The Deal

by Holly Hart

  “The sooner she’ll, I don’t know...sit up on her own.”

  “Not in the next two hours, she won’t.”

  Sofia gets fretful when she hears the front door. Somehow, she’s already connected that sound with Stella being out of reach. I tickle her, but she’s in her angry kitten mode, all bitey and violent. That’s going to suck in a few months.

  “Want to watch Mommy on TV?”

  Sofia kicks me hard.

  “C’mon. Let’s go in.” I queue up the DVR to last night’s show and fast-forward through the boring parts.

  And now...Countess BeeBee’s New York minute!

  “See? There she is!” I point at Stella’s image, all made up and glittery, dripping with costume jewelry.

  Well, today, New York City’s a bit New York Sh...oops! Can’t say that on TV! But a ruptured sewer line caused quite a stink at Ghislaine Broussard’s landmark gallery opening, ironically titled...oh, dear—Movement. Well, Ghislaine, the tide of public opinion is in, and it’s a steaming river of poo.

  “Hear that, Sofia? Poo.”

  Sofia reaches for the TV, tiny hands flailing.

  In more hygienic news, this rat’s found his own private shower. Too bad it’s in Rose and Rita’s Kitchen, over on Ninth! Ladies, unless that’s Ratatouille... Invest in a Cat-atouille.

  The camera cuts to a clip of an exceptionally fat rat darting in and out of a stream of water dribbling from a leaky faucet.

  “Can you say rat?”

  Sofia says blah. Good enough.

  Finally, in fashion triumphs and tragedies, what is the Mayor wearing? Is that—is that a persimmon? One of those special garbage bags, just for leaves? Donald Trump’s tanning towel? Darlings, this orange offence constitutes the highest of tragedies. Better luck next time, sir. I’m Countess BeeBee, and this has been your New York minute! Till next time!

  Stella waves and smiles, and the news logo expands to cover her face. She acts embarrassed, but I can tell when she’s having fun. This job suits her, for now: gives her all the time she needs to be a mother. And to finish her book—think it’s nearly done. I never did stop sneaking peeks.

  In my lap, Sofia starts fussing again. I rewind the video: one more time won’t hurt. After that, a bath and a story, just in time for Stella to take over. Whatever Starkey might think, this is working. Stella’s happy; Sofia’s thriving. As they should be.

  If I can do this right, maybe the rest can be forgiven.

  Part II

  The Baby Race

  On your marks, Get... Pregnant?

  My evil twin brother Evan has been behind bars for years, while I’ve made billions running the family firm. I figured the company was legally mine, so I enjoyed the perks. All of them...

  Next on that list is Caitlin. She's everything I need in a woman: just the right kind of curvy, a hint of pluckable innocence... and an @ss that drives my c*ck wild. I can barely restrain myself around her - and I don't plan to...

  But that fantasy comes to a crashing halt when I find out that Evan is getting paroled – and that he’s found a loophole in our father’s will. The first twin to have a legitimate child inherits the entire company.

  I don’t have a wife, and sure as hell don’t have a kid… Suddenly everything I've built is at stake. Unless two can play at this baby game...

  Now I need to find a girl, put a ring on her finger - and knock her up! Should be a piece of (wedding) cake, right? It's not like I need to fall in love - just put a baby in her oven.

  It sounds easy, but it isn't. Because Caitlin is special: the missing piece I didn't know my heart needed. She's the One.

  The race is on. First to the delivery room wins...

  But Evan hates coming last.

  And Caitlin is in his way.

  57

  Jeremy

  Denver, Colorado

  I stop a few feet from the massive Caldwell Building and tip my head back, taking a moment to admire the magnificent glass and steel building that serves as the headquarters for the massive business.

  A familiar thrill quivers through me. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been the man in charge of this place for the past six years. Or that at the time, taking over the place was the last thing I wanted to do. Today, knowing what I’ve accomplished, how many lives I’ve changed for the better since moving into the president’s office on the top floor sends a thrill through me.

  It doesn’t matter that my brother, Evan, was the one who was groomed to take over the family business. He’d been given all the tools needed to take over from my father, leaving me free to pursue other interests, but he’d screwed up. His actions forced me to take over the reins of the company, and it was only then that I’d learned the truth about my twin brother.

  A vision of his smug, laughing face, so very much like my own, floats to the forefront of my mind and I instinctively recoil. Five and a half years have passed since the last time I saw him, and I’d be perfectly happy to live out the rest of my days without ever seeing him again. Life is easier without him. Better, too.

  I shove the unwelcome image away. It’s too pretty a day to waste on thoughts of my brother. He’s done enough to destroy my life, and so many others, too. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let him taint anything else.

  Squaring my shoulders, I let myself into the building. It’s already alive with people, each with their minds already full of the things they need to get done today. Most notice me and greet me with a friendly smile and a quiet greeting. I respond to each hello without breaking my stride until I reach the elevator door.

  I poke the call button and the doors slide open after a few seconds’ wait. I step inside and slap my hand across the opening, holding the door for a young woman I’ve never seen before.

