by Lucy Smith
The Sunday Arrangement
By Lucy Smith
http://www.lucysmith.com
© 2013 Lucy Smith
All rights reserved.
The copyright holder reserves all rights provided by copyright law, such as distribution, performance, and creation of derivative works. No portion of this manuscript may be used in any form without express written permission.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Prologue
Las Vegas—overflowing with gambling, sex, and drunken, five-minute weddings in garish chapels. A place of opportunity. A place of business. A place of sinful seduction. It seemed only fitting that I discovered my sexual enlightenment there under those bright neon signs, among the risk takers, the strippers, and the haze of thick cigarette smoke.
When I met Pierce Maverick, when I first saw his blonde curly hair and seductive brown eyes, I never thought he’d be the catalyst to awaken the beast, the sexual animal within me. There were rumors—so many rumors—about what happened between us in Las Vegas. The tape, the heat, the Sunday arrangements. Speculations even fueled the production of a TV movie; I watched the news program about this now when I needed a laugh.
For decades, Maverick and I kept our mouths shut about the dirty details of our Sunday arrangement and what really happened in Sin City. After all, that was our delightful secret to keep. It was our scandalous past to relive. With Maverick gone now, I thought it best to set the record straight. Clear the air. Show all my cards. I was older now; I no longer feared people judging me for things long buried in the past. After all, the world deserved to hear the real story. The truth about what happened in Vegas, on and off the mattress.
Chapter One
I clicked the golden handcuffs together. The strength of their bond aroused me. So fierce. So final. So fervid. I don’t know why, but I desperately wanted to use them.
I kept them in my office, hidden away in a drawer. They reminded me of a life outside this dreary building—the freedom to experiment that I longed for. One day that life would be mine. There’d be no stress, no promotions, none of my father’s impossible standards to meet. It would be just my lover and I creatively using these strong handcuffs in the bedroom whenever and however we pleased.
I traced the inner circle of the gold bond with my finger. Heat rose in my face as I thought about cuffing a lover to my high four-poster bed. Naked, he would be chained in my bedroom—a willing, eager companion. His eyes would be loving, hungry. I would see how much he wanted to touch me. His chest would quickly rise and fall with every anxious breath. Patiently he’d watch me, waiting for me to make the first move.
I smiled to myself. Sure hope my Prince Charming, wherever he is, likes getting tied up. I put the locked cuffs back into the drawer of my oak desk, hoping, as I always did, that one day I’d find a man who’d want to unlock the golden circles of my handcuffs as well as my heart.
Suddenly, my office door creaked open. “Your father would like to see you, Ms. Hart,” my assistant whispered.
“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking, Monica?” I quipped, immediately regretting my harsh tone. In the office, Monica was like a scared turtle, cautiously peeking her head out of her shell only when necessary. She already knew how much I hated to be interrupted—especially when I was in the middle of something big. Really big.
“Yes, Ms. Hart. Sorry, it’s just that your father said —”
I locked the drawer to my desk before turning to look at my timid assistant. “Now?” I asked.
She adjusted her thick purple glasses with her index finger. “He says it’s very urgent, Ms. Hart.”
“It always is.” I took a big gulp of air. “Well, I guess there’s no avoiding it then. Thank you, Monica.”
She awkwardly bowed her head and left. I heard the click of my door as I set the pile of blueprints and expense reports on my cherry oak desk. I knew that whatever it was Dad wanted would mean my project would, once again, have to be put on hold.
I saved my work on the computer and stood up from the desk. My neck ached from staring at my computer screen. God, I need a massage. Or a life outside of this gray dungeon. Trying to loosen my weary muscles, I did a few stretches. I’d been sitting since sunrise, agonizing over the details of my master plan—a way to get my name on the Hart Corp map. Everything had to be perfect before I presented it to Dad.
I knew I couldn’t stall much longer, no matter how much my body ached. When Dad called, he expected me to show up immediately. Leaving the office, I walked to the lobby and swiped my badge next to the only elevator with gold doors—the executive elevator. With a ding the shiny doors opened, and I stepped inside. As the doors closed, I checked my hair in the elevator mirrors. The sleek French twist I’d managed at four that morning was somehow still in place. I tucked a loose black curl behind my ear. My ruffled-front, navy dress was a bit wrinkly, so I ran my freshly manicured hand along the fabric in an attempt to smooth over the creases. My father made it clear to me from my first day at the office that while I was in the building representing his company, I was expected to look immaculate. Professional. Understated. Polished. God forbid I looked like I’d actually been working.
I pinched my cheeks, hoping to feign some life into them. Dad didn’t need to know how overworked and exhausted I actually was. The elevator doors opened, and I walked into the reception area.
Rachel, my father’s voluptuous assistant, glanced at me over her black-wired glasses. She was reading a trashy romance novel. She shook her head slowly as though scolding a disobedient child. I knew exactly what she was thinking. “Poor little rich girl, come to see Daddy again.”
