by Shelly Ellis
Dante inclined his head as he rubbed her shoulder soothingly. “That’s true. Though anyone could understand why you’d be frustrated by it.”
“I’m not frustrated. I’m just . . . I’m just tired of being bossed around, you know? Of being told what to do . . . of being discounted!” He could tell she was getting angry now. Not only had her tone picked up ferocity, but her chest was heaving visibly over her strapless gown. “I’m a grown woman. I hate being treated like some . . . some child or worse, an idiot! Even Evan acts sometimes like my opinions and my feelings don’t matter.”
At the mention of Evan’s name, Dante’s ears instantly perked up.
“How could he say that the family business isn’t my business?” she asked indignantly, pointing at her chest. “George Murdoch was my dad too! I may not be the big CEO like Evan, but I own shares of that company just like he does—we all own our fifteen percent. My opinion and my vote matters just as much as Evan’s at Murdoch Conglomerated!”
There it was. That was what Dante had been waiting to hear. He knew when he had followed Paulette out here, there would be a payoff in the end. That little nugget was what he needed to set his plan into motion.
“You’re absolutely right, Paulette. Murdoch Conglomerated is your business and Evan has no right to tell you that it isn’t.” He began rubbing her shoulder again. “And if you ever need anyone to back you up on that, I’m here.”
She smiled again. This time, it was genuine. “Thank you.”
“After all, you have three big brothers now,” he said, making her do a double take. “Don’t forget that—ever. We’re family.”
“Of . . . of course not,” she said, sniffing again. She glanced over his shoulder. “We should head back inside. I bet everyone is wondering where we went.”
“You go without me.” He felt the wheels spinning rapidly in his head. His new plan was still fresh. He wanted to contemplate it for a bit longer alone and not have to deal with the clamor inside in the ballroom—or with Charisse manhandling him underneath the banquet table. “Tell everyone I’ll be back in a bit.”
She nodded before sauntering back inside the mansion. Dante lingered outside near the gardens a bit longer before opening the French door that led back to the gallery.
Chapter 10
LEILA
Leila nervously gnawed her bottom lip as she walked through the revolving doors and across the marble-tiled floor of the two-story atrium. As she passed a small reflecting pool, then a wall filled with video screens where commercials from a few of Murdoch Conglomerated franchises now played, she glanced at the balconies and a glass-enclosed catwalk above her. Office workers lingered on benches, leaned against brass railings, or walked swiftly to their sundry destinations.
So all these folks work for Evan now, huh?
It was hard to believe that her former friend commanded so many people. In their youth, he had been unassuming, almost soft-spoken. Now he was the big-time CEO of a multimillion-dollar company.
She lowered her gaze and strode swiftly toward the bank of elevators in front of her, but paused when a woman behind the receptionist desk began to call to her.
“Excuse me. Excuse me! Are you a visitor, ma’am?” the security guard drawled, tilting back her billed cap, which was perched atop a nest of fire-engine-red spiral curls. A metal sign emblazoned with the words MURDOCH CONGLOMERATED sat on the granite wall several feet behind her.
“All visitors have to sign in,” she ordered, then picked up a pen and tapped it on the clipboard that sat on the lacquered ledge of the receptionist desk.
Leila nodded then walked toward the desk. She picked up the clipboard and grabbed the pen.
“You gotta wear a name tag too—at all times!” the guard informed Leila, leaning on her elbow. “We don’t let just anybody walk around here.”
Leila pursed her lips. This wasn’t exactly the NSA she was walking through. She doubted the security of Murdoch Conglomerated had to be quite that tight.
A few seconds later, she handed the woman back the sign-in sheet and pen. “I know the name of the person I’m supposed to be visiting today, but I don’t know his office number. I left that part blank.”
The guard stared down at the sheet, then looked up at Leila. She cocked an eyebrow.
“You wanna visit Mr. Murdoch?”
Leila nodded.
“You mean Evan Murdoch? The company president?”
Leila nodded again.
