Before I could reply, Layla buzzed through to us on the intercom. “Mr. Beckett and Mr. Rockwell are waiting to see you and Ms. Seaforth.”
“Okay. Send them in.” I glanced at Venetia to see if she had any clue as to the reason for this impromptu meeting, but she shook her head and shrugged.
Beckett entered the office, tall and smart in a charcoal suit and white silk shirt, followed by Rockwell and two unfamiliar men dressed in baseball caps and casual jeans. As a former college basketball player, Beckett towered above most men, including Rockwell, but the two strangers matched him in size and build. They stood respectfully to the side, legs braced and hands clasped in front of them, as Rockwell and Beckett approached my desk.
“Venetia, Dakota, I’d like you to meet James and Chandler. They’re going to be your bodyguards,” Beckett said, his tone casual.
“What? No way.” The words rocketed from my mouth before I could stop them. I looked to Rockwell for confirmation.
“Not an option, Mrs. Seaforth,” Rockwell said.
“We think it’s the best course of action for the time being,” Beckett replied.
I never knew how to read him. He’d mastered the talent of remaining ambivalent and calm through the most outrageous situations. However, unmistakable, possessive, male satisfaction darkened his eyes as his gaze roved over Venetia. When his focus fell to Jane in my arms, an astounding transformation overcame his features. His square jaw relaxed and his eyes warmed to the color of melted chocolate. Jane squealed in delight, flailing chubby limbs, until he took her from me and cradled her in the crook of his arm.
“That’s ridiculous. I don’t need a bodyguard.” I scowled at the men. I relished the freedom and normalcy of my life. Maxwell Seaforth wasn’t going to steal that from me. I glanced at Venetia, waiting for her to chime in, but she remained silent. “I need to call Sam. Does he know about this?”
“It was Sam’s idea,” Rockwell said.
Since our separation this morning, I’d been playing phone tag with Sam. He’d called twice while I was in meetings. My texts had gone unanswered, but that wasn’t unusual for a busy morning. Still, my lack of involvement in the decision bruised my ego. I didn’t like being told what to do by anyone, including my well-meaning, albeit overbearing, control freak husband.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Venetia said. “The press can be relentless. You’ve never really been through something like this before. I have. You don’t know how obtrusive they can be. Especially now that you’re pregnant.” The instant the words left her mouth, her eyes grew round. She pressed a hand to her lips.
“I already know. Sam told me. Congratulations.” Beckett wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed.
Heat rushed into my cheeks. “So much for keeping it on the down low,” I muttered and frowned at Venetia, who bit her lower lip and did nothing to hide her lack of remorse.
“Why are you looking at me? It’s not my fault. He said he already knew,” she said.
“It’s not confirmed yet. I’d appreciate it if you all kept this quiet,” I said in my best authoritative tone, but I beamed at them. This was really happening. I was going to be a mom.
“It’s in the vault,” Beckett said. “Anyway, these two guys are going to shadow you for a while.”
“Surely this will all blow over in another day or so,” I said. After the morning incident, I’d been too preoccupied with work to dwell on Maxwell’s problems.
“I’m afraid it’s not going away anytime soon,” Beckett said. “The Federal Bureau of Investigation is now involved, and my friends tell me charges are imminent. I believe things are going to get a lot worse.” He handed Jane back to Venetia, his motions gentle and sure. They made a picture-perfect family. “In fact, they’ve requested for Sam to come in and answer a few questions as soon as he returns tomorrow.”
Chapter 6
SAM
AFTER WAITING for an eternity in the lobby of Maxwell’s office, I finally landed an audience with him. He sat behind an ornately carved desk the size of a mid-sized sedan in an office filled with dark wood and over-stuffed furnishings. He gestured toward a chair but didn’t look up when I entered the room. Instead, I wandered the perimeter and studied the priceless artwork, the same pieces I’d seen a dozen times before as a boy. Back then, I’d been intimidated and awed by Maxwell in equal measures.
