The Misters: Books 1-5 Box Set

by JA Huss

  Liam sighs. And shakes his head.

  “What?” I ask, getting a bad feeling.

  Then people are talking in the lobby. The conference room door is open, so this bit of bustle knocks us out of the conversation and refocuses our attention to the new arrival.

  “What the fuck?” I say, as Victoria Arias starts walking towards the conference room, her smile so big she might have a canary in there. “What’s she doing here?”

  Liam shrugs. And when Tori comes in, greeting him loudly as she reaches for his hand, I think that old bastard actually blushes.

  Not that I blame him. Victoria Arias is strikingly beautiful. Tall, and curvy, and… and… the definition of sexual with her low-cut imperial purple power blouse that accents her incredible violet eyes and contrasts them with her raven-dark hair.

  “Liam,” she reaches out for him with both hands, then waits for him to come to her so she can lean in and give him fake European kisses on the cheek. And that fucking accent comes through. One word. She’s uttered one word and everything about it is exotic and dangerous. My eyes drop to her legs. Which are fucking long. And bare, since she’s wearing this tiny black skirt that says, Lift me up and see what’s waiting for you.

  Jesus Christ. Get it together, Weston.

  “Oh, Weston,” Tori says, her attention on me. “I had no idea you would be here.”

  She’s using that accent on purpose. That bitch comes from Brooklyn. I know. I know everything about her. Including just exactly how long those legs are and how she can bend like a pretzel during sex.

  I know because I dated her on and off for six years after all that shit went down with the cops.

  But I’ve made a point to stay far, far away from her for a long time now. Long time.

  She’s fucking wild. And not in a cute way, either. She’s wild in a dangerous way. She took me down using one of her fancy jujitsu moves when I didn’t remember our third anniversary.

  Bitch. That’s what she is.

  But I smile and say, “Tori. How nice to see you again.”

  “Victoria,” she corrects me. “No one calls me Tori, West.”

  “Weston,” I say. “People do call me West, but you’re not one of them.”

  “Ah,” Liam says, smiling and waving for us to take a seat at the conference table. We both do, Victoria angling herself in her chair as she crosses those damn legs, rubbing her calves together, like she’s getting herself off. “You two go back a long way, right?”

  “Yes,” Victoria says.

  “Yup,” I reply. “But what’s this about, Liam? We have a deal. It’s a retainer. It’s always a retainer.”

  “Look, Weston,” Liam says. “We’re in a pickle here, OK? The board has spoken. And they’re not sure you can pull this off. It’s not easy to get Wallace Arlington’s attention.”

  We both look over at Tori, who has no trouble getting anyone’s attention. “Won’t be a problem for me,” she says, unbuttoning the top button of her silk blouse and tossing her hair.

  Liam blushes like a teenager.

  What the fuck is happening? “Are you giving this contract to her?”

  “No, no, no,” Liam says. “It’s a contingency. You remember those, right, Weston? Headhunters go after the same position and the best one wins.”

  “I remember them, barely,” I add. “Since it’s been eight years since I took one on. And you know damn well,” I say, squinting my eyes at him, “that we’ve never had that kind of arrangement.”

  “I don’t normally do them either,” Tori says, distracting Liam from the hidden meaning of my words. That fucking Argentinian accent. She’s doing it on purpose. She knows it drives me crazy. “But…” She stops to give Liam a long seductive gaze. “I was asked to come and compete. Isn’t that right, Liam?”

  What the fuck is happening. My mind spins. Like actually spins as I run every possible reason why this could be happening. “Liam.” I sigh, trying to sound unaffected and bored. “Look. I know Wallace is a difficult target. But we go way back. We were in boarding school together. We even went to Brown together. He’s gonna listen to me.”

  “We also went to Brown together, Liam. And you might not know this, but—” Tori cups her hand to her mouth, like she’s about to whisper a secret in Liam’s ear, and says, “He has a thing for me. Has had one for years. In fact, Wallace and West used to fight over me all the time.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s not true. You had no interest in him.”

