by Kaira Rouda
Weekend with the Tycoon
An Indigo Island Romance
Kaira Rouda
Tule Publishing Group
Weekend with the Tycoon
Copyright © 2014 Kaira Rouda
Kindle Edition
The Tule Publishing Group, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
ISBN: 978-0-9849151-7-0
Kaira Rouda is a mom of four, wife of one, who lives in Laguna Beach, California, with three dogs and a fish named Phil. She would love to connect with you!
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Dear Reader!
Thank you for taking a chance on my first true romance! I’m a long-time women’s fiction author who just knew someday she’d find herself swept away to a romantic island. And now, the dream has come true with Tule Publishing’s backing of my Indigo Island series of romances. I hope you’ll come to love this low country island, just off the coast of South Carolina, and the people who live and visit there. I know I do. The stories are based on a wonderful time in my life, when my children were young and we’d load up the mini van and head from Ohio down to Hilton Head, and from there take a ferry to Daufuskie Island, a very magical place much like my imagined Indigo Island. I love the Southeast – I’m a Vanderbilt graduate – and I love the Sea Islands. Join me there, won’t you?
Dedication
To Jane Porter.
You rock.
Thank you.
xo
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
From the Author
Dear Reader
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About the Author
One
Samantha punched the elevator button for the top floor. She’d never been to Mr. Putnam’s office but of course, she’d heard rumors about it, the starkness, the vast size. To be summoned for a meeting first thing Thursday morning made her heart race. After all, he was the boss, CEO of Blake Genetics, a genetics testing firm he’d founded after his college graduation that had become, in just 10 years, a dominant player worldwide. Blake Putnam was the man. Tall, built like Tom Brady with an athletic body that still looked good in the European suits he wore to the office every day. He was sexy, assertive, rich and very, very distant.
By contrast, Samantha felt plain, boring and unaccomplished. She’d just graduated college a year and a half before, and had worked for Blake Genetics since then. She examined her anxious expression in the reflection of the elevator walls and adjusted her simple black shift dress. Then she checked her long blonde hair anchored in a loose knot behind her back. Even though the offices were overly cool, she was perspiring and fanned herself with the white notepad in her hand as the elevator shot up to the top floor.
The doors parted revealing an expansive white marble floor, with an impressively large white desk placed in the exact middle of the space. A severe, elegantly coiffed woman sat behind the desk and seemed to float in the room of white. Samantha shivered as sweat trickled down her back.
She stepped off the elevator, which closed soundlessly behind her. The woman never looked up. This was the infamous Marlene, Mr. Putnam’s personal assistant, who had summoned her. Samantha waited to be acknowledged. Rumors about Marlene’s power were whispered throughout the building. Samantha felt another spurt of panic shoot down her spine.
Am I being fired?
She stared at Marlene mutely. She couldn’t think of anything she’d done to warrant being fired, and she was almost certain they wouldn’t handle such things on the executive floor. Would they? Samantha tried to distract herself by noticing details—Marlene’s timeless face without a single wrinkle, her short, dark, edgy bob, her elegant, black pantsuit and tall stiletto heels that Samantha could barely look at without wincing. No way would she ever be able to walk in those. They looked more like weapons than shoes.
“Have a seat, Ms. Jones,” Marlene said without looking up. Samantha chose one of two white leather chairs with cold metal arms. She shivered, her bare arms exposed. Her feet began to feel numb inside her sensible black pumps. She wished they’d just fire her. The waiting was more torture than she’d imagined. Breathe, she told herself, and started doodling a daisy on her notepad.
I’m drowning in a sea of quiet white, Samantha thought. No art. No plants. No sound. No smell. Nothing. After a ten-minute wait, spent staring at the wall in front of her while Marlene worked intently at her massive desk, Samantha was about to ask why she was here when Marlene finally spoke.
“Mr. Putnam will see you now.”
Without moving from her seat, Marlene pushed a button and the stainless steel door to his office swung open. Samantha could almost hear the drum beat of doom, and she felt Marlene’s eyes on her back as she entered Mr. Putnam’s office.
Mr. Putnam was seated behind a glass desk, and beyond him, was a glass wall with a commanding view of the city. As she entered, he remained seated and swiveled his chair, turning his back to her. Along the far wall of his office to her left was a large fish tank with spectacularly colored fish. The other two walls were floor to ceiling glass. The air smelled of success and ocean.
Blake Putnam was on the phone. She turned around to leave, but the door had closed tightly behind her. Unsure what to do, Samantha stopped, frozen about five feet from his desk. Breathe, she reminded herself, even as she started to get angry about the situation. Sure, he was the boss but ordering her to what she privately thought of as his lair and then turning his back on her without so much as a nod in her direction? She tried to keep the irritation off her face.
