by Meghan March
When I finish and step into the bedroom, I find Mount leaning against the doorway to his office, which is usually locked. He’s perfectly put together in a dark gray three-piece suit that makes his eyes look lighter than they normally do. He’s also holding a black box.
Those damn black boxes.
“If that’s another butt plug, I can tell you whose ass it’s not going up this morning.”
The edges of his mouth twitch but he doesn’t smile . . . except with his eyes.
That’s new. So is the humor in them as opposed to foreboding darkness.
“Don’t tempt me to get the other box,” he says. “Because I wasn’t joking when I said there’s one more.”
Okay, so it’s not a sex toy.
“What is it?”
He holds it out. “A gift.”
“I don’t need anything else added to my debt, thank you very much.” I stand straight, sounding like a stuck-up bitch, but I can’t help it. It’s my only defense against him.
The humor fades from his eyes, but he doesn’t start ordering me around immediately like I expected.
“It’s not. Hence the word gift.” He walks toward me, shoves the box into my hands, and walks through the bedroom and out the door before I can respond.
I stare at the box like it contains all the mysteries of the universe, because honestly, that’s about as good a guess as I have right now.
Carefully, I lift the lid and look inside.
It’s a contract. Between an entity I don’t recognize and Seven Sinners for the purchase of six thousand cases a year of our most expensive whiskeys.
What the hell?
Six thousand cases? I quickly do the math in my head. That would give me enough breathing room for a couple of months, and I wouldn’t have to touch the five hundred grand Mount put in the checking account.
But what’s the catch? With Mount, there’s always a catch.
I flip through the pages of the contract, scanning quickly. It’s a distribution agreement with all the standard terms and conditions that I’d normally expect to see.
When I turn to the last page, something catches my eye. Specifically, my name. The contract is contingent upon me being the point of contact through the duration of the distribution relationship, which is intended to renew annually with increasing quantities unless either party gives notice to terminate. The signature on it is a scribble I can’t decipher.
I stride into the bedroom, but Mount’s already gone.
“Damn you! I have questions!” I yell, but he obviously doesn’t hear me.
I turn the door handle to the exit, expecting it to be locked. When it flies open with a yank, I almost fall on my ass. Mount’s suited figure nears the corner at the end of the wide hallway.
“Hey! Our conversation is not over!”
His broad-shouldered form halts before slowly turning around to face me. He’s at least thirty feet away, but I can see the expression on his face. There’s no hint of the humor that was there when he handed me the box.
His long strides eat up the distance between us faster than I anticipate.
Oh shit. I swallow a lump in my throat and force myself to appear confident, even though I feel like a novice matador facing her first bull charge.
Maybe I should think before I yell at the scariest man in this city?
Mount
I wrap my hand around her upper arm, my grip firm enough to get her attention, but not tight enough to cause pain or injury, as I rip the bedroom door open.
I can’t remember the last time someone shouted at me like that, telling me we weren’t finished.
Only she would dare.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her exactly that, but I remember Titan’s words.
Check your ego at the door.
When I release Keira, she steps away with her spine straight, indicating the defiance I continually struggle to tame, but there’s a hint of something else in her expression as she waits for me to speak. Dread.
I hate that look on her face. I no longer want her to fear me like everyone else. It doesn’t bring me any satisfaction.
I close the door and lean against it, my arms crossed over my chest. Her attention follows my every movement as though anticipating that I’ll lash out in retaliation, and that realization banks the smoldering flames of my temper.
“Then by all means, let’s continue it now.”
Keira’s fear shifts to confusion, which is fine with me. While I don’t want her fear, I feel no guilt about keeping her off-balance. That means I have a chance to tip the scales in my favor.
She holds out the contract. “What is this?”
“I’m fairly certain you can read.”
Her brow furrows in frustration. “You know that’s not what I mean. Why would you give this to me?”
I swear, there has never been a more difficult woman to please. I keep my tone bored as I reply. “You’d rather not sell an extra six thousand cases a year? If that’s true, I’m sure the buyer could find an alternate—”
Keira cuts me off. “Of course I want to, but who the hell is buying them? And how did you arrange it?”
The muscle in my jaw flexes as I rein in the urge to shut down her interrogation. No one questions me like this. And I don’t know why the hell I let her.
The voice in my head calls bullshit. You know exactly why.
“The distributor caters to high-end liquor stores all over the country.”
“I’ve never heard the name before, and I know all of the big ones.”
“Not all of them, clearly.”
“Do you own it?”
I debate whether to lie, but what’s the point? “Yes.”
A grimace graces her features. She’s so frigging transparent with her facial expressions, and clearly not finished with her questions.
“Why would you do this? It doesn’t make any sense. There have to be strings attached. I’ve figured that much out when it comes to you.”
She’s not wrong. In my world, nothing is freely given. Everything comes with a price.