The woman slowly looked her up and down then burst into laughter, startling Leila and making her glance down at herself.
Okay, so maybe she wasn’t exactly appropriately dressed for someone who was supposed to be meeting a CEO. She was wearing white linen shorts, a lavender sleeveless blouse, and canvas platform sandals as opposed to a power suit. But she and Evan were having lunch, not a business meeting—or at least she thought that’s what they were doing.
He had invited her out to lunch earlier that week. She had been shocked to receive a call from him after all this time—so shocked, in fact, that she couldn’t work up more of a response than a vague “Uh, yeah, sure.” Evan finally seemed to be willing to hear her out, to give her a chance! Maybe Paulette had talked some sense into him.
But a few hours ago Evan called and said instead of meeting him for lunch at Le Bayou Bleu, an upscale Creole/ Cajun restaurant in Chesterton, to meet him at Murdoch Conglomerated headquarters in Arlington. They would make lunch plans from there.
She was somewhat put off by the sudden change in itinerary. She had told her boss at Dean’s Big Burger that she would need an hour-long lunch break—one and a half hour, tops! But now that she was driving to and from Arlington, it would take much longer than that. The D.C. suburb wasn’t exactly a hop, skip, and a jump away from Chesterton. It meant a half-an-hour to an hour drive in infamous beltway traffic that could test one’s nerves and stomach even on a good day! But she guessed she could make this allowance and meet Evan halfway. She owed her mother that.
Leila nodded at the guard, now more than slightly perturbed. “Yes, I’m here to see Mr. Murdoch. Is that a problem?”
“You got an appointment?”
“Yes, in fact, I do.”
“Uh-huh,” the guard murmured incredulously. “Well, I’m gonna have to call upstairs and double-check on this one. You’re gonna have to wait.”
Leila pursed her lips and nodded again while the guard picked up a phone at the receptionist desk and dialed a series of numbers.
“Hello? . . . Yeah, I’m sorry to be bothering y’all,” she began, “but there is some lady down here who’s come to speak to Mr. Murdoch. She says she has an appointment.” The guard paused to glance down at the clipboard. “Her name is Leila Hawkins. . . . Yeah. Yeah, I know. I ain’t heard nothin’ about no VIP guests coming in today either, but she says she’s here to see him.” She turned to Leila, pulling the phone receiver away from her ear. “Are you sure it was Mr. Murdoch you were supposed to meet and not some other Evan or Ethan in the building?”
“I’m sure,” Leila answered tightly.
The guard let out a deep breath and returned her attention to her phone conversation. “She swears it’s him, but I’m looking at her and I don’t think she—Oh? Uh-huh. . . . Uh-huh.” She anxiously glanced up at Leila. “Well, no one told me that. Hell, I didn’t know either! . . . Yeah, I’ll . . . I’ll tell her.”
She hung up the phone and gazed sheepishly at Leila. “Um, someone will be down shortly to show you upstairs, Miss Hawkins.”
Leila glanced at her watch. She was now running late thanks to Shaniqua, Queen of the Front Desk.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the guard whispered. “I didn’t know. I mean . . . We usually have, you know . . . procedures for this type of thing. I—”
“Miss Hawkins?” someone boomed.
The guard had been cut off by a blond man in a charcoal pinstriped suit who looked to be in his late twenties. He strode across the atrium toward Leila and adjusted the w
ire-framed glasses perched on her aquiline nose. He extended his hand to her and she shook it.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hawkins. My name is Carl McIntosh. I’ll be escorting you to Mr. Murdoch’s office.”
As the younger man guided her to the elevators then out to the top floor, then down a series of corridors that led to the CEO office, he prattled on and on, leaving only a few gaps in the conversation for her to utter a quick “yes,” “no,” or “oh, really?” She found out that he was serving as Evan’s temporary assistant, though he was really the assistant of the COO. She knew that he was happy that the rain had finally stopped so he could go to the local golf course and play a few holes. She knew that he planned to eat lunch at a small bistro up the street, which he highly recommended and suggested she patronize. By the time he knocked on Evan’s office door and guided her inside, all the nervousness she had felt when she walked into the building had disappeared and was replaced with relief that she was finally getting to see Evan.