Poor thing. Doesn’t she know that those glasses weren’t fooling anyone? “Good morning,” I said blandly.
She set the book down. “Your father asked for you ten minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well. Some of us have work to do.” I really should get Dad to fire Ms. Double Ds, I thought.
As I rounded the corner toward my father’s executive suite, the massive gold logo hanging in the gray hallway caught my eye. My father built Hart Corp from nothing. It had been just a dumb bet he made with another man in college. Now, it was an international business that dealt with every type of trade imaginable. And one day, I’d be head of it.
A lanky, awkward-looking man in a stiff button-down shirt opened one of the double doors to my father’s office for me. I smiled and nodded to the poor young intern stuck on door duty. Rachel’s assignment, I was sure. There was something about the way the curly-headed man always got flustered around me, the way his eyes lingered over my silver buttons and the subtle bulge of my breasts. The rush of blood to his pale cheeks—like he noticed me, wanted me—made me like him. Maybe it was because I was the owner’s daughter. Or maybe he enjoyed the promise my sultry smile held. Whatever his reason, I didn’t mind the extra attention. God, it had been too long. Was I really getting turned on by a twenty-year-old intern?
“Thanks, Kurt,” I whis
pered.
He grinned. “You’re most . . . you’re most welcome, Lauren.”
“Don’t let Rachel stick you on door duty all day, okay?” I said with a wink.
As I entered my father’s expansive office, I immediately noticed he wasn’t alone. Two men sat across from him at his desk in dark leather chairs. Uneasiness overtook me like water on a sinking ship. What the hell were Peter Maverick and his bratty son, Pierce, doing here?
I gave my father a look that needed no interpretation as he stood up to greet me. “Lauren, finally. Come in. Come in. We don’t want to keep these gentlemen waiting.”
Finally? Gentlemen? Something was off here. “I apologize,” I said hesitantly. I walked behind my father’s desk to get a better view of the two men. “I came as soon as my assistant told me.”
The men clad in pinstriped suits politely rose from their seats. Mr. Maverick raised his bushy white eyebrows as though questioning my excuse. He extended his large hand. “Perfectly fine, my dear. I’m Peter Maverick.”
Like I don’t know who you are. I shook his rough hand, doing my best to demonstrate strength in my grip like my father taught me. “Yes, I believe we’ve met.” I struggled to keep my voice civil. What was Dad thinking, letting this monster into his office?
My eyes fell to Maverick’s son, who was idly fiddling with the kerchief in the pocket of his suit. His dark brown eyes glimmered in the light as he stared me down like prey. Lowering his square jaw, he continued to hold his unsettling, ravenous fixation on me. In a strange way, his bizarre stare almost aroused me. My stomach bubbled with excitement at the dark, sultry man before me despite the extensive background of our families. Focus, Lauren. He’s the enemy here, remember? It was all I could do to remind myself that I was supposed to detest this man and his begrudging father whose caterpillar eyebrows and crooked nose were nearly comical next to his son’s undeniable beauty. Though more unsteady than I typically was in meetings such as these, I was determined to rise to Pierce’s obvious challenge. The last thing I needed was to appear squeamish under his intense gaze, even if he was distractingly good-looking. Time had clearly done him well.
Maverick nudged his son with one drooping shoulder.
“And I’m his son, Pierce Maverick,” the younger man said finally, a smirk etched across his gorgeous face. He limply held out his hand as though he wouldn’t deign to give me the respect of a proper handshake.
“Pleasure,” I forced myself to say as our palms met. His touch radiated heat, and a jolt of energy waved through me. My breath caught, and I willed myself not to blush.
“Please have a seat,” my father said, gesturing toward the large chairs behind his desk. “Let’s get down to business.” The men nodded respectfully and sat down in the leather chairs.
“So what’s going on?” I asked, forcing myself to turn away from the hauntingly handsome man. “Forgive my frankness, but this does seem rather unusual . . .”
“I need you to put aside your current projects, Lauren. It appears that Pierce here has come up with an interesting proposal to bring our two companies together and I—”
“Our companies . . . together?”
My father’s face told me my question was a mistake.
“And I would really like you to work with him to develop it,” he continued quickly. “Show him the ropes, so to speak, since he is barely out of school and—”
“I assure you, sir,” Pierce sneered, “I have the proper training and education for this job, probably even more than your daughter here, if you don’t mind my saying so. My father has seen to that.”
Ire rose in me as I saw the arrogant look he gave my father. My desire to play nice quickly evaporated. Good-looking or not, this guy was a prick with a chip on his broad shoulders. Clenching my fists, I miraculously refrained from spewing a few belittling words in his direction. There was no way this fetus had more knowledge of this business than I did. Come back to me after five years of hard cubical time, buddy.
