by Radclyffe
“No, that’s okay.” Derian rubbed her face, glanced at the time. 5:30 a.m. “I was lying here awake. You’re right about that.”
“I just thought I’d try to catch you before the day got away from us. Really, I’m an idiot.”
“No comment, Counselor.”
“Can I make it up to you over breakfast? That’s actually why I was calling. It’s been a long time.”
“There was Rio,” Derian pointed out.
“Yes, and that was nine months ago. And I think we had about as much time together then as we had last night. I seem to remember your attention was on a redhead, or was it the brunette with the tattoo on her—”
“Breakfast would be good.” Aud had a way of making her affairs with women seem like they were dalliances with other women, when there was no us to consider in the first place. She couldn’t cheat on a best friend, could she? She didn’t think so, but Aud appeared to disagree. Ordinarily she didn’t mind, but today she was too beat to find the implied criticism just friendly teasing. They were both responsible for the distance between them, and her involvement with other women was not the cause. Hell, Aud hadn’t likely been sitting alone in her Madison Avenue penthouse pining for company these last five years. “I’ll meet you. Half an hour?”
“Good. Lindy’s?”
Derian smiled wryly. Aud was determined to keep the past alive. She couldn’t count the number of breakfasts they’d shared in the late hours of the night at Lindy’s, when they were young and still best of friends. “Sure. Why not.”
“I’ll get us a booth.”
Aud disconnected and Derian headed for another shower. Her head was muzzy and her stomach queasy. Four hours’ sleep was usually enough to recharge her batteries, but the transatlantic flight, the stress, and too little real sleep punctuated with restless dreams had her running on empty. She didn’t often dream, and never dreams like these. Dreams filled with amorphous faces and a seething sexual unrest that left her agitated and unsatisfied. She flipped the shower dial to hot, waited for the steam to rise, and left the lights off in the bathroom, preferring a few more minutes of dark solitude before the day intruded. The heat brought blood rushing to the surface of her skin, and as her flesh awakened, the persistent tension between her thighs accelerated. The drumbeat of insistent desire was not to be denied. She slid one hand down the slick surface of her abdomen, caught the taut pulsing heat between her fingers, and squeezed. Her breath caught, her vision swam, and a spring coiled deep inside. A low moan escaped.
She stroked and tugged, her pulse pounding loud in her ears, her abdomen hard and tight. A fist of pressure clenched and spread.
Yes. The soft pull of a warm mouth enclosed her. She shuddered. Just like that. She rocked, clasped the neck of the woman kneeling between her thighs, slid her fingers into long silky strands of dark wet hair, drawing the pale face closer, the relentless mouth nearer. Muscles flexing, hips lifting, pushing, thrusting, moaning, she strained for the connection, for the ultimate union.
Yes. Close. Pleasure spiked, pierced her center. Eyes squeezed shut, she clawed toward the peak. Breathless, lungs burning, loins aching. She had to, had to, had to… Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
Behind closed lids, she saw herself looking down, met the eyes of the woman looking back, watched the glint of triumph when the soft circle of lips drew her in, pushed her over. Yes. Yes! You’ll make me come.
The orgasm jolted her. Her hips jerked, once, twice, three times, and she shot out an arm to catch her balance. She moaned, a long sigh of relief. God. When had she last come so hard? Thighs loose, heart hammering against her ribs, she quickly finished showering, dried off, and dressed, all the while aware she’d just imagined Emily May making her come.
Just a trick of the unconscious. Nothing more.
She walked through the park, a glint of early a.m. sun snaking down through the trees, most of which were just beginning to leaf out. The air, not yet fouled by exhaust, hinted at spring. Aud was already ensconced in a booth with a steaming cup of coffee in front of her and another across from her. Derian slid in. “Morning.”
“Hi. I ordered for us.”
Derian added cream and sipped the strong brew. “What did you get me?”
“Please,” Aud teased. “It hasn’t been that long. Like I could forget what you’ve ordered for the last ten years? Fried egg and bacon on English.”
