Ruthless

by Deborah Bladon

  I avoid telling a lie by using the tried and true tactic of deflection. “Marcy Clover called a few minutes ago. She’d like to see you this morning.”

  I know he’s set on shutting down Empire Soaks as soon as he can. That’s why I made a few phone calls over the weekend to try and stop that in its tracks. I have strings to pull and favors to cash in. The Calvettis know a lot of people in New York.

  He glances at the watch on his wrist. “Schedule that for ten. I can give her fifteen minutes.”

  “She can’t leave the store, so I told her you’d be there from ten until eleven since you have nothing else booked.”

  “You what?”

  There’s a bite of irritation in his tone. I don’t need to look up into his face to know that he’s frustrated, but I do anyway.

  Yep. His handsome face is twisted into a scowl.

  “It will give you a chance to see the store,” I say calmly. “The subway runs two blocks from Empire Soaks. I can send you directions if you want.”

  His eyes widen. “You can send a message to my driver telling him to get down here before ten to pick me up.”

  “It’s going to take longer to get there in a car. Traffic is hell in Manhattan.” Smiling sweetly, I tilt my head to the side. “Hop on the subway, and you’ll be there in no time flat.”

  “What is it with you and the subway?”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “I’ve taken it all my life. It’s the best way to travel this city. You have to give it a chance.”

  “Fine, but you’re going with me.” He raises a brow. “I need a subway guide, and you seem to be the expert.”

  I wouldn’t say that, but I can show him the ropes. The bonus is I get to see the look on his face when he walks into Empire Soaks and sees their new spokesperson.

  Today is already ten times better than yesterday.

  He starts toward his office door but stops to turn back to me. “Don’t forget to return the fun and done, Isabella. Unless you’d prefer I take the cost out of your paycheck so you can keep it.”

  “I’m on it.”

  His brows perk as a sexy grin lifts the corners of his mouth. His gaze drifts to my chair. “You’re on it?”

  Shit. Today is worse than yesterday.

  “I’ll have it sent back before we leave for Empire Soaks.” I reach for the invoice that he left on my desk. “I should get back to responding to emails.”

  He nods before he walks into his office, shutting the door behind him.

  Chapter 31

  Bella

  “You lived.” I look up into Barrett’s face as we reach the top of the stairs leading up from the subway platform. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  Taking in our surroundings, he brushes a hand over his brow. “You don’t want me to answer that question honestly, do you?”

  Laughing, I toss my hair over my shoulder, looking for some relief from the mid-morning heat that’s engulfing Manhattan. “You didn’t tell me that you had a MetroCard.”

  “I’m not the subway virgin you think I am.”

  It’s hard to imagine him as a virgin in any capacity. I glance down the street to chase the moment away, hoping that he’ll think the sudden pink flush on my cheeks is from the warm air circling us.

  “I did take the subway on occasion in Chicago,” he goes on, loosening the knot on his tie. “I picked up the MetroCard after you gave me hell that night outside Axel. I thought I better learn to ride the rails like a real New Yorker before you give me shit again.”

  Smiling, I wave a finger at him. “It takes time to become a real New Yorker. This is just the first step.”

  “What’s the second step?”

  I glance down the busy sidewalk. “Learning where the best cupcakes are. There’s a bakery three blocks from here. We have enough time that we can stop in there and pick up a few for Marcy and her kids.”

  He steps back to make room for a woman walking five dogs. He gives her a curt nod when she smiles at him. “It’s a business meeting, Isabella, not a tea party.”

  “Who says you can’t have cupcakes at business meetings?” Curling a finger so he’ll follow me, I set off. “I’ll give you a mini-tour of the Upper West Side. The bakery is on Amsterdam Avenue. We’ll take 78th Street to get there.”

  “No.” His voice comes out in a strangled whisper. “Stop.”

