Copyright 2018 J.R. Madison - All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Double Trouble
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
DOUBLE TROUBLE
By J.R. Madison
PROLOGUE
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m sane.”
I lifted my head out of my hands, tucking my tousled black hair behind my ears as I did so. I had to try and calm down or I’d probably have a heart attack one day.
I followed the advice of my doctor and let myself relax for a minute or two. The view from my window made me sigh. It was the best thing about my office. A magnificent turquoise sky stretching endlessly before me, the LA skyline a small black bar chart before it.
If I didn’t have this office, with that view, I would lose my mind. It had been my dad’s office before me, when he started this company. Now, it was mine.
“Ms. Richmond?”
I looked up to see Stella, my secretary, her white hair elegantly styled, holding out a form for me.
“Yes?” I asked.
“It’s the contract from Bronson Building Incorporated.”
“Thanks,” I sighed. “Leave it there—I’ll sign it.”
As Stella went, I went back to studying the skyline and hoping it would keep me sane.
The financial year was about to end, it was starting to get chilly in the evenings and I was just starting to launch a new project. The costs were going to be massive, but the board and I agreed the returns would be huge too.
Maybe I can retire when I’m fifty.
At thirty-eight, it was hard to believe that was only twelve years away. Crazy. Where had time gone? That was too soon to retire! As my phone rang, I realized I wouldn’t ever want to leave, not really. I loved being CEO of Transcor.
“Yes?” I asked, lifting the phone.
“Ms. Richmond?” a voice I recognized asked.
“Hi, Bradley?” I replied to it.
It was Bradley Needham, one of the trustees. One of the few I trusted absolutely. In certain lights, with an optimistic spin on it, he could have been my father. I missed my dad so much sometimes. His death when I was nineteen had left a huge hole in my world.
“Ryanne,” Bradley said, “I’m stuck in Tokyo. There’s no way I’m going to make that meeting. Can we reschedule?”
“Of course,” I agreed quickly, mentally sighing as my week filled. “I’ve got a free morning on Monday—well…I can push some stuff forward. Can you make that?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Well, I do hope so.”
“If something else doesn’t happen,” I teased.
He was grave. “Yes. If that.”
“Okay, Bradley,” I said. “You take care, okay?”
“I will,” he agreed. “Bye.”
I leaned back on the plush seat again, and sighed. If only the rest of the board was like Bradley. If only the rest of the company was! I really felt like he understood me. The rest of them tended to treat me like a robot. Even Bradley, almost sixty, treated me with a respectful distance Dad used to call the no-go zone.
I hated it sometimes, my no-go zone. Yes, I was CEO, and it was understandable that my employees were careful with me. But did they have to be that careful?
I sometimes think I bite.
Even Stella was standoffish. I couldn’t laugh or joke or play the fool—never. Not with my own secretary, not with the board, with no one.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d had other people in my life who felt comfortable with me. But it was, well…just me. I was on my own now.
Levine Heinrich, a fellow second-generation CEO had lived with me for five years. I had recently ended it with him and I had to admit that it was four years too long. I felt freer, stronger and lighter without his restraining hand. And I had found it hard to navigate a male-dominated space with Levine always near me.
At least now I don’t have the critiquing after party every time I get back.
Levine would find fault in everything I said or did—how I spoke and acted, who talked to me. He’d started giving me a complex with his criticisms.
Now I didn’t have to care anymore. I stretched, looking at the time. It was five P.M. and it had been a long week.
I’ll just finish up this review and then get going.
It was almost six by the time I stood, cramped and stretching, and walked to the door.
“Good evening, Ms. Richmond.” My chief technical officer greeted me as I got into the lift.
“Good evening, Evan.” I nodded.
“A nice evening, isn’t it?” he asked politely.
“Mm.” I nodded. “Sunny. Unusual for this time of year.”
“Yes.”
We were silent all the way to the ground floor.
Outside, I sat down at the wheel of my car. It was six P.M. and it was Saturday tomorrow. I had two days when I didn’t have to be awake, alert and responsible. I could go out if I wanted to.
“Well?” I said to myself in the rearview mirror, raising a brow over my chestnut dark eyes. “Why not?”
It wasn’t like anyone was wondering where I was.
CHAPTER 1: RYANNE
“Good evening, Ms. Richmond.”
“Good evening,” I nodded to the doorman. I walked up the polished stone steps of the Crystal Club and through the entrance.
“Your table by the window is free for you,” he said politely.
“Oh?” I smiled, feeling my lips stretch under the new dark wine lipstick I’d applied carefully. “Good.”
I wasn’t expecting that. It wasn’t like I came to the Crystal Club every day. I hadn’t been here for months. Nevertheless, there it was—my table.
I crossed the floor and headed toward it at the back of the loft. From here, the city spread out below me, spangled with light. It was why it was my favorite table.
“The usual?” the waiter asked me.
“Yes, please.”
