Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)

by Jen Frederick

  I signal Steve that I’m ready and we head out. Kaga follows behind. “It’s called Chinese torture. I’m Japanese, or did you forget?”

  “Your people have been oppressing the East for centuries. I think you know plenty of good torture techniques.”

  “Only a couple. And Genghis Khan was the one who oppressed the East for centuries. We only did it for a couple of them. Khan was Chinese. Or Mongolian, if you want to get technical.”

  “By all means,” I reply dryly while climbing into the car. “Let’s be precise and accurate. I’ll be over in the morning. Treat him well. Maybe a good night’s sleep and a full belly will loosen his lips.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Steve breaks a half-dozen traffic laws to get me to The Plaza by 8:15. I’m over an hour late and starving. Hopefully DeWight has brought over a lot of food. It’s a good thing Big Guy didn’t take my money because I’m going to need the bills for tipping. DeWight, as any high-end manager would, recognizes me when I walk in. These guys live and breathe the society pages because they don’t want to make the mistake of offending someone who might be powerful enough to get them fired.

  “Mr. Kerr, your table is right over here.” DeWight directs me to three club chairs situated by the window overlooking Fifth Avenue.

  I slip him a hundred dollar bill. “I need a steak, medium-rare, and another glass for the whiskey.”

  “Of course,” he says and smoothly secretes the money into his pocket.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say as I reach the table. Leaning down, I inhale the lemon scent of Tiny and all the shit of the day drifts away. She has that perfect calming effect on me. Everything is going to be fine so long as we’re together.

  “Hey, I missed you,” she says and raises her sweet face for a kiss. I want to linger. Hell, I want to drag her off and fuck her blind, working off the adrenaline that the attack had spiked, but now isn’t the time. Not while her stepfather looks on with avidity. I press against her lips for a quick, hard kiss, so she knows that I missed the hell out of her too.

  “Hedder.” I give him a short nod and avoid his hand as I sit down. As unobtrusively as possible, I examine Hedder for any hint that he knew of the attack. His glib face shows no signs of satisfaction or dismay. My inspection is inconclusive.

  I draw Tiny as close as the bulky club chairs allow, placing her hand on my thigh and covering it with my own. Her hand is slightly cold. Whether that’s from her drink or Hedder remains to be seen.

  “I’m sorry for dropping in on you like this. When Malcolm shared that Sophie had died, I was a wreck. After I’d picked myself up off the ground, I decided that I had to come and see you, Tiny,” Mitch says.

  Hedder sounds sincere, but this whole speech would have been better if he’d delivered it near the funeral instead of four weeks later. There’s no way he spent four weeks wallowing in grief, and it pisses me off that he’s trying to connect to Tiny through some idea of shared loss.

  A waiter arrives with my steak and an extra glass. I pour myself a hefty serving of the twelve-year Kashikoi and allow the smooth tones of oak and fruit to roll over my tongue. “Kaga’s whiskey,” I point out to Tiny. “Want a sip?”

  She demurs and turns back to Hedder.

  “I wouldn’t have turned you away,” Tiny says softly. “Mom wouldn’t have wanted that.”

  “She was such a good woman.” Hedder sighs. “I miss her, and I kick myself for screwing up so badly with her. And worse, you were left all alone without anyone to help when she suffered through both bouts of cancer.” He reaches across the table and takes her free hand. She flinches, almost imperceptibly. No one but me would likely even notice, but my entire body is attuned to hers.

  I switch hands, placing my right over hers and using my left arm to draw her close to me. It will look as if I’m embracing her, not just moving her out of touching distance from Hedder. “Tiny isn’t alone anymore. She has me.”

  “That’s right.” An inquisitive look sweeps through his eyes and then is replaced by fake fatherly outrage. “Unfortunately, the things that are said about you publicly don’t suggest you’ll be a good partner for Tiny. How long have you known each other?”

  Tiny stiffens. “Mitch, I told you earlier that my relationship with Ian is none of your business. I’m sorry, but you haven’t been my stepfather for almost a decade.”