“I don’t give a fuck about that,” Maxwell said in a cold, controlled voice to someone on the other side of his telephone call. “You knew the situation from the beginning. Make. It. Go. Away.” He ended the call and drew in a deep, audible breath before swiveling his chair to face me. “Sam. It’s been too long. To what do I owe this honor?” His laser focus burned into me. I stared back. Every action, every word of my father’s, was a carefully orchestrated test, one I never seemed to pass.
“You know why I’m here. Your face is plastered on every news station and website in the country. We’re getting swamped by reporters. What the hell is going on?” I kept my tone even, casual, matching his reserve. To an uninvolved onlooker we might have been discussing the latest polo match or baseball scores.
“I’m touched by your concern.” He cocked his head to one side, continuing the scrutiny. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“I have to care, because you’ve brought your shit to my doorstep. The FBI wants to see me for questioning tomorrow. How the hell did my name get dragged into this?”
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows and deepened the lines across his forehead. Maxwell had always been larger than life to me, an indestructible force. Today, he seemed tired and older than his age. “Relax. It’s just a routine investigation. You know how these things go. They won’t find anything, because there’s nothing to find.” The wheels of his high-backed gray leather chair moved noiselessly over the glossy hardwood floor as he pushed away from the desk. “It’s really none of your concern.”
“It is my concern when the Seaforth name gets dragged into the muck. There are rumors that an indictment is about to come down.” This got his attention. Although his face remained impassive, his shoulders tensed beneath the shoulders of his custom-tailored suit. “If there’s something I need to know, you better tell me.”
“Since when did a little media pressure ever bother you?” He leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “You should be used to it by now.”
“Since they’re harassing my pregnant wife.” The secret slipped out before I could stop it.
“So, she’s finally done it. I can’t believe it took this long.” A bitter chuckle crackled from his chest. “That bitch has got you by the balls. You fool. You’ll never be rid of her now.”
I wanted to fly over the desk and throttle him with his red silk necktie. Instead, I shifted in the chair and narrowed my eyes. “She’s my wife and the mother of your grandchild. You’ll treat her with respect.”
“Are you sure it’s yours? I’d recommend a paternity test as soon as possible. They can do them in utero now, did you know that? Costs a bit more, but it’s well worth it.” As he spoke, he stood and paced to the liquor cabinet on the far wall. “It’ll save you a great deal of hassle. Nothing like the bullshit I had to endure when your mother had Venetia. Back then the results took forever.” He poured two fingers of scotch into a pair of crystal glasses and handed one to me.
“And while I’m thinking about it, I’d appreciate it if you’d lay off the gifts.”
“I’m extending an olive branch to the both of you. Is this how you repay my generosity?” He clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth. “How very un-Christian of you.”
“Just stop.” Part of me wanted to break his nose, but the more rational part recognized his need to deflect the conversation away from his current problems. He was a master at controlling the people around him, but then again, so was I. “It’s a waste of time and money.”
“They’re gifts. Keep them. Give them to charity.” He shrugged. “Save them for your alimo
ny. You’re going to need the money when she takes you to the cleaners.”
“I didn’t come here to discuss my personal life. Let’s talk about the fucked-up mess you’re in. I’m here to find out what’s going on with Seaforth Industries.” I took a sip of the scotch. The amber liquid soothed and warmed my throat.
“Glad you’re finally coming around.” Maxwell resumed his place behind the mammoth desk.
“You’ve left me with no choice. And let’s get one thing out of the way—I don’t give a rat’s ass about you or your problems, but I do care about the legacy our forefathers built. The one you seem hell bent on destroying.”
“Our ancestors created this business, but I’m the one who took it to greatness.” He stared into the depths of his glass. “But I’m glad you’ve finally taken an interest.”
“My interests lie in saving the future of the Seaforths. I don’t want to see our name dragged through the muck again because of your escapades.”
“Spoken like a true father and a Seaforth.” A faint smile quirked one side of his mouth. “Maybe you’re not such a fool after all.”