“Thanks.”
Aud looked ready for a day at the office, sharp and fashionable in a gray pinstripe jacket, a textured linen shirt in a paler shade of gray, and a diamond pendent set in dusky gold glinting in the hollow of her throat. A matching bracelet circled her right wrist and a gold Rolex adorned her left. One ring—an engraved signet—gleamed on her right hand. Not showy, but everything about her spoke of power and privilege. The look suited her well. Derian doubted she actually spent much time in court. Corporate lawyers with wealthy clients like Winfield Enterprises usually settled issues with money. Long drawn-out court battles just interfered with business as usual, and that’s what really mattered. That the money kept flowing.
“Any word on HW?” Aud’s shoulder-length blond hair framed her face in loose layers, and her clear green eyes regarded Derian with questions. For an instant, she looked like the tender, supportive confidant she’d once been.
“I haven’t heard anything from the hospital, so I hope that’s a good sign.” Derian’s chest tightened and she pulled herself out of the past. She and Aud were strangers now, their bond one of shared memories, memories of different times, when they’d been different people. “I’m going to run by there when we’re done.”
“Have you talked to Martin?”
“Why would I?”
Aud sighed. “Because he’s your father?”
“Come on, Aud. You know better than that.”
“Life would be a lot easier if the two of you would actually communicate now and then.”
“Easier for who? For you, probably. Definitely not for me.”
“You know he wants you in the business.”
“No, he doesn’t. Not unless I undergo a personality transplant and change my internal wiring at the same time.”
“You are a voting member of the company, and—”
“Right. That’s what matters to him, that we present a solid front. I’m not going down that road. Maybe I got lucky and nature did me a favor.” Derian rubbed the faint headache between her eyes. “You know I’m not cut out for business, even if I was capable.”
“Oh, come on.” Aud sighed in exasperation. “You’re perfectly capable. You’ve got a mind like a calculator and we both know it. So does Martin.”
“Maybe so.” Derian took a bite of the sandwich the waitress slid onto the table in a quick wordless pass. Funny, the old favorite had lost its appeal, like so many things that shone in hindsight and paled in the present. “But the last time I attended a board meeting—”
“Uh, excuse me? When was that—three, four years ago?” Aud speared a section of omelet and shook her head. “The board members might be inclined to take you more seriously if you actually showed up now and then.”
“They made it perfectly clear I would never sit in the big seat.” Derian sipped her rapidly cooling coffee. “I think I heard the words image and irresponsible tossed around quite a lot.”
“You could change that, Dere. All you’d have to do is come home, show some interest.”
“Sure, if I had any interest, which I don’t.”
“God, you’re stubborn.”
“And you’re not?” Derian pushed her plate away. “Have you ever thought you’re starting to sound an awful lot like Martin?”
Aud’s eyes cooled. “I’m your friend, Derian. And I also happen to be looking out for your interests, even if you like to pretend they don’t matter.”
Derian blew out a breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” Aud smiled faintly. “I’m just trying to get you to look further ahead th
an your next race. You’re in line to inherit, and it might be good if you and Martin were on speaking terms so you’d have some idea—”
“You mean he hasn’t changed his will yet and made Daniel his heir?”
“You know I can’t talk about that.”
But there was something in her eyes. “He has. But he can’t cut me out all altogether, can he? Because of the terms of my trust fund.”
“I can’t comment on that.”
“But you know, and you still push me to return to the fold. Why?”
“Because you’re wasting your life, Dere,” Aud snapped.
Derian laughed. “Really? This from someone who copped out? Whatever happened to family law and serving the public sector?”
“It’s not a cop-out to follow family tradition,” Aud said stiffly.
“It is when it’s not what you wanted.”
“Maybe when I was eighteen I didn’t know what I wanted.”
“Maybe when you were eighteen you did, and now you’ve forgotten.”
“I’m happy with what I’m doing, proud of my work.”
“And I’m happy with my life.”
Aud’s shoulders sagged and she slumped back in the booth. “Do we always have to fight when we see each other?”