  “And I’m sorry for that, Tiny. Sincerely, absolutely heartbroken about it. I’ve wanted to come back and make amends, but I was too ashamed. I’m here now, though, and I want to make up for lost time. That includes sticking around to make sure this guy,” he nods toward me, “doesn’t take advantage of you.”

  She gives a snort of disbelief. “I’m sure if there’s any advantage-taking in this relationship, it’s me taking advantage of Ian.”

  Keeping her in my embrace, I lean forward slightly. “Tiny and I are equals. We do not measure each other’s worth by the size of our bank accounts.”

  Hedder eyes me speculatively and then his eyes drop to Tiny’s ringless left hand. “I see you haven’t asked her to marry you yet. Is she good enough to take to bed but not good enough to marry? I marry the women I love.”

  If I wasn’t holding Tiny’s hand, I would have laid him out. Before I can answer, though, Tiny shoots back. “It’s nice that you’re here and that you want to pay your respects to my mom, but I’ll tell you for the last time, Ian is none of your business.”

  Her glare could freeze any man, and Hedder is about as low as they come. He gives her a weak smile and holds up both his hands in an innocent gesture. “I’m just trying to look out for you, just as Sophie would want.”

  “My mom adored Ian. She told me before she died that she was so glad he had come into my life. She said he reminded her of my dad.” Tiny lifts her chin in a proud gesture. I had never heard this before, and I send her a questioning glance. With a slight nod she affirms that the story is true and not one she made up for Hedder’s sake. The words that Sophie told Tiny give me great pleasure. And suddenly, I want to be anywhere but here. No, scratch that. I want to be home, holding Tiny, and making love to her, not sitting here listening to some con artist try to tug on Tiny’s heartstrings. Her heart is tender and in need of special care. She does not need her absentee stepfather crumpling it like an elephant in a china shop.

  “The Plaza is a quality hotel,” I observe. “But pricey. You must be well set. Do you want to contribute to the outstanding burial costs?”

  I’m bluffing because I paid all of the funeral costs. It’s about the only money I spent on Tiny that she didn’t object to. She’s not good at accepting things from me without argument. Time will change that. Time and a ring of my own on her finger.

  As expected, the mention of parting with any kind of money makes Hedder blanch. “Sophie was adamant that she didn’t want any help when she asked me to leave.”

  “And you never thought to check in with them? As you pointed out, Tiny was without help for years. She and Sophie shouldered the burden alone. If you have money, and I assume you do since you are staying at a place that costs a cool grand a night, why weren’t you helping them out?” I want to see what lies Hedder will spin in front of Tiny.

  Hedder sputters. “I had no idea that they were struggling. They should have reached out to me. Tiny, you should have contacted me.”

  “I had no idea where you were.” She shakes her head in disbelief.

  “I’ve been down in Palm Beach,” he declares.

  “Since I was sixteen?” she asks incredulously.

  Giving a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, Hedder replies, “I was going through a stupid midlife crisis. Someone lured me down there, and I stayed for a while. Got caught up in the lifestyle. Made some friends. It’s home now. Not like the city, of course. Nothing can replace the city, but for my old bones, the warm weather is good for me.”

  “Have you been in tou
ch with Malcolm, then?” she asks.

  “Oh, off and on.”

  Tiny looks at me, and we both wonder if Hedder knows Malcolm’s business. I can see she’s reluctant to bring it up, and frankly it’s a topic I’d like to avoid for the night.

  “Malcolm told you Sophie died?”

  Hedder fidgets with his napkin a bit, which lies folded on the table. There’s no evidence that he has eaten anything, and there are no plates in front of him. Tiny’s had something, but she looks longingly at my steak. I cut off a few pieces and place them on her empty plate. The bottle of whiskey is half gone. In the dark light, I can make out a faint redness around Hedder’s nose and cheeks, as well as spidering veins in the neck—all classic signs of a heavy, if not alcoholic, drinker.

