by Mel Curtis
An assistant was waiting in the lobby and escorted them to a private dining room in the restaurant hotel. Graham may have a low opinion of Kyle, but he despised Ryan. He’d been the one to take advantage of Graham's father’s inebriated state.
Ryan Harper stood when they arrived and shook Graham’s hand. Graham took a page from Esme’s book and gave the man a bone-crushing squeeze. Ryan was carrying an extra forty pounds and his blond-gray hairline receded past his ears, but at least he didn’t have a comb-over.
After drinks were served, Graham cut to the chase. “I was willing to pay any price to restore the Harper Complex to Richmond Industries’ portfolio, until I learned about the underground fight club Kyle’s been running.” The club he wanted to disband before Esme had a chance to fight Sarah.
“It’s just a few young men sowing their wild oats.” Ryan tried to brush Graham’s concerns aside. “Much better than them picking fights in discos.”
“This isn’t on the scale of the Fight Club movie.” Graham couldn’t hide his disgust. “Kyle, why don’t you enlighten your father on the scope of the fights?”
Daddy’s golden boy lowered his golden brows. “It’s grown since we started, Dad.”
“What do you have now? Ten of your friends? Twelve?” The elder Mr. Harper was clueless.
“Yeah, it’s something like that.” Kyle wasn’t going down easy.
And Graham wasn’t letting this opportunity pass him by. “It’s more than that, Ryan. The night I attended the fights, there were six bouts on the card and none of the fighters were Kyle and his friends.” A guess, but a good one given Kyle’s scowl. “Oh, and there were over a thousand people attending. Kyle charged admission.”
Ryan’s smile faded. “Is this true?”
“I told you. It’s grown,” Kyle said as if that should satisfy his father.
It didn’t satisfy Graham. “But what you didn’t tell your old man was that you’re holding events that are unpermitted and break the fire code. Not to mention that if anyone gets hurt – fighter or guest – you open yourself up to huge liability and lawsuits.” Oh, yeah. Now Ryan was getting the full picture.
The old man was scowling.
“In case of on-site injury, your insurance will be cancelled and your new premiums will skyrocket. If the press gets wind of this – and I’m surprised they haven’t already – your reputation will suffer, not to mention those occupancy rates you’re so proud of.”
“Kyle?” There was disappointment in Ryan’s voice. Funny how disappointment occurred most often when the wallet was involved.
“It’s not an issue, Dad.”
“Perhaps you’d like to invite your father to the fight you’re holding this Friday night.” Steve jumped in the conversation with hardly a gasp. He was finally beginning to heal from Esme’s pounding.
“There’s no fight on Friday.” To Kyle’s credit, he lied to the bitter end.
And Graham suspected this wouldn’t end well for Kyle. “Our original offer on the complex was five hundred million dollars, but I’m thinking we can make a deal for twenty percent less than that, considering the baggage the property has.”
“Don’t listen to him.” The venom in Kyle’s voice was intended to warn Graham he was as deadly as a viper. When it came to this deal, Kyle was just dead.
Ryan was listening to Graham. His cheeks were red and his gray eyes lasered onto his son. “There will be no more fights here. None.” And then he turned to Graham. “We won’t entertain an offer for less than five hundred million.”
“You might,” Steve said on cue. “If the press gets wind of this.”
Ryan shoved his chair back against the dark paneling, moving quickly for such a large man. “I don’t take kindly to blackmail.” He stomped toward the French doors that had given them privacy, a florid heart attack waiting to happen. He opened one door with obvious restraint, glaring over his shoulder at his son. “Take a cab and be in my office in five minutes, Kyle.” The threat – or else – hung unspoken in the air.
“You came to us with this deal.” After his father left, Kyle stood, leaning over the table until his tie nearly hung in his vodka. “We never wanted to sell.”
“Until we offered you half a billion dollars.” Steve gave a shallow chuckle. “You’ll need to sell if you want to erase any possibility of scandal to the Harper name.”
