His Sword

by Holly Hart

  “It is more than enough for us,” he says. “Even now that I have no trust fund.”

  Maks lost that money last year when the feds finally cracked down on his family. His father managed to avoid jail, but they were left virtually penniless after all the fines were paid and the illegal assets were confiscated.

  Now they all come to him for money, which I know makes him as proud as my situation makes me.

  Of course, he didn’t have to spend any of his own money for years. Carson always picked up the tab. Maybe that was a good thing – Maks never learned how to be greedy.

  “I still can’t comprehend any of it,” says Tricia. “My whole life I couldn’t afford anything, then I meet you people and suddenly I’m living this ridiculous lifestyle. It’s crazy. Like my grandpa used to say, I don’t know whether to shit or go blind.”

  “Don’t say shit,” Leo murmurs sleepily in our laps, prompting the two of us to clamp our lips between our teeth to keep from bellowing laughter.

  “Besides,” Tricia says after we calm down. “Our best friends are still obscenely rich.”

  Carson and I exchange a glance.

  “Actually,” I say, “we were wondering if we could talk to you two about that.”

  “Trish, if you don’t close your mouth soon, a bug is going to crawl in.”

  Her jaw has been hanging open for a full minute, since before I took Leo to his bed for his nap. Maksim’s mouth is closed, but his eyes look like they’re trying to bid adieu to his skull and float off into orbit.

  Carson squeezes my hand as I sit next to him.

  “Say something,” he urges them. “Even if it’s telling us to go pound sand up our asses. I mean butts.”

  “You’re not serious,” Tricia breathes. “This is a joke.”

  “No joke,” I say. “If you two are up for the trade, we’ll make it happen.”

  “But – but it’s not making sense,” says Maks. “Nobody trades $3 billion for $90 million. That is like giving someone your precious Ferrari and taking their Smart Car.”

  Carson and I look at each other.

  “Never thought of it that way,” he says with a grin.

  Tricia leans forward on the sofa and takes my hands in hers.

  “Why?” she asks. “Why give it away? And to us, of all people?”

  I squeeze her hands and smile. Sometimes I love her so much, it hurts. If God had asked me to design the perfect sister, it would have been her.

  “Simple,” I say. “Because we do want to give it away, and you two are the best people to do that for us. We want you to oversee a charitable foundation that distributes the majority of the fortune. How much you decide to give is up to you.

  “After all,” I smile, “one of us has to still be obscenely rich.”

  Carson claps Maks on the back.

  “That means the penthouse is yours,” he says. “But you still can’t smoke cigars in the study. Sorry.”

  Maks smiles absently. He looks like someone waiting for the alarm buzzer to go off and wake them up.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” says Tricia. “Why us? Why not someone else who would be better at it? Neither of us has even been to college.”

  I glance at Carson. It’s his money, and it was his idea. He should be the one to explain it.

  “Well,” he says. “As to why we chose you, it’s simple. It’s not because we consider you family – you already know that much. It’s because you two are the kindest people we know.”

  He looks at Maks. “I’ve never met someone like you, man. You never judge, ever. You’re kind and accepting to everyone. You don’t have a mean bone in your body. Sometimes you remind me of Leo that way.”

  I see tears shimmer in Maksim’s eyes, and next thing I know, I’m fighting my own.

  “Thank you, brat,” he breathes, using the Russian word for brother. “That is greatest compliment I ever have.”

  “And you,” I say, looking Tricia in the eyes. “You have a way of looking at things that cuts straight through the bullshit and gets right to the heart of the matter. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.”

  Carson and I exchange a glance.

  “We wouldn’t be where we are without you,” he says. “If you can help others the way you helped us? We couldn’t ask any better use for the money.”

  The two of them look at each other and link their hands. Tears are flowing freely everywhere now.

  Tricia wipes at her eyes with the heels of her palms.

