Empowered
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Keep Up
Empowered
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
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Thanks and Connect
Patreon
Preview of THE MONROE TRILOGY
Also Available
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Keep Up
Empowered
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
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Thanks and Connect
Patreon
Preview of THE MONROE TRILOGY
Also Available
Empowered
Cynthia Dane
BARACHOU PRESS
Empowered
Copyright: Cynthia Dane
Published: May 31st, 2017
Publisher: Barachou Press
This is a work of fiction. Any and all similarities to any characters, settings, or situations are purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
Keep up with Cynthia’s latest releases by joining her mailing list! Behind the scenes,exclusive bonus scenes, and a FREE STORY!
Empowered
Chapter 1
Second day in a row. For the second day in a row, Sarah spaced out at her desk and completely forgot what she was supposed to do.
This was not business as usual for one of the most meticulous executive assistants in America – a title she never gave herself, but heard many times from those who tried to poach her from her bosses. But Sarah hadn’t achieved her lofty title by being a daydreamer who stared at her computer monitor but forgot to do any actual work.
“Ms. Clayborn.”
She glanced between her notebook and the computer screen. Dates, times, names… they needed imputing so she could print them off and pass them on to others around the office. The well-oiled machine she worked for demanded nothing less.
“Ms. Clayborn.”
The monitor flickered. At first she feared her spreadsheet was crashing, and then she realized she didn’t give a shit if the whole thing exploded right now.
“Ms. Clayborn!”
She jerked back, alert. Beside her stood her boss Damon Monroe, his facial hair twitching on top of his lips. He could carefully control his frustration all he wanted, but Sarah had worked for him long enough to see her future severely compromised if she kept this bullshit up.
Sarah already walked a tenuous tightrope with the Monroes.
“My apologies.” She stood, office chair nicking the back of her knees. “Lost in thought.”
Mr. Monroe’s leveled gaze turned most women on. Sarah had seen her fair share of women falling over themselves to get an arousing date out of the man. Her? The man could wear the nicest suits and douse himself in the most scintillating cologne in the world, and she wouldn’t give a shit. Damon Monroe had always been off-limits. He wasn’t her type, anyway.
His father, though…
“So I see,” Mr. Monroe grumbled. “Hopefully you were thinking about Monday’s meeting with Blackbourne Corp, because those are the figures I need right now. Well? Do you have them?”
As it happened, Sarah had a stack of figures already highlighted and noted on her desk. Impeccable, like the rest of her work space. Like her simple, drab clothes. Like her clean and functional hair. Like her damned room in the apartment she shared with her brother, Nigel.
“I do.” Sarah handed him the folder. It bothered her that the movement caused one of her crystal paperweights to turn askew. She would stare at it until Mr. Monroe was done flipping through her work, some of the colorful stickies bending and papers slightly falling out. He didn’t have the same love for perfection that Sarah did. Not when it came to his things. People? Sarah had sat in the front row of that spectacle for over two years now. “Let me know if you need any changes, sir. I’m working on you and Mrs. Monroe’s schedules for next week right now.”
“I thought Ms. Oduya was taking care of that.”
“I took it on so she could attend Mrs. Monroe’s meeting with her.”
“Well…” Satisfied with her work, Mr. Monroe tucked the folder beneath his arm and turned toward his office. “Just don’t take on more than you can handle.”
“Do I ever?”
She usually wasn’t that snarky with her boss, causing Mr. Monroe to double-take in her direction. Immediately, Sarah regretted it. I certainly have taken on more than I can handle around here. Not at her job. In her personal life.
Mr. Monroe probably didn’t remember what meeting his wife was at. Sarah did. Of course, it was her job to know what the power couple was up to every moment at work. But when Mrs. Alice Monroe packed her Gucci purse after lunch, Sarah knew she didn’t want to deal with the lawyers involved with the senior Mr. Monroe’s legal affairs, including his upcoming marriage to a Japanese heiress. The less Sarah had to look at Russell Monroe, the better.
Besides, she made great spreadsheets. Alice Monroe always complimented her organization skills and easy to read calendars.
Mr. Monroe backtracked from his office. His beeline for Sarah’s desk meant she was either in trouble, or he had forgotten something.
“You’re off this weekend, correct?”
Sarah sighed, although it was so subtle that Mr. Monroe never noticed. “Yes, sir. I’ll be back from New York Sunday afternoon. Otherwise, I’ll be taking time off.”
Her boss nodded. Before his marriage a few months ago, the man would have scoffed at Sarah’s assertion for personal time and kept her on-call anyway. Sarah could see a trip to New York City as a guaranteed, “Turns out I had business here. Make the meeting, please.” Now, with a new wife and a baby on the way, Mr. Monroe had considerably mellowed out when it came to granting personal time. Which was hilarious, because Sarah was supposed to have weekends off, anyway.