  “Thanks,” she says, offering me a small, rather shy smile before pressing her back to the opposite wall, standing as far from me as she possibly can. Her grip on the smartphone she’s holding tightens, causing the narrow bones in her hand to press against her pale skin.

  Probably a new employee. One that doesn’t want to make a bad impression – and just as importantly, one who didn’t plan on finding herself stuck in a small space with her boss.

  I lean a shoulder against the elevator wall as the doors glide closed.

  “Which floor?” I don’t have to consciously think about keeping my tone low and gentle. It’s an instinctive response to the waves of tension rolling off the slender woman.

  She jumps. Her head snaps up and she stares at me with bright green eyes that, even though I’m positive I’ve never seen this woman before in my life, seem somehow familiar.

  “What?” she squeaks.

  I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent a smile and wave my hand at the control panel before me. “Which floor,” I repeat, “do you need?”

  I wonder if I hadn’t asked if she would simply have stood in that corner and ridden the elevator with me all the way to the top, and not said a word. If she would have waited until I stepped off the elevator before finally selecting a floor…

  “Um.” She looks at her phone. “The forty-ninth floor.”

  “Nice.” I tap the corresponding button. “One floor below me. Looks like we get to ride together.”

  She murmurs something inaudible and stares at some point on the wall like it’s the most amazing thing she’s seen in her entire life.

  Amused, I cross my arms over my chest and study her, not bothering to disguise my curiosity.

  She didn’t know what floor she wanted, meaning one of a few things: she’s either here for a meeting, or this is her first day or … I pause for thought. The floor directly beneath my penthouse office consists of primarily human resource offices. While it’s possible that she works in that department, I’m willing to bet a week’s pay that she’s actually here for an interview.

  She’s tall, just a couple inches shorter than me. While she’s a few pounds heavier than the current fashion, I like the way the curve of her hip fills out the
skirt of her budget hunter-green suit that is far more conservative than anything the women I know wear. Her long, auburn hair is swept back into a low ponytail that shows off her high cheekbones. Not a classic beauty, but pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. More than pretty, actually. Stirring, somehow.

  She seems older than she looks, as well. I’d bet she can’t be more than a few years younger than my own thirty-five – but she looks a decade better for it. I reassure myself that I’m aging gracefully. I hope it’s true…

  As the elevator hurtles upwards, I run through a mental checklist of what I know about her. Pretty. Nervous. Quiet. Clothes that are cheap but clean and actually drape nicely on her. My gaze drops down to her hands. No rings, so not married or engaged.

  Good.

  That last thought startles me, forcing me to look a little deeper at my observations.

  Not being the kind of guy to downplay or hide from the obvious, I’ll admit it. I’m attracted to her. Really attracted. Attracted enough that I might need to do something about it. I’m not a man who likes missing out on adventure.

  My mind plays out a little fantasy of me crossing to the opposite side of the elevator and pinning her to the wall, immobilizing her with my body as my lips lay claim to hers.

  As her knees turn to butter, I’ll slide that cheap paisley-patterned scarf she’s wearing from around her neck and use it to bind her hands to the rail as she moans into my mouth. My hands will bunch in the fabric of her shirt, grabbing large fistfuls of it and pulling, make the buttons scatter as I shove it down her arms until her bound wrists stop me.

  I’ll lower my head, taking the peak of one full breast deeply into my mouth. Her cries will fill the small elevator as she bucks and thrusts herself against me.

  Beneath my feet, the elevator glides to a halt. A small bell chimes just a second before the doors slide open.

  I jerk myself out of the fantasy and shift my weight, trying to find an angle that will disguise the fact that my cock is now tenting the front of my pants. A cough dies in my throat, and I glance around, wondering whether I’ve been caught.

  I needn’t have bothered. The redhead scurries out of the elevator without casting a single glance in my direction.

  “Nice meeting you – and good luck,” I call out as the elevator doors start sliding shut.

  The woman gives no indication she’s heard me. Probably because that would mean acknowledging my presence, something she seems desperate to avoid at all costs.

  I blow out a heavy breath and focus all my attention to trying to regain some control over my body. What the hell just happened? I haven’t had a reaction like this to the mere presence of a woman, especially one dressed so conservatively and just as clearly uninterested in me, since I was a teenager. And while this fantasy may have been brief, it was definitely more intense than any other fantasy I can remember.

  Ever.

  If the elevator ride had lasted just a few seconds more, I might have crossed the elevator and attempted to turn fantasy into reality.

  Obviously, it’s been too long since I was last with a woman. Especially a woman like that. Hell, I don’t even know what it is about her that’s got me so…invigorated. Just a glimpse at this girl makes me feel like a horny teen all over again…

  The elevator dings its arrival at the top floor and I step out, still feeling flushed and aroused.

  I dig my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my contacts, searching for the name of the supermodel I had dinner with … four months ago. At the time, she’d made it abundantly clear that she was very interested in turning our little business dinner into something … less formal. I was too busy to take advantage of her offer, but maybe the next time she’s in town I should.

  “Hey, boss.”

