“Mr. Beckett called. He said there’s a problem with the documents you signed yesterday. He needs to meet with you right away,” Layla said. “I told him you weren’t here, although he insisted I call you at home.” Layla was young and inexperienced. I’d taken a chance on her because I liked her, and—well—because she reminded me of me at that age.
“Seriously?” My finger hovered over the button to end the call while my gaze drifted toward the kitchen and Sam. All I could think about was spending an hour in bed with my delicious husband and basking in the miracle our love had created. “We’ll be in around nine. Tell him to hold his horses.”
“I already tried. He was quite insistent that you’d want to see him.” Layla’s voice quavered, but she held firm.
I took a deep breath and tried to steady my temper. “Layla, your job is to protect me from unnecessary calls like this. Take care of it.”
Layla’s gasp of disapproval preceded Beckett’s smooth baritone rumbling into the phone. “Get your lazy ass in here, Mrs. Seaforth. We’ve got work to do.”
Only Sam’s best friend, Piers Beckett, would have the balls to address me in such a familiar way. Our relationship had gotten off to a rocky start, but we’d worked closely together over the past months, and the strain had begun to ease. The riff between us had been a product of his need to protect Sam, something I understood. Good friends were hard to come by in life, and I respected his loyalty to Sam.
“I’ll be in at nine,” I repeated firmly. “Or can’t you handle this on your own?”
“There’s an addendum to the agreement that needs your approval. The papers need to be filed before nine this morning.” The clipped precision of his words crackled in indignation at my jab to his competence. “Do you want to explain to Sam why this deal fell through? Because I sure don’t.”
Crap. I huffed and sat up. He was right. Sam would be livid if our first acquisition tanked because of something simple like an addendum. “I’ll be there within the hour.”
“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll meet you in the conference room.”
“Give me back to Layla.” I heard the rustle of clothing and fingers as the phone transferred hands.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Seaforth. He wouldn’t—”
“I know how he is.” I cut her off; my good humor had evaporated. “It’s okay. Just make sure to have coffee. No—make that a non-fat decaf latte. And order in some breakfast.” I paused, remembering how trying it was to be an assistant. “Be sure to get something for yourself.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Layla’s voice softened with relief.
“Do you know why Xavier called Mr. Seaforth?” I asked. Sam had yet to return, but I heard the low timbre of his voice from the other room, sounding agitated.
“There’s someone in his office. An FBI agent, I think.”
“What?” I popped out of bed, unable to control the frantic beating of my heart. “Don’t play with me, Layla. Is this a joke? Did Xavier put you up to this?”
“No. Of course not.” The genuine horror in her voice twisted my lips into a compassionate grin. Poor Layla. Xavier liked to prey on her innocence. Last week, he’d conned her into replacing all the manila folders in the office with pink ones, saying I hated beige colors. “Did I say something wrong?”
Sam ambled back into the bedroom, fully dressed in a crisp navy suit, ice-blue shirt, and patterned silver tie, a cup of coffee in his hand.
“No. It’s nothing. I’ll see you in an hour,” I replied.
“Give me the phone.” Sam set the coffee on the nightstand and outstretched a hand. “Hand it over.”
“No.” I ended the call and tossed the phone aside. “That was Layla and Beckett. I’ve got to get into the office.”
“Yeah, me too. Duty calls. Xavier said my flight has been moved up an hour. I need to leave right now or I’ll miss my plane.” He handed his cufflinks to me and stood patiently while I threaded them through the holes. “Takashima wants that proposal in his hands this afternoon, and he’s got a lead on a new acquisition.” He sighed and rumpled his hair with a long-fingered hand.
“Oh.” Disappointment pinched my insides. A beat passed then two. I waited for him to elaborate on Xavier’s call. Maybe the FBI agent had questions about a business associate or a former employee. There were a million and one reasons for the impromptu visit.
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning. I promise.”
