Hidden

by Suzanne Halliday

  In the outer room of the department’s bullpen, they ignored the gawking male receptionist and continued to the first desk in their path. The poor woman jumped to her feet when his mother approached and in the process knocked over a pencil cup.

  “Mrs. Sanderson,” the flustered woman exclaimed.

  Nobody panicked the employees quite like Quinn Sanderson, and his mother knew how to mine the reaction for maximum effect.

  She also knew when to wield her fearsome power and when not to.

  “At ease.” Her voice, while friendly, had a deliberate edge to it. “You already got the job.”

  The last was a classic, rich bitch, backhand volley. How did he know this? From Amy. She called the subtle digs, that his mom gleefully tossed out as she waltzed along, cherry bombs. Little detonations fully intended to remind everyone who the hell they were dealing with.

  Without any attempt at a pause, the Beck Industries Queen of All She Surveyed blew past the gaping employees, announcing her itinerary as she went.

  “Is Miss Peters in her office? Good,” she said without waiting for an actual answer. “I’m sure she won’t mind if we drop by.”

  David plastered a blank expression on his face and made a show of checking his watch. His mom might be in charge but he was a veteran of the Quinn Sanderson wars and knew how to manipulate the fuck out of most of the situations that she set off.

  “Fifteen minutes, mother. That’s it. Sonny is coming by to finalize the city paperwork for the launch venue.”

  “Sonny can cool his jets, David. There won’t be a venue to book if the project isn’t ready.”

  Oh great. Just fucking fantastic. She was in major bitch mode. Everyone knew the project was more than ready. Dammit. She was playing him. He could feel it in his bones. What the hell was she really up to?

  Drawing to a halt outside Amy’s office, his mother gave him the arched eyebrow mothers excel at and stood aside until he opened the door for her.

  He needed to say something, wanted to warn her to be nice, but if he did, he’d be giving her a card that could shut down the hand he was playing.

  So he went with an ingenious threat and hoped it was enough. “Don’t rock the boat, mother. This isn’t about you.”

  Her eyes softly flared. She definitely caught the cautionary vibe he was trying to put off.

  “Missy and I play along with your cocktail parties and social schmoozing. It’s good for business. We get it. But I promise you, Mom—if you and Aunt Patsy screw my project up with your bitch-parade, from here on out Violet Brubaker can be your fucking date cause I’ll be trotting out my latest boyfriend.”

  She snorted with laughter. This was their private joke. Him pretending to have a taste for smooth ass. Sure, it was all said with love and in good fun, but she wasn’t stupid. He’d turn up with a picture perfect twink on his arm just to make the point.

  A motherly cheek pat ended with a tiny smack. “Smart ass.”

  “Bitch.”

  She smiled. He winked.

  David had to admit that their mother-son dynamic was unique.

  Chapter Three

  Hunched over a worktable, Amy studied the contact sheets spread around her and chewed a lip. The photo shoot was a brilliant idea—a bit unusual considering what she was after stylistically—but a brain fart she was proud of.

  Fiddling with the photographer’s loupe, she put the handheld magnifying lens over one picture she was especially drawn to and examined it for the tenth time.

  Shot in a gritty abandoned factory, the black and white image depicted a sweaty, muscled artisan laboring over a stone sculpture with a hammer and chisel in his hands. The look was masculine and in-your-face.

  A lot like David.

  Not the statue of, although there was a fair comparison.

  Nope, as usual, her mind wandered off into the shrubs and kicked around until a few juicy fantasies starring the Beck Industries’ head honcho came into view.

  Her hunk of hot sizzling alpha-love gave very good wingspan. A lifetime of swimming as his preferred exercise had a hand in sculpting his impressive upper body musculature. She had no problem substituting a half-naked and dripping with sweat David Sanderso…

  “Knock, knock,” a voice called out. A voice that triggered a conditioned reaction—panic.

  It was the Dragon Lady in the flesh. Shit. Dropping the loupe, she scooted around on the high stool and nearly fell onto her ass when she found Quinn Sanderson bearing down on her with David two steps behind.

