Oui
The French Connection Series, Volume 1
Brooklyn Knight
Published by Brooklyn Knight, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
OUI
First edition. September 29, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Brooklyn Knight.
Written by Brooklyn Knight.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One | Laila
Chapter Two | Laila
Chapter Three | Dylan
Chapter Four | Dylan
Chapter Five | Ryder
Chapter Six | Ryder
Chapter Seven | Laila
Chapter Eight | Laila
Chapter Nine | Laila
Chapter Ten | Dylan
Chapter Eleven | Dylan
Chapter Twelve | Dylan
Chapter Thirteen | Laila
Chapter Fourteen | Ryder
Chapter Fifteen | Ryder
Chapter Sixteen | Ryder
Chapter Seventeen | Dylan
Chapter Eighteen | Laila
Chapter Nineteen | Laila
Chapter Twenty | Laila
Chapter Twenty-One | Laila
Chapter Twenty-Two | Ryder
Chapter Twenty-Three | Dylan
Chapter Twenty-Four | Dylan
Chapter Twenty-Five | Ryder
Chapter Twenty-Six | Laila
Chapter Twenty-Seven | Laila
Chapter Twenty-Eight | Dylan
Chapter Twenty-Nine | Dylan
Chapter Thirty | Dylan
Chapter Thirty-One | Laila
Chapter Thirty-Two | Laila
Chapter Thirty-Three | Ryder
Epilogue | Chapter Thirty-Four | Emily
About the Author
Chapter One
Laila
‘Hopeless’
My designer pumps pierced the glossy floors of the reception area at Hamilton Associates as I forged my way toward the secretary to sign in for the work shadow. Eyes rose, and I flicked my long, black hair over my shoulder, offering the onlookers a sweet, yet competitive smile. Today was a big day, and I had no intention of making anything less than a stellar impression. I had a point to prove, one which graduating second in my class at Johnson and Wales University wouldn’t satisfy. Neither were accolades from professors. I was prepared to go above and beyond and to soar high above anyone who thought they might outshine me.
The floor to ceiling windows of Hamilton Associates lined the building like a transparent shield, while imported Indian Peonies in custom ceramic vases finished the décor, providing a therapeutic aesthetic to the otherwise severe, no-nonsense interior. A modern color scheme using a palette of soft hues of grey, blue, and orange, enveloped the senses. The place was breeding ground for competition. No doubt, it was a place that had left many contestants writhing in the dust of defeat.
It was just my type of place.
My professors had referenced Hamilton Associates during lectures and in seminars on many occasions. It was common knowledge that if a student could somehow be selected as the sole summer intern, their resume would magically transform. And if that student was so fortunate as to be offered a position at the firm, delivering mail, making coffee – whatever – their success in the business world was written in stone.
The signs of rivalry were all around, yet the worst of it was stepping off the elevator and sauntering toward me in a designer suit and well-polished shoes. It smelled like sweet and spicy cologne, enough to make the unsuspecting female competitor’s eyes roll back with wanton imaginings. Its blue eyes bore through opponents like laser beams and surveyed the terrain. Its blonde hair was stylishly gelled, not one strand out of place.
Its name was Ryder Hanson and I loathed him with every fiber of my being.
Recognizing his despicable presence, my footsteps hastened. All too soon, the race had begun: who would be first to the finish line, otherwise known as the reception desk? Who would be the one to open their mouth first and grace the unsuspecting listener with insight and innovation? Whoever it was, that person would be the one to make the all-important first impression – the one that mattered most.
His heels were striking the ground, and his long elegant strides were gaining on me. To my dismay, in a matter of seconds, our paces had synchronized, and Ryder was next to me. His Louis Vuitton messenger bag hung casually across his broad chest, his hands were placed confidently in his pockets, and his breathing controlled.
I focused my eyes ahead, trying to ignore his compelling gait or the titillating scent of the cologne he was wearing, yet my senses were becoming overwhelmed. I needed to create some distance, so I hastened my footsteps.
Ryder matched his pace to mine and bent his lips toward my ear. “Good morning, Miss Renaud.” The coolness of breath swept against my skin.
I cleared my throat and continued to walk.
He frowned. “Aren’t you going to say good morning to me?”
“I haven’t said good morning or anything else to you in six months or more,” I spat. “I’m not sure why you’d think today should be any different.”
He chuckled, but it sounded more like a grunt. “So, we’re still playing hardball?”
“We’ve been playing hardball since day one of Johnson and Wales,” I reminded him. “Remember? I provided an answer in class and you instantly criticized it. You said my ideas about company culture and the glass ceiling theory were absurd.”
“I said they were ludicrous,” he corrected me.
“Right.”
“You might still say good morning, Lai.”
I straightened my shoulders and quickened my pace. At this point, I was almost running, and it was becoming awkward.
Ryder reached out and grabbed my elbow. I froze as he searched my face. His eyes were soft, but his mouth was tight. He moistened his goatee-framed lips.