I break it down for her. “For the duration of the contract, you work directly with me. Not your assistant or a salesman. You.”
“So, it’s not a gift. Because if it were, there would be no strings.” She shakes the paper between us. “This is just another way for you to control me.” Her voice is quiet, and her words hit me like a gut punch.
She’s right. My first attempt to give her something I know she wants, and I fuck it up.
I snatch the contract out of her hand, pull a pen from my breast pocket, and take it over to the table. I scratch out the clause, initial it, and turn it back around.
“There.” I shove the agreement at her.
The line between Keira’s eyebrows deepens as her gaze darts between me and the document. “I don’t understand.”
My fingers crease the paper as my grip tightens on it. My jaw still tight, I reply with my final offer. “No strings and a healthy profit margin.”
I’m giving up all the leverage in this deal and receiving nothing from her in return, which feels beyond foreign.
Keira’s teeth tug her bottom lip into her mouth as she reaches out to take the contract from me. Her every movement screams hesitation.
Because she doesn’t fucking trust you, I remind myself.
“There has to be something else. You don’t do anything that’s not calculated, and you certainly aren’t out to do me any favors.”
I want to point out the fact that there’s an extra five hundred grand in her checking account and her bank debts are paid, but I bite back the retort.
“Is it so hard to believe that I did it because it’s a good deal for Seven Sinners, which means it’s good for you?”
Her stubborn chin lifts another inch. “So, you’re patronizing me?”
I count to ten, my temper flaring again. I swear, this woman lives to test me. I attempt to do something helpful and she throws it back in my face . . . bu
t only because I attached the golden handcuffs to it first.
I release a breath, my temper ebbing once more. “No. I’m not patronizing you.”
Keira gives me a short nod before gripping the contract tightly enough to crease the pages. Her chin stays high. “Then I’ll let you know if I have any other revisions to request before I sign.”
This woman . . . She has to learn that she can only push me so far before I will throw down the rules.
“This doesn’t go to your lawyer. That’s non-negotiable.”
Mistrust flares in her gaze once more. She wants to fight me on that point, but manages to keep it in. Finally, she nods. “Okay. But I’d be a shitty CEO if I didn’t review it in detail before I sign, and that’s not how I run my business.”
Her statement knocks something loose in me, altering my perception of the woman standing before me. Keira Kilgore, the CEO. Not Keira Kilgore, the woman I plan to own.
Another piece of Titan’s advice enters my mind. Listen. Figure out what she wants. Give it to her.
I can admit when someone else is right, and he nailed it.
The contract is a start, but I’ve got a long way to go.
Keira
My workday passes in what feels like a matter of minutes. When I leave the office, Temperance is still on the phone finalizing details for the Voodoo Kings event, and I give her a wave. She smiles and makes a shooing motion out the door.
Scar is waiting at the curb per usual, and I slide into the backseat of the car. We’ve dispensed with all the hood nonsense after my escape, so when he starts driving in the opposite direction as I expect, I question him, even though I know he’s not going to answer.
“Where are we going?”
His grunt of a response is all I get.
Thirty minutes later, we turn down the road to Lakefront Airport, and I’m even more confused.
“What’s going on?”
Scar drives directly to a private hangar and parks near the front glass doors. He exits the car and opens my door, then leads me inside. I barely get a look at the posh lounge area that looks nothing like the molded plastic seating of a commercial airport before he pushes open another glass door and we step onto a red carpet runner leading across the tarmac to the stairs of a large, sleek private jet.
Whoa.
I take in the black-and-gold aircraft, and although I know nothing about planes, I’m willing to bet it’s ridiculously expensive. There’s no name or logo indicating who owns it, but I only need one guess.
Scar nods toward the stairs, and I hesitate for a moment.
To fly on the private jet or not? It isn’t exactly a decision I thought I’d be making when I left Seven Sinners tonight. I can’t lie and say I’ve never wondered what it would be like to fly in one . . . but the thought of the man either already inside or en route keeps my feet glued to the red carpet.
What’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like he hasn’t kidnapped me already. The fact that this is my logic and rationalization is absolutely insane, but that’s the impact Mount has had on my life.
The final thing that sways me is the contract from this morning. It was a gesture I still don’t understand, but I couldn’t find any more hidden traps in the legalese either.
Scar grunts from behind me, and I make my decision.
Screw it.
With measured steps, I cross the red carpet and reach the plane. I balance my shoe on the first stair, grip the rails, and climb up into the cabin.
The interior matches everything else of Mount’s—black, gold, and white.
Mount is seated in one of the plush black leather seats with a laptop open on the table in front of him. He looks up as I enter.
“What’s going on?”
He closes the laptop and stands. “We’re going out.”
“Like on a date?” Disbelief hangs from every word.
