by Angel Payne
While Chad turned and spoke quietly with a few of our new contemporaries, I booted my laptop and readied the presentation he’d scrambled together in the limo, based on our strategic conversation at the time. Since bandaging Trey Stone’s reputation was directly linked to confidence in Stone Global Corporation as a whole, we’d have to use a multi-pronged approach that was likely to change by the second, though these notes gave us a decent place to start.
“Miss Montgomery, will you be taking part in the presentation? I’m looking forward to hearing your ideas.”
That voice again. His nearness again. The most excruciating example of heaven and hell life had ever thrown at me.
I carefully swiveled from my spot at the projector to make sure my ears weren’t playing tricks on me. At first I thought he must’ve been joking—cruelly so—but Killian Stone had his midnight stare pinned directly into me, as though he actually expected my answer to be yes.
No. Don’t look forward to hearing my ideas. Don’t look forward to anything from me. Please!
Right on time, Margaux barked out a laugh. The sound could’ve been charming, if someone enjoyed listening to injured seals. “Oh Killian, you are such a funny one. Our Claire is sweet but inexperienced as of yet. She’s great at crunching all the numbers and data, though.”
“Mr. Stone will be fine, thank you. And I happen to like numbers and data.” He maintained the pose like a wildcat in waiting, a clear dare for Margaux to refute him.
She didn’t. Instead, she swallowed hard and shrank back. Though a few snickers peppered the air, I firmly decided to stay out of the fray. Preferably, out of Margaux’s blast zone altogether. I lowered my head and busied myself with the menu screen on the computer, congratulating myself for the move when Andrea came to salvage her daughter’s dignity.
“In the interest of time, I’ll present our preliminary plan solo, Mr. Stone. I hope that will be acceptable?” She beamed her megawatt smile, the one matching the engagement ring my father had slipped on her finger three months ago, with an extra glint added to her light green eyes. Her expression communicated “You’re my number one priority” and “Don’t fuck with me” in five convenient seconds.
Stone returned the stare as if she’d tried to crack a joke that wasn’t funny.
“Great,” he declared. “Let’s get started, then. I have other things to attend to before calling it a day.”
The air in the room shifted as everyone complied with the request that really wasn’t a request. Chairs squeaked and papers rustled as everyone took their seats. I clutched opposing elbows again, like the speechless idiot I’d become.
Clearly, this man did everything his way—the way he expected everyone else to do them, too. It was a simple fact in his world. Disputing the point was useless, just as was denying I didn’t instantly add it to my list of arousal factors about him. When I mixed in his physical pull, shifting from a carnal pulse to a breath-stealing force when he came nearer than fifteen feet, I came to a pair of harsh conclusions.
Resisting the urge to idolize him was going to be agonizing. But indulging it would be worse.
Time for a fast lesson in separating reality from fantasy.
The lights were dimmed. I grabbed a seat at the front end of the oval conference table, nearest the equipment in case technical problems arose during Andrea’s presentation. The show wouldn’t last long, considering we’d received the call from SGC’s team less than eighteen hours ago.
My heart stuttered when Killian dropped into the seat beside me. Fabulous. Just when I’d reclaimed a scrap of concentration, along with the hope Margaux didn’t have enough inspiration to order up a voodoo doll named Claire.
Sure enough, I looked up to confront Margaux’s glare, practically forging daggers for me at me across the table. Dammit. She and I would need to talk, and soon. I’d done nothing to attract Killian Stone’s weird attention laser beam.
Except enjoy it, girlfriend. A lot.
That didn’t mean I was going to do anything about it.
Yes, he was breathtaking. His tall, proud physique looked hard enough to bounce coins off of. He wore a suit better than any Versace model. His thick, shiny hair made my fingers twitch, wondering if it was soft as satin, rough as plywood, or both. I was certain he did bed head even better, especially with a jaw of stubble grown in to go with it. So beautiful. So alluring. So commanding.
So off-limits.