“Vanessa seems to think the situation calls for my attention. I’m here on her behalf.”
At the mention of my middle sister’s name, his expression chilled. “Vanessa? Really?” One of his thick eyebrows lifted. “How interesting. I figured she’d be queen of a third world country by now. What’s she been up to?”
“If you want to know, you can call her yourself. Now talk. Time is money, and every minute I spend with you is a dollar down the toilet.”
His genuine laughter exploded around the room. “God, there’s no question. You’re definitely my son.” He wiped the moisture from beneath his eyes and straightened. “There’s really nothing to tell. It’s all a misunderstanding. It’ll blow over in no time. Apparently someone thinks I’ve been hiding assets, avoiding the IRS.” He waved a well-manicured hand through the air, like shooing away a pesky fly. “I’ve always conducted business above board and perfectly legal.”
It was my turn to laugh. “We both know that’s not true. If there’s nothing going on, then why won’t you comply with the feds? Turn over your records and let them find nothing.” I held up a hand. “Wait. Let me guess. You’re above all that?” His smug smirk supplied the answer but fell after my next statement. “The stock is taking a nosedive. If you owe taxes, you need to pay up. The IRS isn’t playing. They’re out for blood. Your blood. Our blood.” It might have been the reflection of a cloud passing over the sun, but I thought I saw a glimmer of fear in his eyes. “Four generations of hard work down the toilet because of you. Is your ego really worth the loss of a legacy?”
His palm slammed against the desktop, causing the pens and papers to jump. “No one can touch me. Not you. Not the IRS. Not the government. I have friends in deep and dark places. They wouldn’t dare.” The angles of his face sharpened as he leaned back in his chair. “You know how these things work, Sam. Regular rules don’t apply to us.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I rose to my feet, stomach churning with distaste. “And I have a feeling you’re about to find out.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I have a plan.”
Chapter 7
DAKOTA
THE NEXT day, I travelled across the city to discuss a potential real estate acquisition. While I handled the purchase of land for our development firm, Sam acquired and dismantled key businesses, providing cash flow until our business took root. Like it or not, he had a knack for takeovers. This time, however, he no longer preyed on the weak and unsuspecting. He focused on friendly acquisitions, absorbing useful companies and employees into our businesses, selling off the remaining parts. Sometimes, as with Langston & Howe, we acquired both assets and prime real estate in one swoop. It was time-consuming work, requiring long hours and lots of travel. Together, we worked toward a common goal, and I hoped he could spend less time on the road and more time at home in the near future, especially with a baby on the way.
Although business remained forefront in my thoughts, our budding family stayed on periphery of everything I did. The scope of my actions seemed more important than before, and I couldn’t help thinking about how something as miniscule as a new satellite office might affect my work hours. I already pulled sixteen-hour days, sometimes more.
Chandler hovered outside the meeting room, stalwart and silent, hands clasped in front of him. His constant presence festered like a splinter under my skin. It was nothing personal. He seemed like a nice guy. I did my best to ignore him but found it impossible.
Halfway through the presentation, the door at the back of the meeting room opened and closed. I knew Sam was there before I saw him. The fine hairs on the back of my neck prickled with awareness, and my panties dampened. For a brief second, I lost my place. Layla covered the gaff. I gave her a grateful glance and tried to avoid looking directly at Sam. He’d been gone less than thirty-six hours, but I missed him as if it had been a week.
“And so you’ll see the projections are in line with our initial proposal.” I spoke automatically and gestured toward the power point on the screen, while Layla passed hard copies around the table to the board members. “I’ve outlined a potential timeline for the acquisition, and I’m prepared to go over the details today.”
Sam leaned against the far wall, arms folded across his chest. Despite my best efforts, my gaze veered to my husband. The crisp lines of his tailored suit emphasized broad shoulders and narrow hips. My heart stuttered when his eyes met mine. They were filled with heat, drilling into me like twin laser beams. Damn, he was hot in the best kind of way. His desire buoyed my confidence. I circled the conference table to the whiteboard at the opposite end, brushing past him. He drew in a deep breath, scenting me, his wide chest swelling.
