by Kira Blakely
I managed to sleep again, trying to regain my equilibrium. I rolled out of the bed and even though I was still dizzy, I showered to wake myself up. I was still wearing the sleepshirt and it gave me the creeps so I looked into the closet and realized it was Brayden’s. I found a t-shirt and slid it on over my jeans. Somehow my purse was in the room; I imagined that Brayden had grabbed it on his way to get me off his property. I slipped downstairs and out into the pre-dawn air. Staff was carrying cleaning equipment in and out of the ballroom, and I vaguely remembered Brayden mentioning a charity event. I was supposed to have been there. Oh, well.
There were taxis waiting for guests who had stayed over to leave. I convinced one to take me to the garages where my car was kept. I found a restaurant and had a long breakfast, trying to shake off the remaining effects of the drug. After stop at the bank and then a moderate shopping spree to get clothes and some luggage, I had a plan. Soon, I was on my way north, to Cleveland. There was plenty of cash in my purse and I had the credit cards and checks Brayden had given me. Let him think of it as my fee for sleeping with him. He wanted me to be a whore? No problem. It was probably what I did best.
Chapter 24
Brayden
There were advantages to owning your own jet. You didn’t have to wait in line for tickets, for take-off and you didn’t have to stop for a layover in New York. We touched down at Charles De Galle just as the sun was rising. I went directly to the terminal where Collin’s plane would land.
I watched him come through the gate with Meghan tripping along behind him. They still needed to go through Customs, so I had to time this well. I tailed them like the wolf on my shoulder.
They finally emerged onto the concourse, bound for the exit. I came up behind them and was about to grab Meghan’s hand when someone seized me from behind.
I tried to turn but burly arms held me back. There was a man with sunglasses on either side of me and their expressions were not welcoming. I tried to calmly shake loose, but they weren’t having it. I couldn’t afford to alert the security—I would lose track of Meghan.
It was too late. I turned back. Collin was pulling her into a taxi and I’d lost them. The arms let go then and I was left standing alone and watching the taxi pull away.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
All that, only to lose them a finger’s breadth away. I was re-strategizing and the only way to go was forward. I claimed a taxi and ordered it to take me to a hotel. The only thing I could do was wait.
I was in my room, my gut churning from the tension. My cell buzzed.
“That was close, bro,” he said, snickering. “Lucky for me I had a few friends backing me up.”
“What do you want?” I wasn’t wasting any more time.
There was a hesitation on the line. “It’s not me, it’s them.”
“Damn you, Collin! That’s what I figured. You couldn’t take the golden offer I made you and just disappear? You had to get Meghan involved? You dirty fucker!”
“Sorry, but it’s a me-or-her situation, bro.”
“How deep are you in?”
“Deep.”
“What do they want?”
“You’re not going to like it, bro.”
“How much?!”
“Utopia.”
“What? Are you fucking kidding me? How the hell did you let it go that far, Collin? You’ve always been selfish and stupid, for the record. Now you’ve brought in an innocent child and lost something that didn’t even belong to you.”
“What’s the answer, bro? They’re in a hurry.”
I had no options but I knew the priority. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could jeopardize Meghan’s health. “Take it. But so help me God, if I ever see you again, you’re dead. Bring her back to the airport and I’ll sign the papers.”
“See you there in three hours.”
The line went dead, and I barely made the bathroom before I puked. I laid on the bed, my stomach churning and tried to rationalize any way out of it. I was out of options. It didn’t have anything to do with Utopia. I didn’t need it and had even considered selling it now that Harper was in my life. I sure as hell didn’t need any money. I just… wanted… out.
Three hours later, I was signing a document that cost me a lifetime’s work and I didn’t blink an eye. Meghan and I were back on my jet and in the air in under a half hour. I called Harper from the jet, but she didn’t answer. My next call was the front desk, who reported they’d seen her leave just before dawn. I was trying not to panic, but I put in a call to one of my contacts at the Miami police department and gave them a description of her car. A few hours later, we landed. They’d found her and were holding her, so we diverted to Cleveland.