The die had been cast years ago, during one semester that changed everything. Margaux and I were both seniors, and she’d gotten pissed off enough at Andrea to move out of their La Jolla palace and slum it in an off-campus house shared by myself and three girlfriends. Since she had a sex tape as evidence against my roomie Bonnie and was willing to share her high-end hair products, we all agreed to tolerate her for a few months.
That was when things had gotten tough for Nick, the man—the boy—to whom I was all but engaged to. So desperate to pay his pre-med tuition, Nick was ready to sell his body on the street, until learning that selling prescription drugs would turn him a better profit. I’d listened, beyond in love, as he gave grand speeches about how the medications should be legalized, anyway, and the corrupt pharmaceutical companies were holding everyone hostage with huge bribes to the government. It was a crime, how some students had to carry horrific credit loads to succeed in their majors and couldn’t survive the stress without some “artificial help.” It wasn’t like the dispensaries at the rehab facilities where he worked would miss the pills, either. Like the infatuated idiot I was, Nick became my Lancelot, Saint George, and Robin Hood in one. He was a savior, not a criminal; a knight, not a drug dealer. Like the noble Maid Marian I refashioned myself into, I’d let him store his stash in my room. And like the shrewdest Sheriff John on the planet, Margaux had gathered plenty of photos, videos, and assorted paperwork to prove it.
Inevitably, the police unearthed Nick’s scheme. But when they came and raided the house, Margaux pulled a shocker by covering completely for us. Nick repaid the favor to Margaux on a convenient installment plan, faithfully rendered on the first of every month. He repaid the favor to me by getting my best friend pregnant six months later. I was also stuck with the cleaning bill for the comforter he’d been screwing Darcie on, plus Margaux’s oh-so-intact evidence against us both, backed up to the Cloud in all its well-inside-the-statute glory.
As a graduation day present, Margaux had assured me that the evidence would never leave the darkness of her computer files. Continuing my pinhead streak, I’d believed her. I’d even felt safe enough to accept the position offered by her mother a year later.
But as I said…I’m a pinhead.
The situation wasn’t worth dwelling on, even now. Forward, not backward. Plenty of hard work lay ahead as therapy and redemption, reminding me of all the perfect reasons why my personal life would always take a back seat to career. Some people simply weren’t meant for happiness in love, and the Montgomerys were such a clan. I should have learned that from the loneliness I saw for so many years in Dad’s eyes, but I didn’t. I went ahead and jumped into the relationship fire, as well. Gave my heart fully to a man. Nick had returned it burnt to a crisp.
It wouldn’t be happening again.
Happy Ever After was a phrase for little girls and movie stars. Grown women concentrated on their careers, maintained their dignity, and never let anyone inside their heart’s walls. Peace and safety on the inside, pain and weakness on the outside. Keep the line moving, folks. All feelings know exactly where they belong.
I blinked in horror when the lights flipped on. Andrea was done with her report, and I hadn’t heard a word of it.
As the projector and screen retracted into the ceiling, Andrea folded her hands with the serenity of a nun and gazed to the man at my right. “As you can surmise, we all have a lot of hard work ahead of us, but I’m confident we can repair the damage.” She turned her regard to Trey, sharpening it to an icepick. “The key at this point, Mr. Stone, is to help us staun
ch the bleeding. That means no more ‘stabs’ of the ‘indiscretion blade.’ I trust we’re on the same page?”
Trey barely lifted his eyes from his phone. “Take it easy, blondie. Little bro with the big mouth has already taken care of the lecture duties.” He snorted at Killian, who lifted his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
Chad straightened his glasses and glowered at Trey. “Mr. Stone, the mandate includes complete restraint from texting, Tweeting, posting, and pinning. And for God’s sake, no sharing photos or videos, with anyone. Think you can handle that for a week or so?”
Killian’s fingers slid from his nose to his chin. Even that part of his face was carved and perfect—yes, I tried not to notice—given a sexy finish as he drilled those digits into it, an older man’s gesture given new life via the poise he was obviously born with. “Should he just shut down the accounts?”
