The plantation-style house loomed in front of him, its doorbell seeming to take on larger-than-life proportions. He steeled himself and rang the bell. It chimed out a short passage from The Sound of Music, Taralynn’s favorite movie.
Chester, the Clarke family butler, answered the call promptly. “Master Tyler,” he greeted. His voiced dripped with a proper British accent that would have seemed more appropriate for a white-haired gentleman than a young, Sylvester Stallone look-alike. “So good to see you again, Sir. I’ll tell Miss Clarke you are here.” He paused and winked at Preston. “Incidentally, Miss Chambers, whom you were kind enough to fix me up with, turned out to be a bloody wildcat.”
Chester left then, his footsteps echoing on the polished-marble floor. Preston chuckled. He liked Chester. The guy wasn’t half as stiff as he made out to be.
Seconds later, Taralynn appeared at the door. “Preston, sweetie.” She sounded like she’d just had the proverbial spoonful of sugar. “You are so sweet to show up and help me interview the applicants for our kitchen staff position. You know how stressful getting good help can be.”
His gut tightened. Obviously, she’d read nothing into his breaking their last date and telling her they needed to talk. And clearly, dear old dad had done nothing to discourage her interest in him either. She was, of course, impeccably dressed in a lime green, silk dress with a small strand of pearls. And her straight, shoulder-length blonde hair had been twisted up into some sort of bun. He stared directly into her pale blue eyes, holding firmly to his intention of keeping the situation under his control. “I didn’t come here to help you interview kitchen help. I’m only here because I think, even in this day of e-mails, faxes and text messages, a break-up should still be done in person.”
Taralynn stood speechless for a full second. Her face, a frozen Kodak moment showcasing the look of stunned. “You cannot possibly be serious,” she finally stammered. “My parents already have us getting married. They’ve been expecting to see a ring on my finger for weeks.”
Despite his meeting with her father, he still couldn’t believe it. “We’ve only been dating for two months!”
Her bottom lip trembled. He thought for a moment she was going to cry, something he dreaded even more than one of her temper tantrums, because then he would feel sorry for her, and she’d know it, and she’d use his regret to try and guilt him out of calling off their relationship. But the moment was fleeting, and her emotionless gaze reclaimed its place on her face.
“Two months is more than long enough to realize how much sense our marriage makes,” she said. “And my parents find our match-up to make perfect sense.”
Certainly Andy did, he thought bitterly, but why had Taralynn jumped on the marriage bandwagon so quickly? Was she serious? Had she and Andy been talking? “Taralynn, your parents can think whatever they want, but we are not getting married.”
“Well!” The calm veneer left her face like a broken pane of glass and she turned a dozen shades of red. Then came the trembling lip again, and she summoned a single tear to her eye. “I don’t understand you,” she said. “With all I have to offer, how could you treat me so coldly?”
Worry nagged at Preston. Just as her father had, she’d brought up marriage, and he tried to figure out now whether Andy had tried to threaten him into a wedding because that’s what his daughter wanted, or if Taralynn suddenly wanted their union to help out her father. Either way, he was starting to feel like a fish on a hook. “I’m sorry, Taralynn,” he said gently. “I don’t mean to be cold. I just want you to understand clearly that we are not a couple.”
Then he held his breath. He watched her hands curl into fists at her sides as she tensed herself, frowning and gritting her teeth before she opened her mouth.
“You owe me an explanation,” she said hotly. “For the past two months you have led me to believe we were developing a relationship. You can’t just walk up to me out of the blue and say it’s over.”
Yes. He could. “I don’t know where you got the idea we were developing a serious relationship. We’ve dated. That’s all. I never told you I loved you. I never even told you I wanted us to be exclusive, or that I wanted us to move beyond the dating stage. I can count the number of times I’ve seen you since the senator’s fund raiser on my fingers, and have a few to spare. I would not call that developing a relationship.”