  “But I have interest in him now, Mr. Conrad.”

  “Mr. Conrad? Really?”

  “Anyway,” Tori says, shaking her hair again, “I can have him in my little pocket and wrap this up by Monday. I assure you, Liam. I promise, I can deliver the goods on this job.”

  Liam claps his hands together and gives them a rub for good measure. “OK, I’m sold. The first one back with a signed offer gets the deal. Have fun, kids.”

  Victoria gets to her feet and kisses him on the cheek again.

  I get up as well, a little flustered at how this retainer was just stolen from me by my traitorous ex-girlfriend, and shake his hand. “I’ll be back with the contract on Sunday.”

  “Good! Good!” Liam says. “Pick up your packets at the front desk and we’ll see you next week.”

  Victoria smiles as he walks away. She’s smiling the whole time… until he disappears into another part of the office. And then she turns her venom to me.

  “Stay out of my way, Mr. Corporate. I will take you down, boy. Down.”

  I grab her by the arm before she can finish her dramatic escape and lean down into her ear. “Miss Arias. It’s spectacular to see you again. I’ve missed you. So much.”

  She slaps me in the face before the last word is out of my mouth. “No funny business, Weston. I’m not that innocent girl you knew in college.”

  “Innocent,” I bark, then laugh. “Innocent? Shit, Tori. You came out of the womb armed and dangerous. You’ve never been innocent.”

  “I won’t fall for you again. Ever. Do you understand me?” She’s pointing her periwinkle-blue nail up into my face as she says this, and I have an urge to slap her hand away.

  Control, Weston. Control. She’s pushing all your buttons.

  “I was just being friendly,” I say. “I can handle a little competition. Especially from you.”

  “What’s that mean? Don’t think I won’t do everything in my power to get this retainer, West. I will. I’m hungry.” She licks her lips seductively and blows me a kiss. “Very, very hungry for this job. And hunger will win over complacence every time. You’re complacent, Weston. You think you own the world. You’ve always thought you’ve owned the world. Well, now it’s my turn. Stay out of my way.”

  And then she spins on the most ridiculously high stiletto heel I’ve ever seen and walks off.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I’m pissed off and turned on at the same time. That fucking slap, man. She knows it drives me crazy when she’s wild. Crazy.

  And the whole time she’s chatting with the receptionist as she gathers her packet up, I stare at her perfectly round ass and those long, long legs.

  Stay focused, Weston.

  I pretend to take a call while Tori finishes up, then make my way to the reception desk to pick up my packet.

  I know she won’t win this little contest. I have inside information. I have a friend in the spying business and by the end of the day I’ll know exactly where to find Wallace Arlington tomorrow—the perfect opportunity to get him alone and get this shit finished before the weekend even starts.

  I picture the phone call to Tori once that’s done. I rehearse my lines in my mind as I take the elevator back down to the valet and get in my car.

  I’m not going down. She is.

  Victoria Arias will regret fucking up this job for me.

  I’m going to make sure of it.

  Chapter Three - Victoria

  Weston Conrad. Such an amateur.

  I have to smile
as I track his car through downtown Miami. What does he take me for? And how stupid can he be? That tip yesterday might be the reason I’m here right now, but my intuition and tenacity are what will get me across the finish line first.

  He weaves his way through traffic and crosses the Port Miami Causeway. What is he doing? Where is he going? I have a hunch he knows exactly where to find Wallace Arlington. He had that cocky scowl on his face up in the office. I am very familiar with that look. He used it on me often back when we were dating and we were fighting for control.

  “Tori,” he’d say. Or if he was really pissed he’d call me Victoria. “Victoria,” he’d say. “Don’t play me, honey. I know all your tricks and more.”

  But he never counted on me taking notes of all his tricks.