  After closer inspection, it becomes apparent that Hedder is wearing some kind of cover-up to diminish the signs of his facial discoloration, no doubt caused by years of alcohol abuse. I missed that the other day when he was in my office. Of course he’s not eating. He’s got a bottle of one of the finest whiskies in all the land in front of him. He has no desire to sully that with actual food, no matter how badly he needs it. I’m curious how a drunken Mitch Hedder acts and whether his behavior will push Tiny far enough away.

  I signal for DeWight, and he appears seconds later. “Another bottle of the Kashikoi, please.”

  Hedder’s eyes flicker with uncomfortable greed at the mention of another bottle. Liquor is an obvious weakness. What others does he have?

  “Certainly. The twelve-year?”

  “Yes, and another steak please.”

  “Of course. Right away.” DeWight backs away and corrals an underling to do his bidding.

  “How come you get steak in here when I could only order little tiny things like the ceviche that came on a spoon? It was literally one bite,” Tiny complains. “Are there no restaurants here?”

  “There’s the Food Hall, but no, The Plaza has no intimate dining space. They likely think you’ll eat elsewhere.”

  The Champagne Bar served mostly tapas, finger foods. Steak is an accommodation being made for me, perhaps because DeWight wants something from Kaga, like another position at a different bar or restaurant or hotel. Kaga once told me he’d been accosted at one of his nightclubs, not because the person wanted to sleep with him—although that might be true—but because the individual was desperate for reassignment to one of the resorts Kaga’s family owned.

  “Thank you for the red meat. I was dying here.”

  “We can’t have that. You need your energy tonight.” She gives me a wan smile but the heat in her eyes is genuine.

  “It was Malcolm’s mother, Connie, who told me,” Hedder interrupts.

  I send him a killing look. Not only do I find his presence near me offensive but that he’s interrupting my time with Tiny makes me even more irritated.

  “Connie?” Tiny voices her surprise. “You still keep in contact with her?”

  “Of course. I spoke to her on the phone a couple of weeks ago. She said she attended Sophie’s funeral. I asked about you, of course, worried that you’d be alone, but she mentioned you had a friend with you.” He nods toward me. “And another friend of mine saw a reference to Sophie’s funeral in the Post.”

  “The Post?” Tiny looks at me inquiringly.

  “I forgot you can’t read,” Hedder says with condescension in his voice. Tiny stiffens and the urge to impose some physical judgment on Hedder grips me again. “Yes, it mentioned that billionaire philanthropist Ian Kerr was attending the funeral of Sophie Corielli.”

  “I must have missed that entry,” I say.

  She shrugs, but a little hint of red shows at base of her neck. I could kill Hedder for making her feel embarrassed. “I only saw the one in the Observer.”

  “I needed to come up and make sure that everything was going well for you, dear.” Hedder reaches forward to pat Tiny on the arm, but I stop him with a glare. I don’t want him touching her. DeWight interrupts our glaring contest with another steak and another bottle.

  “I’m fine,” she says, and while I’d like that to be true, I don’t think she is. She will be, but it’s only been a few weeks since her mother’s death, and I’d never been around someone who loved her mother as much as Tiny did.

  “I’ll be here for a few weeks,” Hedder declares. “We should spend time together.”

  “Malcolm said that you had something of Mom’s. What is it?”

  “I don’t have it with me. Besides, I’d like to visit the grave. We should do that together.”

  She presses her lips together and slides me a disbelieving look. We’re not getting anything out of Hedder tonight.

  I raise my glass in his direction. I don’t understand his game yet. Breaking us up wouldn’t be in his best interest, but he wants something. I won’t underestimate him. A snake in the garden is still a snake, and there’s no way that Hedder can afford to set up residence at The Plaza without having fleeced his share of lambs.

  Even though she said she was hungry, the second steak isn’t appealing to Tiny. She merely picks at it. I’m tired and my body is very sore and I’m sick of wearing this pancake makeup. Standing up, I toss a few smaller bills on the table to serve as a tip. “I’m ready to call it a night. Is that all right with you, Tiny?” I don’t like that he uses her nickname. He shouldn’t be allowed even that small intimacy with the woman he abandoned.