  “Good thing you got this out of the way tonight, bitch,” she rasps. “It’d be just like you to ruin my make-up on my wedding day.”

  Carson and I simultaneously position ourselves on either side of them on the sofa, wrapping our arms around their shoulders. We were prepared for this.

  “So,” I say. “Is that a yes?”

  They look at each other and back at us.

  “Yes,” says Maksim. “I mean yes, it is yes.”

  “And you know I’ll be calling you every five minutes asking you what to do,” Tricia snuffles.

  I smile. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “But wait,” she says, finally rummaging a tissue out of her purse. “What are you guys going to do? With the $90 million, I mean?”

  She looks at Carson. “You’re already retired, you lazy ass. What are you going to do, just downsize?”

  We exchange another glance.

  “Well,” I say. “Therein lies a tale.”

  “Your mouth is hanging open again,” I tell Tricia. “It’s getting a little old.”

  “You’re the one who keeps kicking my feet out from under me,” she breathes. “Are you serious?”

  “Very,” says Carson.

  “But why?” Maks asks, clearly baffled.

  “I was blessed for a long time,” says Carson. “And when I found Cassie, I finally understood what the term ‘embarrassment of riches’ meant.”

  Maks opens his mouth and Tricia holds up a hand.

  “It means he has more than he deserves. Go on.”

  “I realized when we got together that I had wasted a good portion of my time, abilities and fortune,” says Carson. “I don’t know if I believe in a god, but I do know that if there is one, he really put me at the front of the line.”

  He looks at me.

  “And when I learned more about Cassie’s life, I realized what a selfish shit I’d been. There are so many people in the world with real problems.”

  “That’s where the idea to give away his fortune came from,” I say.

  Tricia nods. “Okay, I get that. But what about this other crazy scheme?”

  Carson smiles and shakes his head.

  “Maybe it is crazy,” he says. “But we have to try. There are a lot of women – and girls – in this world who are being bought and sold as possessions. That’s wrong. And I, of all people, have a lot to atone for in that department.”

  I take his hand. We’ve had a lot of long talks about this. We’re both ashamed of ever getting involved in the Chase – each for different reasons, of course, but both for lowering ourselves. Me for money and Carson for thrills.

  But what we saw that day in Brighton Beach, with Bogdan and Anna… no one should ever have to deal with people like that. But thousands of women and girls around the world have to, every single day of the year.

  “We’ve got a unique combination of resources,” I say. “We have an obligation to use them to help those who can’t help themselves.”

  “It’s a tall order,” says Maksim.

  The rest of us gape at him.

  “Maks!” Tricia cries. “You got it right!”

  He beams at us like a kid who brings home an A+ test to his parents.

  “You’re right, buddy,” says Carson. “But we have to start somewhere.”

  Tricia’s tears are flowing freely again now, and I’m barely keeping mine in check. This might just be the most emotional moment of my life outside of Leo’s birth.

 
“You guys are my heroes,” she sobs.

  That’s it; the dam’s breaking again.

  “What do you mean?” I say. “You saved both our lives that day! And Maks risked his life to try to save mine!”

  Jesus, now we’re all blubbering. We sit there like that for a while, laughing, crying, hugging.

  Finally, we get ourselves under control, outside of the occasional snuffle.

  “All right,” she says. “Now that the fucking love-in is over, let’s eat.”

  We lose it all over again, and laugh so long and hard that we wake Leo from his nap, and he starts to wail from his bedroom at the noise.

  The sun has begun to go down in a ball of fire by the time they come around to collect the dishes from the banquet. Leo is squirming in my lap at the head table; he’s normally an easy kid to keep entertained, but a wedding where he’s surrounded by Russian women constantly pinching his cheeks has pushed his patience to its limit.

  I sneak into my purse and pull out a small Rubik’s cube, which he snags greedily and takes with him under the tablecloth. It should keep him occupied for an hour at least – or until he solves it, whichever comes first.