“Mr. Murdoch,” Carl said with a broad grin. “Miss Leila Hawkins is here to see you.”
Evan sat behind a glass-topped desk in a white button-down shirt with the collar undone and his paisley tie loosened. His brows were furrowed. His mouth was set. He looked intensely focused on whatever he was doing at the moment.
Evan had a commanding presence sitting there—dare she say, he even looked a bit sexy. A lot of power emanated from him. Evan glanced up from his computer screen at Leila and Carl, and nodded briefly before returning his attention to the screen.
“Thanks, Carl,” he muttered.
Carl nodded then turned to Leila. “It was nice meeting you, Miss Hawkins.”
“Same here.”
She watched as Carl silently backed out of the room, closing the office door behind him.
“Just a sec, Lee,” Evan said as he continued to type on his computer keys. “I’d like to finish this email while I still have my thoughts together.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure! Go right ahead.”
As he continued to type, she stood uneasily in the center of his office, twisting the strap of her purse, not quite sure what to do next since he hadn’t offered her a seat. She looked around her.
The office was massive. It was probably half the size of first floor of her mother’s bungalow. Evan’s desk sat at the center, but behind him and to his right were a series of bookshelves and a wall-mounted flat screen. There was also a conference table, where six chairs sat. To his left was what looked like a wet bar, along with a large leather sofa, two armchairs, and a glass coffee table. Both sides of the office had floor-to-ceiling windows with views of the Potomac River and Reagan National Airport.
The design was neat, clean, and modern—an aesthetic Leila usually liked—but as she looked around her, she couldn’t ignore the feeling that the room came off as incredibly sterile, almost cold. When her eyes settled on the imposing portrait of George Murdoch over her shoulder, the temperature in the room seemed to drop even further.
“And . . . done!” Evan suddenly proclaimed, making her snap her eyes away from the portrait. “Just wanted to send that out.” He pushed away from his desk. “Didn’t intend to make you wait.”
“It’s fine. I was . . . I was the one who was late. My apologies.”
Evan stood up from his chair and walked around the desk toward her. As he did, his eyes scanned over her, like he was seeing her for the first time. His gaze lingered on long bare legs, making her cheeks warm with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that I was going to be meeting you at your office today. If I had, I wouldn’t have worn this.” She gestured to her outfit.
His eyes instantly snapped back to her face. “Why?”
“Well, I would have worn something . . . something more business appropriate. I definitely wouldn’t have worn shorts.”
A gleam came to his dark eyes. A smile crossed his full lips. “What fun would that be?”
Her cheeks grew even warmer, but this time for a very different reason.
“Look,” he said, turning away from her and gesturing toward the sofa across the room, “I had to change our plans at the last minute because something came up. I can only spare about thirty minutes for lunch.” He glanced at the wall clock behind him. “Make that fifteen minutes. So I hope we can do this quickly.”
She had been about to sit down but paused, mid-air, and blinked in surprise.
Fifteen minutes? How could they possibly have a meal—let alone a serious conversation—in a mere fifteen minutes?
“If this is a bad time, Ev, we can do it another—”
“No, this is a good time,” he assured her, lowering himself into the armchair facing her. He gestured again for her to sit down. “I have no idea when my schedule will come open again this week and I want to get this done.”
Get this done? She stared at him in confusion as she plopped on the sofa. Why was Evan talking like this?
A second later, there was a knock at his office door.
“Come in,” Evan called out.
Carl pushed the door open and stepped inside, carrying two clear plastic trays of food, along with a stack of linen napkins and silverware. Leila gazed in amazement as Carl set the trays, napkins, and utensils on the coffee table between Evan and Leila.
“Let me know if you need anything else, Mr. Murdoch,” Carl said eagerly before heading back toward the door. He closed it behind him.