She clenched her jaw, crossing her arms over her chest. “We only saw each other so infrequently because that’s all your schedule would allow.”
“That’s all my schedule would allow because I wasn’t interested in making any more time than that.” He didn’t like the way this was going. He was beginning to envy the breed of man whose lack of courtesy would allow him to simply break up by text. He glanced at his Mercedes, waiting like the cavalry in her driveway. “Taralynn, I do not love you, and I do not want to spend the rest of my life living with you. We are not getting married.”
She grabbed hold of his arm. “We’re talking about marriage here. Not love. And as for living with me, how do you know you wouldn’t like it? You haven’t even tried it yet.”
“Nor do I intend to.” He pried her fingers off of him and pulled away. Walked, even though he wanted like hell to run.
“Preston, you come back here. I’m not finished discussing this with you. Preston! You’re going to regret this. I swear!”
He ignored her screams and hopped into his car, turning the key in the ignition until he heard the motor rev loud enough to drown out whatever she yelled next. Then he peeled off down the driveway, squealing his tires a bit as he left. And while he should feel relieved the break up was over, he had a sinking feeling he hadn’t heard the last of the Clarkes.
Chapter 6
J. Anderson Clarke wasted no time in striking. Preston sat at his breakfast table, the day’s edition of The Wall Street Journal placed in front of him. According to the headlines, Clarke Industries had announced late last night they would be making a tender offer for Ty-Ken Communications. His company. Details in the morning paper stated J. Anderson Clarke, Andy as he was known to the press, had already engaged a law firm that was busy preparing an offer for the stockholders. Stock in Ty-Ken Communications had zoomed from 98 ¾ to 115 ¼ a share.
Preston threw the paper across the room. The man was the business equivalent of a great white shark. He wondered now if Andy Clarke had been behind Taralynn’s first phone call suggesting they go out, using his daughter as bait to lure in a big-business catch. He wouldn’t put anything past that man.
He should have seen this coming. Right from the first night he’d arrived at the Clarke home to pick up Taralynn, and Andy had insisted he stay and have a drink. Talk about how much their businesses had in common. Andy Clarke’s reputation for growing his own business by buying up others was well-known. There was nothing he loved better than a takeover. Welcome, hostile or otherwise. And if a marriage didn’t present an opportunity to make a welcome grab for Ty-Ken, then he’d go the hostile route.
Preston crossed the stone floor of his breakfast nook and retrieved the paper from where it had landed on the floor. Now was no time to let emotions take control. At least one good thing had come out of this mess; he now had an excuse to go and see Maggie again.
Chapter 7
Andy Clarke had been listening to his daughter, his only legitimate child, whine for the past two hours. And his headache had reached maximum warp. Damn, but he was going to kill Preston Tyler for causing him this grief. “Marianne!” He shouted for his wife. “I really think our daughter needs a woman to talk to at a time like this.”
“Daddy!” Taralynn scolded him, sounding thoroughly indignant. “You make it sound as if you don’t care about my problems. And besides, Mother went shopping. She isn’t here for me to talk to anyway.”
“Of course not.” He wished he’d thought of going shopping. “Now, angel.” He tried to sound patient and conciliatory. “You know no one on earth cares more about your problems than I do. You don’
t think I would go to all the time and trouble of engaging in a hostile takeover of Preston’s company if I didn’t care about you, do you?”
“Of course you would, Daddy. You love that sort of thing, and we both know it. Especially when the cash flow is good. But you were going to do that anyway, and everyone knows it. Besides, your sort of revenge takes too much time. I need revenge now. I need something that will make Preston feel my wrath right away.”
“Kitten, I’m sure he does -”
“Daddy! Please don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to you.”
Andy hoped his wife got home soon, because he swore he was on the verge of telling Taralynn to shut up. He was going to kill Tyler for getting her going.
“Anyway,” she continued. “What I also want to do is to get some negative publicity going on all of the Ty-Ken principals, including that bitch Maggie McKenzie.”
