It was the only guilt trip that ever worked on Eric—the invocation of his dead father. He knew the pictures on the mantle by heart. The clean-cut man who always showed his teeth when he smiled. Who did things like sail across the Atlantic and learn to fly prop planes. Who swept Eric’s mother off her feet with random trips to Paris or obscenely expensive jewelry. The man had swagger. He was everything that, as a boy, Eric wanted to be. Everything that, as a man, he was not.
Well, except for the swagger, maybe.
“Of course, I’m not just going to hand it to you.” Grandmother shook Eric out of his memories.
And there it was: the caveat. There was always one.
Eric clenched his jaw. “Let’s have it.”
She took another gulp of oxygen, intentionally drawing out the conversation. “I want to know the de Vries name will go on,” she said. “It’s what they both would have wanted; therefore, it’s also my dying wish.”
Eric’s mouth dropped again. “Are you for real? Is this a joke out of some Thomas Hardy novel? Dying wish?”
Grandmother grinned again. It was alarming. She’d lost some teeth, and others were badly decayed, likely from the chemo. A woman like her wouldn’t go without a decent set of veneers or dentures with any company whatsoever. She must have really been in pain.
“I assure you it’s very real,” she said. “Marry, Eric. Within six months. And stay married for at least five years, long enough to produce an heir, if you can. Should you succeed, the company is yours. And if you truly don’t want it after five years, you may abdicate your position to your aunt Violet or your cousin Nina.” She sucked in another round of oxygen, like the thrill of the announcement was too much for her. “Say no, and I’ll sell everything, leaving the family penniless but for their current trusts. And as you know, those have never been as generous as they would like.”
His first instinct was to tell her she was off her goddamn rocker. Even with one foot in the grave, she was still up to her old tricks, playing with people like marionettes. And if it were just him she was trying to manipulate, Eric probably would have said so. But his family didn’t deserve to have their entire future ripped from them. Nina, to whom he’d barely spoken in ten years—What would her life be like? And as much as he couldn’t stand his mother or aunt, weak and self-absorbed as they were, they didn’t deserve it either. None of them deserved to be pawns in this Machiavellian game Madame de Vries was playing.
“Marry,” she repeated. “And as the good Lord said, ‘be fruitful and multiply.’”
The words rang through Eric’s head like the gong of the grandfather clock, chiming on and on. Any instinct he ever had for marriage died with Penny, seeped out of her veins and down the bathtub drain along with her life.
Eric just wasn’t the marrying type. He was more the never-let-them-into-his-apartment type. The screw-them-and-leave-before-it-gets-light type. And even if he weren’t, there was no one who would be willing to go along with this crazy scheme. No one he could stand long enough to try.
Except…one. One woman whose wit and audacity could possibly make this arrangement bearable. She was one woman in the world Eric could ever see himself marrying, even if it was just for show.
Jane Lee Lefferts.
A woman who completely and utterly hated his guts.
Continue reading in The Hate Vow.
Legally Yours
An Excerpt
It wasn’t until I was about halfway through the park that I heard a voice echoing behind me.
“Wait! Miss! Fuck, I don’t know your name, but will you just stop!”
I turned around to find Sterling bounding doggedly through the snow. He stumbled, nearly fell on a crack in the sidewalk, but rebounded with the reflexes of a trained athlete and caught up with me in a few more steps. A few more errant locks fell across his forehead, and I was faced with a smile that made my legs feel as if they were immersed in a hot tub, not the frigid New England air blowing up my skirt.
“Do you always go wandering through the Commons after midnight?” he asked as he regained his breath. “It’s not exactly safe. Especially for someone like you.”
I didn’t have to ask what he meant by that, considering my size and gender. Instead, I flushed, suddenly embarrassed by my idiocy. I wasn’t some hayseed from the hills. In my desperation to escape that house and the very disturbing effect that, well, this man seemed to have on me, I had done what every city dweller knows not to do: wander a public park at night.
“You left without saying goodbye,” Sterling said with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Or what you were doing in my house.”
“God,” I said, finally finding my voice, but able to look everywhere but directly at him. Like the sun, he exuded energy so bright I couldn’t see clearly. So instead, I rambled.
“I’m so sorry about that. I’m a friend of Ana’s, your housekeeper. She just let me in for a minute but had to go, uh, deal with something in her room. I didn’t have any cell reception down there, so I came upstairs to find a signal. She had no idea, really, so please don’t blame her. I didn’t mean to intrude in your, space, truly, and, um...”
I didn’t stop babbling until Sterling placed his hands on my shoulders and bent down so his chiseled features were level with mine.
“It’s okay,” he said slowly, and I found myself rolling my eyes at his playful tone before I could stop myself.
“Sorry,” I repeated, but the babbling stage was over.
“Your name?” he prompted again, releasing my shoulders and standing back up straight.
It was then I realized again just how very tall he was. A frame that must have been close to six-four filled out a charcoal gray suit in a way that made me wonder just how much time he spent wearing a suit and how much time he spent at the gym.
“Yum,” I whispered before I could stop to think.
“Your name is Yum?”
