by Dinah McLeod
I hopped into the shower and washed my hair as quickly as I could, running a soapy loofah over my body as I rinsed my hair. I didn't take long showers; I was out in less than five minutes, dripping wet and feeling deliciously clean. As I blow dried my hair, I couldn't help but smile at the thought of getting dirty in the very best of ways when he got home. I might have made one more stab at convincing him to ditch work and stay with me, but it looked like he'd gotten dressed and left while I was in the shower. It was probably for the best; I didn't enjoy punishment spankings as much as the other and I knew as well as he did that's exactly where it was headed if I kept pushing.
When my tresses were dry, I took a moment to scrutinize my reflection. My dark brown eyes were glowing—something they'd taken to doing often since I'd met Brandon. My straight black hair fell to my shoulders and my high cheekbones were a rosy color, highlighting my complexion that was the color of light brown sugar. I'd never thought of myself as a pretty girl, until Brandon. He'd changed a lot of things—hell, he'd changed the way I saw the world. But I knew my voluptuous ass was his favorite feature by far.
A quick glance at my watch told me I'd been dawdling too long. I dropped the towel and walked into the bedroom, heading toward the closet where my navy pinstripe business suit was hanging by itself. Brandon had offered more than once to give me half the closet, or at least a drawer, but as much as I loved him, I couldn't bring myself to take him up on it. I was too independent and I'd been that way too long to think that giving up my apartment was a good idea. Sure, it would start out as a drawer—didn't it always? But we both knew that was where he was hoping it would go.
I wanted to move cautiously, just in case. Although, in a way, it was already too late—he already had possession of my heart. The thought of things not working out made a sharp pain erupt in my chest.
"Get it together," I muttered as I zipped up my skirt. I couldn't afford to think this way, not now. I had to switch into CEO mode, which was a lot like shifting gears in a car. Before Brandon, I'd only had one mode—alpha bitch extraordinaire, with a can of whoop ass on the side. Boyfriends, however, liked to believe that there was a softer, feminine side lying underneath and my boyfriend in particular used a paddle to bring out that side of me. While I'd done my best to keep my biting sarcasm and impatient temper to a minimum, there were still parts of me—the soft, feminine ones, for example—that I couldn't afford for my employees to see.
One in particular sprang to mind: Mark Patterson, my Vice President of Operations. He was a very intelligent, highly capable man. Perhaps too much so, when it came right down to it. In some people, it would be considered a good thing—not so much with the man who wanted to steal your job. Not that I could blame him; in his shoes, I'd be the same way and perhaps that was part of the problem: I knew he was too much like me to be trusted.
That was why it was essential that I get to this meeting on time, whether I wanted to be there or not. Mark had called all the board members together to discuss the future of Dusty Records now that the merger I'd personally planned had fallen through. Our stocks had fallen ten points on the day that SunFilm managed to find a loophole that allowed them to prevent my company from taking over theirs, and the numbers had been sliding downhill ever since. Something had to be done.
Putting my game face on—which included a little makeup and bags under my eyes, which were practically a prerequisite for a CEO—I gave my reflection one more glance-over before hitting the door. My black Porsche was waiting in the driveway and I took a moment to stroke the hood. "Morning, baby. Mama's got a busy day ahead of her."
Yes, so I talked to my car. So what? You would too, if you'd dreamt of owning a Porsche since you were a little girl. Every time I saw the gleaming chrome, I felt a little lighter, even if it only lasted for a moment. That Porsche was the embodiment of everything I'd worked for as a Puerto Rican girl from the wrong side of the tracks; it was the culmination of everything I'd ever dreamed of having one day, and it was mine, because of my hard work. My success was my own, which was why I tried so hard to hold onto a company that I was losing interest in.