Not that it ever worked out like that in the corporate world.
“Have a good trip.” Mr. Monroe disappeared into his office for the rest of the afternoon.
Yes, I hope it will be.
Sarah went to New York City at least once a month. Someti
me twice, if her brain were particularly fried and her body begging for a break. Yet getaways to New York, even with her connections to cheaper accommodations and travel tickets, were not cheap.
Her getaways were escapes. Escapes that allowed her to explore sides of herself she desperately needed to embrace. Otherwise, incidences like the one Mr. Monroe found her in became all too frequent. Despair mounted. Depression returned. Determination to implode took over an already frayed mind. The flashbacks were the worst, and they were getting worse recently.
Sarah hurried to finish her work for the week, while still maintaining her outstanding level of quality. Occasionally her brother texted her. “Gonna bring home dinner from work. Carly’s coming over. You want anchovies or no?”
She bothered to send him one text before tuning her twin out indefinitely. “No pizza for me. I’ll make my own dinner.” No carbs or extraneous sodium before her big trip. She needed to fit into her travel clothes. Comfortably, even.
Finishing work early meant she could leave early. Anything her boss needed could be taken care of by Alisha Oduya, the other executive assistant on duty. She and Alice returned exactly ten minutes before Sarah hoped to clock out. The assistant sent Sarah a sour look. Not regarding her, no, since she and Alisha got along well enough, but due to the meeting they returned from.
“Is my husband in?” A pregnant woman in Valentino approached Sarah’s desk. Aside from the bulge announcing the impending arrival of the next great Monroe heir, Alice Monroe was as impeccably styled as Sarah’s desk. Straight blond hair brushed against her squared shoulders. A Cartier diamond tennis bracelet dangled from her wrist, an emerald ring as big as the woman’s eye twinkling on her left hand. The dress was so fitted to the new matriarch’s pregnant frame that Sarah added up the costs in her head. Five-thousand for the dress. Another five for the personal tailoring. A couple grand knocked off by the designer if she’s photographed in it. Even more if she shows up in the society pages clearly wearing a maternity dress of this caliber. No comment on the flats already kicked off so Mrs. Monroe could wiggle her swollen toes. “Thought I’d ask before I trek all the way over there. I need to sit down.”
“I haven’t seen him leave, no.”
“Good. Need to talk to him about what happened. Er, Alisha will fill you in.” No matter how much she avoided waddling, Alice still succumbed to the uncomfortable gait so many pregnant women before her had already embraced.
The other assistant slumped in front of the desk adjacent to Sarah’s. My brother used to sit there, when we worked together. He had been fired a few months ago. For pushing Alice down the stairs. By Russell Monroe’s command, but who was keeping track? “God! What a bullshit meeting. Glad you’re on the same page I am, girl, ‘cause I need to tell someone about that crackheaded lawyer.”
“Mr. Lowenstein is considered the best in the business.” Sarah would know. She was the one who put the Monroes in touch with the property and inheritance lawyer.
“I don’t care. He thinks that monster’s new wife is going to be entitled to half the Monroe estate when he dies. Yeah, right. That money is supposed to go to Mr. and Mrs. Monroe. Maybe his ex-wife, you know? Pay some of those medical bills. The new wife’s got money of her own.”
“And a boyfriend on the side,” Sarah said with a sigh.
“That too. She’s only marrying the monster because it’s good for the family business. Otherwise, who the hell would…” Alisha stopped. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” Sarah assembled her personal belongings. Need to get more tissues. “It doesn’t bother me.” That’s why she totally needed to swap work with Alisha, right? “Anyway, I’m heading out early. Have a good weekend.”
She thanked whatever angel following her that she was alone in the elevator. She needed some time to breathe and cry a little.
Sometimes shit was too overwhelming. Particularly when a survivor like Sarah did her best to store away the more painful memories of her recent history.
Russell Monroe was certainly the monster Alisha kept calling him. Sarah knew firsthand. So did Alice Monroe, but her father-in-law hadn’t succeeded in killing her baby.
Nor had he fathered that baby in the first place. To think, that was one of the better memories.
Sarah knew it had been foolish to have an affair with her boss’s father, a man she occasionally worked for too. Back then, Russell Monroe had been somewhat charming. Handsome and fit for his age, too. While he wasn’t Sarah’s perfect type, the poor woman didn’t have much time to date, and rarely thought about it anyway. I should have said no. I should have walked away when he asked me to sleep with him. The Sarah of then had run out of logic. Having sex with a man who only made her feel special when he rolled over and fell asleep wasn’t her best moment.
