Pretending with the Playboy

by Tracey Livesay

  “You’ve said it takes at least six months to plan,” Lauren argued.

  “One month.”

  “You want to have the party in a month?” Lauren asked.

  “Before I go into the clinical trial.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Not when you have the Richardson name and money.”

  “Could we do something small and intimate? Just the family and close friends?”

  Dorothy tilted her head and gave her an understanding smile. “It has to be big and splashy. There can be no doubt who I want to head the family and RichCorp.”

  “Is it an engagement party or a coronation?” Lauren asked.

  “Both.”

  Lauren’s head spun. Yesterday, her “engagement” to Carter was a small act, done to make Dorothy feel better. Today, it had turned into the event of the season, where all of Chicago would weigh in on whether Carter Richardson had made the right choice.

  “Allison won’t be happy,” Lauren warned them. And that could spell trouble if they were trying to keep Dorothy calm.

  “That’s an understatement. She’ll be furious,” Carter said.

  “She expects to be the matriarch of this family,” Lauren said, remembering the other woman’s words.

  “Not her.” Dorothy shook her head. “You.”

  “I’m not the right person for that position.”

  Dorothy smiled and took her hand. “That just proves you are.”

  Lauren lowered her gaze, her chest tight with guilt. What were they doing? They couldn’t plan this party and have people think this engagement was real. They’d progressed from a little white lie to a massive deception.

  Dorothy misinterpreted the look she saw on Lauren’s face. “You can do it. You’ve run my life for the past six years and made impressive contacts. People like you.”

  “We’re not having a party now. We can do it after you complete the trials,” Carter said. The look he shot Lauren over Dorothy’s head was clear: Hopefully, we’ll be off the hook by then.

  “I need to approve your choice publicly. The sooner the better,” Dorothy said. “It’ll limit Allison’s options to stab Lauren in the back. You know she’ll try.”

  “You should focus on getting better, not worrying about the Richardson family version of Game of Thrones.”

  The mask of patience and calm acceptance that Dorothy had worn since her diagnosis slipped and she balled her hands into fists. “Should I lie here and worry about this cancer? Ruminate on whether or not the clinical trial will work? How about I ponder which will kill me first: loss of function in one of my vital organs or blood clots? I have no control over my life. I’m babied and at the mercy of others. My body may have betrayed me, but I’m still here.” She tapped the side of her head as a single tear flowed down her cheek. “I’m still me.”

  Lauren grabbed the box of tissues on the nightstand and offered them to Dorothy. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think—”

  “You shouldn’t have to worry about me.” Dorothy’s hand dropped to the blanket, the tissue still clutched between her fingers. “I promised your mother I’d take care of you.”

  “I know.” Lauren nodded, her gaze straying to the Matisse painting on the wall.

  Dorothy reached out and grabbed Carter’s hand. “I know I’m handing you a tough situation.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

  Dorothy sighed and her eyelids drooped. “That took a lot out of me. I’m going to rest now.”

  Lauren stood and smoothed out the blanket on Dorothy’s bed before she and Carter left the room. In the hallway, she took one look at his anxious face and squeezed his hand in sympathy.

  Dorothy knew about the merger and she expected Carter to take care of it.

  The further along they got in this ruse, the less the words temporary fun seemed to apply.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Carter set the iPad down, shut his eyes, and squeezed the bridge of his nose. Lights, letters, and numbers swirled in dizzying patterns against the backdrop of his closed eyelids. He could read reports until the Bulls won another championship, but it wouldn’t help him figure out what he was going to do.

  He pushed back from the desk and went to stand next to the window. He braced one arm against the frame, shoved his other hand into his pocket, and gazed down at the street below. It was close to seven at night and people still scurried by. Going back to work, heading to the neighborhood happy hour, meeting dates for dinner.

  Life in the city. In that way, Chicago was no different from DC. What would he be doing right now if he were back there? He’d have another two or three hours of work ahead of him before he left the office. Then he’d call whomever he was currently dating or stop by one of his late-night spots for a drink. There wouldn’t be anyone waiting for him. Which was how he’d liked it.

  But here in Chicago, when he finally left the office, he’d head straight to Lauren. They’d eat dinner and for dessert, he’d eat her. He groaned and leaned his suddenly heated forehead against the coolness of the glass. He’d spent the past three nights having sex with Lauren, numerous times in numerous positions. He hadn’t expected it to be so good, or to want more of her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so invigorated after sex. In fact, at this moment, he was finding it difficult to imagine ever tiring of the smell and taste of her.

  The feel of her body against his, so soft and warm. Her breasts crushed against his chest. Long, slow, wet kisses. He wanted to discover every inch of her. He couldn’t get enough. What was it about her that affected him? It was like he had no self-control. His desire for her short-circuited all common sense. He’d had her; he should be bored. At the very least, this craving should have abated. But it hadn’t. He still wanted more. Even now, his cock hardened in anticipation of sliding inside of her.