It didn't help matters that things with Brandon and me had just started around the whole merger debacle. Sometimes, I couldn't help thinking that if I'd been more focused, worked longer hours instead of spending time with my boyfriend, maybe things would have turned out differently. The so-called merger had been a multi-million dollar deal that would have secured hundreds of new jobs. I was far from the only person who had been bitterly disappointed, but the only one who had the blame laid at their feet. Sometimes, I thought that CEO was just a fancy title for "fall guy".
I chided myself as I cranked the radio up to drown out the traitorous thoughts. Stop thinking about it! This isn't helping. You need to be calm and collected when you go in there. The board members are probably going to whine and need some serious hand holding. You've got to bring your A-game.
It was hard to let go though. It had been the biggest, boldest move of my six year career as CEO, and if I let myself think on it too long, I became overwhelmed with insecurity and self-loathing, which was precisely why I couldn't think about it right now. The self-flagellation would have to wait until later.
I peeled out of the driveway as though I had Satan himself trailing me and before I knew it, a glance at my speedometer showed that I was going 60—in a 35. Damn. I tapped the brake to slow accordingly, craning my neck for any sign of cop cars. When I'd gone a few miles without blue lights flashing behind me, I allowed myself to relax a fraction. Brandon didn't like my lead foot one bit, a point he'd made painfully clear with his belt the last time I'd brought home a speeding ticket. Thankfully, what he didn't know couldn't hurt me.
I barreled into the parking lot ten minutes early, to my immense relief. I leapt out of the car, yanking the cap off a gold tube of Red Satin and applying it to my lips hurriedly before throwing it back inside and slamming the door. I took off at a run, pressing the auto lock as I went. My high heels pounded on the pavement like a hammer on a nail as I sprinted toward the door, my blood was pumping with adrenaline that kept pushing me forward. I stopped by my office for my assistant, but Jack was nowhere to be found. I felt my stress level rise another notch, but there was nothing I could do right now. Although later I could certainly tongue-lash him to tears.
For now, I had bigger fish to fry. So let's start heating up the oil, I thought to myself as I made my way to the boardroom. When I approached the imposing double doors I took a moment to catch my breath and smooth back my hair. When I opened the door, I entered the room with my shoulders thrown back and my head held high, briefcase in hand.
From the moment I entered the room, something felt off. An inkling that I couldn't name tickled the back of my neck. I tried to push it aside as I strode into the room, but at my approach the low murmur of conversation ceased completely. Something's going on here, the devil on my shoulder hissed. Nothing I can't handle, I tried to reassure myself. Yet, as I felt every pair of eyes on me, I wondered. What the hell was going on? There shouldn't be this many people in here—there were always a few last minute stragglers, but no, every board member and assistant was present.
Including mine. I spotted Jack standing at the head of the table, blocking the person in my seat. My seat. Who would dare? Even before he stepped aside, I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.
The eyes on me felt like laser beams—my face responded to the attention by flushing hotly, even though I wasn't quite sure why. I had to do something. "Good morning," I called out, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I was overreacting. There was nothing wrong here. This was just a board meeting, I'd been to dozens. So what if everyone was early for once? That didn't have to foreshadow anything sinister.
But no one answered me. I became even more conscious of the eyes on me, imagining I heard the whispers start up again as I passed. The room was so silent I could hear my heart beating a steady tattoo in my chest which, as the seconds ticked by, sped up
dramatically. But I forced myself to smile; you could never let them see you sweat. It wasn't good for the stock numbers.
As I moved toward the table, Jack stepped aside and I saw Mark Patterson keeping my seat warm. My pulse picked up speed, but I'd already known that he was the only one who would be so bold. What bothered me wasn't the fact that he was sitting in my chair, but the fact that he was lounging in it as though it had been handpicked with his ass in mind, that when he saw me coming he didn't make a move to stand. In fact, as I met his light green eyes, they looked distinctly satisfied in a way that made my earlier flutters of trepidation feel like mere butterflies.
I schooled my features so that the traitorous emotion wouldn't show. "Mark, how are you?"
"Good morning, Ms. Donahue," Mark said breezily, grinning for all he was worth. "How nice of you to join us."
