The Deal

by Holly Hart

  “You’re married to Lydia …” I pause, waiting for the last name of the charismatic woman who makes up part of the company’s legal team to come to me. “Halpert? Right? We met at the company party last summer.”

  Since taking over the company from my brother, I’ve made a point of meeting the spouses of my employees during company events. It just seems like the kind of thing an employer should do.

  The man across from me nods. “We got married nine months ago. I’m Harvey.”

  Across the room, Ben relaxes slightly. The connection makes the man seem a bit less like a security threat.

  “Has something happened to her? Is that why you’re here?” I ask.

  “No.” The man shakes his head and takes a deep breath. He seems to be relaxing a bit. “She’s fine.”

  “Then why are you here?” I press, working hard to keep my tone as mild as possible.

  “I’m a lawyer.” He says it plainly, like the words explain his sudden appearance in my office. They don’t.

  “Okay? Are you interested in working for me, Harvey?”

  “No.” Harvey shakes his head. “Well, yes, working for you would be great. Lydia is always going on and on about how she’s never worked for a better company. But I’m not interested in making a career change, at least not yet.”

  I rest my elbows on my desk and steeple my fingers while I wait for him to continue.

  “I work for the state, providing legal advice for inmates in the Colorado prison system.”

  A tight knot forms in my stomach. I glance up at Ben, who frowns and edges closer.

  “And?” I force the word out, despite the fact that every single instinct tells me I’m going to hate what he’s about to tell me.

  “I know your brother. Well, I don’t know him; obviously he can afford a top notch legal team and doesn’t bother with state-provided lawyers like myself. But I do know who he is, and I—Please don’t tell anyone I’m telling you this. The Bar Association could revoke my license if they find out. The last time I was at the prison, I overheard part of a conversation he had with one of his lawyers.”

  “Go on.” This is like passing a bad wreck on the highway: as much as I don’t want to hear what he’s going to tell me, I can’t help myself from pressing him on.

  “It has to do with the ownership of the company,” Harvey explains.

  “I own forty-nine percent and Evan owns forty-nine percent.”

  My father, who passed a few weeks after Evan was arrested, kept hold of the rest. I never found out what happened to the missing shares of the company. At the time of his death, I was doing everything in my power to undo a great deal of the damage my brother had done to the company and didn’t have time to pay attention to the terms of the will. I’ve always assumed he gave it to one of his nieces or nephews and figured that the accounting department made sure whoever it was got their share of the yearly profit.

  “Based on what I overheard, your father decided that whichever of you gets married and has a child first will be the one who gets the share certificates.”

  I blink. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. “You’re kidding.”

  “That’s what I heard,” Harvey says, “but you’ll want to check it out for yourself.”

  “I will,” I say.

  “I don’t know what the big deal is,” Ben suddenly says, startling both Harvey and myself. We’ve forgotten we aren’t the only ones in the room. “Evan is in prison and if I remember correctly, he still has a few years before he’s up for parole, so he won’t be getting married anytime soon, much less fathering a child.”

  Harvey shakes his head. “I’m not so sure about that. The prisons are really overcrowded and the state’s taking drastic measures. They’re keeping it pretty quiet, but at the end of the month, they’re going to let some prisoners go early. It’s my understanding that since he’s been locked up, Evan has been a model prisoner, and, between that and his connections, he’s going to be one of the first ones turned loose.”

  Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse.

  “Shit,” Ben hisses under his breath, giving voice to my exact thoughts.

  My eyes meet Harvey’s. “Why did you come here to tell me about this?” I’m not sure what lawyers are and aren’t allowed to do with information they overhear, but there’s no doubt in my mind that by coming to me, Harvey is taking a big risk with his career. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure it doesn’t come back to bite him in the butt.

  “Lydia told me how things used to be when your brother ran this place. I’d do anything for her, including taking steps to make sure that she continues to enjoy the same happy and safe work environment she tells me you provide.”

  Harvey’s expression is sober, but his tone is firm. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is a man who is head over heels in love with his wife and is more than happy to lay it all on the line for her. I wonder what that feels like, how that changes a man.

  “Thank you.” I stand and extend my arm across the desk, grasping Harvey’s hand and shaking it. “I won’t forget what you’ve done for me.”

  “If you have any questions, or need anything at all from me, don’t hesitate to ask.” Harvey pushes himself to his feet and pats his pockets before nodding at a piece of paper on my desk. “May I?”

  Reading the direction of his thoughts, I grab a pen and pass it to him. “Of course.”

  He scribbles his name and cell phone number on the paper and passes it to me. “Give me a call any time of the day or night and I’ll do anything I can.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur.

  “Thank you for hearing me out,” Harvey says with a small smile. He turns to leave, hesitating when his gaze lands on Ben. “And thank you for not shooting me.”

  Ben grins. He might be a big, tough guy, but he also has a pretty good sense of humor. “Knowing I can still scare guys is thanks enough. Take care.”

  I wait until the door swings closed behind Harvey before meeting Ben’s eyes. “What the hell am I going to do?”