  Jumping to her feet, she ran a hand down the side of her skirt and worried about how much thigh was visible while she was perched rather unladylike on the stool.

  “Mrs. Sanderson,” she yawped like a dimwit. Pushing hair behind one ear, she struggled to project even an ounce of self-confidence.

  David caught her eye and offered a head-shaking wink to let her know he was as taken by surprise by this as she was.

  She nodded with appropriate deference. “Mr. Sanderson.”

  “Amy,” he coolly replied.

  A warning bell clanged harshly inside her head. Amy’s gaze swung to Quinn. The immaculately dressed and precisely put-together woman was observing them closely and unless she was mistaken, had a scary gleam in her eyes.

  “What brings you to the second floor?” she asked.

  The lady might scare the snot out of her, but she’d be damned before giving it up on a silver platter. It was a female thing. Amy recognized that some day, she and David’s mother would be eyeball-to-eyeball in a much different setting and when that day came, to the victor would go the spoils. And in this case, David was the thing they’d clashed over. No way was she ever going to show weakness or give clues to a vulnerability that could haunt her later.

  To her complete astonishment, David took the lead like a mocking game show host. Him ribbing his mother so openly in front of her wasn’t an everyday occurrence.

  All her antennae fired up.

  “The meddling Beck President got bored with the view from upstairs and decided to rattle whatever chains she can find.”

  He snickered, Quinn harrumphed, and Amy swallowed—hard.

  “Don’t let her belligerence bother you. It’s me she’s gunning for.” David ended this bald statement with crossed arms and brows raised at his mother.

  “Miss Peters,” Quinn began. Holding up a beautifully manicured hand she gestured to David. “Is there something you’d like to tell me? David rarely refers to my harridan proclivities with such…glee. Am I missing something?”

  Ooooh, this lady was good. She was fishing.

  The first time she’d met the iron lady behind Beck Industries, Amy was just nineteen years old. She’d been slogging for a year in employee purgatory and was so far down the ladder that her ass was on the ground when one day her majesty appeared out of thin air.

  Every single person cowered, clutched their damn pearls, averted their eyes and all but genuflected when she came into view. Maybe she was high or hormonal—one of those two things might be true—but for whatever reason Amy let loose with a burbling cackle of laughter that drew the woman’s immediate attention.

  “Find something funny, young lady?” she’d asked in an imperious tone Amy knew damn well was intended to scare.

  Overcome with an unfortunate love of absurdity and caught in the spotlight, she went with a joke and prayed she wasn’t about to lose the best job she’d ever had.

  Looking right and left she lifted a shoulder, shrugged while making less than half an effort to stop smirking, and laughed, “What? No flying monkeys?”

  That snapshot in time could have been the end of Amy’s hopes and dreams for a professional career, but shock and surprise were on her side that day. Instead of ripping her head off and booting her dumb ass to the unemployed curb, Quinn Sanderson threw back her head and laughed like fucking hell.

  Ever since she’d been hyper-professional with the woman but whenever she could, made a point to drop a bit of amusing sarcasm or a
dirty joke.

  “Missing something?” she asked with a perplexed expression. “I doubt that, Ma’am.”

  Quinn looked pleased with the acknowledgment of her supreme badassery, so she continued and slipped in a bit of snark for shits and giggles.

  “But if you ever have a moment and could perhaps offer a novice some harridan-esque pointers, I’d be forever in your debt.”

  The cheeky Namaste hand gesture and head tilt held just the right amount of self-deprecating mockery. Quinn’s grin and David’s bark of amused laughter broke the tension.

  “Would you like to see what came out of the photo shoot? Maurice did a great job.” She waved them to the drawing table for a look as David snickered and corrected her.

  “It’s Maurizio. Which, I believe, is slang for pretentious wanker.”

  “Yes, I know,” she acknowledged with sugary insolence. “And that’s why I refer to him by the name on his payroll form.”

