Her honesty, her ability to find no shame in her transparency, silenced us all.
She pointed to Henry. “And I told Mrs. Blackwood how brave you are. Didn’t reveal anything personal. She knew a little of what happened to you from the papers. I told her you deserved a future at Cole Tea after dedicating your life to your country.”
“Mia,” I said. “That’s…”
A reaction to such a monologue could have gone either way.
Mia beamed at us. “Blackwood’s on board!”
We cheered together.
Henry collapsed back and laughed. “His wife persuaded him. Mia went through his wife.”
“Of course,” said Shay.
We were flying high from the exhilaration.
I’d surprisingly savored every second of analyzing the board members until I knew them better than they knew themselves, and proving just how much I could use this knowledge when with them. I’d never considered business to be this visceral. My work had always required a certain level of intuition, and until now any other profession had appeared dry and offered no similar challenge.
This revelation I was actually enjoying myself sent a thrill up my spine.
More importantly, it was good to see Henry calm again.
“We make an incredible team,” I told them.
“You know, we’ll be fighting over who gets Dad’s office,” said Henry.
“That’ll be you, Henry. Cole Tea’s new CEO.”
“Fuck,” he said. “That makes me sound so old.”
“All we have to do now is capture the remaining three votes from board members living out of state,” I said.
“They fly in tomorrow,” said Henry. “Bastards, they’re avoiding us.”
“Not for long,” I said.
CHAPTER 17
THE BOARD MEMBERS sat around the conference table, Doug Malt being the only one absent. They didn’t need to know the reason.
My father sat at the head of the table with his fingers arched together in that familiar thoughtful pose. His frown now seemed a permanent fixture on that worn face. Dad was flanked by two members of his legal team. Henry sat at the other end, his gaze sweeping the room, having just delivered his speech about our vision for Cole Tea.
The response had been lukewarm. Betrayal lingered beneath the surface.
I stood at the back, and from this vantage I could read each expression. These men and woman who I’d won over yesterday weren’t making eye contact now.
An undercurrent of tension.
A shift in their body language.
What was that? Guilt?
I expected this. After what they’d done, having to face my father again had to be grueling for them, but there was something else…
Fear?
David Atwood from New Orleans, Remy Parker based in Las Vegas, and Kat Leonard from Illinois were still on the fence with their decision. These three had flown in this morning and there had been no time to talk with them.
Silence lingered—
Through that long glass window, the dramatic vista of New York spread out.
Cole Tower boasted one of the best vantage points overlooking Central Park. The tallest building in Manhattan, situated just off 56th Street, it was lauded as one of the most noble of designs. It was built to withstand earthquakes and often featured in architectural magazines. Marble flooring, pristine fixtures, glass, mirrors strategically placed here and there, and its office and cubicles were spaciously designed to incorporate the atmosphere my dad had nurtured.
All one had to do was sip tea in the open café nestled in the atrium and savor the dramatic waterfall that cascaded down from ten floors. It fell into a carp filled glass pond lit up with gold lighting.
My dad’s decadence proved he was a complex man. He lived simply, remained accessible to his staff, and knew their names. So no one was more surprised than me when I’d heard these men and woman had turned their backs on him.
Having consumed enough Cole coffee to keep a small city awake for a decade, and not having slept for God knows how many nights now, I used this intensity to maintain pressure on those final three by pacing around the room, circling them.
This kind of uncomfortable I’d become accustomed to when prying open a patient’s psyche back in my L.A. clinic. I’d explored the depths of the human condition and not gotten lost along the way. That was easy. This was more challenging, and I was thriving under the pressure.
The scent of blood in the water.
We had them.
Henry had left them warily swapping gazes or merely staring into their beverages.
We’d provided a generous breakfast and served up Cole Tea and coffee in our signature mugs. Our logo on the cups, our crest on the napkins, our name hanging in the balance.
“Cameron.” Dad gestured for me to speak.
Adrenaline forged through my veins and my heart raced with the excitement of closing this deal and putting this charade behind us.
Remy Parker broke the silence. “We were just as invested as you in taking Cole Tea forward.”
Remy’s use of past tense chilled my blood.
A seventy-year-old luxury casino owner who wore ill-fitting suits and had shifty eyes. I’d never liked him and could never understand how Dad had. I wanted him off the board.
“There must be changes,” he said. “The foreign market has evolved. We’re not keeping up.”
“We agree that recent developments have altered the landscape,” I said. “Which is why we brought on a dynamic team to implement changes. This man—” I pointed to my father—“removed the uncertainties for you and ensured each of you a return on your investments that far exceeded expectations. He knows this industry better than anyone. He’s lived and breathed this company, and taken us into the twenty-first century with the kind of transition most Wall Street businesses could only dream about. Yes, laws change. Yes, we’ve had to face the evolution of both political and foreign policies. We’ve stood strong, kept our employees secure, provided scholarships for their children, and enviable healthcare for their families.”