The affair lasted weeks. Sarah knew it wouldn’t last, but it was a distraction from her stressful life. When she found out she was pregnant with who could very well be the second in line after Damon to the vast Monroe fortune and legacy, she took a couple of days to weigh her options, ultimately deciding to go straight to Russell to see what he thought.
He had promised her everything. Maybe not marriage, but recognition of their child on top of having all her medical needs taken care of by the best obstetrics team in the country. She would see enough child support to let her retire with their son or daughter to wherever the hell she wanted. All of this promised with that fake smile Sarah should have never trusted.
She had heard rumors that the death of Russell’s second child was because his ex-wife was beaten within an inch of her life while pregnant. By Russell’s own hands.
He didn’t beat Sarah. Not directly. First he knocked her out with pills and then had his bodyguard do the honors.
Sarah would never remember the event, and she was grateful for it. Still, waking up with a miscarriage was enough to scar her for the rest of her life. Scars she quickly bandaged up and kept hidden until the truth came out a few months ago when it also came to light that her brother was working with Russell to take out Alice. Because, as Nigel claimed, Russell threatened to hurt Sarah “again and again” if her brother didn’t cooperate.
Bonds were supposed to run deep between twins. Sarah had always thought so growing up. Yet not only had she never told her brother about the baby until it was too late for him to get used to becoming an uncle, they had grown even more apart since her disgust for him grew.
They still lived together. Sarah saw him the moment she walked into their apartment, his uniform still on his thin frame as the scent of pizza permeated the place. He waved his hand in greeting and went back to watching TV with girlfriend Carly.
She was a recent addition, acquired shortly after Nigel began working as a manager of an upscale pizza restaurant. She was nice. Sweet. Content to have a simple life with her British- descended boyfriend who spoke with an American accent. She also didn’t bother Sarah, which was a plus. Because when Sarah came home, she wanted nothing more than to eat dinner, take a bath, and hide in her room until it was time to come out again.
The pizza was beyond enticing to Sarah’s empty stomach. She almost stole a slice until she remembered her upcoming trip. “Travel clothes” was right.
“Hey, wanna watch ‘Better Call Saul’ with us?” Nigel asked as she walked by with her health-food she picked up on the way home. “We just started it. Now’s the time.”
“No, thanks. I need to pack.”
Carly pushed herself up from her boyfriend’s languid embrace. “Where you going? Somewhere good?”
“New York.”
“Woo! I’d say take me with you, but I ain’t got any money.”
“Sarah goes to New York a lot.” Nigel stared at his sister from his perch on the couch. “Every other week, basically.”
Sarah stopped halfway to her room. Don’t give me that look. What right did Nigel have to be so judgmental? Not like Sarah ever told him what she did in New York. He probably thought his sister had a boyfriend or a sugar daddy payi
ng her to come see him in Manhattan.
He was almost right. Sarah certainly did go for romantic purposes.
She played Little Boots on Spotify while eating dinner and flipping through a magazine. A wind down before a bath and packing. Or maybe the other way around. She had missed Angel.
Deep in Sarah’s walk-in closet was where she kept most of her items for her trips to New York. A few sexy dresses she had amassed over the years, some of them so out of style they were in again. Lingerie as sheer as the rain. Fuck-me heels she had to practice walking in before packing them. And a long, curly blond wig that fooled many people into thinking it was the real deal. Maybe a dye job, but real hair nonetheless.
These were not things Sarah Clayborn wore. Oh, God, she would never. Not plain and boring Sarah, who didn’t know how to act any different. No. This was the flirtatious wardrobe of Angel, the persona Sarah adopted whenever she went to New York City for the weekend.
She loved Angel, the woman who was everything Sarah was not. Angel could flirt with, fondle, and fuck a one-night stand without second guessing her motives. She took on the risks and rewards Sarah would never dare to trifle with. Same body, different mind.
The wig fit snugly over Sarah’s head. Already dressed down in a baggy sleepshirt, Sarah admired the come-hither way her persona could bat her eyelashes and get whatever she wanted. Men, money, and madness.
For a woman who had so much power taken away from her in such a short amount of time… well, Sarah wouldn’t hate Angel for being the empowered one. As long as Angel shared the spoils, anyway.
Chapter 2
The New York City pavement echoed beneath Sarah’s stiletto heels as she approached the hidden door to one of the city’s more secretive clubs. Across the street, a man in a business suit gawked at her.
Her wig was freshly brushed after coming out of its bag in the hotel room. Makeup as bold as her intentions illuminated her face. Beneath her black double-breasted trench coat was an outfit that would make her prim and proper British mother dig out her Victorian ancestor’s fainting couch. Fishnet stockings poked out from the bottom hem. That was enough to send a message to every man she was about to see in the club.