by Kris Jayne
Ringing up my boss to ask him if I should quit my job probably wasn’t the most strategic maneuver. But Gregory Kelso was more than a boss. He’d been my mentor. He trusted me to guide his company as he eased into retirement. He’d trusted me more than his own flesh and blood at one point.
For years, he’d championed me even when board members at Kelso Engineering balked at the arrogant, black kid—not that I was young enough to claim that anymore—who’d finished his MBA at Duke and been ready to tackle business world. As strange as it was to some, Gregory and I were kindred spirits.
Now, I was supposed to drop him like trash and go chasing oil money because some old cheat with a questionable relationship to my grandmother insisted his life was my “legacy.”
“Trouble at home?” Gregory asked.
“No…not home…well, here in Dallas,” I fumbled, then took a deep breath to pull it together. I couldn’t very well get Gregory’s sage advice if I couldn’t explain the situation without stumbling like a fool.
“Say it straight. Trust me. If I’ve learned anything in the past year, it’s that saying your peace straight out can avoid a mountain of complications,” he replied in a tone so dry it parched the phone line.
Gregory was in the middle of a nasty divorce from a woman he never should have married. A woman he never would have married had she not lied to him about the paternity of her unborn child. What’s worse than that is the biological father was his own son. Griffin Kelso hadn’t known his ex-girlfriend was sleeping with him and his father. And Gregory hadn’t known Marisa was still sleeping with his son.
But he had known Marisa was his son’s ex. Getting mixed up with her at all was a mistake, and he was paying for it now. Who knew what excising Marisa Kelso from his life would cost Gregory? The man was a billionaire, and with that much money on the table, even a prenup wouldn’t be enough to dissuade a golddigger like Marisa from trying to take a chunk out of his hide on her way out the door. She even tried to drag me into her mess.
I shook the memory out of my head. Marisa wasn’t my problem.
“This is highly confidential. I promised I wouldn’t say anything yet. If the media—”
“You know me, Carter. I won’t say a thing,” he promised.
“I have a job offer.” Why I started there, I didn’t know.
“Oh.” Surprise laced Gregory’s exclamation.
“It’s complicated.” I sighed. “Remember how I told you that my father never knew his father? My grandmother moved to Dallas when he was about three. She told everyone she was a widow. We all suspected that wasn’t true, but there seemed no point in digging where she obviously wanted to leave things alone. Now, we know for sure.”
“People weren’t kind to unmarried mothers then,” he said.
Nor did women have much recourse if a man forced himself on her. Especially a woman like my grandmother dealing with a well-respected, increasingly wealthy oil man in the late 1950s. I didn’t know if that’s what happened, and I might never know. But I had a hard time picturing the circumspect woman who lectured me about keeping my basketball shorts up involving herself with a notorious wild man like J.P. Star.
Whispers and stories of the man running the town with women a third his age circulated even before his wife’s death several years ago. Despite his advancing age, he liked women and booze, and he used his buckets of money to chase good times with both for decades.
All that, and he still had the nerve to be irritated about his grandsons, Anthony and Jude, following suit.
“As it happens…” I released another sigh and rolled the phone over in my hand, pressing the earbud deeper into my ear. “There was more to her move to Dallas than we knew. My father’s father lives here. Lived here. He just died.”
“Did you meet him?” Gregory asked.
“No.”
A hollow sadness carved its way into my chest, and I thought about that intimidating stare of his glowering from every picture and painting in the company offices. Cold blue eyes following every employee on the executive floor. His family didn’t appear to miss him, so how could I?
Of course, I was his family. The strangeness of that kept hitting me.
“His lawyer notified me of the connection after his death at Christmas. I’m in the man’s will and so are my brother and sister.” I snorted softly. “That was news to his family.”
Gregory huffed a laugh. “Are you inheriting the family business?”
“In a sense.”
“What did the man do?”
“Produce a million plus barrels of oil per day, give or take,” I quipped. “And refine it. And turn it into plastic and assorted materials clogging landfills.”
Okay, maybe that was unfair.
“Wait? He died on Christmas? Your grandfather wasn’t…” Gregory gasped. “Holy shit.”
“Language, Gregory,” I laughed, repeating what I’d heard him say a thousand times to interns and execs alike.
“J.P. Star?”
His gruff voice twisted up to a shocked register, and I dug the heel of my hand into my eye socket.
“You’re J.P. Star’s grandson? And here I was thinking a takeover of Kelso Engineering would be the height of accomplishment.” Gregory had never expressed any level of envy before, certainly not in business. “What job?”
“This is where it gets tricky. It’s a privately held company.”
“One of the largest in the world.”
“Totally family run.”
“I’ve met Theresa and Ken Hunter,” Gregory began in a tone laced with warning. “Of course, Ken retired a few years ago. Theresa… She wouldn’t be happy about your working in the file room if it meant displacing one of her kids. I’m guessing J.P.’s vision was bigger than that.”
“He wants—wanted—to groom me to be CEO.” Saying the fact out loud didn’t make it any less surreal to me. “I’m happy where I am. I don’t want to run an oil company. I don’t know anything about running an oil company.”