I should have thrown you out on your ass long ago, I thought, narrowing my eyes. "I think you got confused. Your chair is over there." I pointed. "Though it looks to be taken at present. Maybe you can stand in the back."
His grin only grew and my stomach knotted at the sight of it. For someone who was getting publically humiliated in front of the most important people in the business, he looked strangely at ease. In fact, he looked like he was enjoying himself. "Of course," he said smoothly in a voice that I distrusted immediately.
Still, when he stood, I took my seat—the bastard stepped out of range before I could push him out of the way, which I would have done with pleasure—and slammed my briefcase on the table. "I officially call this meeting to order," I announced with an air of authority.
Normally, you would hear the rustling of notepads being opened, pens being uncapped, summaries being flipped through. The room was dead silent, except for a board member who couldn't stop coughing. It looked like I had plenty of reasons to justify the nervousness fluttering in the pit of my stomach. Mark hadn't moved and was still hovering by my elbow. He looked more smug than before, if that was possible. I glanced around the room and noted that not only was no one talking, no one would meet my eyes. Even my assistant, when I looked his way, studiously avoided my gaze.
The knots in my stomach tightened as I cleared my throat. "If you'll turn to page one in your handouts, we'll get started." Still nothing, except for a few blank stares. I could feel the pulse in my neck racing. I turned to page one, trying to ignore the foreboding that was making my breath quicken and my head pound. I started reading, but when my voice sounded weak and shaky to my own ears, I fell silent.
I cut my eyes at Mark, glowering at him. I was about to ask the room at the large what the hell was going on when it hit me: the bastards had started the meeting without me! That was why it felt like I'd interrupted—I actually had. But how could the CEO be interrupting? Unless…
Calm down, I coached myself. Just keep calm and you'll be okay. The trouble was, I felt anything but.
"Karen."
I turned at the sound of the voice and saw Arthur Boyle had stood and was moving toward me. I felt a wave of relief wash over me, until I saw the stony look on his face which quickly turned relief to cold, piercing dread. Arthur had been my mentor, a father figure of sorts for the past six years and for the first time he looked distinctly unhappy to see me.
"Could I have a moment?"
I froze at the quiet urgency in his voice. "I…no, I'm going to stay right here," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear. I knew this game better than any of them—hell, as far as Dusty Records was concerned, I'd invented it—and I knew that to vacate my seat now when I was so uncertain about what was going on would be tantamount to admitting defeat.
"Ms. Donahue, I really must insist—"
My eyes darted back to Mark and the smirk he'd been sporting had blown into a Cheshire grin that made my fingers ache with the desire to scratch his smug little face to ribbons. "Someone please tell me what's going on here." Pro that I was, I kept my expression neutral even as the knots in my belly tightened into a vise that was quite capable of choking the life out of me.
"We were holding the meeting to discuss the future of Dusty Records," Mark said smoothly as he stepped forward.
I shot Arthur a helpless look, but his face had gone blank and stiff. "I arrived five minutes early, by my watch."
"The time was changed. I made several attempts to notify you, but I never heard back."
I call bullshit, I thought, glowering at him. When we got a moment alone, he was so fired. "How hard did you try, exactly?" I asked in a honeyed undertone meant for his ears alone.
He inclined his head to hide the onset of another smirk.
"That's what I thought." I turned back to the board members, who were all looking my way this time. "I don't know exactly what Mr. Patterson has told you, but—"
"The members of the board and I were just having a long discussion about you, Karen," he interrupted. "We were discussing whether or not you're fit to retain run of this company."
I felt like I'd been sucker punched in the stomach. My first inclination was to leap to my feet and call him every name I could think of, except that my breath had been stolen.
"You've been distracted and distant for weeks," he continued. "Your head hasn't been in the game, and frankly, at this critical point we can't wait around for you to get your priorities straight."
