by Malone, Nana
Sexy In Stilettos
The In Stilettos Series
Book One
by
Nana Malone
Copyright 2012 Nana Malone
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Sexy in Stilettos
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Nana Malone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover Art by Kimberly Killion
Edited by Rhonda Helms
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For Manteh “Mantesco ‘That’s me.” Darfoor” You will be missed. Thank you for teaching me to speak my mind.
Erik and Siaki, I love you always. Thank you for loving my lists.
Misty, the words, “Thank You” will never be enough.
Marcie, this will be our year, I promise you.
Megs, Ten, Naad & Cyn, thank you for keeping me sane.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Other Books by Nana Malone
About Nana Malone
Chapter One
He looks ready to kill me.
Jaya Trudeaux searched her father’s usually impassive, though now clearly angry, features. Furrowed brows, check. Tight lips, check. Throbbing vein above his left brow accompanied by a slight twitch in the left eye, courtesy of a long ago tango with a door jamb, check and check. Yep, Pierre was pissed.
Jaya dragged her eyes from her father’s glare and focused on the All-Tech Conference selection committee, giving them her best, sweet-girl-next-door meets competent-business woman, meets fellow-nerd smile. This she knew how to do. She understood the client’s needs, what it would take to pull off a conference of their magnitude, and that these guys were more SyFy channel than MTV. They wouldn’t be swayed with a flashy marketing presentation. They wanted someone who understood their world. Too bad it wasn’t the presentation her father wanted her to give.
As Jaya closed, she looked each of the selection committee members in the eye to make the connection. “Trudeaux Events might not have the flash of Starbuck like some of our competitors—” she indicated the placard with their list of competition. They’d all made pitches and most had gone the more flash than substance route. Suckers. “But we understand your needs. And we can meet them.”
Her fellow nerds beamed at her. Maybe it was the Battlestar Galactica reference. Maybe they recognized a kindred soul. Maybe they liked her legs. Either way, Trudeaux Events would certainly make the top two candidates for the conference. As the conference would bring well over twenty thousand attendees to San Diego, it would be a huge boon for the event company to land the business. If they were selected, maybe her father would finally make her an event lead.
As soon as the last handshakes were dealt and Brett James, the president of All-Tech thanked them for their time, Pierre Trudeaux indicated the door. Jaya’s stomach dropped. Well damn. Worst thing was, he had Derrick Cooley, Trudeaux’s VP of Corporate Events, trailing right behind him as they exited the boardroom. This couldn’t be good.
They were probably pissed she hadn’t gone through with their approved presentation. Derrick had pushed for something flashier, wanting to capture the client’s attention, and had refused to listen to her ideas for the presentation. Not to mention he hated her. How the hell she’d ever thought she wanted to marry that asshole was beyond her. She must have been high.
Back stiff, she exited out the closest door and started her explanations before they could get a word in edgewise. “I know that’s not the original presentation you talked about, but I’m uniquely attuned to this market and I feel like—” She didn’t finish. Both of them shot her looks so cold she could feel the icicles forming in her gut.
“In my office, Jaya,” her father said.
This. Was. Not. Good. Okay. Plan B time. She wasn’t above begging. Jaya wanted this client. Needed this client. She’d gone out and recruited this business. It was hers. If they gave the account to Derrick, or worse, to her sister, Tamara, she’d have a fit.
Once in Pierre’s austere office, Jaya settled in one of the guest chairs she knew her father selected deliberately to make people uncomfortable in his presence. Her father took his post behind his desk, looking every bit the authoritarian dictator he wished he were. Derrick remained standing, which gave him that additional position of power. Instead of looking at her, he stared out the window. Prick.
She sucked in a deep breath and marshaled her nerves. Come on gang. Once more with feeling. “Look. I’m sorry. But you saw the client—they don’t care about being the cool kids. They care about authenticity. No offense intended, Derrick, but your presentation would have lost them.” She drew in a breath. “Next time I’ll follow your direction, but clients like this need a plan they can get behind. They’re slow and steady comic-book readers. They don’t care about the latest cool-kid party.”
Derrick didn’t even wait for her father to speak, nor did he face her. “There won’t be a next time, Jaya.”
“What?” Her eyes burrowed on her father’s face. Impassive. But was that really a surprise? “Okay, look, bench me for the next few months if you want, but I’m the best presenter you have. I—”
Derrick turned from his position at the enormous floor to ceiling windows overlooking San Diego’s skyline. “No. Not for a few months. Forever.”