  Ben Dern, my head of security, pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot my personal assistant always keeps hot. “How was that business trip to Brazil?”

  “It went about how I expected.” I stop beside him and grab a cup for myself. “A few hiccups, just like always, but I closed the deal and made the company a tidy profit.”

  “I should have gone with you,” Ben grumbles. “Rio is full of all sorts of crazies.”

  I roll my eyes. A former Navy SEAL, Ben’s a great bodyguard. His only flaw is that he’s a bit too committed. He finds it nearly impossible to separate himself from the job and feels that he needs to personally handle every single security issue that comes up.

  “Dillon and Chase kept me safe and sound.” I clap a free hand to his shoulder. “Besides, it was your little girl’s birthday. You needed to be here for that.”

  “Three is hardly a milestone birthday.” Ben’s expression doesn’t change, but now there’s more than a hint of warmth in his tone. He dotes on his little girl.

  “I bet Becky wouldn’t agree with you.” I glance at my PA’s empty desk chair. “Speaking of people who don’t agree with others, where’s Janet?”

  It’s not like my super-efficient, often cantankerous secretary to not be at her desk, already hard at work when I walk into the office.

  “She ran downstairs. Said something about a meeting with somebody in human resources. She didn’t give me any details and I sure wasn’t about to ask.”

  Under most circumstances, the fact that Ben, a wide-shouldered former Navy SEAL who is diligent about staying in shape, is scared to death, completely intimidated by Janet, who is barely five foot two in the kitten heels she loves to wear – and who weighs maybe a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, would be funny. But since I also don’t dare take a step out of line when it comes to my uber-efficent, super organized, blunt speaking PA, I’m not in a position to say anything one way or another.

  “Wish I could have gone with her,” I mutter, my thoughts returning to the pretty redhead as I turn and let myself into my own office.

  “What?” Ben asks, following close at my heels.

  “Oh, nothing. Just trying to get back into the swing of things.” The office door clicks closed behind us. My hip bumps against the side of my phone as I sit on the corner of my desk and face Ben. “Did anything happen while I was gone that I need to deal with?”

  “Not really.” Ben consults his phone, looking at the notes he’s made. “I hired two new guys for the second shift detail. Both ex-military, both have excellent references. If they’re half as good as I think they are, it won’t take them long to start advancing. I took a look at the Pasadena branch and I think it’s time you and I talk about setting up a new security system there. The one they’ve got is outdated.”

  I nod. None of this is anything I need to worry about.

  “Antony Lopez is the head of security for the company I just bought in Brazil. He seems like a good man,” I tell Ben. “He’s supposed to touch base with you today and tomorrow and fill you in on the current security details there. I’ll leave it up to you to decide how to handle it.”

  “Okay, boss,” Ben says. “But there’s one more thing. It’s about your brother.”

  The muscles in my stomach tighten. My heart stops for a second, only to start beating twice as fast. “What about him?”

  “I got a call from the Colorado Department of Corrections two days ago.” Ben hesitates and my tension grows. Ben isn’t the kind of guy to sugarcoat anything, no matter how bad the news is.

  “And?”

  “Apparently there’s an overcrowding probl-”

  My office door springs open, slams against the wall, and nearly rebounds into the pockmarked face of the man who shoved it.

  “Mr. Caldwell, I need to speak to you right now.”

  58

  Jeremy

  In one smooth motion, moving so quickly it is nearly impossible to believe he was standing, facing me and completely relaxed when the door started opening, Ben spins around, bends his knee into a fighting stance, and whips his Glock out of his hip holster. His finger lays alongside the trigger as he points the barrel at the intruder’s right shoulder.

  “Who t
he hell are you?” Ben demands, his icy tone sending chills racing up my spine. “And what the hell do you want?”

  The blood drains out of the face of the middle-aged, slightly overweight man. He slowly extends his hands above his head. Sweat beads on his temples.

  “I’m … I’m…” The man closes his eyes and swallows hard. Staring down the barrel of a gun that’s in the hands of a former soldier who’s not afraid to use it is too much for him. He’s forgotten his own name.

  Worried that he’ll have a heart attack if something doesn’t quickly change, I slide off the desk and put myself between my head of security and the interloper.

  “Back off, Ben,” I murmur before turning my attention to the man standing half in and half out of my office. He’s starting to pant. There’s something about him that tickles the back of my brain. I know this guy. I just have to figure out how, and that should lead me to his name.

  Folding my mouth into my brightest, most welcoming smile, I cross the room and clap a hand on his thick shoulder. “Please.” I nudge him toward my desk. “Take a seat and catch your breath. Then you can tell me why you need to see me.”

  As the man settles his bulk into the chair, I make my way around the desk, casting a glance over my shoulder at Ben. He hasn’t returned the gun to its holster, but at least he’s lowered it, holding it so that it’s pointed toward the ground.

  I roll my eyes before settling into my own chair and meeting the stranger’s eyes across the desk. Just like that, the memory of how I know him bounces to the forefront of my brain. I can’t recall his name, but at least I understand the connection we share.