  I turn and face him, noting the heavy exhale that escapes him. He’s digging a finger inside the collar of his shirt. Sweat is peppering his forehead. I can’t tell if the steady rush of people passing us on the sidewalk is making him uncomfortable or if it’s the heat in the air.

  “I’ll get you some water,” I offer looking around for a bodega or a drugstore. I could take him to my parents’ apartment. That’s only a few blocks from here, and my mom is a retired nurse, but she might not be home. I do have a key since I lived there for the first eighteen years of my life, but it’s in the purse I usually carry with me. That’s back at my place.

  “I’m fine,” he insists with a hand on my forearm.

  He’s not fine. He looks like he’s on the verge of passing out. Getting him to Marcy’s air-conditioned store is my best move. The cupcakes will have to wait for another day when my boss isn’t melting from the heat.

  I tap my hand over his. “Let’s go.”

  His fingers wrap around mine in a death grip. “No detours. We’re going straight to Empire Soaks.”

  I look up and catch him staring at me. He’s flushed, but there’s more to it. I see something in his eyes I haven’t noticed before. It’s panic.

  His gaze falls to the sidewalk. “Let’s get this over with. The sooner I get back to the office, the better.”

  I fall in step beside him as he maneuvers through the heavy pedestrian traffic, headed for Marcy’s store with my hand still in his.

  ***

  Ansel and Elara run at me full-force when I walk into Empire Soaks. They bypass Barrett with ease, sidestepping him to land right in my arms.

  I giggle when they scream, “we missed you so much,” in unison.

  Kneeling, I take them both in for a big hug. “I missed you too.”

  Elara cradles my face in her small palms. “You’ll come over to play soon, right? Mommy said you’d come.”

  When Marcy asked me via text if I’d stop by her apartment for playtime with the kids, I responded immediately that I’d love to. I’m going to take everything I need to make tacos for dinner once we figure out which night works best.

  Letting them go, I gaze up to find Barrett staring at me. He took off his suit jacket before we walked in the door. His hair is a mess from where he repeatedly ran his hand through it. He doesn’t look anything like he did when we left the office.

  I can tell he’s overwrought about something, but I have no idea what that is. He didn’t say a word to me on the walk here from the subway stop.

  “Bella!” A man’s voice turns Barrett’s head toward the checkout counter.

  Empire Soaks is busy. It’s filled with people carrying wire baskets containing many of the products that Marcy developed. Everything is organic-based, and I’m confident that once we spread the word, she won’t be able to keep up with the demand.

  “Trey,” I call back. “You made it.”

  “Is that Trey Hale?” Barrett mutters under his breath as I head across the store to the handsome man wearing a green Empire Soaks T-shirt.

  I let him take me in his arms for a big bear hug. “How’s my favorite Calvetti?”

  Taking a step back, I look into his brown eyes. “Marti is your favorite.”

  Trey dropped into Calvetti’s for the first time two years ago when I was helping in the kitchen. It was just days after he pitched the winning game in the World Series. My grandma had no idea who he was. She still doesn’t understand that he’s one of the best major league baseball players. To her, he’s just a “sweet boy who loves spaghetti.”

  “I love her,” he admits on a sigh. “She’s the best. You’re l
ucky to have her.”

  I give him a knowing nod. “You should stop by to see her soon.”

  “Today,” he promises with a smile. “I’m going to put in a few hours here, and then I’ll head over there.”

  The sound of a throat clearing behind us lures Trey’s gaze over my shoulder. “Who’s the suit?”

  “My boss.”

  “Barrett Adler.” Barrett’s hand shoots out in Trey’s direction. “You’re Trey Hale.”

  Trey smiles politely. “Guilty as charged. It’s good to meet you.”

  When Marcy turns to look in my direction, I raise a hand to wave to her. I’m gifted with a silent, “thank you,” from her lips. Even from this distance, I can see tears welling in her eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” My boss asks Trey the obvious question.

  Trey tugs on the front his T-shirt. “You’re looking at Empire Soaks new spokesman.”

