by A. C. Arthur
In Janelle’s estimation, Oliver Windom didn’t stand a chance against the weight the Howerton name carried in Massachusetts. Still, she could tell her father felt very strongly about this. “Okay, I understand what you’re saying. How will you go about getting them to back you?”
Darren smiled and Janelle almost faltered. It had been so long since she’d seen a genuine smile on her father’s face. Sure, he’d appeared happy during the holidays and then at small family gatherings when Darren Jr.—DJ—had come into town. But for the most part, the day his wife died, the joy seemed to have died in him. Her heart ached at the thought.
“I’d like for you to schedule a meeting with Dubois. Visit him in his Boston office and talk to him about the campaign.”
All other thoughts fled from Janelle’s mind as she completely grasped what her father had been saying.
“You want me to get Ballard Dubois to support your campaign? Me? Not DJ?” she asked her father, more than a little amazed at what he was suggesting. It was obvious that since DJ had already taken over the family business, he was destined to follow in his father’s footsteps, and as such would be the one building his family’s legacy.
“DJ already has his hands full with the rollout for next year. Competition is fierce and HCT has to stay on top of the market.”
She nodded, understanding what her father had just said, and the fact that he hadn’t really answered her question.
“I have a business to run, too,” she told him. “The mayor’s executive assistant emails me at least four times a day about the homecoming dance and we have three more weddings before the end of this year.” She was just as busy as DJ and she was certain that DJ hadn’t been the one to swear off dating for fear of getting hurt and embarrassed the way she had been before. She was absolutely positive he wasn’t the one who had almost been raped.
Darren leaned forward, his charcoal-gray suit jacket adjusting to the movement as he let his arms rest on the table, his gaze intent on his only daughter. “I need you to do this for me, Janelle. It’s very important to the campaign.”
Say no. Say no. Scream the one-syllable word and then run like hell before he gets a chance to really work his persuasion skills. It wasn’t worth it; the risk far outweighed the gain. Didn’t it?
“I don’t have time to go to Boston right now, Daddy. I have vendors to interview, two site visits in as many days and a Skype conference with a French designer at the end of the week. I just can’t,” she told him, her heart pounding with the mere thought of going on this date, whatever the reason.
Darren shook his head. “You know, you look more like Susan every day,” he began, his voice a little lower, his eyes... Were they blurring?
“Sometimes I hear you talking on the phone and I could swear it was her. I just listen and remember and miss her all over again.”
She reminded him of her mother. Of course, she did look like Susan Howerton with her high cheekbones and eyes often called exotic due to their natural upward tilt. They also shared the same chocolate-brown complexion and wide smile. Janelle knew all this, had known it all her life. Still, when her father said it, when it caused him to miss her mother even more, she never knew what to say or how to handle it.
“You know she was the one to first talk about politics. She was sure it was the direction I needed to go in. It took me too long to realize she was telling the truth.”
Janelle took a deep breath, listening to her father’s deep and somehow desolate voice.
“I’ll see if I can work a quick trip into my schedule, Daddy,” she said, clenching her fingers as she did. “But I cannot make any promises.”
Darren smiled. He stood then and came around the table. His hand was on hers as he leaned down closer, kissing her on the cheek. “You’ll do wonderful, baby girl, just wonderful,” he said before standing and leaving her alone once more.
When he was gone, the only thing that Janelle could recall about her father’s presence was that he smelled like Calvin Klein Obsession cologne. That scent was just as dependable as her father had always been in her life. She’d always been able to count on him, always been able to run to him or her mother with whatever issues she had and know without a doubt they’d move mountains to fix them. Yet she hadn’t come running home to them the night Jack had assaulted her. She hadn’t run to anyone, for that matter. She’d handled the situation entirely on her own and she was still doing so. The only difference now was that she was tired of hauling guilt and fear around like carry-on luggage.
* * *
“I need your help, Janelle. I’m desperate,” Rebecca Lockwood said from the other end of the phone. “I cannot bail on this client. Mal Harford is the owner of Pacific Royal Airlines. He’s eccentric, to put it nicely, his wallet’s bigger than his mouth, and what he wants he gets, all the time. Please say you’ll do this for me.”
Sitting in her office two days after the very strange conversation with her father, Janelle had thought she’d managed to escape drama for today. She had been wrong.
“Slow down. Wait a minute. What are you asking me to do exactly?” She really didn’t want to do anything. Her workload was big enough and the Parents’ Association was driving her absolutely insane over this homecoming. Clients that just signed checks and let her do her job were her favorite and she wished she had more of them.
Rebecca took a deep breath, let it out on a heavily exaggerated huff that made Janelle roll her eyes, then continued, “My younger sister Alexa just called to tell me she’s having surgery on Friday morning. Her husband is serving his second tour in Iraq and she has a six-month-old daughter and nobody to help take care of either of them. So I have to leave for Colorado first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Okay, sorry to hear that. Hope the surgery and the caretaking go well,” Janelle replied with a nod, her attention traveling to the window, where she could see the sun finally beginning to set.
