by Alice Ward
It was time to pass the torch. To me.
I barely registered Uncle Harv welcoming Mason and offering him a seat in the plush leather chair beside me.
Finally, I was going to be rewarded with the role I’d dreamed of all my life. I’d coveted the publishing enterprise. All of it. The fashion magazines, the news and gossip websites. But especially the online publication that catered to a naughty clientele. My cock pulsed as I thought of the fetishes, the bondage that the website was known for. I had groomed myself to take over, and finally, the time had come.
Uncle Harv settled back in his massive desk chair and linked his fingers over his portly belly, a huge grin taking up most of his face. “Well, boys, it’s good to see you sitting next to each other in such an amicable manner.”
Mason stiffened beside me, and the woody I’d been working on deflated. The last time I’d been this close to Mason, I’d been tempted to bloody his nose at the annual Thanksgiving gala. He’d hit on a woman I was going after. Not one I really wanted, but it was the principal of the thing. He’d forever been putting his capricious fingers on what was mine — my coveted model airplane set when I was a kid, my first car when I was a teenager. My mom’s attention and affection. Hell, when he’d charmed my sweet sixteen crush, Amber DeGrasse, into bed, it had been the last straw, and I hadn’t been able to let it go. We’d been at war ever since.
Unc’s smile faltered at our silence, and he sat forward. “I’ll get right down to it. But first, I have a question.”
We waited. The room was so quiet I could practically hear Mason sweating next to me. He was going to be pissed when Uncle Harvey named me as his successor.
“What do you call a virgin on a waterbed?” Uncle Harv’s blue eyes beamed at us with humor, waiting for one of us to take the bait.
I frowned. My uncle was famous for his dirty jokes. It went with the territory. When you were a tycoon with world-famous holdings ranging from fashion to tasteful men’s entertainment magazine to a guilty pleasure website, you were expected to behave somewhat lewdly.
The question could be a test of some sort, but I’d never been too good at jokes. While I was wracking my brain and Mason was shifting around in his seat, the answer dropped like a K-Y Jelly-filled bomb.
“A cherry float.”
Unc reared back in his chair and roared as nausea joined the nervous clenching of my gut. This bawdy man had been my father figure since my dad, his older brother, died when I was nine.
Mason rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. Like anyone has water beds anymore, Unc.”
That was funny, but I refused to laugh at a damn thing Mason said. Uncle coughed then and took a handkerchief, hacking into it. Did he look a little paler than usual? Could something be wrong?
Fear struck me numb so that I almost missed his next words.
“Now, I know you boys don’t go after innocent virgins.” Unc chuckled and shook his head. “But I’m sure you can curtail the skirt chasing for a little while for what I have in mind.”
“Anything for you, Uncle Harvey.” Mason’s jaw twitched.
Good. It was costing him as much as it was costing me to hold up under the suspense. He was about to be crushed, but he hadn’t worked as hard as I had in the business world. He was known to cut out early, take longer than planned holidays at exotic locations.
Uncle Harvey cleared his throat and took a long drink of water before leaning toward us, all humor gone. “I’ll be retiring, boys, stepping down.”
I held my breath.
“I’ve got two nephews and two potential heirs to my company, but neither of you — at the moment — are a perfect fit for the role as I envision it.” The words rolled off his tongue without a pause, impaling me like a spike to the gut.
“I thought, I’d…” I choked on my words, scrambling for the right ones.
His attention turned to me as heat bloomed in my chest and rose above my collar. “Yes, Lucas, I know you thought you’d be the one to run things here. I’m afraid you’d work yourself to death in under five years though, being the workaholic you are, never letting loose for some play.” His eyebrows jumped up and down, punctuating his meaning.
“You said neither of us…” Mason chimed in, his hands gripping the chair arms. “I just assumed I would be the one.”
What? My head swiveled toward Mason. He thought Uncle Harvey would give him the business? I snorted.
Mason threw me a glare, which I met with my own.