“Maybe we wouldn’t if you’d stop trying to talk me into a suit and an office.”
“Maybe I just miss you? Maybe I’d like to see you more than every year or so. Dammit, Derian. I love you.”
Derian let out a slow breath. “Come on, Aud. We’ve been down that road too.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do.” Next to HW, Aud was the person who knew her best, who she trusted the most, even after all they’d been through. They’d grown up together, dreamed together, been best friends, and briefly, sweetly, young lovers. They’d managed to stay friends even after their romantic stage had waned, at least until the halcyon days of college ended and they’d had to move on. They’d both made choices that had taken them in opposite directions, but she still remembered the dreams, and the sweetness. “I miss you too.”
“Enough of this.” Aud reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m sorry about Henrietta. She’s going to be all right.”
Derian squeezed Aud’s hand, and for a moment, she remembered when the two of them stood against the world. “She damn well has to be.”
*
Emily woke before her alarm, switched it off, and padded into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. At just after six, she cradled the mug in front of the window, wrapped in her favorite pink fuzzy robe, thinking about the day ahead. And purposefully not thinking about the night before. When snippets of conversation floated into her head, or some tactile memory of Derian’s hand on her arm flooded through her, she firmly set the images aside.
Mentally, she constructed her to-do list. She needed to get to the office to confer with Vonnie about covering Henrietta’s appointments. More importantly, she wanted to assure everyone that business as usual would continue. She was familiar with the day-to-day workload after six years at Henrietta’s side. She’d already taken on most of the manuscript review and contract negotiations, and she’d just have to make room in her day for the ones Henrietta still handled. She’d find a way. As soon as everyone was in, she’d schedule a meeting with the division managers and get updates on all the current projects. Thankfully, Winfield’s staff were experienced and loyal—they’d all pull together until Henrietta returned.
Emily’s throat tightened. Of course she would return. Resolutely, she washed her cup, set it on the drainboard, and dressed. As much as she wanted to go directly to the hospital, she’d be doing more for Henrietta to take care of the agency Henrietta had nurtured and grown for thirty years than to sit outside her hospital room worrying. Besides, Derian was there, Henrietta’s family, to take care of her. So she would take care of the agency, her family.
Taking care of family was what mattered more than anything else, and she had to put that first, as she always had.
She checked her watch. Seven p.m. in Singapore. Pam would probably be in bed, but that didn’t matter. She just needed to reach out to the rest of her family. Her call was picked up after half a dozen rings.
“Alexandra Residential Care Center. How may I direct your call?”
“Floor three, please.”
“Hold on.”
Another moment passed. “This is Adlina.”
“Adlina, hi. It’s Emily May. I just wanted to check on Pam.”
“Hello!” Adlina’s smile came through the line. “Let me get Yi Ling.”
“Thanks.” Emily smiled. No amount of money could be too much for this kind of personal care, from men and women she trusted with the person she loved most in all the world.
“Hi, Emily,” Yi Ling said brightly. “She had a good day. A heron mating pair built a nest by the little pond at the far edge of the back lawn. She sat outside most of the day, and you know how much she loves to watch the birds.”
“I do, thanks.”
“When will you be coming by again?”
“Not for a few months, I’m afraid. But will you tell her that I called?”
“Wait, wait.” After a pause. “Go ahead. Here she is.”
“Pam? Hi, Pam.” Emily pressed the phone harder to her ear, willing her sister to hear her voice in the silent world where she dwelled. Every time she called, she waited, breathless and frozen in place, for the sound of Pam’s voice, once so full of life and wild adventure. “It’s Emily. I’ve been thinking about you. I love you, Pam.”
Seconds ticked by. The sadness never eased.
“She knows, Miss Emily. I know she does.”
“I know, Yi Ling. Thank you.” Emily hung up, the memory of Pam’s voice undiminished after a decade.