“Thanks,” she said on another huff. “So what I’m asking you to do is supervise Harford’s charity masquerade ball for me. This is a yearly event and I had to beat out six other bids to get the contract. It’s Friday evening and all the vendors are in place. Everything is paid for and my staff will be on hand to assist. But this guy’s one of my biggest clients this year and I’d like to have his return business. So I need somebody really fantastic to be here just in case something goes wrong.”
Janelle didn’t immediately respond.
“But nothing will go wrong,” Rebecca continued. “I promise. There are just some really important people coming to this benefit and I want to make sure they have the best experience ever. But I have to be there for Alexa. So can you help? Please don’t make me beg, Janelle,” she finished finally.
Janelle couldn’t help but smile. She’d known Rebecca for four years, since meeting her at an event-planning conference in Orlando. They’d kept in close contact since then, seeing each other at least twice a year at other industry events.
“You’re talking about this Friday, right? As in day after tomorrow?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m sorry for the short notice, but Alexa has to have this surgery sooner rather than later.”
“I understand,” Janelle said because she did. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for Sandra or Vicki, who were the closest she would ever have to sisters. If they lived across the country and were having surgery, she’d be on a plane to them, as well.
“And all I have to do is supervise? Everything else is done?”
“Yes. I even called all the vendors to confirm this morning. I’ve briefed my staff and we did a last site visit at lunch today. So if you say yes, I can brief you on everything now and send you a complete copy of my file.”
She couldn’t say no. Janelle knew there was no good way to back out of this, and really, she didn’t want to. For as busy as she was here in Wintersage, she felt as i
f getting out of town for a few days might be good. Things in the Howerton household had become quite tense with the election growing closer. Not to mention the fact that having a chance to work with Mal Harford—even secondhandedly—was a great coup for her career.
“I can give you thirty minutes to brief me. Then I need you to send me everything you have on Harford and this event. I’ll make some adjustments and see when I can get up to Boston,” Janelle told her.
Rebecca used one of those thirty minutes to thank Janelle and swear her debt and gratitude. Then they got down to business, which was a welcome distraction in Janelle’s hectic life.
Chapter 2
Ballard Dubois touched the edge of his plain black mask, lifting it slightly so that his vision would be unfettered. He hated attending these types of functions—not that he had anything against contributing to the research for and treatment of children with cancer, which was Mal Harford’s favorite project since the death of his twin daughters when they were just ten years old. It was more that he didn’t like the time it took away from working or thinking about how to move his family’s company further into the twenty-first century. Still, public appearances had always been good for Dubois Maritime Shipping, a majority of their work connections having been made through the networking of his father and his grandfather before him. So getting out, being the face of the company, was a part of the job. If he thought of it that way, he could reconcile dressing in a tuxedo and even wearing this god-awful mask for the past hour and a half.
Harford’s events always had a theme and this one was a masquerade. Ballard had to give it to the old man, he definitely knew how to draw rich and uptight socialites who were otherwise focused on making even more money than they already had out into a night of drinking and celebrating—and how to depart with some of their well-earned money. Tonight they were at Boston’s Royale Nightclub, a different scene for this batch of upper-class characters but one of such creative allure, they couldn’t resist the opportunity to attend.
The lighting and decor were phenomenal, gold, green and red illuminating the gleaming hardwood floors. Couches were strategically placed throughout the large space, while more than three hundred guests milled about sipping Perrier-Jouët, wearing formal attire and masks ranging from the ornate to the unembellished.
He’d been here for about an hour now, and he decided that thirty more minutes would meet his quota and he could head back to his penthouse. The evening had gone according to protocol as he’d spoken to two international vendors that worked with his company and had been introduced to, and had secured a private meeting with, Yujin Chan from the Chinese consulate in New York, whose family had a huge trade conglomerate and were currently looking for a U.S. partner. So it had already been a good night as far as business was concerned.
And now, as he pulled his mask completely off and continued to stare at the tall, leggy beauty standing about ten feet away from him, it might just be heading in the same direction on a personal note.
She wore a black dress that scraped just past her knees in a fluid material that Ballard thought he just might be in love with. At her shoulders slips of that same material feathered over her skin. From the side, her curvaceous body was what had immediately caught his attention, plump backside and high palm-sized breasts that his palms actually itched to grip. Then she turned and his breath caught in his chest. He blinked just to make sure the lights weren’t interfering with his vision. The dress that he was thanking the designer ten times over for creating took a deep plunge in the front, so deep he had to swallow twice, and even then his erection was still on the rise.