We sat on the edge of the bed, side by side, thigh to thigh. He leaned over and ran his nose along the line of my jaw. I shivered.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
“Is everything okay?” The fabric of his lapel caressed my palm as I smoothed his suit and fought the urge to strip him bare.
“It’s fine. Nothing for you to worry about.” He dropped a light kiss on the tip of my nose.
“When you get home, you’re going to be in so much trouble, mister,” I whispered into his hair, savoring his clean scent. His phone rang again. He growled and shook his head. This was our life, a jumble of meetings and conference calls interspersed with plane trips and hotels.
“That’s a promise,” he replied.
Chapter 3
DAKOTA
ON THE street outside the apartment, Rockwell opened the door to Sam’s BMW and helped me inside. I still found the need for a driver ridiculous, especially since said driver was practically my stepfather. Sam and Rockwell had insisted, however, and I’d decided to go along with their desires, saving my breath for bigger battles. Sam’s father, Maxwell Seaforth, was one of the wealthiest men in the country, and collected enemies the way other businessmen collected tie clips. As the main heir to Maxwell’s empire, Sam was a target for paparazzi and the occasional psycho-obsessed freak. I’d never experienced any disturbances, but Samuel had lived his entire life under a microscope and went out of his way to protect our privacy.
“Where are we going first, Mrs. Seaforth?” Rockwell asked once seated behind the wheel. Sunlight refracted off the rearview mirror into his blue eyes. He cut a dapper figure in his dark navy suit, silver hair gleaming against his cap. I smiled, the way I did every time someone addressed me formally. I liked belonging to Sam, and no one knew that better than Rockwell.
“The office, please.”
He nodded and maneuvered the car into traffic. I bit my lower lip, suddenly bursting with the need to tell someone—anyone—about the impending new member to our family. Sam and I had been in such a hurry to get to work that we hadn’t taken the time to discuss how or when to reveal the news to our family. By my guess, I was about six weeks along. I’d suspected for a while but had been so busy with work that I’d failed to keep track of the days. I counted backward in my head, trying to pinpoint the date of conception. While Rockwell maneuvered the car into a turn lane, I tapped out a quick text to Layla and asked her to schedule an appointment with a gynecologist at the first available opening. Next, I opened a message to Sam and jumped when his incoming text popped onto the screen.
Sam: You and this baby are the best thing that ever happened to me.
A lump thickened in my throat. I thanked God every day for bringing us back together after our rocky first marriage and divorce. For this kind of joy, I’d suffer through all the pain and anguish a thousand times.
Me: Back at ya.
Sam: What color are your panties?
A pervasive warmth spread through my torso. Just a simple text sent a flood of desire deep into my core.
Me: Is that any way to talk to the mother of your child?
I stared at the screen, waiting for an answer. The phone vibrated in my hand. I smiled at Sam’s name and answered the call. “Incorrigible.”
“I’m serious.” His deep voice rumbled into my ear and stopped between my legs. “What color?”
“Sam.” I glanced up at Rockwell, as if he could somehow hear our conversation, but his gaze remained trained on the street.
“Come on. Throw me a bone. I need something to get me through the day.�
�� Mischief tinged his words.
“Fine. White.” His favorite color of lingerie. My fingers tightened around the phone. I shifted my shoulders toward the window and lowered my voice. “Silk. With tiny blue bows on the sides.” He sucked in an audible breath.
“Tomorrow,” he growled and disconnected the call.
With my cheeks still aflame, I drummed my fingers on the almond leather seat. A tiny seed of excitement took root in my belly and began to grow. We were having a baby. Me and the love of my life. I pressed my lips together and tried to bite back the words bubbling on the tip of my tongue. If I didn’t tell someone soon, I might explode. Without another second of hesitation, I dialed the number of the one person I trusted most.
“Mom?” I asked. “Were you up?”
“Hi, honey.” Her voice washed over me, calm and reassuring. I pictured her sitting in the breakfast nook of her condo with a cup of coffee in front of her and the newspaper unfolded on the flowered tablecloth. “Of course I’m up. It’s almost eight.”