  They slid a block and a half closer to the twilight zone when Quinn sniffed and quipped, “Payroll form. I like your style, Miss Peters.”

  And then some weird cosmic thunderbolt struck, and the dragon lady offered her a high five. David’s brows rose into his hairline when she accepted the challenge, and the two of them smacked hands like linebackers squashing the competition.

  What the hell was going on?

  Quinn picked up the loupe and bent over to examine the stack of proofs. Amy watched intently; trying to gauge her reaction. David chose that moment to caress her ass with slow thoroughness. She jumped and sidled away from his reach. When his mother swung her gaze at Amy, she hurriedly started gathering stacks of paper into a neat pile.

  Quinn straightened, dropped the loupe and subjected Amy to a bold once over. Addressing her directly and efficiently bitch-blocking David, she brushed her bangs to the side with one finger and announced, “Patsy has a few sketches for the launch. She’ll be dropping by later today.”

  An enormous gust of wind swirled inside the office, taking the papers from her hands and sending them scattering everywhere.

  Was the wind real?

  No.

  But that’s what she told herself to deflect the embarrassment of having revealed a serious vulnerability.

  Patsy Loman. Oh, shit.

  Horrified by the heat rushing into her cheeks she tried to play off the awkwardness of the moment and attacked the troublesome papers while deciding what to say.

  “Mrs. Loman is coming by?”

  “Yes, dear,” Quinn replied. “She has some ideas. With all of this black and white,” she sniped with a dismissive hand wave, “you have going on, we feel some color in the reception area would be nice.”

  Amy’s mouth dropped open. The black and white theme was critical to the visual impact of the project launch. It was David’s vision and hard work. The incredible forward thinking he was supporting by this game-changing effort would provide the color and contrast. A bunch of flower arrangements or one of Loman Designs’ famous welcome installations would make the launch just another color-by-number event. Watery shrimp and overcooked dim sum for everyone. Yippee.

  “Absolutely not, Mother. I’m saying no. And I don’t care if Patsy has a shit fit.”

  David let out a harsh breath and ran his hand through his hair. She felt the exasperation rolling off of him in waves.

  “We could have saved a lot of time if you’d told me this was about your need to add a pop of color to every damn thing. I’m finished defending a firm decision that’s three-quarters of the way through delivering.”

  Quinn started to respond, but David took her arm, looked at Amy and said, “Please excuse us for a moment.”

  She stood frozen to the spot, staring, as David maneuvered his mother into a corner and quietly let her have it, but Amy heard most of it.

  What did I tell you about the micro-managing?

  Back down or you won’t like what happens.

  Give it a rest Mom.

  Amy schooled her face to remain passive but thought, ‘Holy crap on a whole-wheat cracker!’

  When they walked back to the drawing table, David laid it out with terse formality.

  “The Artisan Emporium launch will go off exactly as planned. No changes. No additions. No interference,” he said heavily with an eye directed at his mother.

  “But…”

  “No, Mother. Enough. Seriously. I get that you don’t see the concept but to be perfectly honest, this initiative isn’t directed at your, um, peer group.”

  “I don’t understand why everything these days has to convey a social message. I dislike hidden things. Hidden clues. Hidden meanings. You’re doing a good thing, David. Take some damn credit for it. It should be you in the spotlight, not some sweaty romance novel character swinging a hammer in a 1950s black and white tableau.”

  Sensing her opening, Amy stepped into the breach and hoped she wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

  “Mrs. Sanderson. Current trends and hard numbers support David’s instincts. The monochromatic setting won’t detract from the presentation. It will complement what’s important.”

  “Making it stand out,” Quinn muttered. She was looking at the AE logo in several formats pinned to a wall mounted magnet board.

  “Exactly. There are no dog whistles or secret messages. What you see is exactly what you get. There won’t be much to question, trust me.”

  A shrewdly assessing pair of ice blue eyes trapped her in a fierce gaze. She wanted to reassure the woman that she’d never encourage David to do something that might end badly. She didn’t though because if ever there was something hidden in plain sight, something that had the potential to enrage the dragon lady, it was her precious David being more than a friendly boss to Amy.