Uncle jumped in before we could get started. “I figured you’d both assume, and I’m sorry. I’ve grappled with choosing, but it would be a hard and perhaps unfair choice for me, and the both of you. So I’ve done the fair thing and created a friendly competition.”
“Competition?” Of course, the crazy old coot would conceive of a competition. Mason and I couldn’t be in the same room without competing for something.
A competition was no problem. My spoiled playboy cousin was no threat, never having had a stake in anything other than himself. This was going to be a no-brainer.
Uncle eyed us from behind his desk, his well-known greedy I-can-do-anything-I-want stance making me nervous. He owned a good chunk of the publishing world, a corporation that was worth billions. His next words would seal my fate. There was no wiggling out of this — I was gonna have to play or walk away.
“You’re not too old to run this company,” I surmised. “I expected you’d run the show until they dragged your dead body out of the boardroom. Why retire now?”
“A man can’t live forever. I’ve developed some health issues—”
Now it made sense. “Are you okay?”
Mason sat up straighter. “What kind of health issues?”
Uncle waved our concerns away. “Enough about me. You boys cooperating with what I have planned will go a long way in easing my concerns.” He’d always known just how to manipulate a person to his will.
I’d spent my whole life preparing to take over his corporation. Having been too busy running his empire, he and my late aunt never had any children. I knew I was the mirror image of my deceased father — disciplined, conservative, and no-nonsense. Perfect for the CEO position.
Mason, on the other hand, was a master of nothing except maybe defying the heights of his own ego. Uncle Harv’s younger sister, Marianne, raised Mason as a single mother after a bitter divorce from Donovan Carver, a rich real estate monger. Mason was a wild child who wasn’t grounded in any career, had started and abandoned several. His father left him a hefty trust that he came into when he was in his mid-twenties, creating a billionaire party boy who didn’t know when to quit.
The fact that Uncle Harv included Mason had me worried. Quality was the barometer by which Unc gauged all things. He maintained high standards, was fastidious. Had I been underestimating my cousin?
“I’m going to host a little competition, as I mentioned, for the position of Chief Executive Officer of Huffman International Publishers. Since I expect excellence on all platforms, I need to ensure that the man who replaces me not only does as fine a job as I have over the years but does the job better.” He pinned us both with his stern and emphatic gaze. “Considering the gravity of the matter, I’ve added an element that will make this serious contest fun.”
My insides melted into a mixture of fear and excitement. For the man sitting across from me, fun was a broadly defined expression — Uncle’s tastes ran from the exquisite to the extreme.
“An ad for a contest was recently featured on Hedon.com.” The website, secretly my favorite of all Unc’s ventures, was infamous for its diverse collection of sexual intrigues and deviance. “There will be two winners, women who will join you at my ski chalet in Vail, Colorado. You will each be partnered with one of the winners, and together, you’ll be expected to complete a set of tasks, and will be scored on your competence.”
I looked at Mason out of the corner of my eye as he chuckled. He was gloating, his smug face showing his delight at the prospect of a competition involvin
g tasks to complete with a woman. Mason had never had anything but success with women, and he obviously thought he’d be running all my uncle’s businesses at the end of the contest.
I wasn’t a womanizer. I had a… different appetite when it came to women. I liked to dominate in all things, especially in the bedroom, and my sexual desires ran toward the extreme. I kept my passions fiercely private, and any woman who consented to be with me signed a lengthy agreement ensuring her discretion and absolute secrecy regarding our sexual encounters.
“So what does this competition involve?” I was equally the master in the bedroom as I was capable of being in the boardroom. But Mason had me beat when it came to smooth moves.
Uncle pulled two neat packets out of his desk, one for Mason and one for me. My stomach rolled.
Our mini war had not only disrupted the family but upset Harvey. Which was why, I assumed, he’d called the meeting and decided to pit us against each other to battle for the lead role in his publishing empire. A last-ditch attempt to coerce us into calling a truce.
“You’ll need to make arrangements to be away for a month, boys.”