“This is an aggressive timeline,” said one of the members, his doubt palpable. “Do you really think you can pull this off?”
“I don’t deal in conjecture,” I replied and scribbled a few key dates on the board. “These are accurate figures. With your cooperation, the timeline is absolutely doable.”
A low rumble of approval came from Sam’s direction, inaudible to everyone but me. While Layla distracted the board with a new set of handouts, I turned my back to Sam and allowed the dry erase marker slip through my fingers to the floor. I bent to pick up the marker. My skirt hiked up to reveal an indecent amount of thigh. His breath hissed out. I straightened before the other men noticed.
“Minx,” Sam said under his breath.
“What’s your take on this, Sam?” The president, Mr. Langston, fired the question from the head of the table.
“I have the utmost confidence in Dakota. If she says it’ll work, it’ll work.” Sam’s low, smooth voice rumbled with confidence. “I’m behind this one hundred percent.”
His unwavering support never failed to surprise me. Just knowing he believed in me, trusted me with his company, his millions, and his future, made it a joy to get up each morning. We worked well together. He provided the reputation and solidity, while I offered a wealth of experience and personal contacts in the city.
“In light of your father’s recent troubles, we’d need some reassurance that this deal isn’t in jeopardy.” Mr. Howe’s statement left a bitter taste in my mouth. Maxwell again.
“Ascension Corporation isn’t affiliated with Seaforth Industries,” I replied. “And Sam isn’t involved in the operations of his father’s business.”
My knees dissolved as Sam pressed into my back. His woodsy cologne teased my nostrils. The buttons of his shirt bit into my shoulder blade. Oh, God. I wanted to moan aloud, to bury my hands in his wavy blond hair and tug his delectable lower lip between my teeth. Instead, I pushed my bottom into his groin and tried not to grin at the hardness behind the fly of his trousers.
“You’ll pay for that later.” His lips brushed my earlobe as he brushed past and slipped into the nearest empty chair.
The meeting dragged on. I did
my best to concentrate on the topics tossed in my direction. This was important. Acquiring Langston & Howe would be a double feather in our cap. Not only would we take possession of their business, but we’d own twenty-four acres of prime lakefront property along the city’s west side, ripe for development. This deal would buoy our reputation and let the world know that Sam was back on top. I had to shine, but it was difficult with Sam sitting across from me, long fingers tapping the table top, jaw impossibly square. Feeling a sudden rush of heat, I unfastened the top button of my blouse and ran a finger along my collarbone. Sam cleared his throat. I bit back a chuckle, knowing how he loved it when I touched myself.
“I have to say I’m very impressed with you, Mrs. Seaforth. You’re a lucky man, Sam,” Mr. Howe said as the meeting adjourned. He shook my hand and clapped Sam on the back.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Sam replied. His gaze flitted from my eyes to my lips and back to my eyes. The dangerous promise in his stare sent a thrill like a lightning bolt straight between my legs.
“Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Howe. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you today. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up,” I said, and headed toward the ladies’ room. Chandler trailed in my shadow. I stopped at the entrance to the hallway and held out a hand. “Stay.” There was something about having a stranger outside the restroom that crossed my personal boundaries. His brow furrowed, but he stopped and nodded.
Inside the restroom, I took a moment to draw a few deep breaths. A curious wave of nausea curled my stomach. I stared at my reflection, wondering if this was delayed morning sickness or just a case of nerves. Although I’d never admit it to anyone, I’d been apprehensive about today’s meeting. One wrong word could break this very important deal. It had been my first time without Sam. I was glad he’d gotten a chance to watch me in action and appreciated his decision to stay on the fringes of the meeting. After I washed my hands, I ran cool water of my wrists. The bathroom door swung open. Sam’s reflection appeared in the mirror. His eyes met mine. My breath caught when he leaned back against the door and flipped the lock.
Pretty Broken Promises: An Unconventional Love Story Page 4