When he had gone, I looked around, leaning back on the smooth leather seat, tired. The place was quiet—it was only eight thirty yet there were a few people at the bar, and some of the older business set were here too, sitting at the plush seats round low tables, sipping apéritifs.
This is what I needed. I hadn’t had time off for ages.
“Your drink, ma’am.” Lewis handed me a glass.
“Thanks.”
I took my usual—Gancia Vermouth—and sipped it slowly, breathing in the delicate aroma. As I did, I wished I could relax as easily without it. That would be a long-term goal.
I looked around the club. The group at the bar I watched for a bit—a young man in a well-fitting suit and a girl in a very well-fitting dress. The guy was sandy haired and well built and handsome in a way that appealed to me. They seemed to be having fun. The girl was pretty, with a sparkling laugh and the guy seemed very interested in her. I
felt a little sour about it, though I didn’t want to.
I do wish I could be as free, as lighthearted.
I guess I’d forgotten how.
Over the last years—since stepping into Dad’s shoes at age thirty—I had become convinced that nothing would run smoothly if I let myself relax. It seemed so clear that stiff, impassive Ryanne was what everyone needed, and that Ryanne the normal person was irrelevant. My mom, the business, my colleagues… they all required a strong, stiff formality.
I sighed, letting my fingers tangle in my necklace—a nervous habit I’d never quite conquered. The feel of the little gemstones made me calm down. I’d never know if it would be okay for me to just relax and have fun occasionally. It wasn’t like I ever got a chance to let my hair down. Even here, I thought with a grim smile, as I reached up to touch my elegant updo.
A guy at another table smiled at me and I raised a brow, candidly ignoring him. I sometimes felt like I’d had enough of guys after Levine. Now, all I wanted was a chance to put myself back together and heal from all his criticisms and everyday unkindness.
I listened to the music—modern and nonintrusive, with a Latin beat. I let myself slowly relax and tried to forget about the board meeting on Monday, the review that still wasn’t perfect, the upcoming end of the fiscal year and all the things I had to get ready for it.
“Everything okay, Mrs. Richmond?”
“Mm,” I nodded. “I’d like another.” I lifted my almost-empty glass.
“Very good, ma’am.”
I saw him frown. I wondered what was wrong. It was nine o’ clock—or almost nine, so it wasn’t like it was getting late or anything. A minute later, I realized what it was as the noise cascaded up the stairs.
“Yo! Guys! Up here.”
“This is a good spot, Chase. Let’s sit somewhere.”
“Yeah!”
Rowdy customers.
I closed my eyes in momentary annoyance as eight big guys in ill-fitting suits lumbered up the stairs into the loft. Some kind of athletes. Looking for a place to let off their excess adrenaline after a big game.
I shook my head sourly and drained my glass. That was all I needed to ruin my peaceful time.
The eight guys crowded around a table. They seemed more than a little drunk already and I saw my waiter cringe as he looked at them. I gave him a sour smile. He nodded to me and came over with a respectful frown.
“The terrace is quieter, madam?” he said kindly.
I pulled a face. “I’ll stay, thanks.”
“If anyone bothers you, ma’am, you call me.”
“Thanks.” I sipped a drink. He’d do better to warn them about me. If any of them bothered me, they’d regret it. I’d had enough of rude, entitled guys.
All the same, as I sampled the nuts that Lewis had thoughtfully brought along, I found myself watching them order drinks and settled down to talk. They were interesting in their rough, sweaty way, and I couldn’t help but play a mental game with myself. What did they do? Who were they?
My first guess was bodybuilding—one of them in particular had shoulders like an ox and that liverish look that I knew, as a keen gym attendant, spoke of steroid use. I watched as Lewis brought the drinks, listening in for clues as to who they were and what sort of sport they did.
“Hey! Dax! Great game, eh?” one yelled across the table, lifting a glass in salute.
Okay. Not bodybuilders. And not track and field. This was fun.
“Yeah! That was some goal, Tyler!”
Mm. A sport with goals. Could be football. But which sort?
I studied Tyler. Looking for clues, I told myself firmly. Though, really, he was quite eye-catching, and it was self-indulgence on my part.
Blond, with a firm jaw and a blunt, handsome face, Tyler made my blood stir. He was undeniably handsome. A little less ostentatious in his muscles than the rest, he had a compact grace that made my body sit up and take notice.
“Jake made a great tackle,” Tyler commented, lifting his glass to a guy opposite. I looked across, straining my eyes in the half-dark of the room. At the moment, I could only see the gloss of auburn-dark hair. Then his head came up.
Oh. Wow.
Staring was not something I usually indulged in. But right now, I was looking at Prince Philip from Disney in the flesh, with some bodybuilding tips. He was stunning. He had big brown eyes and a cleft chin and shoulders that strained his coat—and was easily the most good-looking guy I had ever seen.
I coughed and had to take another sip of my drink to clear my throat.