  Fuck. He forced himself to put thoughts of Lauren and her addictive taste and feel out of his head and focus on the task at hand. He had three options: let the merger go through, turn the reins over to Edworth, or run the company himself. None of them sat perfectly on his shoulders, but he couldn’t stand around with his thumb up his ass waiting for the right answer to present itself. Like he’d told Todd Johnston, his success came from his actions. He’d already wasted three days. Merging the company was out of the question, and even though he hadn’t come to a conclusion about the other two alternatives, both required he talk to his cousin.

  He pressed a button on the desk phone’s console, ringing Dorothy’s assistant. “Did Edworth come into the office today?”

  “Yes, sir.” Donald’s voice emanated from the speakers.

  “Can you confirm if he’s still in the building?” Carter crossed his arms and tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling. Be there. Be there. Now that he’d determined his course of action he didn’t want to wait to begin following it.

  “He’s in his office,” Donald reported back a few moments later.

  Yes! Carter grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and shrugged into it. “Tell him I’m coming down.” He headed for the stairwell door, choosing steps over the elevator.

  To ensure that Richardsons would always control the company, the family retained fifty percent of RichCorp shares. The remaining shares were distributed among other members of the board, contingent upon their continued employment. If they left or were dismissed from the company, their shares were stripped and re-distributed. By essentially splitting the company in half, his great-great-grandfather guaranteed that decisions couldn’t be made unilaterally. If either side wanted to take action, they’d have to persuade a part of the other side.

  When Carter turned twenty-five he’d been granted access to his father’s shares, held in a trust for him. He’d immediately signed a proxy giving Aunt Dorothy the right to vote on his behalf. As long as he, Aunt Dorothy, and Edworth voted as a family block, there was no way a merger could take place. But Carter hadn’t liked the look on Edworth’s face at th
e emergency board meeting.

  He exited one flight down, next to the conference room. He nodded at Edworth’s assistant then knocked on his door. When his cousin’s voice granted him permission to enter, he stepped into the office. The layout was similar to his aunt’s, only slightly smaller. On a shelf display made of golf clubs sat a small picture of Allison and a large collection of golf memorabilia, including an autographed picture of Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer from the 1965 Masters, and a pair of black shoes worn by Tiger Woods.

  Edworth leaned back in his chair, his face expressionless. “I could have saved you a trip if you’d called first. I have a West Coast conference call in five minutes. Can this wait until tomorrow?”

  Instead of sitting down in one of the “chairs as torture devices” in front of the desk—no doubt a power play out of Allison’s playbook—Carter moved across the room and stood with his back to the window.

  “No. I want to talk about what happened at the board meeting. Did you know what Morgan was planning?” He narrowed his eyes and studied his cousin’s face, preparing to gauge the truthfulness of his response.

  Edworth’s gaze flickered and he fiddled with a pen lying on his desk. “Not the specifics.”

  Not a lie. But not the entire truth, either. This wasn’t good. It meant he couldn’t be sure of Edworth’s loyalty. If he didn’t have his cousin’s vote, blocking this merger would become a hell of a lot harder. “But you knew he was up to something. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why would I? I had no reason to think you would care.”

  “RichCorp is a family business. And I’m a member of this family.”

  “Then where have you been?” Edworth asked, raising his voice. “You’ve been gone for years, Carter. Years.”

  He tightened his jaw. Why did everyone insist on bringing that up? He couldn’t change the decisions he’d made in the past. He could only do better from this point on. “I’m here now,” he said, focusing on his words coming out calm and measured.

  “To do what?”

  “I’d like to fix this problem.” If you’d stop busting my balls and help me.

  “In your absence and neglect, RichCorp has managed to thrive. We don’t need you to come in and fix anything. Step up and do your duty or go back to DC. We don’t have time for dabblers.”

  “What about your duty?” Carter asked, his hands tightening to fists at his side. “When the board expressed concern over lack of leadership, why didn’t you step up and take charge?”

  “And that’s what you judge me on? The fact that I didn’t raise my hand?”

  “You’re a Richardson. You’ve worked here for years. You had to know that running RichCorp might be your endgame.”

  “So you were listening?”

  “It wasn’t my listening, so much as having the information shoveled in. When I was younger, not one of my visits here passed without someone reminding me that when Great-great-grandfather Duke started RichCorp to provide for his wife and children he decreed a Richardson would always be at the helm of the company.”

  “We cleared three quarters of a billion dollars last year. Providing for the family isn’t a problem anymore,” Edworth said, his tone tart.

  “Maybe we’ve been that successful because of how we do things. Nothing’s broken that a merger would fix.”

  “You just got here. How would you know what’s broken or not?”

  “That’s why I’m here, talking to you. Do you believe a merger is in the best interests of RichCorp?”

  Seconds passed and unease slithered down Carter’s spine. A negative response should have been instantaneous.

  “The board is the supreme governing body of this company,” Edworth began. “We set operational goals, prepare the annual budget, and oversee the performance of all our executives. It’s a huge responsibility and it’s been extremely difficult to fulfill since Dorothy’s diagnosis forced her to step down as chairman. With no known replacement, members of the board are worried, confused, and scared. Sometimes, the idea of a known entity, which would come with a merger, is better than the unknown.”