“Oh, no,” I said, flushing an even deeper red. “Christ. Sorry. It’s Skylar.”
“Skylar Crosby?” he asked quickly.
I frowned at him. I wasn’t cold like Bostonians, but as a New Yorker, I had a deep suspicious streak. A stranger knowing my name definitely qualified as suspect.
“Yes…” I said, taking a few steps backward. “How did you know that?”
“I make it a point to know all of my employees’ names,” Sterling said with a brief, white smile. “Even the interns. Skylar’s a memorable one.”
Even though it was snowing outside, that was when I truly froze. The dots connected, and I suddenly realized who this was: Brandon Sterling, the elusive name partner at the firm he also founded. He was a legend in the office, but hadn’t been seen once by any interns. That in and of itself wasn’t unusual—we were disposable labor, so most of the partners were unlikely to take much interest. But even most of the junior associates who oversaw our work had never met him personally. He was a phantom.
“Oh, Jesus,” I breathed. “Jesus Christ.”
“No, just me, I’m afraid,” Sterling replied with another bright smile. “Although it’s a nice comparison.”
“I’m so sorry, sir,” I spluttered. “Oh my God, oh god, I was intruding on your home, and I really shouldn’t have. A friend of a friend invited me to wait for a car inside because of the weather, but it was completely inappropriate. I only went upstairs to find cell reception, I swear, and then you walked in…”
Shut up, shut up, he already knows this, shut up! My inner dialogue went crazy trying to censor the blather again pouring out of my mouth. When I looked back at Sterling, I was mortified to see him trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.
“Ms. Crosby,” he interrupted gently with yet another knee-weakening smile. “Really. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m just…very sorry for intruding,” I said lamely. “And for babbling. It’s something I do when I’m…”
“When you’re what?”
“Um, nervous,” I admitted.<
br />
“You’ll have to fix that if you want to be a litigator,” he joked, causing me to turn bright red all over again. Fuck, could things get any worse? Although I wasn’t sure I wanted the job at Sterling Grove, it would have given me a springboard to any other I wanted. I could kiss that opportunity goodbye.
“It’s all right,” Sterling said yet again, patting me gently on the arm.
In the cold, his touch seared through the heavy wool of my jacket. He shivered, and for the first time, I realized he had chased me into the snow in just his suit and very expensive-looking leather shoes, which were already getting watermarks from the snow around the tips. I looked down at my feet. My Manolos were also as good as ruined.
“I’m going to head back inside,” he said, tossing back toward his house. “Care to join me?”
“Oh no, sir, I’m really fine,” I said. “The T is just down this path, and it goes right back to Cambridge.”
Sterling glanced at his watch, which also looked very shiny and very expensive, but not flashy like that fool’s from the bar. Subtle. Tasteful.
“It’s almost one,” he said. “You probably already missed the last train, if you don’t get robbed in the park on your way there. Come on. My driver’s out of town, but I can call you a car while you wait.” When I hesitated, he reached out and squeezed my hand before letting it go, an intimate gesture that seemed to surprise him a bit too. “What kind of boss would I be if I made my interns stay until after midnight and didn’t give them a ride home?”
“Um…” For some reason, I couldn’t quite tell him that his office wasn’t the reason I was out so late.
“Let’s go,” he said again in a tone that brooked no argument and started to make his way back through the snow.
Someone (most likely Ana) had wised up to Sterling’s arrival. A large fire was alive in the fireplace when we reentered the house through the double-door entrance. There was no sign of his three companions. The house appeared to be empty but for him and me.
Sterling slipped off his shoes and carried them over to the fireplace. He set them down on the hearth while I loitered awkwardly in the foyer.
“Have a seat,” he said, nodding at one of the overstuffed couches I had been eyeing earlier. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He disappeared upstairs while I sat down. When he returned, he carried a newspaper and a small box covered in scratches and paint splotches. He had removed his jacket, vest, and tie, and was decidedly more informal, with his white shirt unbuttoned at the throat and rolled up to his elbows. Though it was practically identical to the outfits of just about every other man I’d seen that night, there was something about the way the tendons in his forearms tested the limits of his rolled-up sleeves that made my mouth water, as if his casual regalia were trying to tame an animalism that was literally splitting seams to escape. Padding silently across the thick carpet, he reminded me of lion tracking its prey.
“May I?” he asked, kneeling in front of me and taking the heel of my shoe in his hand.
Wordlessly, I watched as he slid my pumps off each foot, then carefully set my stockinged feet back onto the sheepskin. When he looked up, our eyes caught as they had when I had first seen him. The moment quickly passed. He cleared his throat and stood up.
“Manolos,” he said, holding up one of my prized pumps. “The lady has expensive taste.”
“The lady has only one pair,” I responded sadly. “So I hope you’re not going to throw them in the fire.”
“Hardly,” he said, the “r” of the word flattening with a surprisingly thick Boston accent. He set both pairs of our shoes down on the hearth and proceeded to stuff them with crumpled newspaper.
“They’re not too wet,” he said. “I don’t think the fire will damage them at all, just help them dry. I’ll put some oil on them, though, if you’re all right with that.”