“I hope you don’t mind me making your order for you,” Evan said as he rose from the armchair and walked to the wet bar. He leaned down and opened the door to a built-in refrigerator. “Time was of the essence so I couldn’t wait around for you. I didn’t know what you’d like to drink though. I’ve got—”
“Actually, I do mind,” she said angrily.
First he was rushing her through lunch. Now he was telling her that he had ordered her food for her. What the hell?
“How do you even know what I want . . . what I like? You can’t—”
“Lemon-flavored grilled chicken breast with sun-dried tomatoes and capers with a side Caesar salad. Hold the croutons,” he said, cutting her off.
Leila’s words faded. She stared at Evan, dumbfounded. He had remembered her favorite dish—after all these years?
He raised his brows. “I got it right, didn’t I?”
Leila hesitated before nodding. “Most of it—except hold the croutons and the dressing. I’m not in my twenties anymore,” she mumbled, running her hands over her thighs, which weren’t quite as thin as they had been a decade ago.
A few minutes later, they both began eating lunch in awkward silence. This wasn’t quite how Leila had envisioned her first meal with Evan in ten years. It wasn’t easy conversation, ribbing and laughing over pizza slices like the old days. Now it was like eating with a stranger.
“So I guess you’re wondering why I invited you here,” Evan said, setting aside his salmon BLT after a few bites, leaning forward in his chair.
Leila paused mid-chew. She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I was . . . I was hoping it was because you wanted to talk,” she garbled, trying not to spit food onto her lap.
“I did. I want to offer you a business proposal.”
She stopped chewing. “A business proposal?”
“I’ll just get straight to the point. Paulette told me that you came to her about the mortgage situation.”
What?
Leila swallowed the rest of her chicken, feeling it lodge in her throat. “She didn’t say that, did she? Ev, I didn’t . . . I didn’t go to her about the mortgage! She came to visit me at work and I happened to mention that—”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever! Either way, Paulette has nothing to do with what happens at Murdoch Bank. She can’t help you, but we both know that I can.”
Leila’s heartbeat began to pick up its pace. Was Evan finally going to speak to the management at Murdoch Bank on her mother’s behalf? Th
at would be great—absolutely wonderful! So why did her stomach start to lurch in anticipation of what he was about to say next? There was a catch somewhere. She could sense it.
“I’ll help you out, but only under a few conditions,” he continued. His stare didn’t waver. “I’ll strongly advise Murdoch Bank to review your mother’s mortgage. Coming from me—the CEO of their parent company—that carries a lot of weight. But I’ll only do it in exchange for something you can do for me.”
Leila frowned. “What . . . what do you want me to do?”
“There’s no point in beating around the bush.” He reached out and placed a warm hand on her bare knee, making the skin tingle, catching her by surprise. “You and I may have our differences, but I’ll admit that even after all this time and all our bullshit . . . I’m still very attracted to you, Lee.”
Leila stared down at his hand, gazing at the brown fingers that were splayed over her skin. Why was Evan saying this? Why was he doing this? He was married. She was still married too, damn it, at least on paper!
“Because he’s attracted to you. Because he’s always been! Didn’t you hear what he said?” the voice in her head ridiculed. “And don’t pretend like you don’t feel it too, girl!”
Okay, so maybe, despite their differences, she was starting to find herself very attracted to him as well, and knowing that was unnerving. She had never considered Evan in that way in the past. He had always been like a sibling to her. Now he was morphing into something else in her eyes and she didn’t know what to do about it.
“I’m a very busy man in a very shitty marriage, Lee. I’ve put sex on the back burner way too long. I’m not ready to divorce Charisse. When I said ‘I do’ to her, I meant it for the long haul but”—he sighed and absently rubbed Leila’s knee, making the tingle she’d felt earlier radiate up and down her leg—“I accept that I’m no saint. I have needs just like any other man—needs that must be met. So I’m offering to help you in exchange for you meeting those needs.”