“Our competitors are winning,” said Remy. “Adapt or die.”
“There’s villages in Nepal,” I said. “Where my father drastically improved the mortality rates.”
Dad had built on the infrastructure of the village, placed a medical facility in the town, and had not just cared about the product at any cost. He’d introduced a new Nepali tea into the market, producing the leaves in the eastern zones, and they were far superior to Darjeeling in flavor, appearance, and aroma. The method of processing the leaves produced at lower altitudes in the fertile plains provided an exceptional experience and was hailed by American tea connoisseurs as an award winning product.
“Nepali mothers once had to trek hundreds of miles on foot for medical care. No more, thanks to this man. Women with c-section scars, and the knowledge they may not make it, have been given the best chance of survival for them and their children by my father. You say adapt or die? This is adaption. Not just producing a product at any cost but taking in the human factor. Giving a damn about each and every employee and building loyalty. A legacy you once believed in.”
David Atwood narrowed his gaze. “Shares have fallen. Faith in the business—”
“My father funded your run for senator,” I snapped back. “Got you your seat.”
“Of which I am eternally grateful.”
“Your concerns are ill founded,” I said. “The company is thriving.”
“When was the last meeting you attended?” he snapped back.
I lowered my voice, resting my hand on his shoulder. “David, we need you to do the right thing today.”
He sat back and gazed down.
We were close.
My focus turned to the remaining two members.
I inwardly flinched when I saw Shay gesturing to me through the glass. “Please, excuse me gentlemen.”
Shay headed off to a nearby cubicle.
I followed him out.
“We have a situation,” he said.
“Yes, we do. You just interrupted—”
“It’s not good.”
“Mia?”
Shay glanced over the cubicle to check we could talk. “There’s been an incident back in L.A.”
“For God sake, Shay, I’m in a fucking meeting—”
“Decker’s dead.”
“What?”
“My men were following him. He tried to evade us. He drove into a wall.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“Adrian?”
“Turned up for work and then halfway through his shift disappeared.”
“He’s probably at the hospital.”
Shay shook his head. “No, he identified his brother’s body at the morgue then went off to work like nothing happened. Worked half his shift.”
“Any sign of grieving?”
“No, just presented like your regular sociopath.”
“Where the fuck did he go?”
“We’re trying to locate him.”
“Don’t tell Mia.”
“Of course.”
“Fuck!” I caressed my forehead.
“We’re watching his house.”
“I have to get back.”
“Breaking for lunch?” He nodded toward the conference room.
I turned and stared at the board members trickling out.
My hands fisted with tension and I walked briskly back toward them. “Ladies, gentlemen, we’ve not quite finished.”
They ignored me and headed off, talking amongst each other, their arrogance raw and uncompromising.
Stunned, I watched them go.
Henry appeared in a panic and pulled me back inside the conference room.
“What just happened?” I said.
Henry shut the door. “We lost them, Cameron.”
A wave of panic came over me. “How?”
Dad neared us and rested his hand on my shoulder. “They changed their mind on the vote.”
My mouth went dry. “We had them.”
Dad brought his phone to his ear. “They just delivered the news.”
I stared at Henry, trying to read if I’d been too heavy handed, too arrogant to see I’d turned them off the deal. “What happened, Henry?”
“We don’t know.” He gestured to Dad’s phone. “Who is it?”
Dad strolled over to the window to take the call.
His conversation was brisk, his tone defeated.
Dad hung up and turned to us. “That was Doug Malt’s wife.”
“What did she say?” asked Henry.
“Doug’s wife discreetly mentioned—” Dad steadied himself on the back of a chair— “It’s the kind of blackmail they can’t fight.”
“Blackmail?” The word burned my throat. “They threatened to leak her husband’s condition to the press?”
“If that’s what they’ve got on her,” said Henry, “imagine what they have on the others.”
Dad turned to me, his expression worn.
I swallowed hard, but this lump in my throat was destined to remain.
“I’ll sign the contract this afternoon,” said Dad. “Get legal to complete it.”
Henry looked devastated.
“I’m sorry, boys.” Dad turned and faced the glass.
CHAPTER 18
DAD STARED DEAD ahead, his words flowing like acid poured onto my heart. “‘A leader has the right to be beaten, but never the right to be surprised.’”
He’d quoted Napoleon Bonaparte.
That truth rang in my ears.
And Adrian Herron was on the fucking loose.
I should have followed Dad when he left the conference room, but my feet wouldn’t move.
Henry had already left.
The view of the city was vast and sweeping, and now I knew it had always been a threat in waiting, a warning I’d lied to myself that I had what it took to pull this off.
Swim backwards.