My mother had always been an early riser. She’d been the head chef at Seaforth Manor, Sam’s childhood home, for the better part of twenty years. Back then she’d awakened at four AM to get breakfast ready for Maxwell and the children and to prepare menus for Mrs. Seaforth’s many social events.
“Mom, I’ve got a secret, and you have to promise to keep it to yourself.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “Because I can’t keep it to myself any longer. And if I don’t tell someone, it’s going to burst out of my mouth at the wrong time to the wrong person.”
“Dakota? Is everything okay?” She sucked in an audible breath. “Are you okay? Is it Crockett? Oh, dear.”
“Yes. I’m fine. He’s fine. We’re fine.” My brother had a penchant for finding trouble unlike anyone I’d ever known. To ease her fears, I blurted, “I’m pregnant.”
“What?” The clang of silverware against china rang in my ear. “Oh, Dakota! I’m so happy for you.” Her voice quavered, thick with the tears I couldn’t see but heard in her words. “Oh, sweetheart. That’s wonderful.”
“I know. It is, isn’t it?” I swallowed down the lump in my throat and blinked back a blur of tears, desperate for reassurance. “The timing is bad, but we’ll be fine. Won’t we?”
“If people waited for the right time to have babies, the human race would’ve died out centuries ago.” My mom always knew how to make me feel better, even in the worst of times.
My heart swelled painfully. “You can’t tell anyone. Not yet.”
“Of course. I understand. Have you seen a doctor?”
“No. We just found out this morning.” The scenery outside the car flashed past in a brilliant blur of colors. I placed a hand on my flat tummy and took a deep breath. “I’ll make an appointment today.”
“It’ll be so nice to have a baby around. I can’t wait.” The genuine joy and warmth in her voice erased all the tension I’d been carrying. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother, Dakota. And Sam will be a fantastic father.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I braced a hand on the seat as Rockwell swerved to avoid an errant driver.
“Sorry,” he said. When our gazes met in the rearview mirror, his eyes twinkled, and he gave me a full smile. Usually, he seemed oblivious to my private conversations, but I knew without a doubt that he’d heard every word of this one.
“It’s okay.” I smiled back at him.
“You realize you’re going to have to slow down, Dakota.” Mom spoke with the authoritative tone of a concerned parent, the way she had when I’d taken too many classes in college or ran too fast through the house as a child. “Pregnancy is exhausting. You can’t race around full tilt like you have been. Promise you’ll take it easy.”
“I promise.” My phone buzzed with a flurry of incoming texts from Layla. “I’ve got to go, Mom, but I’ll call you later.”
“Okay. Love you. Tell Rockwell hello for me.”
“I will.”
Rockwell parked the car by the curb in front of our building and got out to open the door for me. A blast of cold spring air raced up my skirt. I shivered then slid across the seat and took his hand to exit. Before he let go, he squeezed my fingers gently. “It’s a great day. I’m so happy for you.”
Emotion stole my words. I threw my arms around his neck and gave him a quick hug, followed by a peck on the cheek. “That’s from my mom,” I said. A faint pink colored his cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak but was stopped by the flash of a camera bulb. I blinked to chase away the residual blindness, only to encounter a dozen more flashes. Two men emerged from the early morning shadows of the sidewalk. Three more followed after them. A television crew arrived. Their van screeched to a halt behind the BMW. Channel 7’s lead journalist trotted to my side. Within seconds, we were surrounded, the path to the entrance blocked by a throng of reporters.
Questions flew through the air. “Dakota, what do you think about Maxwell Seaforth’s latest scandal?” One of them shoved a microphone in my face. The others snapped pictures while a grubby guy filmed video.
“Were you aware of Maxwell Seaforth’s actions?”
“What does your husband think about all this? Is he concerned about the future of Seaforth Industries?”
“Are rumors of a takeover true?”
“Did your husband have anything to do with this?”