He had to be kidding. “A month? I can’t be away for a day, much less a month. I have—”
“You will, boy…” the blue eyes turned cold as ice as they settled on me, “or you’ll forfeit.”
Forfeit? I’d never forfeit to Mason. I shot a glance at my rival, who was relaxed in his chair as he considered what I knew sounded to him like an effortless fling slash ski vacation.
My hands fisted in my lap. Glaring my rage at my uncle, I carefully unclenched my hands under Mason’s watchful gaze. Our eyes clashed and held. I hated how Uncle still referred to us as children when we were in our thirties and long past boyhood, even if I did want to take Mason to the floor and pummel him like when we were kids.
“You name it, Harv, I’m on it,” was Mason’s idiotic reply, and he had the audacity to sound excited.
I couldn’t leave my post at my investing company for a month. It would be mayhem.
Hadn’t my uncle — the man who had been interviewed for Forbes magazine five times over his thirty some odd years in business — considered this? Of course he had.
“I like the enthusiasm, Mason,” Uncle Harv said with a rousing, liver-spotted fist to the air.
“Uncle, I have meetings scheduled, client portfolios that need—”
“Always the pragmatist, Lucas,” my uncle scolded as he lifted the packets and laid one in front of each of us on his desk. “Do try to stretch your narrowmindedness a bit. You too, Mason. In the end, you’ll figure out why I’ve chosen the women I have for you.”
I frowned. When he stood, signaling our absurd meeting was at an end, I was shocked to notice that my palms had become damp.
Before turning to the door, Mason picked up his envelope and did a mock bow to me, a humorous glint in his eyes. “Good luck, cousin.” He chuckled on his way out the door.
I wouldn’t let Mason win. I picked up my envelope and exited, making my way blindly to my Jaguar XJ.
I’d do whatever it took to win the title of CEO.
CHAPTER TWO
Ava
The one-hundred-year-old faucet made a gurk gurk gurk sound as I impatiently waited for the hot water to crawl its way up eight flights. When it finally hit the sink, I held my cold fingers under it, soaking up the warmth that eluded me in my frigid New York City apartment.
Well, not mine. Lance’s. Who was the most likely contender for asshole landlord slash roommate of the year.
The bathroom door creaked open, and my other roommate walked in without asking. Sylvia shuffled her feet across the older than the faucet black and white tile, her black, red-tipped hair sticking up in gnarls. When she reached the toilet, she dropped her pants and plunked down on the seat.
“God, Sylvia, can’t you wait until I’m done?”
In response, she murmured what sounded like, “Floofy cats,” and let out a masculine fart.
I grimaced and grabbed my toothbrush, knowing better than to forfeit the bathroom for any reason. Sylvia had been known to sleepwalk. She could potentially lock herself in the bathroom and sleep off last night’s late-night party in the bathtub until afternoon.
My stomach burned as the anger I was trying to tamp down gurgled up into my chest, and I bit down on my toothbrush. It was dangerous to wake a sleepwalker. Wasn’t it? Didn’t you risk giving them a shock? A heart attack or brain damage or something? I shot a look at Sylvia and narrowed my eyes, considering.
A foul smell hit my nose, and I covered it with my hand, trying not to breathe. Scrubbing my face quickly, I snatched up my hairbrush and made a break for the bedroom.
I just graduated from the New York School of Design and had survived several job interviews, but none were as prestigious as the one later this morning. I had two hours to be dressed in my latest thrift store designer finds and looking my best, and at the interview location for Chanel. A thrill ran through me at just the thought of Chanel, my blood pumping faster.
Making a quick trip to the kitchen for something to settle my stomach, I wrinkled my nose at the stench of smoke. Not entirely awake still, I padded to the fridge and opened it to find my low-cal organic yogurt had been replaced with the kind that had hormones and cancer-causing artificial sweeteners.
Clamping my jaw tight, I yanked it out of the fridge and turned, my eyes landing on the ruby red perfectly cut dress that was my best piece. I gasped. Now, my pride and joy featured two black circles drawn on the chest, with dots in the middle for bullseyes.