  59

  Evan

  Colorado State Prison

  The cell is small, dark, and depressing. The only things in the tiny space are a thin, narrow mattress and a stainless-steel toilet. Solitary confinement cells aren’t meant to be cheerful or distracting; they’re designed to give the prisoner nothing to do but think about their actions and decide that they’ll never do such a damn-fool thing again.

  They’re also the perfect place when you need to hold a little meeting that you don’t want many people to know about…

  I tip my head back and study the cameras in the corners. Normally, when a prisoner is tossed into this boring little space, the cameras are turned on and a guard is assigned to watch the feed, making sure the prisoner doesn’t try to off himself. Officially, I’m not supposed to be in here. I bribed a guard to let me in, so the cameras shouldn’t be on, but I have no way of knowing if that’s true. And, to be completely honest, I don’t give a rat’s ass one way or another. It won’t be my reputation that’s destroyed if someone finds out what I’m about to do in this place.

  Most people think getting thrown into prison is the worst possible thing that could happen to them. My father did, and there’s no doubt in my mind that my twin brother Jeremy, with his high moral standards and oh-so-charmed existence, believes it, but that’s not true. Getting my ass tossed into prison has been the best possible thing that could have ever happened to me.

  Spending the past six years stuck in a small, boring cell where my every move is monitored, analyzed, and considered, taught me to really plan for the future and to consider things from every possible angle. My time as a guest of the state has cooled my hot temper, turning me into a guy who doesn’t make a single move without first weighing every possible angle and coming up with the best plan. My time in here has taught me the value of patience, good planning, and helped me make some connections.

  I’ve also learned how valuable and motiv
ating fear is.

  When I finally walk out of this place, I fully intend to put every single one of those lessons to good use. The world won’t know what hit it.

  Catcalls catch my attention. There’s only one thing that gets my fellow prisoners that worked up. A woman on the floor.

  I cross my arms over my chest and wait. Over the past six years I’ve gotten very good at waiting.

  A hesitant knock comes from the other side of the door.

  “Come,” I call out.

  It takes a long time for the handle to turn. I imagine the inner battle raging through the person on the other side and grin. I’m sure they think they’re between a rock and a hard place, but I know better. They may think they have a choice, but they don’t. I hold all the cards.

  Finally, the door swings open, revealing the woman on the other side.

  Her eyes meet mine. She blanches but still walks farther into the cell and quietly closes the door behind her.

  With just a little effort, she’d be beautiful. But between the unflattering light, the few extra pounds she’s carrying, and the dark half moons rimming the underside of her eyes, she won’t turn any heads. But I don’t care. In fact, her current state of exhaustion works in my favor.

  “Sheila, you’re late,” I say without breaking eye contact.

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice is completely devoid of emotion. “I was caught up with a prisoner.”

  In two strides, I cross the room and pin her against the closed door. I trap her chin between my fingers. “I refuse to come second to any other man, do you understand?”

  She nods as much as my grip allows. “Yes.”

  I hold her in position a second longer before backing away. “Good. Did you bring the contract?”

  She pulls a thin piece of paper out of her pocket, but instead of handing it to me, she clutches it to her chest.

  My eyes narrow. “I hope you’re not having second thoughts.” I can’t force her into signing the contract, and if she backs out, there are other women who will take her place, but finding one that has the right personality, the right look, and is in the right set of bad circumstances takes time, and right now, that’s time I’m not willing to spend. I want to get this project underway – and I want it underway today.

  “I … I just think … isn’t there another way?” Her voice trembles and her dark green eyes gleam with unshed tears. “This all seems so … I don’t know, Victorian.”

  “Another way?” I bite out the words. “Haven’t you had enough time to find another way? Your son needs medical care, care you aren’t in a position to provide him, and certainly not without spending money you don’t have on either better health insurance or medical treatments.”

  “But—” Sheila starts to protest.

  “I have the money you need to ensure that your brat gets the help he needs.” I reach out a hand, placing it on her lower belly and squeezing. “And you have something I need.” She flinches and tries to squirm away from my touch, but the door again blocks her retreat. “Now give me the damn contract.”

  She hands the paper to me. I unfold it and read through the bullet points. The terms are harsh, but they’re clear and – there’s nothing illegal in it. Not really. Once we’ve signed it, the only way she’ll be able to back out is by paying a huge personal price.

  I hold out a hand. “Pen.”

  She digs one out of her pocket and slaps it into my palm. I spread the paper out on the door, holding it just an inch from her ear as I sign on the dotted line.

  “Your turn.”

  I step back enough for her to turn and sign the paper. Her signature’s shaky, but it’s legit. I take the paper and return her pen. “As soon as we’re done here, I’ll get this to my lawyer and he’ll file it.”

  She nods.

  I glance at the thin cot and smile. “Might as well make yourself comfortable.”

  She follows the direction of my gaze, translates the meaning of my words, and grows even paler. “Here?” she squeaks. “Now?”

  “Is there any reason we shouldn’t?”

  She rolls my words over in her mind. “I thought you’d want, I don’t know, tests.”