Chapter 25
Harper
For the first six hundred miles, I berated myself for having gotten involved with Brayden. The next six hundred miles were sad and lonely feeling. I was on the outskirts of Cleveland when the flashing red lights behind me demanded I pull over. I was exhausted and might have been weaving as I drove.
“May I see your license and registration, please?”
“Was I speeding?”
“Your license and registration, ma’am?”
I handed them over.
“Please exit the car, Miss. Face the car and put your hands on the roof.”
“What? What for? What did I do?”
“This vehicle has been reported as stolen, and you’re being charged with car theft and transporting stolen goods over several state lines.”
The bastard!
I’d never been in a jail cell before, and certainly not on the inside. There were two other women in the holding cell and neither one wanted anything to do with me. I was scared and panicking, hoping I could start up a conversation and figure out what to do next. Aren’t I allowed a phone call or something?
They called my name and an officer unlocked the door, pulling me out by the arm before he slammed it shut. I was escorted through a couple of locked doors and then my cuffs were removed. Someone handed me my purse and a paper to sign. I didn’t care what it said, I just wanted out.
There was a man waiting in the front area. “I’m Brayden’s attorney. Just follow me,” he said bluntly, and I had no choice but to do exactly as he told me. We drove to a small airport, and he motioned for me to precede him up the steps of a small, private jet. Inside, I found Brayden.
“Harper?” he called, coming to take me in his arms.
I fought him off. “Get away from me, you bastard! Who do you think you are?”
“I’m the man who loves you.”
“Yeah, right. I saw how much you loved me when you left me unconscious on a bed and went carousing again.”
He was shaking his head. “No, you’re not understanding. You don’t know what happened, Harper. Look, sit down and buckle in. Let me explain, if I can even remember it all. It’s been a helluva couple of days.”
I sat as requested and he buckled me in, but I wasn’t giving in that easily. “Where is Collin?” I wanted to know where my enemy was.
“I can’t give you a definite location, but he’s somewhere in France.” He went on to tell me all that had transpired from the moment I’d awakened to find Collin straddling me.
“Is Meghan okay?” I asked quickly.
He nodded. “She’s pretty confused and I know she will suffer some trauma from all this. She isn’t sure who is who, but I have plans to fix all that.”
“What kind of plans?”
“I want you to marry me, Harper. You know you love me, and I love you. I want us to take Meghan and move. Somewhere, anywhere, I don’t care. You can build your website business, and I will sit nearby adoring you. Will you marry me, Harper?”
Here was the man who literally had occupied my dreams from high school and he wanted me to marry him. It was everything I’d ever wanted and thought I would never get.
I nodded. “Yes.”
Epilogue
Harper
I became Mrs. Br
ayden Campbell just two weeks later. Meghan was my maid of honor and Stephanie my only bridesmaid. We were married on Vermillion Key, at sunset, and I wore a crimson gown that blended with the sunset behind us. The hundred or so guests dined on lobster and caviar, magnums of champagne and we made the society pages as the hottest ticket in the wedding schedule. We had a certain operatic tenor sing “Ave Maria” and Mrs. Sims and Captain Bob sat in the front row as the groom’s family.
My least favorite guest, Ripley, pressed a fat envelope into my hand and then turned to Brayden and asked if there was any chance he could buy Utopia.
“It’s not mine to sell, Ripley, but I happen to know the guys who own it. They really aren’t very good in the hospitality business, so I think if you make them a really good offer, they’ll probably take it.”
“Really?” he replied, unable to believe his timing and good luck.
“Sure thing,” Brayden said, patting him on the back. “Tell you what. Check in at the front desk and ask to speak to the new owners. In fact, tell them I sent you.”
Ripley drifted away, his dreams of grandeur already filling his head.