My stomach dipped, the way it did at the top of a rollercoaster. At Sam’s insistence, I hadn’t turned on a television in weeks and rarely paid attention to social media. There just wasn’t time, but now I wished I’d stayed abreast of current events. I bit my lower lip and tried to school my features into ambivalence, the way Sam did when confronted by the media.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.
Rockwell shielded me with his broad chest. “No comment,” he snapped. One of his strong arms wrapped around my shoulders. He bustled me toward the entrance. His mouth dipped to my ear. “Don’t say another word. Eyes forward.”
Building security met us at the revolving door and locked it behind us. I’d never really given much thought to the two men who guarded the front entrance before today, but I took a closer look at them now. Washington was about thirty-five, tall and broad-shouldered, with a dark crew cut and square, clean-shaved jaw. The other guy, Ferris, was a bit younger, blonder, and built like a professional wrestler. Both of them wore severe black suits, earpieces, and the sharp, savvy expressions of ex-military.
“Why didn’t someone call me?” The steel in Rockwell’s voice jerked both men to attention.
“We didn’t know.” Ferris’s voice was rough, gravelly, like he’d smoked too many cigarettes and chased them down with coffee or something stronger. “They came out of nowhere.”
The three men bowed their heads together, lowering their voices. I strained to hear snippets of their conversation but got nothing. Outside, the media throng had grown exponentially. My pulse accelerated as my thoughts jumped to Sam. Where was he? Was he okay? I reached for my phone to text him then remembered he was midflight on his way to New York. I tapped out a quick text anyway then pressed the phone to my chest, willing him to answer.
“We’re going to need more people,” Rockwell said, stealing back my attention.
“I’ve called Laurel Falls PD,” Washington replied, his voice grim. “And the others are on standby.”
“The others? What others?” I glanced at Rockwell, hoping for an answer, but got nothing. He, also, had mastered the expression of ambivalence. “What’s going on?” The three men avoided my pointed stare. “Someone had better tell me what’s happened. Right now.”
“Let’s get you upstairs,” Rockwell said. His patronizing tone did nothing to ease the tension between my shoulders. He took my elbow and guided me toward the bank of elevators. The heels of my black pumps clicked on the travertine tile floor. It was still early. Most of the workforce wouldn’t arrive until nine. “Washington is calling ahead to New York. He’ll make sure security meets
Sam at the airport. Everything will be fine.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” At my sides, my fingers clenched into fists. “What do you know?”
“Not much,” Rockwell said. “Only that Maxwell has finally pissed off the wrong person.”
Chapter 4
SAM
AS WE taxied the runway at LaGuardia Airport, I tried to review the points for the meeting, but my thoughts kept returning to my wife. When I got home, we’d talk about our plans for the future. The pilot announced our arrival and lifted the ban on cellular devices. I switched on my phone. Dozens of text messages filled the screen, too many to get through. I ignored them until Mrs. Caldwell nudged my elbow from the seat to my left, her soft features tight and pinched. I’d managed to bring back almost all of my former staff from Infinity, and she’d been one of the first. While Xavier coordinated my personal and business life, Mrs. Caldwell managed all the tedious details of public relations and the numerous social functions required of a high-profile businessman. I’d known her long enough to recognize the furrow of worry between her brows.
“Mr. Seaforth, there’s been an unpleasant development regarding your father,” she said, always unruffled and confident.
“Everything about my father is unpleasant. Be specific.” No truer words had ever been spoken. The man had tainted everything good in my life, including my first marriage to Dakota. His insatiable need for absolute control went beyond annoying. In Maxwell Seaforth’s mind, he ruled everyone within his far-reaching grasp, everyone but me. I refused to bow to his high-handed manipulations.
“This hit the press about an hour ago.” She extended her tablet to display the morning’s breaking news on CNN, FOX, and all the major news sites.
“Maxwell Seaforth under federal investigation. Seaforth Industries mega-mogul named in tax evasion and fraud scandals.” I read the headlines aloud. Fuck me, this was bad. Really bad.
Pretty Broken Promises: An Unconventional Love Story Page 2