My father softly hummed to himself. His aged forehead wrinkled in distress. I could tell the young man’s arrogance grated on his last nerve, as it did mine. “Yes, I’m sure you are both very qualified,” he said flatly. “No one is trying to discredit you, son. Lauren is one of our research and development experts. I’m sure you two will work well together.”
“I have no doubt that we will,” Pierce agreed a little too quickly for my comfort.
We’ll see about that. I looked at Pierce while my father’s deep voice droned on about the upcoming project. I wanted to see exactly whom I’d be working with these upcoming months. I’d seen him at black-tie events every few years; society functions were normal for families like ours in New York. But I’d never seen him this close, especially not recently. Before now, he had always looked like a teenage boy to me—just another snotty rich kid waiting for his father to keel over.
Today, however, he looked like a man. His dirty blond hair was long and curly on top, but cut short on the sides. His jaw, angled and strong. His pointed chin revealed a small dimple in the middle of it, which I peculiarly found charming. And his eyes, true to his name, were piercing. I glanced at his hands, folded neatly in his lap. I wondered what those soft hands of his could do to me . . .
“Lauren?” My father’s voice interrupted my detailed study of this stranger’s face.
Pierce turned toward me and grinned coyly.
I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. He knew I’d been staring. Damn it! Quickly, I glanced to the clock on the wall behind him. I could practically feel his ego swell from across the room as the air around me grew warm.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll be more than happy to show Pierce the ropes,” I said quickly.
“Pierce, why don’t you come back tomorrow to work on things with my daughter and get all the formalities straightened out,” my father offered. “Agreements signed, that sort of thing? I’ll brief her this afternoon on the specifics of the project. For now, I think we are done here. Do you agree, Peter?” he asked, reaching across his desk to shake hands.
My father’s long-time rival slowly nodded his head but ignored the civil gesture my father offered. “I look forward to seeing this project come to life,” he said curtly.
I saw my father’s extended hand curl into a fist, the whites of his knuckles evident to us all.
My heart pumped quickly as I anticipated an argument between the two men. Eager to see the Maverick men leave, I quickly escorted them to the door. “It will be good for both of our companies,” I said with more confidence than I felt. I held the heavy oak door open for the two men and tried desperately not to stare at Pierce as he left. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Hart,” he said. I nodded, and watched Peter Maverick guide his son by the shoulder.
Pierce looked back and gave me a look that sent a chill running down my spine, and then he left the room.
I bit my lip. I refused to let that handsome twerp get to me. My father gestured for me to take a seat across from him.
I sat down. “Why are you doing this, Dad? Last time I checked, you hated the Mavericks.”
He sighed heavily before sitting down himself. “I may hate the man, but if it weren’t for him, I would have never worked so hard to build what I have now.” He folded his aged hands on his desk. His gold wedding band shimmered in the florescent light. “I can’t deny that the idea his son has come up with is a good one. Both our companies will benefit from the profit this project is sure to accrue. And I don’t think I need to remind you that Hart Corp is in desperate need of something profitable right now. This dry patch is killing us.”
My mind wandered to the stack of blueprints scattered around my cluttered office—my answer to the unexpected decline in production the company had been experiencing the last several months.
“It will also give us a new people-friendly image. Perhaps it will even get the press off our backs about the bad blood between our businesses and families. It’ll be well worth working with them.”
�
�Maybe for you. I’m the one who’s going to have to deal with the kid.”
My father raised his thick, gray eyebrows. “I didn’t realize there was animosity there. Do you two have a history I don’t know about?”
I leaned toward his massive desk, my hands on my knees. “You’re joking, right?”
“Am I ever?”
“Dad, you’re the reason I hate the Mavericks. It’s not something I have a legitimate reason for, I guess. It’s just that you instilled this hatred in Toby and me since we were in diapers.”
“I’ve never known you to hate someone so thoroughly.”
“Surely you’re not about to give me a lecture on loving my neighbor, Dad. . . .”
My dad’s large hand ran through his thinning white hair. “All I’m asking you to do is be civil. No matter what family biases we may have, Pierce is your business partner now. You should act accordingly. Give him a chance before you make up your mind about him.”
“What is this genius idea of his anyway? The boy is barely out of college.”
“A casino, actually. He wants to build one that is bigger and better than any before it. Five-star restaurants, luxury spas, charity balls—the works!” His voice raised in forced excitement as though he needed me to believe him.
“Explain to me exactly how this is going to work,” I said. “Sounds like a lot of money for a very common idea to me.”
“That’s the beauty, my dear. Even the average tourist will be able to afford the packages we will offer.”
My father had finally lost it. “We will be losing money hand over fist if we build something of that size for people of such little means!”
“Not necessarily. We offer them rates middle-income families can afford, but we will also sell bigger packages to wealthy families who will get more activities and passes to certain VIP areas within the hotel and casino. The wealthy families will make back the cost of building the casino and fund everything else.”
I shook my head. “But how are we going to get both income types to want to gamble together? There are high-end casinos for a reason.”