  “Yes, I’m ready.” She wipes her mouth and then sets her napkin on the table. “It was nice to see you again, Mitch, but I don’t foresee needing you to vet my friends. It’s been a long time since I needed that. And you aren’t my father.”

  With that sharp admonition, Tiny turns to go, but Hedder grabs her arm. “Think about my request. I think Sophie would want it.”

  She doesn’t shake off his hand immediately and gives him a small nod. “I’ll think about it.”

  “You know where to find me.” He waves a hand toward the lobby.

  At the manager’s stand, I hand my black AmEx to DeWight. “Take the rest of the Kashikoi and enjoy it tonight. Compliments of Mr. Kaga and me.”

  “And the gentleman?”

  “He’s had enough to drink.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Within moments, DeWight is back with a leather-padded folio. Inside, I scrawl my name under the charges. Ten grand per bottle. I shake my head. Kaga is probably laughing his ass off somewhere. No wonder DeWight is so obsequious.

  I alert Steve that we’re ready. Tucking Tiny’s hand in my arm, I take her out into the lobby. I finally get to see her fully. She’s wearing black, wide-legged tuxedo pants paired with a black lace cropped top. A minute amount of skin flashes below the hem. The small glimpses of flesh only serve to heighten my awareness of her lithe body.

  “Did I see that receipt right?” she asks in astonishment.

  “If you saw that Kaga is charging a kidney for his cheap twelve-year reserve whiskey, then yes, you saw it right.”

  “That’s his cheap whiskey?” Her eyebrows are at the top of her head.

  “There’s a thirty-year reserve. I think it runs around one hundred grand per bottle.”

  “I couldn’t even drink it, knowing it cost that much.”

  “How much it costs sometimes directly influences how much you like it. Or so says Kaga. But in truth, there’s a big difference in the age of the whiskey. The older it is, the smoother, deeper, and richer the flavors. It’s an experience. I have a couple. Gifts from Kaga. We’ll have a tasting contest at home some night.”

  “Oh no.” She laughs. I see Steve pull up in front of the hotel.

  As I’m leading her down the exterior stairs to the street, I whisper, “I’m going to pour it onto your breasts and lick it off drop by drop, and then I’ll drench your pussy in it and suck you until I’m full of you and rich whiskey.”

 
; She shivers and nearly stumbles as we climb into the backseat. I hit the button for the privacy screen and I’m on her before it’s even halfway up, before the door is even closed, because I can’t wait for one more minute. Pressing her against the door, I kiss her ravenously, wanting to erase the sourness of the night with the sweet sounds of our love. We tug at each other’s clothes. My hands sweep under her shirt and hers are busy at my waistband and then they are folding around my ever increasing shaft.

  We’re so lost in each other that it takes a few moments to register that the car has been halted for longer than thirty seconds and I realize we must be home.

  “Thanks, Steve,” I say, helping Tiny out of the car. She ducks her head, still embarrassed by the fact that Steve knows we have sex.

  “Thanks,” she mumbles and then hurries into the warehouse.

  He shakes his head. “Nothing like Barbara,” he mutters referring to the exhibitionist. Steve had been the recipient of her attentions a while back as well.

  “Barbara? I thought her name was Bettina.”

  “Nah, pretty sure it was Barbara.”

  We stare at each other in shared memory, and Steve even manages to crack a smile, which for him is equal to a belly laugh.

  “No, nothing like Barbara,” I admit softly, watching the lights turn on as Tiny makes her way upstairs. Slapping a hand on his back, I tell him, “Tomorrow morning we’ll take care of the trash.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Not too early, though,” I instruct, my eyes still on the lights in my home. Before I had Tiny, when I arrived at the warehouse the place would be dark. She was turning my residence into a real home. Steve senses my preoccupation, climbs into the car, and drives off without another word.

  I take my time following Tiny inside, tracing her footsteps and wondering what parts of the walls and floor she’s touched. I want her stamp on every part of my life—no area is too unimportant or miniscule.