The words found me again in the loneliest place I’d ever stood. Our competitors had used the kind of tactics assembled in a dirty bomb—
Quick, ugly, and final.
Richard’s voice boomed from my phone. “Cameron? Are you there?”
I stared down at my cell, realizing I’d dialed his number.
“Cam?”
“Where are you?” I said.
“Driving. Needed to clear my head.”
“Skydiving?”
“On my way to the pick up now.”
“Be careful.”
“Always. You need to join me. Though it sounds like you’ve got your own adrenaline junkie moves going on.”
“That trick you pulled on my shares.”
“When I tripled them?”
“I need you to do it again.”
Silence screamed loudly on the other end.
I whispered, “Quadruple it.”
My thoughts carried me to the first time I’d met Richard at Terry’s Tavern back at Harvard. He’d looked so young, so intense, nursing his Corona in that private leather seated enclave. His broodiness attracted attention and at the same time kept away those threatened by his looks and obvious wealth.
I wished I could go back to those days at Harvard and start over.
Maybe even choose business instead…
I remembered Richard’s nose stuck in Geoffrey Chaucer’s The House of Fame, while he took bites out of a burger…
I’d approached him. “Mind if I join you?”
“Actually I do.” He’d raised his book. “I’m at a good part.”
“Great book. It’s about truth.”
“I don’t suck dick.”
“Charming, Mr. Sheppard.” I’d eased in and sat opposite.
“Can I help you with something?”
“I’m here to guide you to a place where you can safely spank your very own submissive and not get thrown out of Harvard.”
He pushed his plate aside and wiped his hands on the napkin.
“Your lover is friends with my ex,” I told him.
“Excuse me?”
“Things went a little awry the other night with Megan, apparently.”
“This is kind of private.”
The waiter hurried over to our table since the bar was empty. Only a few locals sipping beer here and there. The young man was like so many other students who were also closing in on their finals. Those dark circles under his eyes were a result of burning the midnight oil.
I pointed to Richard’s burger. “Another one of those, please.”
Richard’s back straightened defensively.
“A glass of red, perhaps.” Though on pursuing the wine list, I changed my mind. “Actually, make that champagne.”
“With a burger?” Richard scoffed.
I’d handed the waiter the wine menu back. “Extra chilled.”
Richard looked over at him. “Another Corona.”
“Sure.” Our waiter headed off.
“Shouldn’t that be biology?” I gestured to Richard’s book.
“You seem to know an awful lot about me.”
“It’s a small place.”
“Bullshit. Listen, pretty boy, I’ve already told your other cult members I don’t do frat houses.”
“Sounds like you’re a popular man.”
“Did Megan send you to talk to me?”
I raised a brow. “No, but she did share you’re into kink.”
“You her brother?”
“No. I’m here as your friend.” I beamed at him, amused.
He shook his head, amused by his own bad boy front and obviously taken by my ability to disarm with a smile.
“I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime, Sheppard,” I said. “I’m inviting you to D'envoûtement.”
“Enthrall?”
I smiled at his translation.
His gaze swept the bar. “Does that place really exist?”
“It does.”
“Catch?”
“You end it with Megan.”
“Why?”
“She can’t give you what you want and both of you are going to get hurt.”
“I like her.”
“Tell her you’re over.”
“You want her?”
I gave him the glare his question deserved.
“All I did was spank her,” he said.
“Did she deserve it?”
His frown deepened.
“I’m going to give you your very own submissive,” I said. “One who knows how to please a master and will enter subspace when you spank her. Not cry like Megan did because she’s not into your kink.”
“She cried?”
“Yes.”
“Now I feel like a shit.” He took a swig of beer. “She told me she liked it.”
“Girls lie.”
“How much?”
“For membership?” I shook my head. “All we ask is that you spoil your sub. You keep your mouth shut. You answer to me.”
“Sounds like it’s your club?”
Our waiter placed that tall glass of champagne in front of me and I watched him walk away. “Am I drinking to our new member?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Cameron Cole.”
“Of Cole Tea?”
“Yes.”
“Heard you’re not studying business? Bet that’s a disappointment to your dad.”
“Neither are you.” I took a sip of champagne.
“Looks like we have something in common.”
“Same predilection. I can help you.”
“Why?”
“It’s what I do.”
“What? Seek out perverted bastards and offer them a safe place to practice their fucked-up fuckery?”
“Actually I was referring to your squeamishness in the lab. You’re failing your first semester because you couldn’t handle dissecting Mr. Pukesville.” The name he’d given his cadaver. He didn’t need to know how I knew that.
Richard visibly paled.
“I can help you with that too,” I said.
His gaze narrowed. “You can shove both offers right up your ass.”
I slid the card with D’envoûtement’s address across the table. “Tomorrow. Eight sharp. Black tie.”
I left him staring down at the card.
Cameron's Contract Page 9