Kyle’s face was as red as his father’s had been. “You’re stealing it from us.”
“Your father stole it from mine.” Graham got to his feet, towering over Kyle as he, too, leaned over the small table. “Yours knew mine was a drunk. He knew he loved to gamble. He set him up.” It was the first time in years Graham had defended his father.
“I’ve heard this story.” Kyle eased back, grinning for the first time since they’d entered the room. “My dad took yours on what should have been a thousand dollar pot.”
Rage rumbled through Graham’s veins. “We’ll send a contract over in the morning. Our offer will expire three days from now at noon.” He narrowed his eyes. “Friday.” He’d finally restore the complex to its rightful owner.
And there would be no next fight for Esme.
Chapter 9
The red carpet walk was over. The celebrity Esme and Daisy were guarding was safely inside. They and other bodyguards were hanging out in the square outside the Chinese Theater, killing time before the movie ended and their client was safely in their limo home.
“Esme.” Graham appeared before her, tall, dark and well-dressed in a dark suit and tie.
Her body pulsed in all the places he’d treated right. “Graham?” Had he changed his mind about the bet? She immediately squelched the idea. But he'd said he didn’t chase after women. Why had he come? And how had he gotten past layers of security? No wayward fan got this far without a pass.
Ah. There was one tucked into his jacket pocket. Press pass by the look of it.
Graham gave her the slow smile that melted her in places it shouldn't have. “I thought we might have drinks later.”
Her shiver had nothing to do with the brisk evening breeze or her disappointment that he hadn't changed his mind about placing the bet for her. Graham made her want things she hadn’t thought about in over a year. Things like frequent sex, a regular boyfriend, the possibility of a long-term relationship, maybe even a family. Things Graham couldn’t possibly want with her. She had to keep her expectations low and her hands off him. The last thing she needed mere days before a fight was the emotional drama of his almost certain rejection. “I’m training. I need my sleep.”
“I’ll wait up.” The devil was in his dark eyes, tempting her. “Sleep is – ”
Daisy appeared at Esme’s side and introduced herself, looking like a Hollywood babe any man would love to date.
Esme waited for Graham’s face to light up, for his slow voice to be directed at her thin and gorgeous sister, for him to turn away from Esme. After all, that had been her experience the past decade.
Graham showed nothing more than passing interest in Daisy. “I was hoping Esme would be free to accompany me clubbing later.”
Esme wanted to slug his arm. She settled for an eye-roll.
“We’ll be done here by eleven,” Daisy assured him. “Are there more in your party? Do you need both of us?”
“No. It’s just me.” Graham’s gaze connected with Esme’s and she felt it as if he’d touched her between her legs. “She can pick me up at my hotel.” And then he left them, assuming she was going to show.
Esme couldn't lie to herself. She was going to show.
“I’ll text Pop.” Daisy drew out her phone. “I see why you were reluctant to take his case the other night. He’s a cold one.”
Graham wasn’t cold. He was hot.
And for tonight, at least, he was hers.
~*~
“Thank you for coming.” Graham met Esme at the elevator lobby. Security had called to make sure Graham wanted visitors. Graham still had on his dress shirt and tie
. It was late. Any other man would have been shirtless and in his boxers. And yet, he’d met her at the door and given her a formal greeting.
Second thoughts crowded Esme’s head for about the tenth time. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“But you came anyway.” He opened the suite’s door for her and took her coat.
“Just…” She stared up at him and sighed. “Don’t make me feel cheap and send me money in an express envelope. I’m going to tell Pop you canceled. I’m not here to get paid.” I’m here to get laid.
“Thank, God.” He forced Esme against the door and claimed her with his mouth and his hands in a way that had her heart pumping harder than it did during a fight. “It’s been two days.” He pressed his hips against her belly, grinding the small of her back against the wall, creating a small, worrisome twinge. “Two days without you. Why didn’t you call?”