“Maggie McKenzie?” Christ, women didn’t make any sense to him at all. “What the hell has she got to do with this?”
“She’s what’s keeping Preston from making a commitment to me. And I’m going to make her pay for that.”
“Preston’s involved with Maggie again?” When had that happened? That could throw a monkey wrench into his whole plan.
“No, Daddy. But he still loves her. That’s why he won’t marry me.”
“He told you that?’
“He didn’t have to. You can’t even mention that woman’s name around him without him telling you to drop it. And you sure as hell can’t say even one teensy, tiny thing about her without the man having a cow and telling you what a great person she really is.”
“I see.” He wondered now if there was any way he could use this information against Preston. Best to keep his eyes and ears open.
“So you agree then,” Taralynn offered presumptively. “We should attack Maggie also.”
Andy shook his head. “I don’t think attacking Maggie is a very wise move right now.”
“Of course it is, Daddy.” She pinched her lips together. “Preston would have actually married her, if she hadn’t gone running off to buy that ridiculous bar. And anyway, Preston’s secretary told me he went down to Key West this afternoon. So we really have no choice in the matter. Both Preston’s and Maggie’s characters have to be impeached. And the only way to really do that is to get the press involved.”
Andy’s headache was now a full-blown migraine. God, he wished Taralynn would shut up. God, he was going to kill Preston. If Maggie was joining the fray on Preston’s side, however, she’d just signed her own death warrant. “Taralynn, honey, just do whatever you think best,” he said. “I’ll leave the details up to you.”
“Oh thank you, Daddy.” She ran over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you so much for having faith in me.”
Chapter 8
It was late morning in Key West, and Preston was only now getting around to breakfast, though he’d barely slept a wink. Traffic moved slowly in the congested, narrow streets of the island’s downtown. It filled the morning air with the sound of honking horns, gunning engines and the smell of exhaust fumes, only partially-dispersed in the saltwater breeze coming off the ocean.
The day was mild, free of the mugginess Preston remembered from his previous visit here. He sat outside, on the patio of the restaurant, over-looking clothing boutiques, craft shops and a local saloon or two. One thing Key West didn’t lack was liquid refreshment.
Damn Maggie anyhow. He did hate it here. Throngs of tourists from two recently anchored cruise ships jammed the streets. The place was crowded, noisy and at least twenty light years away from the sleepy fishing island Hemingway once enjoyed. Worst of all, it was inconvenient as hell for conducting business. He couldn’t believe Maggie chose to live here when she could just as easily live in Miami or Palm Beach.
Exactly, he reminded himself. This was exactly why they could never really be happy together. She was right about that. They wanted different things from life. Saw the world in different ways. If not for the way she made his brains and his heart turn to mush every time he looked at her, left him with those nagging doubts in the back of his mind that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for their happily-ever-after, he would have walked away from the relationship when she did. That was the real reason he’d never followed her when she left for Key West, and stayed away all this time. Too much time spent with her and she’d have him turned inside out. He’d probably never read Business Insider News or Fortune again. He’d turn into the kind of person who would simply let Andy Clarke takeover his company while he laid out on a yacht somewhere soaking up the sun. And then he’d trade in all of his business suits for polo shirts and Bermuda shorts. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even recognize himself anymore. He’d wake up one morning, look in the mirror and wonder what the pod person who’d stolen his body had done with the real Preston. That scared the shit out of him. A man needed his identity. No doubt about it. So why did he find the prospect of living with her so goddamn tempting?
Slamming brakes and a honking horn interrupted his thoughts just in time for him to see Rod making his way to the table.
“Preston, buddy. Good to see you’re not letting this shit with the company get to you. And no reason you should, either. I’ve got everything completely under control.”
