuit of someone else. He shifted in his chair. Rationally, he knew that he had no right to claim her. But he still felt, with every fiber of his being, that she was his, and his alone. He just needed to convince her. No small task, but he was willing to do whatever it took.
Carlo invited David to mingle with some of the guests before the appetizers were served. He recognized several of the men—a plastic surgeon, a chiropractor, a lawyer, the owner of his investment firm—and headed toward Sam Oakes, owner of Oakes Vessels, so he could introduce him to David. Best to use this night to his full advantage, business-wise.
“Sam, I'd
like you to meet David Shillings, one of our big distributors up in Hartford. David—Sam Oakes, one of our major end users.”
The two men shook hands. “Great night, isn't it, Carlo?” Sam lifted his brandy snifter, his eyes bright. “And we're just getting started.”
Carlo nodded, grinning. “It looks like some of us are already feeling no pain.”
“You have some catching up to do, my friend. And let me commend you on shit-canning Dall. I don't know what your stepfather was thinking when he hired him, but getting rid of him was one of the best things you've ever done. Never trusted that shifty son of a bitch.”
David was looking from Carlo to Sam, an uncomfortable smile on his face. Poor bastard, thought Carlo. No clue what we're talking about. Which was a good thing; a new distributor didn't need to know about a blemish on the company.
He changed the subject and addressed Sam. “I expect you'll be going to the trade show in Chicago?”
“Oh, yeah. Wouldn't miss it. Couple of us are staying at the Westin downtown. We'll have to get together for dinner and drinks.”
“I'm staying at the Westin as well.”
“Excellent. I hear the new district manager for Allied Packings is staying there, too.”
“I don't think I know him.”
“Ha! You don't know her, but you'll want to, believe me. She's smokin' hot—and single.”
“Really.”
“Oh, yeah. I'm betting you'll want to buy what she's selling.” He chuckled. “I know I do.”
The appetizers were served, followed by Macanudo cigars, a favorite of Carlo's because of the mild flavor. Smoked salmon and watercress salad followed by Partagas cigars, and then the main course of spicy rubbed ribeye and sauteed Swiss chard. Drinks flowed—Sigaro red wine, Moet & Chandon champagne, martinis, cognac. Carlo was feeling a comfortable buzz near the end of the evening.