She sighed. How could she not? He wanted her. He’d bent his rules for her.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re here.” Graham drew back, studying her the way a surgeon did before deciding where to make an incision.
Decision made, he pushed the neckline of her dress and the straps of her bra off her shoulders. He was wrapping her up tighter than a tree for Christmas delivery. She couldn’t move her arms.
“There’s a zipper on the side,” she said helpfully, more than ready for a little ravaging. It’d been a tough few days. She’d been unable to think of anyone she trusted to place the bet.
Instead of taking her dress off, Graham dragged it lower on her arms. He licked the top of one breast. “I almost don’t know where to start.”
“The basics. Start with the basics.” Lady Land was currently unoccupied and desperate for a visit.
“We’re beyond basics.” He undid his pants, slid on a condom, and then lifted her onto him, bracing her shoulders against the door. His hands gripped her hips as if he’d never let go.
Her arms were still trapped against her sides. She was at his mercy, which…Oh, mercy. He had the equipment to fill a woman and he knew how to use it.
His thrusts quickly increased in tempo and intensity, until they came so hard and so fast, Esme couldn’t catch her breath, didn’t want to, didn’t care about anything but an explosion of heat that made her dizzy.
“Yes.” He followed her over the edge with a thrust that rammed her shoulders against the door and reverberated down her spine.
She cried out in surprise.
He stiffened. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”
“It’s my back. I’m fine.” Or she would be if she could lie down and stretch through the pain. “Can we take this show to bed?”
“Absolutely.” He carried her to his bed, still buried inside her. “Tell me what you need.” He lowered her gently to the mattress.
The pain was receding, replaced by the thrill of his touch. Still trapped in her dress, she flapped her hands. “Help me, Graham. I’m all tied up.” Tied up in need for him.
~*~
In the middle of the night, Esme awoke to Graham stroking her hair.
She sat up. “Is it time to go?”
“No,” he said gruffly, pulling her back down. His hand stroked her like she was a pet. He didn’t fondle her breast or press her lower buttons.
“What’s wrong?”
“I made an offer on the Harper Complex today…last night.”
Esme turned, trying to see his face in the moonlight streaming through the windows. She placed a hand over his cheek. “Tell me.”
“I gave the Harpers a ticking offer. It expires in two days. If they accept, I’ll close the deal Friday morning.”
“That’s…Friday?” The day of her fight with Sarah? Esme sat up again. No longer uncertain, but mad as hell. “You’re cock-blocking the fight. Your choice of date to close the deal wasn’t a coincidence.”
“No. Sarah is a brute.” He lay his hand casually on her hip, fingers close to a place he was all too familiar with. “I don’t want you to fight her.”
“It’s not your decision.” Her limbs shook with the need to fight injustice, to regain control of her life. “I put that fight together. I need the money for my dad.”
“I told you, I’d give you a loan.”
“And I turned you down.” She swallowed. “This is my last fight.” When he’d slammed her against the door earlier, the pain was a wake-up call. “Without prize money, I'll struggle to pay you back and become a charity case.”
“Charity?” He spat the word. “Charity is tax deductible.”
She stood, looking for her clothes, her back aching, her chest aching. “Meaning you expect me to be a write-off.”
“You did say you were retiring,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice, propping his head on his hand. “And that it’d take you thirty years to pay. I’m used to a faster turnaround on my investments.”
How she wished she could see the expression on his face, but darkness was a double-edged sword. He couldn’t see she was close to tears. He couldn’t see how much he’d hurt her. “You can’t come back from this. I won’t forgive you.”
“My grandfather built that complex. I’ve waited long enough. I need it to be respectable to honor him. I need to restore things for my family.”
A short time ago, he’d needed her. She was such an idiot.
Esme decided she didn’t need her panties or bra. It’d be quicker just to put on her dress and shoes.
He didn’t move. “I had to take advantage of the timing and the leverage I had. The Harpers stole from my family, Esme.”
“Boo-hoo. Like you missed the money.” She choked out a laugh and swallowed back the tears. “You’ve done something much worse. You’ve stolen my father’s chance to walk again.”