“Calm down, Ryanne,” I told myself grimly. “Count to ten and think of the last time you saw a horse.”
My dad’s trick for self-distraction didn’t help me this time. I shifted in my seat, stretching my long legs out under the table, suddenly aware that my feet hurt in the white high heels.
“Hey! Dax! Here’s to the best quarterback in history!”
Quarterback. My missing clue. They were football players.
I had gotten so distracted by the guy that I’d forgotten all about my game.
Just then my equilibrium was shattered as a roar went up.
“No! Guys! Stop it. Jake…stop them.”
“How dare you? You shit…”
“Whoa, guys…stop it. Let’s be calm!”
I watched as one of the players—a vast-shouldered guy with black hair—squared off with a sandy-haired, blunt-faced guy who glared at him. Tyler was on his feet, as was Jake and the big guy with the massive build.
As I stared, my heart racing, the sandy-haired guy swung a punch at the dark haired. I stood without thinking about it, feeling my palms sweat. The guy roared and then two other guys grabbed him. Not before I heard the very solid sound of flesh connecting skin.
The black-haired guy roared. I saw him surge forward and someone’s drink spilled, making another guy throw up his hands. Jake grabbed the dark-haired guy, Tyler the other. The two antagonists were flailing and struggling, trying to get at each other.
“Someone call the manager!” Someone shouted.
It was only when the guys all looked at me that I realized that someone was me.
Maybe my presence was enough as a distraction, because the six standing guys all looked at me. The fighters shrugged. I let out a breath.
Whew.
I saw the sandy-haired guy say something, but he spoke too indistinctly for me to hear. His face was flushed—I could see that even in the half-dark of the room—but he looked apologetic. The black-haired man nodded.
They sat down again.
I felt my legs go wobbly and I sat down too.
I was looking at the table, trying to let my heart rate return to normal, when someone spoke overhead.
“Ma’am?”
I looked up, frowning. Then I stared.
It was Jake.
“Ma’am, we just wanted to apologize,” he said. “We didn’t mean to interrupt your evening.”
I blinked, surprised. Tried to think of something to say. I felt like my mind had just stopped working and all that was left inside me was a sweet, silly grin. I shook my head to clear it.
“Uh, that’s all right,” I said, noncommittal. “It’s finished with.”
“Yes,” he nodded. He smiled, and I thought again that he was the handsomest guy I’d ever seen. Another guy came and joined him. Tyler, I recalled from my overheard scraps.
“The guys can be rough. Thanks for what you did back there,” he added with a bright smile.
I shrugged. “I’m just glad it worked,” I managed to say.
He smiled.
This close his eyes were brown, and when I looked into them, I felt an instant, easy connection. It was weird. I smiled back. Where Jake left me speechless, this guy left me wanting to talk. Interesting.
“Can we, like, buy you a drink or something?” Jake asked. He grinned.
I raised a brow. Very interesting.
“Okay,” I said with a shrug. “If you’ll come and join m
e?”
Jake and Tyler looked at each other. They seemed to share a sort of private debate and then nodded.
“Sure,” Jake said. “Why not.”
Tyler looked round the room, spotted a waiter, and stuck his hand in the air, signaling for him to take our orders.
“A Vermouth for me,” I said easily.
As the guys place their orders, Tyler turned to me.
“I was really impressed by what you did,” he said. He seemed to be blushing and I felt myself smile. “It was brave.”
I frowned. “All I did was yell.”
“Still,” Jake said, looking at me, “it was just what we needed.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Tyler shot him a look and I got the strange feeling he was jealous. The thought shouldn’t have appealed to me, but it did. I was feeling naughty tonight and I relished the chance to play a bit on their rivalry.
“So,” I said, turning to Tyler with a big smile. “What do you guys do? You seem really strong.”
Ryanne! I scolded myself. Stop flirting. I wasn’t going to, though. Not tonight. It was time for some fun.
Tyler smiled brightly, his cheeks reddening. “Thanks,” he said. “We’re football players.”
“Gridiron,” Jake supplied.
“Thanks, Mr. Nitpicker,” Tyler said acidly.
Jake laughed brightly, but I assumed that Tyler’s comment wasn’t meant as lightheartedly as he took it. It was easy to see the guy was getting uneasy. Which was, in its own way, fun. I looked from one to the other of them, feeling a sweet heat in the pit of my abdomen.
“Well, it’s not clear what you meant,” Jake said easily. “And what do you do, ma’am? You model?”
I really laughed at that and let myself bathe Jake in a smile that made him flush. “Thank you,” I said. “That’s a nice compliment. But no—I’m a businesswoman.”
“Wow,” Tyler said. I looked at his face, searching for a trace of teasing, but there was none—his admiration was sincere. Again, I felt that sweet warmth that was starting to flow into my the meeting of my thighs.
“What kind of business?” Jake asked, reaching for a handful of the nuts. “By the way, I’m Jake Trent.”
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