He finished the call, swiveled his chair in her direction and waved her to the white leather chair in front of his desk. He wore a crisp white dress shirt and a black and navy striped tie, the blue matching the color of his deep blue eyes. His black suit jacket hung from the back of his black leather chair. Samantha hurried to the seat.
“Ms. Jones,” Mr. Putnam tilted back in his black leather chair, steepling his hands below his chin. Samantha could see his biceps push against his shirt, but forced her attention back on his words. She waited for him to explain why she was here, but he stared at her. Samantha tried not to fidget. He continued to stare, and she wondered wildly what game was this? He could win tournaments in poker. World championships. What could he possibly be thinking? Maybe she should speak, but the longer the silence stretched, the fewer words jangled around in her brain.
“I’m impressed by how you handled the preliminary Daycon meetings. Even with all the friction over the increased rates and government
regulation, you walked through all of the reasoning better than some of my more senior executives could have done, frankly,” Putnam said.
Whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been praise. Samantha sagged in relief.
“You think well on your feet,” he said.
Samantha smiled. He liked her work. He had noticed her during the meeting. And he had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
“You’re smart, and you have a great grasp of Blake Genetics’ future.”
He leaned forward. “I like your presentation skills. Exactly what I need for this upcoming weekend.”
Basking in his praise, Samantha almost missed the last line. She leaned forward and pursed her lips in the shape of a W, but for once managed to still her question.
“I need an associate to attend a business meeting with me. We will finalize Monday’s Daycon pitch and review every aspect of the presentation.”
“Me? You?”
“There will be others there. Meetings could run day and night,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “More formal wear,” he looked at her dress, “Will be required for the evening. We leave this afternoon.”
She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure what had just happened. Could she say no to the boss? Why would she?
“Samantha?” Mr. Putnam asked.
“Oh, yes, sure I’d love to work on the presentation with you. I have so many ideas. This is exciting,” Samantha said, her words tumbled out of her mouth too quickly. She had dreamed of pitching her new idea to him. This could be her big break.
“Good,” Mr. Putnam said, standing up. At 6’3” he towered over her. He leaned forward, both palms on his glass desk, his blue eyes bore into hers. Samantha felt small, and nervous, she stumbled to her feet when he extended his hand.
Samantha felt a shock of electricity as their palms touched, and she caught her breath. She must have imagined it. This was a business deal. Period. As she stood there awkwardly, the handshake long over, she noticed a stack of folders on the corner of his desk, her name written on the top folder.
What did that mean? Were others coming? If she’d said no, who would have been up next? Her curiosity burned.
“I will pay for your wardrobe for the weekend,” Blake said. “Elegant, sophisticated attire. No short skirts, no midriff bearing dresses some girls your age are wearing. You will go to Andrea’s with Marlene. It is all set up.”
Samantha crossed her arms in front of her insulted. She’d never been anything but professionally attired. “I have good taste, sir,” she said, taking a step back away from him.
“You will go to Andrea’s with Marlene. She’s set up an appointment.”
“I have plenty of clothes,” Samantha insisted. “Appropriate business attire,” she stressed.
“Yes, but this is a bit…exceptional. That’s why I selected you,” Mr. Putnam said and gestured toward the stack of folders on this desk.
He picked up Samantha’s and shuffled through the papers inside.
“Marlene did the research,” he said, answering a question she hadn’t asked. “I needed to be certain you would feel comfortable in a more…intimate, and important setting.”
It was the first time he seemed less than comfortable, and Samantha practically heard the alarm bells going off. Intimate could have different meanings, but Mr. Iceman Putnam as everyone called him. And her? Ridiculous.
“I needed to be familiar with how you spend your leisure time.”
That was none of his business, Samantha thought.
“You enjoy yoga, scrapbooking – whatever that is – your family had money for most of your life, you had a stable, upper middle class upbringing, and you excelled in college. Here, your work and your compartment has been nothing but the best, and aside from your relationship with Ryan Brody in sales, you’ve been a perfect employee.”
Samantha dropped her head at the mention of Ryan’s name. What a stupid mistake, she thought for the millionth time. “Yes, well, obviously Ryan was a mistake. I should not have recommended him for a job,” she said quickly. “And I should have been up front about our relationship – our past relationship. I was lonely when I moved to Charlotte and I guess I let my guard down,” Samantha trailed off, embarrassed.
“Don’t repeat that mistake. Mr. Brody won’t be at Blake Genetics much longer. I cannot retain sales associates who don’t meet their performance metrics.”