“You’re right,” he acknowledged. “It has been six months and we haven’t said as much as a good morning to one another, but I was thinking that maybe because...” he paused, and his gaze dropped to his shoes. He pulled his eyes back up to look at me.
“Because what? Because you sent me an I’m-sorry email you’d been vindicated?” I scoffed. “Let me offer you some advice, Ryder Hanson. When it comes to me, try not to think too hard.”
“Laila – ”
“For you, thinking only works when you’re in a classroom or a business setting. It doesn’t have the same effect in social interactions. Ask me how I know.” I adjusted my posture, so it was ramrod straight, and lifted my chin.
His hand was still on my elbow, his fingers pressed gently against the bone. “I knew it,” he whispered, peering at me. “You haven’t forgiven me. Even though you said you had.”
“I said I’d forgiven you only to make you go away.”
“Yet I’m still here,” he retorted.
“So maybe I should say it again. Would it work this time?”
“Only if you meant it,” he said, “because despite what you say and the way you act, I’m not one hundred per cent certain you do.”
I opened my mouth to spit a comeback, but I was having difficulty stringing together a compelling retort. I swallowed rage. “Trust me, Ryder, there is no way on God’s green earth I’ll ever forget what you did to me.”
“I apologized,” he reminded me.
“And sometimes words are not enough.”
Ryder dropped my elbow and I glared at him, daring him to say something more. His mouth opened, but no words followe
d. A heavy silence dropped between us.
I tugged the hem of my suit jacket and took a step backwards.
Ryder took a step forward. “I don’t want to fight with you, Laila. God knows that was never my intention,” he said. His eyes darted before they landed on mine. The intensity behind them was enough to make my core throb in recollection of the time his lips had engaged it in intimate conversation. I squeezed its walls together, reprimanding it, disdained.
“Kinda makes a girl wonder what your intentions were then,” I shot back and lowered my voice. “I’m sure you don’t need to be reminded of how you stole my business proposal.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You mean the one that we worked on together? Until the wee hours of the morning?”
“The one you took to the Johnson and Wales Business School Committee and presented as if it were you own, without even mentioning my name. Surely you remember vividly?” Hot tears stung the back of my eyes. I straightened my shoulders and lowered my voice, ignoring my tearful weakness. “The business proposal that landed you the one and only internship position available at this firm... Yeah, that one.”
“I have apologized to you over and over,” he pleaded. “Laila, it was a misunderstanding. I never meant for any of that to happen.”
“And when you had the chance to rectify the situation, you did nothing.”
Ryder groaned, running his hand over his mouth and chin.
My eyes blinked as tears collected behind them and my body started to grow hot. This was why I avoided Ryder Hanson. This was what he did to me. He had a way of pushing me to the brink of every emotion I owned. He had done it in the classroom, he had done it in his bedroom, and now he was doing it at Hamilton Associates.
Of all places.
This was why I hated him, and the reasons were multiplying exponentially. There was no hope of us ever being friends.
“Ryder, now is not the time or place to talk about this,” I advised him through my teeth. “I know exactly what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to throw me off kilter, take me off my game, so my chances of shining today will be reduced. You’re afraid that someone will notice me and offer me that internship position.”
“I’ve secured the only available spot. There’s no way that would happen.”
My jaw tightened. His striking gaze had not shifted, but his words sliced through me. It was the lowest of blows.
I swallowed the lump of emotion accumulated in my throat and turned on my heels.
“Laila, wait.”
“There’s nothing to wait for,” I said. “We’re about to be late.”
I stomped my way to the reception desk, fitting a composed and professional smile on my face. It was barely eight o’clock, yet the woman behind the desk was busy. Her auburn hair was arranged into an up-do and her red lips formed a bow as she looked up. The more I regarded her, the more I realized the smile was not for me.
Ryder walked up and assumed his pompous position next to me and I watched, disgusted, as she eyed him, intrigue and infatuation dancing across her tanned face.
His voice rose before mine. “Good morning Miss – ”
“Yes, good morning,” I interrupted. “My name is Laila Renaud. I’m from the university and I’m here for the shadow.”
“Well, good morning to the two of you.” She sounded like a bird. “Welcome to Hamilton Associates. Please, follow me this way. The other students have just arrived and Mr. Carter, the vice president, will be with you shortly.”
I shot a disgusted look at Ryder and followed the receptionist as she sashayed her way across the room to a gallery filled with expensive art and artifacts. In the distance, I saw my good friend, Ashely Tatem and Gus Brewer. A relieved smile crossed my lips and I hurried towards them. Another second alone with Ryder and something bad was bound to happen. He required too much emotional energy.
Ryder shook Gus’s hand and they began to talk, but I noticed when he turned to look at me, trying to catch my eye one last time. I turned until all he could see was my back.
Ashley shook her head. A grin was plastered over her thin lips.
“What’s so funny?” I demanded.
“You and Ryder, that’s what. You guys are so cute.”
“There’s nothing funny or cute about us,” I said. “I can’t stand him and you of all people know that. Being here for this experience is the next best thing to being an intern, but to be here with the likes of him...” I let the sentence trail off.