“No,” Chad replied. “That instantly implies guilt. Just don’t respond to any of it.” He stood, put both hands on the table, and pressed over the marble surface. “Including right now.”
“Back off, Poindexter. Last time I looked, I wasn’t in jail.”
Without a word, Killian stood. With three brisk steps, he made it to the space behind Trey’s chair. Inside of one swift yank, he snatched the device up and Frisbee’ed it across the table to Chad. Trey lunged for the intercept, but Chad bested him on reflexes. He pocketed the phone, grinning from ear to ear.
“Problem solved,” Killian growled.
“Says the tightest sphincter on the globe,” Trey snarled.
Chad twisted his lips to stifle a chortle. I could tell he enjoyed the way Killian got things done. I couldn’t help a fast smile myself, feeling like my best friend approved of my latest crush. The moment also verified I was officially losing it. High school and I had parted ways a long time ago. I’d been without a new “crush” for nearly as long.
Killian straightened as if Trey hadn’t spoken at all, immediately looking to Andrea again. “You’ll use this room as your command center for however long you need it. My office is down the hall. I want to be regularly apprised of progress.”
“Of course.” Andrea dipped her head in a gesture of submission, something I’d never believe if my own eyes weren’t witnesses. “Though our retainer is for six months, I suspect things will go faster than that, if Wooten backs off his vendetta—and when we’re done with him, he will back off. Currently, we estimate two to three weeks for this news cycle to pass, a few more for revitalizing the family name, and four more for final cleanup. If we’re lucky, some pop star or activist will pull a larger stunt, making the world forget the name Trey Stone. This means Trey Stone himself has to keep his clothes on and stay antics-free.” Andrea bore a hole in the back of Trey’s head like a mother with an errant toddler. “Is the point clear, Mr. Stone?”
“Yes, mother.” He had the nerve to chuckle when he said it. No one at the table joined him.
Killian leaned down again, bracing a strong arm on each side of his brother’s chair. “I suggest you start taking this very seriously, brother. If SGC’s stock continues to slide because of your stupidity, you’ll have enough party money for a blow-up pool in the backyard and some week-old cocktail weenies. Ms. Asher and her team aren’t fucking around. Neither am I.”
Trey’s reaction was a strange mix of stunning and weird. He lifted his head, a smirk still on his face, though the discomfort vanished from his lips. In its place was a menacing confidence that actually scared me for a moment. He met Killian’s stare directly before issuing three quiet words. “Back off, Killy.”
The silence between the two of them was thicker than incense in a sepulcher.
“My goodness, where has the time flown?” Andrea turned on her charm switch a little high, but nobody seemed to mind. “Tick-tock, everyone. Wooten’s press conference is going live in fifteen minutes, so take your breaks for the facilities and grab your popcorn for the spectacle.”
With eager swiftness, everyone shuffled into action.
Senator Wooten’s briefing went live at the stroke of six, ensuring plenty of sound bites for news outlets across the nation before network shows took over. Between the reporter’s salacious witch-hunt questions and Wooten’s blustery protective papa act, everyone had a bounty of material to pick and choose from, too.
By the time we collated and catalogued the comments, the clock inched past eight-thirty. Margaux and Andrea departed for the hotel first. Michael and Chad hung back to wait for me, but I wanted to look over a few of the emails that had come through while we were giving the presentation, especially the missive from Talia. She’d hit some snags on her own project, a movie star who’d gotten turned on to voodoo during a filming in New Orleans and now fancied herself the reincarnation of Princess Diana in high priestess form. Since the star was headlining the studio’s summer tentpole film, half of Hollywood was in a tizzy.
After waving Chad and Michael off with a promise to turn off the lights and “close up shop,” I opened the first of Talia’s emails for a session of laughter and tears combined. My poor friend had a mess on her hands. Things had seemed under control until today, when her movie star snuck out to perform a sacrificial ceremony in the bayou—naked. Grateful for the silence that had descended over the SGC offices, I composed a detailed email to her. The thoughts flowed. I often did my best brainstorming alone, likely a result of spending so much time in solitude as a child. Besides, I wasn’t half-bad for company.