  I shrug. “What’s the point? You’ve already proven you’re fertile. That’s the only thing I care about. Remember – you don’t have to do this, Sheila. It’s a choice.”

  “But, what about—” she stammers.

  “The sooner we start, the sooner you’ll fulfill the terms of the contract,” I point out, perfectly reasonably – to me anyway. The parole board might not see it the same way – but a little cash in the right palms should grease that door as well. “So what do you say?”

  Sheila’s shoulders sag. “Okay,” she squeaks. “I’m ready.”

  She crosses the short distance to the cot and lays down on it. She removes her panties and reaches her hand up under her skirt, preparing herself for me.

  Grinning, I shuck my prison-issue pants before joining her on the cot. I shove her skirt up, bunching it around her waist, taking a moment to admire the sight of her hand between her thighs, before I nudge it away, making room for me.

  I enter her in one long thrust, realizing as I slide into her pussy that it’s been six long years since I’ve had anything but my own fist around my cock.

  The heat drives me mad and I lose all control of myself, slamming into her repeatedly, the force of my blows nearly driving her off the end of the cot. Her arms wind around my shoulders, hanging on as I continue to thrust.

  A few seconds later, I spill my seed into her and collapse. I bury my face in the crook of her neck as I wait for my blood pressure to lower. We lie like that for several seconds, saying nothing. Each of us lost in our own thoughts.

  A knock sounds on the door. “Mr. Conway?” The voice belongs to the guard I bribed to let us use this particular cell. “Time’s up.”

  Sheila squirms out from beneath me. She moves to the tiny bathroom portion of the cell and uses some toilet paper to clean herself up, angling her body away from me as she does so.

  Moving at a more leisurely pace. I tug the prison pants back on and fasten them.

  A second knock sounds, summoning me. I move toward the door, but pause before opening it, glancing over my shoulder, watching as she steps back into her panties. "I guess I'll be seeing you this time tomorrow for a repeat performance.”

  Sheila’s eyes widen, and she stumbles. “Tomorrow? Shouldn’t we wait? This might have been enough. I can take a test, have a doctor run one. Then we can …”

  I shake my head and grin. “No, Sheila, I don’t want to wait for any test results. I’m just getting warmed up.”

  60

  Jeremy

  “Thanks, Conrad. I appreciate you explaining the situation to me.” I disconnect the call and throw my cell phone onto the desk.

  “Well?” Ben says. “What did your dad’s lawyer say?”

  “Pretty much the same thing Harvey said, just with more legal mumbo jumbo. Right now, Evan and I have an equal interest in the company, which would make things challenging if he weren’t in prison right now, and the remaining share has been set aside for my father’s first grandkid, who has to be born within the bounds of wedlock. The will says it, just like that. Wedlock.”

  “Why in the world did your father set things up like that?”

  “He had his reasons.” Ben’s a close friend, but I’m not willing to share them. Hearing Conrad discuss what my father was thinking in his final weeks stung. I rub my right hand across the front of my chest, trying to ease some of the hurt that is lodged there.

  A soft knock is the only warning before the door to my office swings open. This time it’s my PA, Janet, who walks across the threshold.

  She pushes the door shut and angles a pointed gaze at me. “Well, now, you’ve gone and landed yourself into a fine pickle, haven’t you? Just how do you plan on fixing it?”

  Ben and I blink at her. “How do you know about what happened?”

  Janet ro
lls her eyes before crossing the room. She jabs at my desktop landline phone with a plum colored fingernail. “See this little red light right here? It means the intercom is on. When that happens I hear every word that is said in this office.”

  Shit. Now that she’s pointed it out, it’s hard to believe I didn’t notice that the intercom was on this entire time. “Damn it,” I swear. “I must have bumped the button when I moved the phone.”

  “Obviously,” Janet says in her trademark no-nonsense voice. She crosses her arms and floats a brow. “And since you didn’t bother shutting it off, I heard nearly every single word that was said in this office, which means you don’t have to explain it to me. So, I repeat, what do you intend to do to get yourself, and much more importantly, this company out of this particular mess?”

  I drag a hand through my hair. My mind races, sorting through my various options. I’ve worked too hard to repair all the damage my brother did during the few short years he was the head of Caldwell Industries to sit back and watch him do it all over again.

  “Even if Harvey is right and Evan is released early, it’s going to take time to adjust to the real world again and even longer to find a woman interested enough in him to ignore the fact that he’s an ex-con,” Ben says.

  Janet snorts. “Evan Caldwell is a first-class twat, but he’s also a great looking man who can be a real charmer when he wants to be. It’s only after he has what he wants that he shows his true colors. Plus, he’s rich. You mark my words, he’ll have four or five women cozied up to him and ready to give him an heir as soon as their bodies can manage the feat within a week of getting out of prison. Probably sooner.”

  “Plus,” I add, “he already has a plan. I know he does; I just don’t know what it is.”

  “Okay.” Ben crosses his arms over his massive chest. “So he won’t have trouble finding a broodmare.”

  “God, I wish my dad hadn’t insisted that the baby had to be born within wedlock. If he hadn’t, I could hire a surrogate and have a baby before the start of the next year.”