Samantha started to speak, to defend Ryan, but caught herself. Mr. Putnam could do whatever he wanted with his company, his employees. And Ryan was a jerk.
Mr. Putnam dropped her file folder on top of the pile on his desk and sat back down as she stood awkwardly in front of him. She could feel herself get hot.
“Here’s a credit card,” he said, sliding the black card across the glass desk.
“Your stylist will have outfits pulled to choose from.”
“My what?”
“Make sure the labels are something to brag about,” he waved his hand dismissively towards the door.
Who would have ever thought they’d hear a man say that, Samantha thought dimly as she stared at the black card? Her father had complained about her mother’s trips to Costco and Target, and that had been before their financial difficulties. She didn’t even know American Express offered a Black Card. Stunned, she tried to convince her feet to move.
“I expect you back to the office by three this afternoon. Shopped and packed.” Mr. Putnam said. “Naturally I expect your complete discretion about our work meetings this weekend.”
He picked up the telephone, another signal for her to leave.
Samantha nodded, but still she stood rooted, staring at the card, trying to figure out what this work weekend really meant. It couldn’t mean what she feared it might mean. That was impossible, right? She was being paranoid. She’d only even seen Mr. Putnam once at a meeting, and that had been at a long table with more than a dozen other people. This was an opportunity. A business opportunity. He picked her out of a stack of folders.
“This way, Ms. Jones,” Marlene said.
Samantha startled out of her daze. She hadn’t realized the office door was open, nor that Marlene stood waiting—poised, sleek, elegant and detached.
“Right,” she said, even though nothing seemed right about this situation. She turned and hurried after Marlene not even hearing his office door swing shut behind her.
Two
Samantha sat enveloped in luxury in the back of the Blake Genetics limo in a state of shock. Monday of this week she’d been dumped by her college boyfriend Ryan via text message. She’d helped get him the sales job at Blake Genetics and now he’d repaid her by hooking up with an administrative assistant in sales. She’d been focusing on her career and dreaming of their wedding while he’d been playing around.
And now just three days later, this, whatever this was. She ran her finger along a seam in the black leather seat. She wasn’t completely sure what this entailed, but wherever they were going, she intended to prove just how valuable she was to Blake Genetics. Samantha knew she could help him nail the Daycon presentation. He viewed her as an asset to his company. This weekend could be her chance to tell him about her special project.
Marlene never looked up from whatever she was typing on her tablet.
“Oh, my purse,” Samantha remembered in dismay. “My phone.”
“Not necessary,” Marlene’s cool voice washed over her, and made her feel about ten again. “And don’t even think about posting anything about this weekend on Facebook. I’m sure you know that.”
“Of course,” Samantha said indignantly, although she had been thinking that she would post pictures of scenery if they were going anywhere beautiful. “I would never compromise anything of a work related nature.”
Marlene did look up then, eyeing Samantha with a blank expression. “Of course you won’t post anything dear. That would ruin your future here.”
What was the deal? Was Marlene threatening her? Did everyone w
ho hung around Blake Putnam lose their humanity, their emotions? Or did they just hide everything better than she did?
“This is all work related, right?” She asked anxiously.
“Of course,” Marlene finally said, and though her expression didn’t change, Samantha felt a strong vibe of frustration. “Why would you even think anything else?”
Marlene slid out of the limo as soon as the driver opened the door. Samantha hadn’t even realized the limo had stopped.
“This is the most exclusive boutique in the city. Raymond and I will tell you what you need. Remember, enjoy yourself, dear.”
The bright May sunshine briefly blinded Samantha as she followed Marlene out of the car, still clutching the credit card and the note pad in her hands. The uniformed driver tipped his hat to her closing the door behind her. She would have pinched herself if her hands weren’t full. She was standing in front of the clothing boutique featured in every fashion magazine in the city, probably the East Coast. Every wealthy woman in the city tried to get photographed wearing something from Andrea’s. It was guaranteed to make the society pages. And she was about to go inside, and even own an outfit from there.
“We will have lunch here,” Marlene said, finally pausing long enough for Samantha to catch up. “I’ve arranged a duplicate of all your toiletries and have purchased a luggage set. The Andrea’s team has selected some ensembles for you to choose from, based on your measurements and hair and skin coloring.”
Samantha had to force herself not to say something sarcastic about the beauty of freedom of choice. She was still stuck on the ‘duplicate toiletries.’
“Welcome to Andrea’s Miss Jones!” said a man and woman who held the double doors open and hurried her inside.
“Samantha, you’re even lovelier than the photos,” the man said, hugging her around the shoulders. “I’m Raymond, dear, here to help you select everything you need for your weekend.”