Oh, the words stung my pride. I couldn't believe that he was giving me lectures about priorities. The hard truth was that I knew I wouldn't be in this situation if I hadn't let him put me here. I had been lax lately, leaving him alone to run the company. Distracted, like he'd said. He'd only stepped through the opening I'd unintentionally made for him, any one of them would do the same. Hell, I would have done it myself, in his shoes. Which in no way meant that he wasn't a poor excuse for sleaze with a reptile where his dick should be, but that was neither here nor there at the moment.
"We all understand you've suffered some…set-backs and while the board can appreciate your need to regroup, it can't be allowed to affect business."
I couldn't help but notice how his eyes gleamed as he passed down this verdict. I'd been a complete bitch to him over the years and he was relishing handing down my comeuppance.
"That being the case, a vote was taken to see whether or not you should be replaced."
The words were received with a jolt, but then my body ran cold as I gave him a nasty little smile. "Let me guess," I said, keeping my tone cool. "You were voted in as my successor."
He inclined his head again, but didn't trouble to hide the triumphant smirk that took over half his face.
My heart seized, but I stood on steady feet. I was beginning to feel numb inside—cold and numb. "May I offer my congratulations?"
His head shot up and for the briefest of instances, there was a look of pure panic on his face. Oh, he knew me too well to truly think I would give up without a fight, so when no fight came, he didn't know how to react.
I smiled a private smile. He wouldn't last a week. He craved the power of the position, the acclaim, but he really had no idea how much went into it.
"That's very gracious of you."
"It is, isn't it?" My tone was sweetened with enough honey to send him into diabetic shock. "I presume I still have a job?"
"I…of course, Ms. Donahue."
Ah, so now that my humiliation had been dealt, I was Ms. Donahue again. Interesting. "Am I to be your vice-president?"
He looked distinctly uncomfortable now, though he hid it well. "Ah, no, actually. We've placed you as the head of marketing for the time being."
"So thoughtful of you," I commented lightly. Good for him—if he'd put me in as his VP I'd only usurp him just as he'd done to me. He'd put a mouse he could control in the slot, if he filled it at all.
"And of course, you can continue to take as much time off as you need to get…things settled."
To deal with the staggering blow I'd been dealt, he meant. How gracious of him not to say so aloud. "Thank you." I gave him another cloying smile and t
urned on my heel. Before I walked away, I caught sight of my assistant. He was looking right at me, and he didn't look to be gloating. Odd, since I'd been meaner to him than anyone else. "Gentlemen," I called out to the room at large before I made my exit, head still held high. I'd perfected the art of the confident strut back in grade school—this wasn't the time to forget it.
There'd be time for that later—like when I was back at Brandon's, safe in my boyfriend's arms. Then and only then would I allow the tears that were locked behind my eyes to flow freely.
Chapter 2
My legs felt as weak as limp noodles, but somehow I managed to wobble back to my car. Once there, I collapsed in the driver's seat and wondered if I even had the strength to drive. I took several deep, quavering breaths and tried to calm my frazzled nerves. What the hell just happened? I'd never run from a fight in my life and I felt an overwhelming sense of shame that that was exactly what I'd just done.
Taking one more deep breath, I turned the key in the ignition and strapped myself in when the engine purred to life. It was very tempting to find Marc's burgundy Lexus and hit it just to hear the satisfying crunch of metal, which would be the same as the sound of his dreams crumbling, I was sure. Unfortunately, to hurt his car would mean hurting mine, and there was nobody I'd risk that for, particularly that slimy little assworm. Besides which, he'd apparently anticipated that reaction, because even though I drove through the parking lot four times, I never managed to find his car.
It was just as well, really. He deserved much worse than a dented bumper for what he'd done to me and I was going to make sure that he got everything that was coming to him. Only when I'd made him feel as humiliated and isolated as he'd made me feel, only when he'd been stabbed in the back until it felt like he'd die of it would I be satisfied. I felt a tear slide down my cheek, but I brushed it away impatiently. It wasn't a poor-me tear of self-pity; it was a hot, angry tear that demanded retribution.