  Out in the courtyard across from us, the string quartet is warming up for the dance to follow. I get the feeling Maksim’s family will enjoy it, but Tricia’s will be calling for a DJ within an hour.

  Carson reaches over and takes my hand, bringing it to his lips. His kiss is warm and familiar and still sends a tingle through me after all these years.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” I say.

  He frowns. “I don’t think we can afford that anymore.”

  I slap his arm with my free hand and roll my eyes.

  “Are you ready for all this?” he asks softly. “It’s not going to be easy.”

  “Neither of us has ever done anything the easy way, my love.”

  He sighs. “I suppose you’re right. The curse of being blessed with an embarrassment of riches.”

  I squeeze his hand in mine, feeling the warmth there, the familiarity. I imagine I can feel the beat of his heart in time with mine.

  “Hey,” I say. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I’m still so happy it was you.”

  Tricia comes trotting over, radiant in her dress and rimmed with the blazing colors of the sunset against the rich green of the courtyard behind her. She yanks up the tablecloth, startling a shriek out of Leo. She picks him up and hauls him off, giggling with him like a loon, onto the dance floor, where she does her best to keep him moving to the delicate strains of the chamber music.

  Carson leans in and kisses my cheek.

  “I’m still so happy it was us,” he says. “All of us.”

  We sit there in silence a long time, drinking in the beauty and reveling in the utter contentment of this perfect moment.

  Faking It

  Fake Husband, Real Daddy.

  I've got the perfect kid, and I’ve got the perfect life.

  But there’s something missing: the perfect virgin wife.

  It doesn't matter if it's fake.

  The second Penny walked into my office, I knew I was f*cked.

  Nineteen, sweet, soft, delicious.

  I sense it just by looking at her. The hesitation when she hides from my stare.

  She's a virgin.

  Her sweet scent tempts me to pluck the innocence right out of her.

  When my billionaire nemesis bribes Child Protective Services to pressure me to sell my company, Penny steps in to play mommy.

  She has no idea how bad I want this. How bad I want her.

  Fake marriage to help save my daughter?

  What a f*cking turn on.

  She played mommy in my time of need.

  Now it’s time for me to play daddy!

  Chapter One

  Penny

  Glass. Glass everywhere. That means reflections: everywhere.

  I can’t hide from the reflections; nor can I hide from myself. Everywhere I look I see a ginger girl with an ironing board chest and a bowling ball ass staring back at me. Oh, and she’s pale, to boot. I need some sun: except – even if I get some – I’m not going to get a killer tan, just freckles.

  I accepted long ago that I’ll never be on the cover of Vogue.

  But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  “Don’t just stand there, girl,” Miss Casey says. “How did you get this job, anyway?”

  I can’t believe I have to call this woman Miss Casey. I feel like I’m back in kindergarten. She’s a stern woman in her late fifties, and it shows. She wears her hair in a tight bob, pulled back, and a freaking tweed skirt pours all the way down past her ankles.

  Seriously; I kid you not.

  But the worst part of all this? She makes me feel exactly who I am – a nineteen-year-old virgin, and hopelessly out of my depth.

  “Sorry,” I squeak. The tray of hot drinks rattles in my hand, betraying my nervousness.

  Now that I’m here, it all feels so real. It’s my first day, but I’m not just working behind the counter at a Starbucks – not even close. A security lanyard dangles around my neck. I’ve been background checked like you wouldn’t believe.

  Just getting into the skyscraper headquarters of Thorne Enterprises was, well, thorny. I had to dance through half a dozen security checkpoints. The closer I got to the CEOs office, the more intense they got: hard-faced men – all ex-special forces – eyeballing me, hands twitching on their weapons.

  I dunno. It all seems a bit much. But – I made it here: to the inner sanctum. Miss Casey’s desk sits right in front of the frosted glass doors to the CEOs office. New York stretches out ahead and below of the skyscraper’s huge windows – all the way to the horizon, and fifty stories down.