Chapter 10
“Wake up, sleepy head.” Cheerfulness like Daisy’s shouldn’t be allowed before noon. “I’ve got an assignment for you.”
“If you say Amanda Williams, I might have to get my gun.” Esme gripped the covers tight Wednesday morning. Graham had cut out her heart with a knife sharpened by selfishness. She’d barely slept and she didn’t feel like accompanying Amanda anywhere. She wanted to head to the gym so she could punch something. “Would you be mad if we took the money in Pop’s surgery account, went to Vegas, and placed it all on black?”
“Yes.” Daisy opened Esme’s curtains.
Even the sun was taunting her today, shining as if Esme should go back to believing in rainbows and unicorns.
“And yes,” Daisy continued, fluffing the comforter at Esme’s feet. “Amanda called. She needs you in an hour.”
“Tell her I’m dead.” It certainly felt like it.
“She’s going to the Fur Fashion Show.” Daisy’s voice got serious. “She’ll need protection.”
Esme tossed the covers off her face and swore.
“Plus Lyle Lincoln mentioned the politically incorrect celebrities who usually attend in his gossip column. Amanda’s name was on the list.” Daisy walked out. “I’m taking Pop to the doctor.”
“I’m not sick,” Pop yelled from the front of the house.
“They’re checking you for nerve damage,” Daisy yelled back.
Too much and he’d lose his spot on the waiting list for surgery.
“I’m comfortable in a wheelchair.” Pop was in fighting form today. “Unless you plan on robbing Fort Knox, this is where I’m staying.”
Daisy and Esme both yelled out an obscenity. Sometimes, they still thought alike.
After showering and dressing to kick ass in a lightweight gray sweater, black leggings and boots, Esme raided the fridge. She rolled three thick turkey slices like a cigar and took a bite. Marmalade sat at her feet, looking as if she wouldn’t care if a morsel dropped to the ground.
Her cell phone chimed with a text message. It was Kyle Harper: Fight moved to tomorrow night.
He’d moved the fight to Thursday? Esme stuffed the rest of the turkey into her mouth and did a little victory dance. Take that Graham.
The laptop dinged.
Esme exchanged a glance with Marmalade. “It can’t be the list again.”
Marmalade yawned and batted at a lint-covered dust rag.
Esme scurried over and looked at the subject line: Resend Harper List of Fighters. “Why can’t he wait until Friday?” Two days. That’s all she asked. Esme sent back a quick reply: received. And then she deleted the email from both the inbox and the server. “I’m going to rot in hell.”
Unconcerned, Marmalade stretched.
“That’s right. I’ll be rotting, but Pop will walk in to visit me.” She’d find someone to place the bet today. She had to.
An hour later, Esme was in the back seat of Amanda’s car, headed toward trouble. “You know wearing fur is politically incorrect.” Esme made it a statement in the hopes that Amanda would understand.
“It’s only been politically correct in the last twenty years or so. It’s socially acceptable in other countries.” Amanda was wearing a rust colored suede vest with what looked like fox fur trim. But it was the entitled attitude she wore that offended Esme. “My, my. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
“Let’s turn around and go shopping.”
Amanda raised one finely plucked eyebrow. “If I start living my life to other people’s standards, I might just as well cash in my chips.”
Amanda’s driver pulled into the event center’s parking lot. There was a crowd, of course. Holding signs, pacing, and chanting. And a few photographers, of course. Holding big, black cameras.
“Oh, look.” Amanda fluffed her golden bangs. “It pleases my agent when I make the tabloids.”
Esme had to count to ten before she trusted herself to say anything Daisy would approve of. “Stay in the car until I clear you a path inside.”
The car pulled around so Amanda could get out nearest the entrance and the lone uniformed security guard.
Whoever ran this event was an idiot.
Amanda sat up straighter, perhaps assuming the photographers were taking her pictures already. Hell, they probably were.