He opened up the box, which contained a rudimentary shoe shining kit.
“Where did you get that?” I asked. “It looks like an antique.”
“It was my father’s,” Sterling replied absently as he rummaged around and finally located a container of clear balm. He proceeded to dip a stained brush into the jar and rub it onto his shoes, one at a time.
“Oh, are you close?”
The question came out before I could help it. Sterling glanced up sharply for a half-second before returning to his work, now brushing the polish into my shoes with vigor.
“He’s not around anymore,” he said quietly.
“Oh,” I said. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I shouldn’t intrude. Again.”
He looked up again, this time kindly.
“Skylar,” he said, and it was then I realized how much more I liked hearing my given name roll off his tongue. Much like before, the ‘r’ at the end wasn’t fully pronounced, rolling open with a subtle New England cadence that betrayed a working-class background he hadn’t quite erased.
“Yes?”
“You apologize too much.”
“I’m so—” I started before catching myself. Sterling gave me a cheeky half-smile, and I couldn’t help but grin back. “Right,” I amended. “Okay.”
“Exactly,” he said with a wink before turning back to our shoes.
Ana entered the room with a tray bearing a teapot and a cup. When she noticed my presence on the couch, her expression briefly morphed into surprise before sliding back into easy affability.
“I believe you know Ms. Crosby, Ana,” Sterling said from his seat by the fire.
“Ah, yes, sir, a bit. I, um…”
“It’s all right, Ana,” Sterling said, echoing his words from before. I wondered if he tired of constantly having to reassure all the women he met. Clearly, he was disruptive to many of us. “You’re done for the night.”
“Yes, sir,” Ana said before leaving. “Good night.” With a quick, unreadable glance at me, she was gone, no doubt to gossip with Eric, if he was even still here, about what I was doing upstairs.
“Please,” Sterling said, indicating the tea. “You look frozen, so help yourself. I’ll call for a car and get another cup.”
He lifted himself easily from the hearth, and I couldn’t help but watch his finely shaped form as he strode out of the room. No wonder he kept himself such a secret at the office. With an ass like that, he’d have associates camped outside his door.
He returned shortly with his cell phone held to his ear and another teacup, which he set down on the tray. A woman’s voice said clearly that she would call him back shortly about the car.
“Cab companies call you back now?” I asked after he hung up.
“No, but personal assistants do,” he said with another impish half-smile. My gut clenched. “How’s the tea?”
I took a sip. It was delicious, a sweet jasmine that I’d never had before. “Wonderful.”
He nodded. “It’s a blend I picked up the last time I was in Beijing. I’m no aficionado, thought it was pretty good.” His phone buzzed in his hand. “Sterling.”
The woman’s voice was more muffled this time, so I couldn’t understand what she was saying. “Really?” Sterling asked at one point. “All right. No, no, that’s fine, Margie, I’ll take care of it. You have a good night.”
He ended the call and slid back down to his seat on the hearth, elbows perched easily across his knees.
“Well, here’s the deal, Ms. Crosby,” he said.
“Skylar,” I corrected him. I didn’t want him to stop saying it now that he’d started.
Sterling rewarded me with another slow, soft smile that made my stomach flip. “Skylar. Well. It’s past one. The subways and buses are most likely done. Margie tells me she called four different car companies, but it appears that everyone in Boston is trying to get someone to drive them home in this weather. I’d drive you myself, but my car is being detailed. So, you’ve got a choice. You can wait here until about four a.m. for the next available car, which will make me grumpy since I’ll have to stay up with you, and I’
m dog-tired. You can take your chance with the T, in which case I’ll walk you to the station. Through a blizzard, by the way. But I doubt you’ll do anything but spend the night there. Or you can take advantage of my hospitality and stay the night in one of my guest rooms.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” I started to say, but received the same brusque flick of the hand that Ana had gotten.
“Stop,” Sterling ordered. “This place is practically a hotel anyway. It’s no trouble, I promise.”
He lifted his eyebrow again in that way that dared me to argue otherwise, and I bit my lip as a snarky comment rose up my throat. His eyes zoomed straight to my mouth, and I quickly released my lip from my teeth.
“Ah,” he said, somewhat huskily this time. “So. Sleep on thousand-thread-count sheets in a warm bedroom? Or on a concrete bench with a bunch of homeless guys who probably haven’t showered since August? Tough decision, I know.”
I looked at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was really as altruistic as he seemed. Or as confident. He was nice, but how many men invited strange women to stay the night without having ulterior motives? In my (admittedly limited) experience, approximately none.
“Do you, um, live here by yourself?” The place was silent other than the fire and our voices.
Sterling smirked.
“Yes,” he said. “Is that a problem?”
“Well, you’re not going to try anything, are you?” The question flew out before I could stop it.
“I’m pretty sure welcoming yourself into my house and wandering my halls removes any liability on my part of sexual harassment, Skylar,” he said with a grin. “But I applaud your contempt nonetheless. First I’ve seen that you could be as cutthroat as my associates tell me.”
“They talk about me?”
The Honest Affair (Rose Gold Book 3) Page 33