  “Give me that,” Miss Casey huffs.

  Close, but no cigar.

  “I can do it,” I squeak. But it’s too late.

  I’d done my research – just like anyone should do when they get a new job – and a whole lot more. But Charlie Thorne’s secretary is an enigma cloaked in mystery. As far as I can tell, she’s been with Mr. Thorne from the start. He took her with him on his meteoric rise to billionaire-dom: lucky woman.

  She reaches over to grab the tray. At that same moment, a harried-looking executive in a tailored suit storms into the office lobby. It would be a cliché to say he’s leaving sheets of paper in a trail behind him, but that’s close enough.

  “Ella,” he grunts. “I need to see Charlie: now.”

  He doesn’t even bother looking at Mister Thorne’s secretary. I know his type: self-important; myopic; bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. I recoil in distaste. The tray rattles, again.

  I wish you could see the look on Ella – no – Miss Casey’s face. A stormy darkness, worthy of a summer Oklahoma tornado, crashes across her visage, and that’s just when she’s facing me.

  “Excuse me?” she hisses. Her voice is chilling. It reminds me of every terrifying schoolteacher or imposing headmistress I have ever had in my life. “Precisely what did you just call me, Michael?”

  The executive glances up. His thin eyelashes brush each other rapidly as he realizes his mistake. Unfortunately, he’s got too much pride to back down.

  “Ella,” he says, doubling down. “This is none of your business. I need to see Charlie – now. You’re just a secretary –”

  Oh, crap. You should not have said that. You should NOT have said that.

  Miss Casey holds up a single finger. Michael freezes, as though she’s reached in and squeezed his vocal chords. “You,” she says, “wait.”

  She turns to me. She fixes me with an intense, questioning stare. I just stand there, steam wafting from the hot drinks. I know she’s about to really test me; I just don’t know whether I’ll pass.

  “Penny, please go into Mr. Thorne’s office and deliver this tray. If you can accomplish this task without being seen or heard that would be lovely. Don’t spill anything.”

 
; She turns away.

  My throat clenches. A tiny shudder of adrenaline passes through my body. This is what I wanted – of course it is. I couldn’t be closer to power than I am about to be. Yet: after all this work; the research; the job hunting; the hours of careful preparation for the interviews; I couldn’t be more terrified.

  “Sure thing, Miss Casey,” I say. I twist on my heel and face the big frosted doors. Be seen and not heard. I can do that. I’ve been doing it all my life.

  “And dear?” She says more than asks. I turn my head. “Remember the nondisclosure agreement you signed. Believe me, it’s ironclad. If you reveal a word you hear in there, I’m afraid that’ll be it for you.”

  I nod. The tray rattles. My stomach does a backflip as I realize I’ve landed myself in an incredibly serious situation.

  Miss Casey dismisses me, turning back to the hapless executive. She lowers her voice to a hushed, outraged whisper. I can’t fault her professionalism. She’s all kinds of pissed, but there’s no way she’s going to let her boss hear the drama.

  “And, as for you, Michael: let’s get some things straight. It’s Mr. Thorne, not Charlie. And I am most certainly not called Ella.”

  “But Charlie – I mean – Mr. Thorne said I could –”

  I push the frosted doors aside. They whisper open without a sound, and hush the argument behind me.

  A huge office opens up in front of me. The CEOs desk is right at the other end of the sixty feet long room, pushed up against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Otherwise, the office is sparsely decorated.

  Whoever Charlie Thorne really is, apparently he doesn’t do ostentatious wealth. This place is elegant and understated. Even so, it screams that it’s the office of one of New York’s most eligible, and billionaire, bachelors. It surprises me. I expected everything to be dripping leaf gold.

  I hear the murmur of conversation. I freeze for a second. I need to remember why I’m here: I’m Mister Thorne’s new personal assistant. Everything he knows, I need to know.

  “Mister Thorne, I really must insist –”