  “New spokesman?” Barrett shifts his focus from Trey to me. “You knew about this? Who authorized it? I didn’t see a contract.”

  “I’m doing it as a favor to Bella.” Trey rests a hand on my shoulder. “After she told me about what Marcy has been through since her husband died, I jumped right in to help. I’ll do what I can. I’m donating my time, and I’ve got a photographer friend headed down here as we speak to get some shots of me with the products. Empire Soaks will be trending online before the day is over.”

  Chapter 32

  Barrett

  It’s been four days since I shook Trey Hale’s hand. His social media posts touting the products that Marcy is selling put Empire Soaks on the map. Not only did the store shut its doors early that day because they ran out of inventory, but their website crashed.

  Last week I was contemplating when I’d close the business for good. Today, I’ve been on the phone for hours working out a manufacturing deal with a supplier in the Midwest. They can replicate Marcy’s products on a large scale right down to the last drop of essential oil.

  One call from my executive assistant to Trey Hale altered the course of the lives of Marcy and her kids. They’ve all struggled since the unexpected death of her husband five months ago.

  Grief therapy has kept Marcy’s feet moving forward. Every second Thursday afternoon she’s there with her mother-in-law. The woman is Elara and Ansel’s nanny. That’s why Isabella was watching over the kids that day. Their mother and grandmother have been trying to navigate their way through an unthinkable loss.

  I left Empire Soaks alone the other day with a full picture of Marcy’s life and business. Isabella hung back to work on promotional details with Trey.

  Since then, I’ve been working my ass off. I’ve kept my assistant just as busy. She clocked out on Friday night with a wiggle of her fingers in a wave to me while I talked on the phone.

  I wanted to ask her to join me for a drink to celebrate the stellar week we had, but she was out of the building before I could wrap my call up. I took it as a sign and headed up to my penthouse to pour over the details for a merger that Duke was keen on. It won’t see the light of day. Some deals can’t be saved.

  I look up when I see Isabella dart into my view through the open door of my office. She met Max for lunch an hour ago. She checked in before she left to see if I wanted her to bring me back anything. I declined. I need to take off to a meeting of my own.

  Standing, I clear my throat, hoping to grab her attention.

  It works. She drops her purse on her desk then whips around to face me.

  Soft gray is definitely a color that works on her. It plays off the flecks in her eyes. The dress she’s wearing is clinging to her. It’s simple, but on her, it looks fucking spectacular.

  Tapping one of her black stilettos on the floor, she drops her hands to her hips. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  The raging hard-on I seem to have every time I’m near you.

  Seeing as though I’m not a seventeen-year-old kid with zero self-control, I swallow those words and go for a more business like approach. “I have a meeting to get to. I need you to stay on top of all the moving parts for Empire Soaks. I’ve been in touch with a new website developer, and I’m waiting to hear back from the supplier.”

  Her brow crunches together. “You have a meeting? I don’t recall seeing that on your calendar.”

  Pushing back from my desk, I stand. “It’s personal.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she steps into my office. “Should I interrupt you if something comes up?”

  “No.” Buttoning my jacket, I round my desk. “I’ll be back by four to address any issues. Keep things at bay until then.”

  I can see the wheels turning behind those stormy blue eyes of hers. She’s trying to piece together what the hell I’m doing. I want her to ask questions because I’m aching to see a flare of jealousy cross that beautiful face of hers, but she’s stoic. She contemplates me for a few more seconds before she shrugs a shoulder and turns to leave.

  I head straight to the elevator. I jab a finger into the call button twice even though I know the second time is useless.

  “Barrett?”

  Hearing Isabella’s voice behind me, I turn. She’s standing next to her desk with a pen in her hand. Tapping it against her palm, she takes a heavy breath. “Is the meeting in your penthouse or somewhere else?”

  “A hotel,” I answer succinctly.