  All of a sudden, she felt the sting of dismissal when Quinn turned away and slid her arm through David’s.

  “I must be off.”

  She offered her cheek for David’s perfunctory kiss and ignored Amy. Before leaving she swiveled and lobbed a perfect pitch straight across the plate.

  “Don’t forget. Drinks at seven. Tell Violet that the Mayor loves a good selfie and to be prepared. Ta ta.”

  Whoosh—and then she was gone.

  Amy mentally counted to ten and bit her tongue the whole time. David didn’t move a muscle. When he slowly turned to her, she had a hard time not calling him a bastard.

  She crossed her arms. “Violet? Drinks? Ex-squeeze me?”

  He glanced at the door; probably making sure it was closed. A good thing too because one of them had to keep their shit together and at the moment that person was not her.

  “Amy, honey,” he began in a soft murmur. “Take it easy.”

  Oh, no he didn’t!

  “Sorry?” She was rocking a female superhero shit kicking arched brow crossed arm pose that did not bode well for her secret lover. Saying ‘take it easy’ to a pissed off woman never ended well.

  David groaned and rubbed his jaw. “Dammit Amy, don’t be pissed. Look,” he quickly stammered. “Didn’t all that strike you as odd? She’s stirring the pot for some reason. I can feel it.”

  “She’s always stirring the pot, you shithead!”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “But not like this. I’m not trying to borrow trouble or be paranoid, but she made a beeline for you and dropped her troublemaking lieutenant in for added effect. I have a bad feeling about this. Did Missy shoot her damn mouth off?”

  He was right to have a bad feeling, but she was hurt by the mention of Violet, so she didn’t feel like giving him a pass.

  “Leave your sister out of this. She’d fall on a power line if by some blunder on her part our secret got out. So back it up, bud. When are these cocktails with Violet and why haven’t you told me before now?”

  She saw the minute he snapped. Grabbing her hand, he dragged her into the tiny powder room tucked along the back wall of her office and shut the door. Then he shoved a thigh between her legs, pulled her hips close and pinned her to the door
with his big body. A second later his tongue was in her mouth, and she was clinging to him like an anchor.

  A couple of hot, panting minutes later, she was limp as a noodle when he explained.

  “I didn’t know until right before I got here. It’s Quinn’s stupid Friday cocktails. The Mayor and her husband are coming, so my mother was kind enough to alert her thirty-two-year-old son’s beard date. End of story.”

  End of story? I doubt that, she thought. I haven’t even started. “Friday at seven? Are you picking her up? Meeting there?”

  He shrugged off the questions. Knowing David, he didn’t give a flying cow chip how Violet got from point A to point B.

  He didn’t disappoint and sarcastically drawled, “She’s fully capable of calling an Uber.”

  That’s really all she needed to know, but there was just one more detail.

  “So, what’s that mean? You’ll leave your apartment at six to be there on time?”

  “I suppose,” he cautiously answered. “Why?”

  “Because lover man,” she told him with a sultry voice while palming his crotch, “you’ll be stopping by our place first. Five o’clock should do it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Should do what?”

  God! He was so adorably clueless.

  “Should give me enough time to be naughty. Coat your dick with my scent. Maybe drop off a few love bites for emphasis. You want to play arm candy games with Violet Brubaker? Fine. But you’ll do it after a grunting orgasm.”

  He grinned. “I like the way your mind works.”

  Dumbass. Did he really think that was it?

  “And then while you’re schmoozing on command for mommy, I’ll let Josh take me to Alberto’s for dinner.”

  His expression turned fierce and the blackness that accompanied any mention of Joshua’s name appeared.

  They stared at each other.

  “I will kill him if he touches you.”

  “Right back at you, Mr. Sanderson.”

  He kissed her again, and this time she melted and let him stake his claim.

  “If I have to wear you on my dick when Violet is around, then I want my cum soaking your panties if you go anywhere with that asshole.”