Fifteen minutes later she was headed to the office, a sense of relief driving out the lingering sorrow. Strange, how work had become her safe place. She let herself in on the ground floor with her key and took the stairs to the top floor, looking forward to a free hour or so to review the month’s calendar and organize her agenda. No one should be in until at least seven thirty.
Vonnie’s desk was empty, but a light shone behind Henrietta’s partially open office door. Vonnie must have come in early, like her. She pushed the door open and stopped abruptly.
“Oh!”
A woman she didn’t know sat behind Henrietta’s desk. Midfifties, short jet-black hair cut in a sharp edge at jaw level, attractive in a thin, knifelike kind of way. Dark suit, white shirt, unsmiling eyes.
“Can I help you?” Emily said when the woman stared at her as if she were the one intruding.
“I don’t think so.”
“Might I ask what you’re doing in Ms. Winfield’s office?”
The woman smiled thinly. “I am Donatella Agnelli. I’ll be in charge from now on.”
Chapter Eleven
Emily sat behind her desk, a cup of tea she couldn’t remember making cooling in front of her, an untouched pile of manuscripts on one side and her laptop open and waiting for her by her right hand. She didn’t drink the tea, scan her emails, make a list of the manuscripts she intended to review that afternoon, or schedule the author calls she wanted to make before lunch. She didn’t pull up the latest marketing plans for the fall release schedule from their biggest publishing clients. She didn’t get to the proposals from the rights department on what titles to present at the International Rights Conference.
She didn’t do anything at all except gather her scattered wits and struggle for some kind of perspective. The panic ballooning in her chest, making her breath short and her head light, was totally unwarranted. The last twenty-four hours had shaken her world, but she could fix that—she’d been through far worse. She just needed to be rational and ignore the fear clutching at her throat. She’d survived the phone call that had destroyed life as she’d known it when she was eighteen years old. Of course she could handle a passing disruption now. She had to.
Emily sipped her cooling tea, pleased that her hand was not shaking. There. Better. The constriction in her chest eased and she mentally ticked off what she knew, and what she needed to know. First and most importantly, Donatella Agnelli’s reign would only be temporary. Henrietta would be back soon and everything would return to normal. Even as she thought it, wished it, she knew it wouldn’t be true. Henrietta would be fine, everyone knew that, but she wouldn’t be able to run the agency as she always had, with a finger in everything, working fifteen-, sometimes eighteen-hour days, regularly outpacing many of the younger staff. She’d want to, Emily didn’t doubt that, and any changes in her schedule would have to be subtle ones. Emily and Vonnie would have to wage a stealth campaign to shift some of Henrietta’s workload to senior people without her knowing it, but as long as Henrietta was at the helm, behind that enormous desk that could probably float Manhattan if a second flood of biblical proportions suddenly arrived, business would return to normal.
Until then, where exactly Donatella Agnelli had come from and what her agenda might be were the critical questions. Vonnie might know who she was, and if she didn’t they had to find out. Perhaps she didn’t have the power she seemed to claim. Her proprietary occupation of Henrietta’s private space rankled. So disrespectful, so unfeelingly arrogant. Emily drew a breath. Perspective, she needed perspective, especially now when her emotions were riding roughshod over her reason. She didn’t know the woman, and she was probably being unfair. Usually she was far more methodical and clearheaded when faced with a challenge.
Now she was tired and frightened and a little bit angry. More than a little. Fury simmered so close to the surface her skin itched. Henrietta should not be ill. Some stranger should not be sitting at her desk. Her sister, the one she’d always looked up to, admired, envied for her bravery and reckless joie de vivre, should not be locked inside her own broken body, forever sentenced by a quirk of nature to silence. Emily’s eyes stung.
For the first time in many years, her safe haven no longer felt safe and she wanted—needed—someone to blame. Derian Winfield’s rakish face flashed through her mind and her swirling anger pointed at her. Derian was Henrietta’s niece, one of the Winfield heirs, and where was she in all of this? Betting on cars and cards and, in all likelihood, women. Why wasn’t she here to hold back the storm, to make everything solid and safe again?