She could fill in the blanks.
Ashley hissed between her teeth. “Why don’t you two just have sex and get it out of your systems? It’s what you both want. Once you release that erotic tension, maybe you’ll be able to be somewhat cordial to each other.”
“Have you lost your mind?” I scoffed.
She ignored my question and flicked her brown locks over her shoulder. “Look,” she instructed, pointing somewhere in the distance. “I think that’s a broom closet over there. The two of you should slip in and -”
“Ashley Tatem,” I whispered. “You’re the closest thing I have to a best friend. We hit if off the first day we met. I found you to be extremely rational and levelheaded, intelligent even; but today, you’re totally off the mark and I’m disappointed in you.” I grunted. “The mere thought of Ryder and I having sex is -”
“A fantasy that I’m sure has not been erased from your mind.” She tapped her finger against my temple. Suddenly, thoughts of the times Ryder and I had been intimate bombarded me. His strong hands, his hard body; the length and strength of his manhood...
I shook my head to get the images out. “I can assure you, I wasn’t going to say that,” I replied. “But it doesn’t matter. There is no way I’d make the same mistake twice. Ryder is cocky and pompous. Someone must tame him. After what he did to me I wouldn’t even consider giving him a second chance.” I glanced in his direction again, disgusted to find him peering at me.
Ashley shrugged. “He may be cocky, and he may be pompous,” she agreed, “but you cannot tell me you haven’t considered what it would be like to ride Ryder like a cowgirl again.”
“That’s disgusting,” I lied.
“How long are you going to let your anger ride?”
“Please stop with the ride innuendos,” I begged. “They’re graphic.”
“I’m just saying,” she countered, “he may be all of those things, but Ryder Hanson is about the sexiest man I have ever seen. God, those blue eyes Laila; bluer than a preschooler’s crayon.” She groaned. “And let’s not even talk about his body. He works out six days a week, you know? Girl, if I had half the opportunity to touch it the way you have...”
I shifted, feeling my center moisten. I preferred not to think about Ryder in that manner. It served me no purpose. “Can we talk about something else?” I begged. “Ryder Hanson is really not my preferred topic.”
She looked at me closely. “Yes, I know. You’re right, and I’m sorry. We should talk about something else.”
We fell silent for a few seconds. Suddenly I noticed Ashely’s eyes narrowing and a devilish glint in her pupils. “For example, have you seen Dylan Hamilton, the CEO?”
My neck straightened. “Oh my god, tell me you’re not serious,” I whispered. “You’ve literally gone from bad to abysmal. We are in the reception area of the man’s building and you’re talking about him like he’s the guy down the freaking street.”
“Honey, I am dead serious.” She looked at me and shook her head as if I were the crazy one. “Don’t act naïve, Laila. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve seen pictures of the man in magazines.”
My hand raked at the back of my neck. There was no way I should be entertaining this conversation. I should have been preparing myself for the battle. I should have been devising my comeback so that I could rub Ryder’s nose in the dirt.
“Ashley, we are not going to the place you’re trying to take us.”
She ignored me. “Okay, maybe you h
aven’t seen him,” she considered. Ashley took me by the shoulders and spun me around to view an extravagant portrait of the CEO of Hamilton Associates, Dylan Hamilton.
Sexy was a complete understatement.
The CEO was tall, tanned and toned, the perfect trifecta wrapped in an exquisite package. His brown eyes shimmered, even on canvas. A professional, yet trendy haircut made him come off as being all work, but the golden hairs of his goatee made you wonder what it would be like to play with such a man.
I moistened my lips, witnessing masculinity at its finest.
I needed to reel it in.
“Laila,” Ashely’s voiced pulled me back into the room. Her brow was wrinkled with concern. “All joking aside, I’m actually a little worried about you,” she said. “You’ve always been focused and serious about your success, but you used to be more lighthearted. You used to smile. Ever since what happened with you and Ryder, you’ve been different.”
I sighed, and my eyelashes fluttered.
“You haven’t dated since Ryder.”
“And that’s how I like it, Ash,” I said. “There’s no time for love. I have too many goals and aspirations and there’s no way I can allow myself to get off course. I tried relationships,” I reminded her. “I tried love, and in the end, it let me down. I was double-crossed. I can’t let that happen again.”
Ashley sighed. “I hate Ryder for what he did to you,” she whispered through her teeth.
“Well, so do I. Finally, we’re on the same page about something.” I squared my shoulders and adjusted my lapels.
The sound of Ryder’s confident laugh forced us to look in his direction. He was surrounded by female staff who seemed enthralled by whatever story he was telling. My jaw clenched.
“You’ve got to give it to him, Laila. He knows what he’s after and the likelihood of him not getting it is nil to none. I’m talking both professionally and personally, of course.”
I bristled.
“He’s not over you,” she continued. “I saw the two of you over there talking. The look on his face and his body language tell the story. He normally has it all under control, but when he’s around you, he crumbles.”
Oui: A BWWM Romance (The French Connection Book 1) Page 1