  The pen slaps her palm harder and then again, even harder. “Well, I hope you have fun.”

  There’s no mistaking the sarcastic bite to the last word. Maybe my assistant is as attracted to me as I am to her.

  I board the elevator once the doors slide open. Turning back to face her, I shoot her one of my dimpled smiles. “Have a great afternoon, Isabella.”

  “You too,” she drawls with a forced grin. “I hope you have the time of your life.”

  ***

  Why the fuck do I do this to myself? I know better.

  “Barrett, are you listening to me?”

  I look over the rim of the glass in my hand. It’s perched at my mouth. I’m not a day drinker, but today is a special occasion. I’ve spent the last two hours in a hotel suite with my mother. If that doesn’t call for getting inebriated mid-afternoon, I don’t know what the hell does.

  “I’m listening,” I say calmly. “You were talking about Stella Jerkins and her hair extensions.”

  “Her wig,” she corrects me with a manicured fingernail wagging in my direction across the table. “The color is dreadful.”

  It’s probably a step up from the ruby red mess of curls sitting atop my mother’s head. She wants the world to believe that she’s never donned a wig, yet I know that she has a collection that numbers in the hundreds.

  She tips her stylist extra well to keep the secret hidden from her friends back in Chicago.

  I empty the last of the alcohol in my glass. I’ve ordered room service multiple times since I arrived since my mother couldn’t decide what to eat for lunch. Each order was punctuated with a glass of whiskey for me. I lost count, but I’d guess it’s up to three or four.

  I can still walk a straight line, so I stand readying to raid the mini bar. “I need another drink. Do you want anything, Mother?”

  “You should call me Monica.”

  I give her a look that can only rival the ones she must get when she walks down the street with that wig on her head. “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “I look too young to be your mother.” That’s followed by a nervous laugh from her.

  “You were thirty-two when I was born.” I point out waving the empty glass in the air. “That makes you sixty plus.”

  “Shush your mouth.” She tosses a linen napkin in my direction. “You may be thirty-four, but you still need to show me respect.”

  I respect her. I respect that she held it together when my father couldn’t keep his hands off other women. Monica stuck it out through those affairs because she wanted me to have a stable home life.

  It was an innocent mist
ake on her part. I knew what my dad was up to. I overheard the phone conversations he had with his mistresses. I smelled the overly sweet perfume on his clothes when he’d come back to Chicago after his business trips to New York.

  “Why are you here?” I ask the question I’ve wanted to ask since she surprised me early this morning with a call that started with the words I wasn’t in the mood to hear. “I’m in Manhattan, son.”

  She pops out of the chair she’s been settled in. “Your father called me after all these years. He said you’ve been asking questions. I thought it would always be us against them.”

  Them. My half-siblings. They are the three people on this earth that she’s fought to keep me from.

  She used guilt as her ammunition. I fell in line for the most part because my efforts to contact my oldest sister were always met with silence. After years of trying, I gave up until now.

  “Times have changed.” I glare at her. “A mother shouldn’t expect a sacrifice like that from her only child to satisfy her selfish need to punish his father.”

  “You know that he didn’t want you around after that day. It was too hard after what you did.”

  A slap in the face wouldn’t sting as much. My dad cut me from his life almost twenty years ago. Monica hopped on that bandwagon and steered it in the direction she wanted it to go.

  She alienated me from my family so she could call me her own.

  “You should have stood up for me.” I clench the glass in my hand. “I was a fifteen-year-old kid.”

  “I’m standing up for you now.” She rushes toward me with her arms outstretched. “I’m telling you what you need to hear. Don’t reach out to them. They’ll never accept you after all this time.”

  Selfishness knows no bounds in her world.

  “You’re too late,” I say, loudly. “I’ve already reached out and there’s not a damn thing you or Irving can do about it.”

  The mention of my father’s name sets her back a step. “We promised we’d never say his name. You know how much that hurts me.”