“You’d learn.”
I knew construction and real estate. I knew financing. I knew negotiation and organizational management. Learning an industry took hard work, and there was no shortcut to experience. But I’d done it once, and if I wanted to—and could finagle the support of other leaders—I could do it again.
Still, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“That was the old man’s idea, but he created a massive wrinkle. Everyone’s inheritance—not just mine, Jasmine’s, and Nate’s, but the rest of the family too—hinges on my spending three years learning the operations and then another three as CEO,” I explained.
That wasn’t entirely true. J.P. let Quinn off the hook. Get the fuck out. That’s was her advice.
But I couldn’t turn my back on the possibilities, could I? This could mean financial security for my family for generations on a grander scale than I could imagine.
“So it’s you or nothing.”
“Pretty much.”
“Well, he certainly knew his family. That’s about the only way his daughters would let that happen,” Gregory said.
“I didn’t get the sense Marie had much say.”
“Maybe not. Theresa is the real power center. Marie and her husband—I can’t even remember his first name.”
“Robert. He’s semi-retired, invests in things, works on boards. She’s involved in charities and runs the Star Foundation.”
“She’s a mellower, more congenial sort,” he said. “They take the money, but the Gales never exert much influence in the business. It’s Theresa, Ken, and their oldest—what’s her name?”
“Reese.”
“Yes. Reese. Cut from the same cloth as her mother.”
“Really? I got the sense they don’t get along. In fact, Theresa doesn’t seem to engender much love and support—even in her own family,” I replied.
“It’s tough being the one wield the family’s influence and hold things together. I don’t know that she’s a terrible person, she�
��s just— Listen, I’m sure many people think I’m a jerk,” Gregory mused with a laugh. “Though I try to be fair.”
I sighed. “I know you do. That’s what makes this difficult. I’m happy where I am.”
“You were happy where you were. With a bigger win hovering out there for the taking, you wouldn’t stay happy.”
He was right. The thought of the challenge and the incredible reward on the other side made the opportunity nearly irresistible—even though I knew the Stars would try to drag me to hell and back to get me out as soon as possible.
I sat back in my chair as a new certainty took hold. “You were just about to retire. We fought to position everything so I could take over. Your son has moved on. And I—”
He broke in with a dispassionate objection. “That isn’t your problem.”
I dropped my fist to the table. “It is my problem. I’ve worked for there for nearly fifteen years. I made a commitment to you—to myself. The company has meant as much to me as it has to you.”
“And now it won’t,” he snapped with gentle paternalism. “This is bigger than your personal ambitions, and I can tell by the sound of your voice, you’re just trying to figure out a way to tell me you’re leaving despite every best intention you’ve ever had. I appreciate that, but it’s unnecessary.”
It was. I was abandoning the man who’d been a father figure to me since I met him at a Duke booster club event two decades ago. I was turning my back on him to chase something I didn’t even want. Not really.
And why? Because of some miscellaneous connections that only existed under a microscope. I knew practically nothing about these people, and what I knew, I didn’t like.
“You’re an important person to me,” I said.
“And you’re important to me. Moving on doesn’t change that. I’ll always be here to remind you about your language and to help you navigate the shark-infested waters of business or life or whatever you need. Always,” he promised.
“Who’s going to run the company?”
“I will. I’m in better health than ever. Getting divorced has given me a second wind. I have a 125-pound boulder off my neck.” He laughed. “We’ll be fine.”
“I’ll need to start at J.P. Star Energy ASAP.”
“Don’t worry. That’s why we have succession plans. We’ll transition in a few weeks.”
“I’m in the middle of—” I stopped. My to-do list always ran into the thousands. Trying to find a stopping point on every project would take months, if not years. Executives changed jobs all the time.
I don’t know what bothered me more, leaving or realizing this job that consumed every waking moment of my life could be dropped so quickly.
What was I doing with my life?
But the existential crisis would have to wait. What I was doing was taking care of myself and my family. It’s what I’d always done. Gregory understood that.
Air seeped out of my chest, and I forced myself to relax. Getting wound up didn’t solve problems.
“I’ll be back next week. We can settle everything. And I’ll let you know if and when we’re lifting our veil of secrecy.” I chuckled.
“Of course. Not a problem. I won’t say a word to anyone and start handling things on my end.”
“Thank you, Gregory.”
“No problem,” he said. “And Carter?”
“What?”
“Congratulations. I’m proud of you.”
I snickered. “For what? I haven’t done anything so fantastic except be born.”
“No, but you will.”
7
Nisha
I hoped I wouldn’t miss him. The only downside to these loosey goosey barbecues was not knowing who was going to be there and when. I got to Victoria and James’ early to position myself on a barstool in the huge, eat-in kitchen with a wide view of the backyard.
If he came in the front door, he’d have to pass through to get outside, and if he walked around and went directly into the yard via the side gate, I should be able to catch him.
Doing another visual sweep of the patio and pool area, I lost track of the conversation with my host temporarily.