  I did. I know them all. Hell, I helped come up with most of them. And I know that look he gave me was confidence.

  He pulls into a parking garage next to a cruise ship terminal and I follow. If he’s checking the rearview mirror, I didn’t notice. So he hasn’t made me yet. Probably too wrapped up in his own ego to even consider me a threat.

  I’m a threat, baby. Just watch out.

  We wind our way up the garage levels until there are plenty of open parking spots, and then he goes left and I continue up one more level and park in the first space I find.

  I jump out and take off at a jog, even though my heels are high enough to break an ankle. He’s just disappearing into the connecting building when I catch sight of him again.

  It’s an entrance to a Cuban cafe.

  I stop at the door, catch my breath, and shake my hair.

  Can you feel me, West? Because here I come.

  I pull the door open and walk into a hazy restaurant filled with men in suits.

  This must be the good ol’ boys club. I should’ve figured. Weston has good ol’ boy written all over him. Old money with even older attitudes about women. He was always trying to protect me. Tell me to do things for my own good. It was patronizing and borderline sexist. I hated it.

  But when every head near the front bar turns to look at me, I let it go. I’m used to the attention of men. It’s not my fault I was born looking this way. I tried my best to be a tomboy all growing up. I just don’t have the body for it. So when I hit puberty and my aunt told me to play up my best assets instead of hiding them behind big shorts and loose pants, I took her advice.

  Maybe it’s cheating, maybe it’s not. But here I am, fifteen years later, still in the game, still scoring points, and still letting everyone think I’m a stupid bimbo.

  A beautiful woman couldn’t possibly be ruthless.

  That’s what I like them to think.

  But I am ruthless. In every way that counts. And I know Weston Conrad is in this restaurant somewhere with the answer to every problem I have.

  All I need to do to get those answers is show up.

  I smile at a table of gentlemen wearing casual suits as they stop their business and stare, but keep my eye on the prize.

  Which is missing at the moment.

  Where did he go?

  Ah. There’s the bastard now.

  West slips behind a scarlet curtain on the side of the restaurant that faces the water and I follow.

  A few other people go through as well and they are all greeted by name.

  Hmmm. What is going on behind that curtain?

  “Excuse me?” I say to the host standing guard. He’s wearing a different kind of uniform from the rest of the servers. They are all in black pants and white shirts. But this man wears a suit with a red tie and matching red pocket square. “May I go through and look for my husband?”

  I realize too late that I have no wedding band on my finger to shore up the lie, and even as I’m thinking about being turned away, my heart has a little ache in it.

  “Are you on the guest list?” he asks, smiling, even though he knows perfectly well I am not or I wouldn’t be asking for permission.

  “No, but my husband is.” I have my left hand behind my back so he can’t notice I have no ring.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the host says. “It’s invitation only. What’s his name? I’ll see if I can find him.”

  My eyes dart to another part of the restaurant and I say, “Oh, there he is! Never mind, thank you.” And I slip away, hoping I didn’t draw too much attention to myself.

  Shit. I know West is in there getting info. Hell, Wallace might even be there. If he is, I’ve lost.

  Think, Victoria. Think.

  I go outside onto the patio where people are eating and drinking underneath large canvas umbrellas, and walk along until I reach the end. There’s a kitchen door propped open, so I look over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching, then open it up and go inside.

  There’s commotion and bustle as cooks and servers do their thing, but I raise up my head and walk through like I own the place. Everyone glances twice, but that’s because I’m a beautiful woman. Not because they feel like stopping me.

  Where was that back room? I bet they have an entrance from the kitchen.

  I spy a server with the same red pocket square as the host, and follow them down a hallway and through a swinging door. On one side of the hallway are restrooms, the open kind that have a curvy wall made out of stone and not the kind with a door. On the other side is another door.