My heart stopped.
I dimly heard the plop-clank of my yogurt and spoon hitting the floor. My eyes flicked across the room, taking in my other creations — an aqua blue off-the-shoulder, a black and white jumpsuit with a lowcut back — dangling by their hangers over the room’s pictures on the wall, their protective plastic ripped off.
My breath came back, stuttering in my chest, as I searched for the cream-colored minidress I’d put my heart and soul into.
My eyes landed on a strange skinny man I hadn’t noticed before lying on the couch, snoring in soft snorts. The man who was wearing my heart-and-soul dream-cream dress that was the one I would have worn for my prom had I gone. But I didn’t date then, instead focusing on school and protecting my little sister. I still didn’t date, focused entirely on my career.
I must have screamed because the guy on the couch did a reverse arch, looking like a scared cat, and the door behind me bounced off the wall.
“What the fuck?” Lance Rowland, my asshole landlord slash roommate slash almost lover, growled from the doorway of his much-bigger-than-mine room. His sleep pants hung low on his hips, showing off the muscles that dipped low and all the cuts he worked so hard at to impress the women.
Sylvia lurched into the hallway as I pointed at the ruined clothes. “M-my… oh my god.” My throat closed up, and I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from vomiting.
Lance’s eyes took in the living room in the calm way he did everything, and the heat in my chest ticked up ten degrees.
“You dumb fuck.” Lance scowled at the minidress stealer.
The guy gasped when he looked down, smirked, and turned red. He muttered, “Sorry,” and attempted to pull one arm out of a sleeve.
Ripppppp.
The sound was like a shot in the tiny living room/kitchen. My ears buzzed, and I thought for a moment I was going to pass out. Slowly, I turned and looked at my hungover roommates. My selfish, childish roommates.
“You.” I pointed my finger at Lance and took a step forward.
He frowned. It wasn’t like me to be confrontational, to be anything but the smoother-over-er.
I pointed at Sylvia next, and by her surprised blink, I could tell she was awake-walking now.
“And you.” I fought the head-spinning lightheadedness as I snarled at miniskirt guy. “Chanel. These,” I waved my hand, encompassing the living room, “were for Chanel.”
; Sylvia’s eyes bugged out, and her mouth popped open like she was just now processing the carnage. “Oh my god.”
“Don’t you ‘oh my god’ me.” I took a step toward her, rage burning a pit in my stomach. “You were part of the party last night. The one that didn’t break up until four this morning.” I swung around and directed my words at Lance. “You couldn’t just leave them in the coat closet? You had to ruin my best chance just because you’re still embarrassed you couldn’t get it up?”
“Wha—” came from the dress thief, followed by a squeak and then a snicker from Sylvia.
She’d been the only one to know about that night. The celebratory day I’d received my diploma in fashion design and rocked the night out. And ended up in Lance’s bed. Which hadn’t rocked. Cause he couldn’t get it up. Thank god.
Lance just stared at me as his face turned a strange mottled color.
I hadn’t meant to say that. My control was slipping. My careful control that made me the nice girl. The sweet girl. The one who never said anything mean. My eyes burned, and I knew that girl was forever gone.
“I’ve put up with your all-night parties and your slobbishness.” I kicked a convenient crumpled up Taco Bell bag. I eyed the guy on the couch and lifted my chin. “And your trash.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve put up with your neatfreakness and niceness, your gushing about colors and fine stitch work and the way you put things where I can’t find them.” Lance shot a death stare my way.
“That’s called cleaning up, you-you—”
“You can’t even come up with a proper insult.” Lance made a gesture that encompassed my body, as if I were insufficient.
“You couldn’t get it up?” came from the couch. “That’s like the opposite of your name. Limp Lance.” Snicker.
“Shut the fuck up!” Lance yelled at him.
“I’ll help you fix—” Sylvia started.
I swung back around. “Help? You want to help now?”