He took the first step toward her and realized music was playing, a mellow jazzy tune. Ballard didn’t want to dance, but he did want her body close to his. Actually, he wanted her naked body on top of his naked body, but for now the dance would have to suffice. She turned again as someone came up behind her. They talked, and he watched her nodding slightly, hair pulled up high so that the length of her neck was bare. He barely registered the person beside her—if they were male or female or if they had horns or a floor-length tail. As he grew closer, another person approached her. It was a man, he noticed this time, and Ballard didn’t like it.
The man said something and she extended her hand to him. “I’m Janelle Howerton. So nice to meet you, sir,” she replied.
Janelle Howerton. The name seemed familiar but not really, as though maybe he’d heard it over the course of the past few weeks. Then again, he’d heard a barrage of names, since their annual meeting of the board was a month ago in New York City, where their newest warehouse had just been expanded. He might have heard the name there but he wasn’t sure. And right now he didn’t really give a damn. All that mattered was that he was now close enough to get a serious whiff of her perfume and his body heated instantly.
“Would you like to dance?” Ballard found himself asking even though he distinctly remembered not wanting to dance a few minutes ago.
She turned to face him then, and only because he was a thirty-five-year-old man, with vast experience when it came to the opposite sex and the responsibility of running a multibillion-dollar company on his shoulders, did he not gawk at her striking beauty and fall at her feet.
“Ah, I don’t think so,” she said, the soft lilt of her voice as alluring as the smooth milky complexion of her skin.
“Sure, go ahead. I won’t hold you up,” the man who had been talking to her said. He even extended a hand to touch her elbow—which irritated Ballard to no end—edging her closer to him. “You two young people go ahead and cut a rug. Shame to put this great band to waste,” the man continued.
“Thank you, sir. Shall we?” Ballard extended his hand to her, almost couldn’t wait for the moment she put her palm in his, and attempted a smile.
They’d barely moved three feet before he turned and pulled her slowly into his arms, letting the music wash through his mind and guide his movements instead of giving his body full control—his body, which was already in overdrive from the quick and potent attraction to this woman.
“Well,” she said once her hands settled on his shoulders, “I hope you’re enjoying yourself tonight.”
“I am now,” was his quick response. “How about you?”
She shrugged. “I’m actually working, but this is a really nice event.”
“Working?”
“Yes, I’m managing the event tonight. So I probably shouldn’t continue dancing.”
“But we’re so good at it,” he replied, pulling her just a bit closer. She felt soft and pliant in his arms, his hand resting at the small of her back, his gaze focused on her face, partially covered by the black domino mask. It had an intricate design that laced around each of her eyes, coming to sexy points at her temples, decorated with white rhinestones. Another rhinestone twinkled over the bridge of her nose and he found himself wanting to touch it, to rub his fingers along the mask, then remove it to see the complete beauty of her face.
He cleared his throat, determined to act like a normal, functioning human and not the bundle of hormones he actually felt like instead. “So you work for the club?”
“Oh, no. The event planners,” was her response.
She looked around the room then and he figured, with the job she’d just told him about, she was checking to see if all was going well.
“It’s a great event. I’m sure Harford will receive a ton of hefty donations.”
This time she nodded, her gaze returning to him. Her eyes were brown with tiny flecks of gold, or maybe that was the lighting again. Either way, he liked them.
“That’s wonderful. It’s such a good cause. My father donates.”
“Yes, a wonderful cause indeed.” He was about to say something else but she’d mentioned her father and then the name clicked in his head. “Is your father Darren Howerton?”
She stopp
ed dancing, looking at him with perplexity. “Ah, yes, he is. Do you know him?”
He nodded, letting the weight of the situation rest slowly in his mind. “I’ve never met him personally, but my family knows of him, of his campaign, I should say.”
“Oh, really?” Her voice seemed just a little brighter. “I guess we should have taken care of these formalities already, but I’m Janelle Howerton.”
Ballard smiled, as he already knew that. “And I’m Ballard Dubois.”
His smile wavered only because hers did, the cordial and sexually charged air around them dissipating with the motion.
“You’re Ballard Dubois?” she asked.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
Slowly, prettily, her smile slipped back into place but didn’t quite elicit that sparkle he’d previously seen in her eyes. “Not a problem, just a coincidence.”
“Well, I don’t really believe in coincidences. I do, however, believe in chance and I would be terribly remiss if I didn’t take this chance to invite you to dinner with me tomorrow night.”
She hesitated, looking around the room again. They’d resumed dancing but now she stopped again, taking a step back so that their bodies were no longer touching. He missed her instantly.
“That sounds nice,” she replied, her tone a little more standoffish than it had been before. “I’m staying at the Four Seasons. But I should really get back to work.”
Ballard would accept that excuse, for now. He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissed the back as his gaze remained focused on her. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”
She smiled again, a wide brilliant smile that might have been practiced but rubbed along his body like warm oil anyway. “I’ll see you tomorrow at seven,” she said before slipping her hand from his and turning to walk away.