  “Please don’t let this lead to the front,” I mutter, ducking into the women’s restroom when the door starts to swing open again. I turn around as soon as I get around the corner of the marble wall and head right back into the hallway, smiling at the server carrying a tray as I let him pass towards the kitchen. I push open the door he came through and smile.

  OK. I’m in. Everyone in here has that same uniform on. So this is the private area where Weston is surely meeting some contact.

  I scan the room, which is partitioned off with hand-painted folding screens depicting scenes of Cuba, but come up with no Weston Conrad.

  Dammit. Where is he?

  I’m just about to give up when I hear his familiar laugh.

  He’s on the other side of a screen. And even though there are at least fifty diners in here, now that I know he’s here, I can’t miss him. That arrogant voice carries through the screen and across the room. I find myself leaning in to try to hear what he’s saying. And in another moment, my feet are traveling that direction.

  His voice grows louder as I approach, unseen because of the screen, and I take a seat at a table that has been recently vacated.

  I look around for a server, but they are all busy.

  I look down at the table setting and realize this is some kind of event. A party or some luncheon for a club. So I relax and concentrate on Weston’s words.

  Chapter Four - Weston

  “OK,” I say, barely managing to contain my bad mood through the whole Mr. Mysterious act Paxton puts on. “What do you have for me?” I don’t know why Pax always has to fill me in on his life these days. But he does. It’s always something with this guy. These jobs he takes. I can’t stand it. I liked him so much better when he ignored me. But ever since that whole thing with Mr. Romantic went down he’s been over-sharing like a motherfucker. It’s way too much TMI for me.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Pax says.

  “What was the question again?”

  “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

  “What?” I know my expression says, Come the fuck on, but I hold it together. Pax has info I need. And I need it now. Before Victoria gets it first. She has something up her sleeve. Or down her bra, more likely. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question, Mysterious? I’m the headhunter here. Besides, I’m on track. I got it all planned. You, on the other hand, I have no idea what you’re doing.”

  “I got a track. I’ve got many tracks, in fact.”

  “Name one,” I say, the annoyance leaking through.

  “You name one. I’m the one who asked.”

  “Is this what you need to fill me in? Fin
e. In five years I’ve gone global. I’ve got offices in LA, New York, London, Paris, Moscow, Berlin, Hong Kong, and Tokyo.”

  “Is that where you’re headed? Global?” Pax takes a sip of his drink, which is a fucking mint julep of all things, and I suddenly feel like I’m being played.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Global. I’ve got the London office set up. Hong Kong is next. And after that, it’s on to Russia. I’ll be in Tokyo and Paris in three years. Hell, in five years, I might retire.”

  “You ever think about doing something else?”

  I don’t have a word for the look on my face or the depth of confusion in my mind. “What? What the fuck else would I do? This is my job. I fucking rock this job. I’m heading out and moving up. Why the hell would I do something else?”

  “Hey,” Pax says. “I’m not knocking it, man. I’m just asking.”

  “Why, are you? Gonna do something different?” I ask him.

  “Sure. Why the fuck would I be a fixer for the rest of my life? People get old, Weston. Shit gets old. My shit is getting old. I’m ready to do something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “I dunno,” Pax says, sipping that ridiculous drink.

  Is he playing me?

  “Well, you can do something else after you give me my info. I need to know where Wallace Arlington is today.” I knock my knuckles on the wooden table to emphasize my point.

  “Do you like the party?” Pax asks, changing the subject.

  “What?” I look around as he pans his hand, like he’s showing off this event. “Whose party is it, anyway?”

  “Some charity thing. Do-gooder awards. You win any of those things, Weston? Do-gooder awards?

  “I’ll let Mr. Perfect corner that market, thanks. And yeah,” I say, one hundred percent bored and well on my way to irritated. “It’s a great party. Now where is Wallace?”

  “Well,” Pax says, lowering his voice and leaning in, “I hear he’s going to be on some island tomorrow for a corporate event.”

  “What kind of event?”

  “What do I look like, fucking Google? I don’t know.”