Mount jerks a chin toward the leather seat across from his. “Sit. I’ll tell the captain we’re ready for takeoff.”
I lower myself into the chair, trying to figure out what the hell his game is this time. First the contract this morning, and now this? What’s his angle?
Mount returns momentarily, and the cabin seems to shrink now that the door is closed and we’re locked inside. His presence does that to me all too often.
“Where are we going?” I ask, desperate to keep my mind off the fact that the aircraft begins to move.
I grip the arms of the seat, my knuckles turning white as the statistics about the crashes of private planes versus commercial flights run through my head. We taxi to the end of a runway, turn, and jerk into forward motion as the jet picks up speed.
Oh shit. What are my parents going to think when they find out I died with him?
The thought is ridiculous, but logic isn’t exactly on my side right now. I’m nearly hyperventilating as the jet hurtles down the runway.
“Keira, look at me.”
Mount’s deep voice snaps me out of my panic, and I meet his gaze.
“What?”
When he unclips his seat belt, I want to yell at him to put it back on, but he moves to the chair beside me before I’m capable of forming the sentence.
“Are you afraid of flying?” he asks, and I’m too freaked out to appreciate the concern in his tone.
I shake my head rapidly. I know better than to admit weakness, especially to him.
“Then why do you look like you’re going to throw up?”
I break his stare and look out the window. Oh, sweet Jesus. We’re almost off the ground. Bad idea.
Mount reaches out to cup my cheek, bringing my gaze back to his. “Listen to me. You’re fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Because I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I swallow at his admission, and my stomach flips. I’m not sure whether it’s because of this latent fear of flying clawing through me, or because of Mount’s penetrating stare. Maybe both.
I force myself to relax, muscle by muscle, until my spine curves into the leather cushion. “I forgot. You have a vested interest in making sure nothing does, because then who would pay the debt I owe?”
His thumb strokes my cheek, and I tense again at the uncharacteristic gesture.
“At some point, you’re going to realize this is about far more than a simple debt.” Mount’s voice is low, but his words send my anxiety soaring.
“What do you mean?”
He finally releases his hold on my face and turns toward the empty seats opposite us, crossing an ankle over one knee. He doesn’t look at me when he replies.
“You’re smart. You’ll figure it out eventually.”
Mount
I don’t have enough fingers to count how many times Keira asks where we’re going, and each time I refuse to tell her, her frustration grows.
When we hit the four-hour mark on the flight, her attitude spikes. “You better plan on getting me back on time for work tomorrow.”
“I’m afraid that’s not happening, but your assistant has been notified to expect your absence and cover for you.”
“You told her? She can’t know about this.” Keira’s tone is sheer panic. It’s no surprise she doesn’t want anyone to know of her connection to me, but the fact still irritates me.
“No. She received an email from you explaining.”
Keira’s eyes widen. “How? You better not have hacked my freaking email. That’s just—”
“Easy?” I supply the correct adjective.
“You can’t do that! Tell the pilot to turn the plane around right now.”
“The fact that you still think you can give me orders never ceases to amaze me.”
Her temper rises, and fire burns in her gaze. “If you think taking me to some private island is going to somehow make me easier to control, you’ve completely misjudged me.”
If I hadn’t had that conversation with Lucas Titan, I might have thought of doing something like that, but his w
ords made a sizeable impact.
“It is an island.”
“You—”
Before Keira can unleash whatever expletives she’s planning, I pull a file from beneath my laptop and drop it in her lap. She flips it open and stares down at it before jerking her shock-filled gaze up to mine.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “We’re going to Dublin? To the Global Whiskey and Spirts Conference? Please tell me this isn’t a joke, because it wouldn’t be funny.”
I raise an eyebrow. I’m not the joking type.
Keira’s eyes look like they might bug out of her head. “Holy shit.”
She drops the file that contains the doodled-on brochure I stole off her desk the first night I made myself at home in her office. She covers her face with both hands before bringing them together in a prayer-like position in front of her nose.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say. This is . . . definitely not what I expected.” She closes the file and continues to speak. “I’ve literally wanted to go to GWSC since I was old enough to know what it was.”
I shrug, barely restraining my triumphant grin. “Well, now you’re going.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Her gaze meets mine, and there’s something in it I’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at me. A mix of awe, gratitude, and something else . . . Joy, I think.
“Then don’t.”
She shakes her head. “No. I have to.” She pauses, pressing her lips together. “Thank you. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but . . . thank you.”
Keira
I jerk awake in Mount’s arms as he settles me into the backseat of a car. “Where are we?”
“Dublin. You missed the rest of the flight. Also, you snore.”
My mouth drops open. “I do not.”
One corner of his mouth quirks upward. “You do at altitude and when you’re drunk.”
The driver closes the door and I shoot Mount a glare, but it’s impossible to keep it in place as the car pulls away from an airport and onto the streets leading into Dublin.