After sending off Talia’s message, I scrolled through the rest of my inbox, pausing at one message in particular—then wincing. Dad. I loved him with all my heart, but dreaded having to respond. I had to pick and choose every piece of communication with him. What did you say to your father when he was bowled over by the semi-narcissistic ice queen who’d given you the biggest break of your career, especially after she’d fallen for him in return and was planning for their wedding in two months?
I pansied out and decided to compose the email from my hotel room. After a bath. And a glass of wine nearby.
After shutting down my laptop and storing my things, only my phone charger remained to be packed. Michael had plugged the line in for me when we arrived, commandeering one of the outlets in the middle of the conference table since the easy-access wall outlets were snatched up. I’d let him, as my power situation was dire by that point due to saving myself from playing nice with rat girl during the flight. The upside? I’d never been more on top of my Plants vs. Zombies skills, and learned a hard lesson about packing my e-reader in my checked bag.
As I’d dreaded, Michael’s gallantry returned to bite me in the ass. This was a big-ass conference table. The outlet was farther than I could reach without crawling under the table and coming up from the center, or climbing and pulling it out from the top. Okay, tugging on the line would give me the cord, but only with the USB connector at the end. I needed the whole set.
“Seriously?” I added a growl simply because I could.
For the sake of my dignity and Andrea’s reputation, I stomped over to the open doorway and peered down the deserted hallway. The building was still and quiet. The few SGC employees with offices on this floor were gone for the evening. The last person I actually saw was the janitor, over twenty minutes ago. His vacuum roared in the distance, around several corners.
I turned back, glaring at the behemoth piece of furniture occupying most of the room. I really needed that charger. I’d packed for this trip faster than a soldier on emergency deployment, and only had time to grab the one unit.
“Dammit.”
I circled the table, thinking things would look less impossible from another angle.
“Really, Claire.” I slammed my hands on my hips. “How does this shit always happen to you? You’re just lucky, hmmm?” With a huff, I yanked off my jacket. “No. This isn’t only about luck. It’s a curse. And now you’re talking to yourself about it, which is even worse.”
While proving the sanity fairies had really skipped
off with my brain, I stood at the side of the table, my back to the door and skirt hiked over my knees. There was no way around it. Up and over, Montgomery.
After halfheartedly crossing myself, I climbed up on one of the chairs and started making my way across the table. Damn, this thing was slippery. What did they use for polish? Maybe the janitor could tell me. The shit yielded a really good shine.
I was up on all fours and feeling fourteen kinds of ridiculous. But I took it slow. I had no choice. Rushing might result in a position more humiliating than this.
A soft chuckle resonated in my head. I figured, like so many occasions, Mom was involved. She always found a way to look after me, especially at night. It made sense that the universe had turned her soul into a star.
“You enjoying this, Mom?” I muttered. “Because I’m sticking with my original allegation. This ‘vertically challenged’ shit is a—damn!” Saltier words came to mind but I bit them back as my knee slipped. “See? I’m right. It’s a curse. And I’ll gloat if I want to. Yeah, yeah; Dad says it’s unattractive, but he isn’t here, is he?”
The last of it got muttered past my locked teeth due to securing the cord in them. Moving carefully, I started scooting back. God only knew what kind of trouble a full U-turn would’ve gotten me.
“I’m not sure where your father’s logic lies. Everything from this vantage point is very attractive if you ask me.”
Killian Stone’s voice, lush and confident and unmistakable, filled the room.
I froze. Hands and knees planted. Charging cord between my teeth. Skirt hiked above my knees. Ass jutted toward the doorway now dominated by the presence, so powerful and palpable, that turned my limbs numb and my bloodstream into a superhighway of heat.
This cannot be happening.
I shook my head and smiled. Of course it was. This was the story of my life, especially on a day like today.
A huge hand came into view. Unmistakably his. The action was accompanied by the voice that left no room for argument.