“That was mean, Bray,” I told him, “but his just dessert.”
Brayden laughed and hugged Meghan.
I asked, “Do you think Collin will ever show up again?”
Brayden shook his head. “Not if his life depended on it, and it probably does. Anyway, who cares what he does. This family is moving to California, and we’re going to build another house on another ocean. I thought we might let Meghan name this one. What do you say, Megs?”
“Sure, but you have to promise that I get a car like Harper’s as soon as I get my license. That will be my fee for getting you two together.”
We both looked at her.
“Well, you sure did a lousy job of it on your own. Somebody had to pull this thing together,” she said, making a joke of the entire kidnapping adventure. I thought she had a great sense of humor and a healthy perspective of what she’d been through.
“And you, Mrs. Campbell?” Brayden turned to me. “Will you love me forever?”
“Only if I get a new car, too. Mine is still sitting in that police impound lot in Ohio.”
“You shall have whatever you like, my sweetheart. As long as I have you.”
I want to say a special thank you for being a loyal reader. This book is dedicated to you! People probably always say this, but thank you, I love you, seriously. I’ve included my latest best-selling novel, Play Thing, A Billionaire romance, 266 pages. Enjoy!
Play Thing
*Amazon Top 40 Best-seller, 4.6 stars, 330 reviews!*
One look, and I was fucked!
My jackass of a business rival agreed to help fund my newest venture... but only if I can make a woman truly fall in love with me.
Women are toys in my billionaire dollar world, and I have no time for love.
Regardless, my new assistant, Abigail, is the perfect candidate.
It should be easy. A sweet word here. A caress there.
At least, I think it will be... until I see her coming down the stairs dressed like a goddess. Who knew she was hiding such perfect curves and such confidence.
Sure I want to sleep with her, but I didn't plan on actually falling in love.
If she finds out our relationship is based on a wager, it could ruin us and my business.
Well, fuck business.
Deal or no deal, her ass is mine.
I want my cake... and her.
And I'm going to eat them both!
Chapter 1
Abby
What will my new boss be like?
The question runs through my head as I drive to Harrison, twenty-five miles out from bustling Manhattan, my fingers tapping the steering wheel to the rhythm of “Seasons of Love” from Rent drifting from my four-year-old speakers at almost full volume.
Given the light traffic, I should get to Mr. Herbert’s address in less than fifteen minutes. Already, the sky-rise buildings are far behind me and the less imposing trees taking their place to give me a better view of blue skies and windswept clouds. I’m early, and that’s how I like to be. Better to have enough time to floss and clean my keyboard than to run late and risk leaving an important document behind. Or worse: go to work without brushing my teeth.
But what if Mr. Herbert doesn’t like me appearing ahead of schedule?
I try to remember what I’ve learned about him on the Internet.
Grant Ainsworth Herbert, aged thirty-one. American father; long deceased. British mother; died of cancer a year ago. Born in New York. Raised in his grandparents’ home in London. Went to MIT. Got his MBA from Oxford four years ago.
Well, there was nothing to indicate punctuality or a dislike for it. There wasn’t a lot of information regarding his preferences, in fact, except for one – women.
Grant Herbert likes women – a lot.
I even read that he slept with the British ambassador’s ex-wife and an actress, whose engagement to the lead singer of a band was called off as a result.
Are the rumors true? I don’t know. I don’t believe everything I read. But if they are, no problem. Thanks to my former employer, Nathan Landers, I’m an expert at dealing with egotistical playboys. Let them play, and don’t get in their way. And if Grant Herbert tries to make a move on me? I’ll leave my palm print on his cheek. Boss or no boss, I don’t take shit from any man.
Not that I’m expecting Mr. Herbert to make any move on me, of course. Based on what I’ve read, he goes after either the stunning ones or the wealthy ones. I’m neither. I’m plain, which is exactly how I choose to be. And while I have a bit saved up in my bank account thanks to Mr. Landers’ generosity, I’m by no means a millionaire. Well, I plan to be, but right now, I’m just an ordinary, hard-working glorified secretary.