Rod Skinner took himself seriously. At thirty-two, he’d already been made a junior partner at the top law firm in Miami, pulled in six figures a year and knew every angle of the law, and how to work it. He was as bald as Yul Brynner and had dark eyes women liked to call ‘exotic’ or ‘mysterious.’ Unlike Preston, he’d grown up poor, and was obsessed with buying his way into polite society. Preston couldn’t help but admire the way the man could fix whatever problem might crop up.
“Sit down,” he said. “I’ll get the waitress over here and you can get some food. The hash browns and bacon are done crispy here, and the coffee’s brewed strong enough to start the heart of a dead man.”
Rod laughed and took the seat opposite him, then tilted up his black-tinted sunglasses. Rod thought the sunglasses made him look cool, but Preston thought they just made him look like a Secret Service agent. Ever the attorney, he laid his briefcase on the table. “I have drafts of our Complaint and Resolutions for the Board ready for your review. Hey, is Maggie going to be joining us? You did say she was going to be my next client, didn’t you?”
Rod’s eagerness to get near Maggie was anything but comforting. It’d be a cold day in hell before Preston let him get his hands on her. “Not exactly. What I said was she would be supporting our efforts on behalf of the corporation. Not that she would personally require your services.”
Rod smirked. “Come on now. It’s been a few years since you went out with her. Surely you wouldn’t mind if I tried my hand at it.”
He minded. “Don’t waste your time. You’re even less Maggie’s type than I am.”
Rod leaned into his chair and put his sunglasses back on. “I think you’re jealous, my man. You’re afraid she might actually like me, aren’t you?”
If there was one thing Rod hated, it was taking a blow to his ego. Preston shrugged, feigning indifference. “If you want to ask Maggie out, go ahead. I’m just letting you know in advance she’s going to say no.” That ought to stop him.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to find that out for myself. You underestimate my powers of persuasion with the opposite sex. All a woman needs to do is get near me and her mind instantly turns to sex. I have some powerful animal magnetism, man, and you know it. You’ve seen how many women I’ve gotten into bed with me. And I intend to turn it up a notch for the lovely Miss McKenzie.”
Really? “That’s fine, but you’ll have to do it some other time. Maggie’s not joining us for breakfast.”
“Thanks, Preston. You could have told me that to begin with.”
“And miss out on hearing how you intend to charm my ex?”
“Oh come on. You’re not really going to be upset if Maggie goes out wit
h me, are you?”
Did strangling your lawyer fall under the heading of attorney-client privilege? No, better to let the man have his shot. One blow to his ego would undoubtedly be enough to squelch any further ideas Rod had in that area. And it would be a blow. The day Maggie actually went out with someone like Rod would be the day he willingly turned himself over to the pod people. “You want to ask Maggie out, go ahead. But she’s going to turn you down so flat you’re going to feel like a pancake when she’s done.”
Rod winked. “You don’t know me when I want something, Preston. Especially a woman. Maggie will be mine.”
In your dreams. He was tired of the irrelevant bickering, however. Better to just drop it. “Why don’t I just tell you what Elise Chambers told me the other night?”
“Elise Chambers?” Rod started laughing. “You did her last night? Man, I did her two weeks ago myself. That woman is something else, don’t you think? She has that Kama Sutra manual memorized cold.”
“I did not do her” he snapped. “We had coffee. I’ve no intention of challenging your title as bedroom conquistador. What she told me, however, is important.”
Rod pulled his sunglasses back up to his head and raised an eyebrow. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, buddy. What did she say?”
“She said Andy Clarke’s been spending late nights with a teen-age temptress, her eighteen-year-old niece who lives next door to him.”
“Whew!” Rod whistled. “Can’t help but admire that man. Fifty-five years old and banging an eighteen-year-old. Now there’s a role model for us all.”
“You can have him.” Preston had always figured his own father, who’d managed both a successful marriage and career, was all the role model he needed. But he understood why Rod, who’d grown up without a father, was always looking for one.
GRATIFICATION (Desire Never Dies) Page 3