  “You’re a known entity.”

  Edworth shook his head. “But I don’t want to run RichCorp.”

  Frustration burst from him, like the cork from a bottle of champagne. “Who cares what you want?” he said, flinging his arms wide. “This is about what the family needs.”

  “Isn’t that rich?” Edworth laughed. “Neither you nor your father ever concerned yourself with what the family needed. You did what you wanted and to hell with the consequences.”

  “That’s bullshit.” Carter charged forward and faced Edworth across his desk. “You’re a grown man. No one can force you to do anything you don’t want to do. If you wanted to leave, you could have walked out anytime.”

  Edworth shot out of his chair. “Like you did?”

  “Like I did,” Carter confirmed. “You may regret the outcome now, but your inaction was as much a choice as my action.”

  “Then I’m making another choice. Let’s see how much you buy into the Richardson family bedtime story.”

  Adrenaline raged inside of Carter. “Dammit, what does that mean? Are you voting for the merger or against it?”

  His cousin stared at him. “That all depends on you and if you meant what you said at the meeting.”

  Blackmail.

  Edworth may not have used that word, but it amounted to the same thing. Come home and take over the company or he’ll vote for the merger.

  Carter still hadn’t wrapped his mind around the conversation with his cousin when he sat down for his Skype meeting with Marcus the following afternoon. On the monitor, Marcus sat in his office, the prestigious, sun-speckled vista of the US Capitol and the Washington Monument displayed behind him.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  Marcus shrugged. “No biggie. You just have fifty-two minutes instead of sixty.”

  Carter raised his brows. “You’re putting a time limit on our meeting?”

  “I’m flying out to the West Coast tonight. I promised Pamela I’d come home before I left.”

  Carter opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He shook his head. “It’s strange getting used to the Marcus Pearson who lets a woman dictate his schedule.”

  “Not just any woman,” Marcus said. “My wife.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you? That she’s changed you? That you’re doing things you don’t want to do?”

  “I hope I’ve changed. Loving her makes me a better man.” Marcus rubbed his chin. “What’s up? How’s your aunt?”

  Carter squinted his eyes. “She’s doing okay. We’re concentrating on keeping her calm in anticipation of the clinical trial in September.”

  “What trial?”

  Carter leaned back in his chair and sighed. “There’s a trial outside of Boston studying mind-body interventions and its effect on the growth of cancer cells. It isn’t a cure, but her doctor said it could prolong her life. Part of the preparation requires us to keep her as stress-free as possible.”

  “Prolong her life? For how long?”

  “No one knows.” The heat of tears pressed behind his eyes, and he looked away from the monitor, blinking rapidly.

  “Your aunt has run RichCorp for almost twenty years, right?”

  “Yeah.” He inhaled a huge gulp of air and released it in a loud huff.

  Marcus leaned forward and clasped his hands together on his desk. His eyes blazed through the screen, piercing through Carter’s grief. “Running a corporation is the antithesis of calm. What will RichCorp do? What’s the contingency plan? What are you going to do?” This last was asked in a voice filled with compassion.

  His chest tightened. “Are you trying to get rid of me? I thought you were happy with my performance?”

  “I am. PE is a success because of your hard work and loyalty. But I always knew the day would come when you could no longer deny your duty to your family.”

  Marcus’s mother had be
en wronged when he was younger and he’d spent years seeking to avenge her. If anyone understood the things a man would do in the name of familial duty, it was Marcus. But Carter wasn’t on a quest for revenge. He’d made a life for himself in DC and with PE. Why was it so wrong that he didn’t want to give that up?

  “I don’t care about the family business. I’m here for Aunt Dorothy. I don’t want to run RichCorp.” At this rate, he should have the words tattooed across his forehead.

  “Is there someone else on the board of directors who can step in for your aunt?”

  “They can all manage the day-to-day operations. But that’s a short-term solution.”

  “Don’t you have an uncle or something?”

  “My father’s cousin, Edworth.” Carter’s lip curled. “He doesn’t want the job, even though he’s worked here for years.”

  “What happens if there are no Richardsons to run the company?”

  “My great-great-grandfather turns over in his grave?” Carter’s laugh held no humor. “The board will have to appoint someone. Unfortunately, the guy creaming for the job is a total asshole who’s proposing a merger with a company who would take us public.”

  “I’m assuming by your tone that you’re opposed to that idea?”

  “Fuck, yeah.” He shoveled his fingers through his hair. “I was so pissed I…uh…I told the board I’d do it.”

  Marcus’s mouth dropped open then snapped shut. “I thought you didn’t care about the family business?” he finally asked.

  “I don’t. But the thought of someone trying to steal it in such a cowardly, backhanded manner and when my aunt wasn’t there… Something came over me and the words were out before I knew what was happening.”

  “You running RichCorp,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “That’s something I never thought you’d say.”

  Carter grinned, amazed he could find humor in this twisted situation. “Want to hear another one?”

  “Go for it.”

  “I’m engaged.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  “Yes and no. I took a page from your book.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”