So, no problem.
Unless…
I glance at the penny-sized face of my silver watch. What if I’m too early and he’s still in bed because he was with a woman all night? I don’t want to catch him in a bad mood.
Hmm. I lower the volume of the music so I can hear myself think.
Should I call ahead? No. Waking him up will put me in an even worse spot. Should I turn back? Stop my car at the side of the road and waste an hour?
In the end, I decide to just go to Mr. Herbert’s house as planned. If he’s asleep, then I’ll simply wait in the living room. And if I wake him up? Well, it’s his fault for asking me to come to his house. But just in case he’s grumpy, I’ll get him coffee.
I decide to make a quick stop at the next coffee shop I pass by and have an internal struggle over the type of coffee my new boss might prefer… or even if he prefers coffee at all. He is half-British, after all. Regardless, I head to the address feeling a little more confident. Some of that confidence evaporates, however, when I find myself in front of a huge, black, cast iron gate.
It looks just like the one in The Sound of Music . And, with a lump forming in my throat, I feel like Maria did when she first saw it.
How could Maria sing at a time like this?
A man appears behind the gate. Late forties by my estimate. Tall. Crew cut. Dimpled chin. Huge biceps. Ex-military or ex-con? I’m not sure. But right now, he sure makes an intimidating guard.
As I get out of my car and walk up to the gate, I wonder if Mr. Herbert has a bodyguard as well. Mr. Landers didn’t have one. Does this mean Mr. Herbert is richer? I read that he’s supposed to be descended from nobility. Or maybe he’s just more defenseless. Mr. Landers used to be in the military, after all, so he’s perfectly capable of defending himself.
Still, I’m not sure Mr. Landers can stand up to this guy.
“I’m Abigail Gomez,” I inform him, handing over the driver’s license from my purse. “Mr. Herbert’s expecting me.”
He looks at my ID then at me. Then he stares at my ID again.
I take a step forward, frowning. “Is something wrong?”
He touches his
chin as a puzzled look spreads across his face. “Good question.”
Huh? I’m sure I look exactly like my picture on my license so that can’t be the problem. What then? Does he think I’m not like the women his boss usually expects? Well, I’m sorry if my nose isn’t sharp enough or my cheekbones aren’t well-defined, but I didn’t realize those were in the job qualifications.
“Look. I’m not here to sleep with Mr. Herbert, all right? I’m his personal assistant.”
“I see.”
“If he’s still asleep, I can wait…”
“Oh, he’s awake.” The man gives me back my ID. “You said he’s expecting you?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Then I guess it’s all right.”
“Thanks.”
Mumbling, he walks away. I can’t hear the words so I just go back to my car. Seconds later, the gate opens and I enter.
The guard gives me a salute – yup, he’s probably a veteran. Then as I drive away, I get a glimpse of him smiling from my side view mirror.
No, not a smile. A grin. So he finds me amusing, does he?
As for me, I’m more than amused as I drive up to the house. I’m in awe.
The front lawn is immaculate, dotted by large trees hedged by trimmed shrubs. There’s a fountain on one side and a gazebo on the other, both elegantly carved out of marble. And the house? Its stone façade and tiled roof make it seem like a remnant of a bygone age, but it’s by no means on the verge of collapse. Not even close. In fact, there isn’t a single vine crawling in between the French windows, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it lasted a hundred more years.
A grand mansion.
I’m beginning to think my new boss has class, in which case I’m glad I got the most expensive cappuccino blend. It’s either class or he’s just a snob.
Well, I’ll find out soon enough.
I park my silver Toyota Camry behind the red Ford Escape in the driveway, turn off the engine, and glance at the rearview mirror where my anxious black eyes stare back at me. I close them as I take a deep breath.