Victoria snapped a finger over my head while holding a knife in the other hand. “Hello, Nisha?”
I smiled and turned my gaze back to her, and she continued chopping onions and tomatoes for guacamole.
“What? Oh, yeah. Maya’s doing okay. She’s still staying with me.”
“You’re going to keep her?”
“Hopefully.” I sighed. “All Maya has to do is get through the next three years.”
Of course, I knew nothing about how to raise a teenager except worrying every day we were crammed into my townhouse. And now Lisa was back. My spine stiffened until my neck hurt.
It would be okay. Maya knew what she wanted. And I’d handle the rest. I reached out to a lawyer I met working on a past story. He agreed to help but would cost a couple of thousand dollars I didn’t have just to get started. I would figure it out.
Maya needed to stay with me. She was smart and could have any future she wanted—if she stayed away from trouble. Unfortunately, that included Lisa.
Lord. Today wasn’t for worrying about Maya. Today was for meeting the guy at the heart of the story that would help me not have to worry.
That’s why I’d asked Victoria about one particular guest on her social media invite. It was easy enough to inquire about a hot, successful guy on the guest list. I hadn’t wanted to get her involved, but I needed to make sure he was going to be here. Otherwise, I’d have to get much more creative.
“Well—oh, hey.” Victoria lowered her voice. “Your hookup is here.”
“What’s up, Vic? I brought beer.”
The back of my neck tingled at the masculine rumble behind me.
I knew before I swiveled around that he was handsome.
All the news clippings and online pics told me that. But they couldn’t warn me about the earthquaking timber of his voice that surely registered on the Richter scale. The vibration made my toes curl around the footrest of my barstool. The only shakes like that around here came from fracking. The tremors in my stomach told me he might be as dangerous as his new oil magnate employer.
I drew in a steadying breath and turned.
“Hi.” The wicked energy of his grin swayed toward me in time with samba-like way his hips moved when he walked.
Damn.
Focus, Nisha.
What I needed from him didn’t have anything to do with his hips. Or the sinewed ripple of his forearms as he reached past me to set a case of Mexican beer on the counter. He wore a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It was open. His dark, smooth chest rippled and narrowed to hard abs that cut arrows pointing down into the waistband of his long swim trunks.
He started to say something else, but Victoria interrupted.
“There’s a tub of ice outside. You can put your stuff out there. Then, come back in, and I’ll let Nisha introduce herself.” Victoria took a break from chopping and wiped her hands on a dish towel.
The slash of his smile spread across his face again. My heart swelled and thumped to the beat that had played in my head as I watched him walk in.
“Or we could do that now before I head outside.” He extended a hand. “Carter Cross.”
Even his hands were sexy. Callused, but smooth at the same time. Strong, but elegant. His fingers wrapped around my hand, and I thought about having the grip sliding up my arm, over my shoulder, and down, down, down.
I was sweating like Victoria’s A/C wasn’t cranked to a chill for the party.
Straightening my spine lifted my chest in my magenta floral bikini, and his eyes flickered down and back up to my face. Normally, that would have irritated me, but instead, my stomach did another salsa dance.
Let go of his hand, creeper. I’d clung on a nanosecond too long, then dropped it. “Nisha Donovan.”
“How have we never met before?”
“Are you su
re we haven’t?” I crinkled my brow as if maybe I remembered him from somewhere else and not the days of research I’d done.
“No. I have an expert eye for faces. Yours,” he paused and pointed at me, “I haven’t seen before.”
I grinned. “Well, now you have.”
He laughed. “I’ll be sure to remember. How do you know Victoria and James?”
“Victoria and I lived on the same floor freshman year at TCU.”
“You two sorors?”
I smiled, though the question picked at a decade-old wound. By sophomore year, Victoria and I were rooming together. She decked out her half of the room with every pink and green item her sorority sold. Each new pillow, drink koozie, or T-shirt reminded me just how little I could have afforded to pledge.
“Sororities weren’t my thing.”
“They were definitely our thing, huh, Carter.” James charged through to the back door. “‘Sup, man.” He and James man-hugged, grasping each other’s hand between them for their fraternity handshake.
Carter stepped back, still focused on me. “Sororities were our thing. Chasing girls was our thing. You know college. So you were a more independent type, then?”
Nisha shrugged. “I guess. I like being able to do whatever I want.”
Victoria scooped a silky mass of guacamole into a chip and dip platter and popped open a bag of tortilla chips. “She still does. Nisha’s a freelance writer.”
I ignored a twinge of guilt. My contract demanded that I keep my position at the Post a secret.
“What do you write?” he asked.
“News articles, blog posts, promotional pieces. That kind of thing.” The practiced not-quite-lie passed easily over my lips. I did do that work, just not how people thought.
“Oh. Do you have a card? I might know of some companies who could use your services.”
The corner of my mouth twisted up like a plot. No, he didn’t, but if he wanted my number, that simplified things on my end. I made a show of digging through my purse for my card, but instead, retrieved my phone.