Jaya's anger simmered to life. But instead of its low-grade burn, it roared to five-alarm status. She turned her gaze on her father. “Dad?” Derrick didn’t have the authority to fire her. She still had more shares in the company than he did. Until, of course, he married Tamara.
Her father said nothing for a long moment, the barest hint of exhaustion in his features. “There’s a position in accounting if you would prefer. It would be a better fit. I think—”
Jaya blinked. “Did you just say ‘accounting’? Dad. I’m not an accountant. I’m an event planner. This is who I am.”
He sighed and slid a glance to Derrick. “Then I’m sorry. You leave me no choice. You’re fired.”
A hazy buzzing sound filled her ears as her father’s mouth moved. Disbelief weakened her knees and shock numbed her. So. Not. Happening. Her inner fixer took over from her brain because clearly her grey matter was on vacation.
Sure, she’d deviated a little from the original presentation, but not enough to warrant his firing her. Derrick’s fast and loose presentation would have had their eyes glazing over.
Her father’s voice was tight and low and sounded like gravel being put through a grinder. “We’re trying to move Trudeaux forward. The kinds of clients and presentations we want to do will bring us to the next level. Derrick is right. Since you re
fuse to keep up, you no longer belong at Trudeaux.”
She would not cry. “I gave a good presentation.” Even as the weak words spilled out, she wondered why she’d bothered. That was it? That was her big flare of rebellion? No wonder her father treated her like Carrot Top’s ugly twin sister. She couldn’t even rebel properly.
Papa Dearest’s eye did the twitch-and-jive routine again. “Good presentation? It would have been great if Derrick or Tamara had done it. They both have the vision. We’ve been preparing for months.” His voice rose by increments.
Tears stung her eyes. This wasn’t real. It was a dream. Absolutely. Was. Not. Happening. “I just gave you the presentation of my life. You can’t just fire me.”
When her father spoke again, only the barest hint of his New Orleans accent tinted his baritone. “Jaya it’s done. You’re too invested. Too stuck in your ways. Like Derrick was saying, we need to move forward.” He cleared his throat, looking momentarily uncomfortable. “This is business, Jaya. I expect you not to be so childish as to skip your sister’s wedding in two weeks. We are still a family.”
Fuck. Family her ass. This was real? Like they were really telling her to pack up her Weitzman’s and bounce? Then expected her at the bloody wedding? Waves of failure and dread braided themselves into a nausea cocktail. She could feel the tension in her neck as if someone was squeezing it tight.
Throat burning from lack of oxygen, she stared at her father. Without a word, he got up from his desk, thin frame moving with a fluidity and grace that belied his age. He left the office with a soft click of his door, Jaya felt more alone than she’d ever felt in her life. Her father had abandoned her.
Derrick spoke and at first Jaya couldn’t hear him for the muffled silencer of dread cocooning her. Through the hazy fog of bitter anger and hazy fear, she noticed his mouth moving. The sound coming in slow and lazy increments, as if it didn’t matter what else he had to say to her.
“Jaya? Jaya, are you listening?”
She blinked up at him, the urge to strike him so strong she could feel her hand twitch of its own volition. Oh, God. She could see the headlines in the Union Tribune. “Angry Black Woman Shoves Ex-Fiancé Through Thirty Story Building.” She forced a breath.
Derrick spoke again. His voice tight and in control. “I’ll have security pack your things and a messenger deliver them to your apartment before week’s end.”
Suddenly too exhausted to breathe, she stood on wobbly legs. “Congratulations. You got what you wanted. Are you happy now?”
“You know I don’t like seeing your father unhappy. You did this to yourself.” He sniffed. “You could have turned this train around any time you liked. You chose to be an adversary.”
Before she exited the office, she turned back to glare at him. “You must really hate me.” She shrugged. “That’s okay because the feeling is mutual.”
Jaya managed to hold off the tears until she was down the hall, but then her resolve crumbled and hot wetness streaked down her cheeks. Come on girl. Suck it up. Or at least wait ‘til the elevator. Getting fired was so not at the top of her “Things To Do Before Hitting Thirty” list. The last thing she needed was to run into her sister or her father before she could get out of the building.
Never let them see you cry. But her stupid tear ducts revolted. She punched the elevator button and wrapped her arms around her ribs in an effort to hold herself together. The chime of the elevator made her wince with its cheery tinkle. The tears on revolt swam into her field of vision like soldiers through a barricade, temporarily blinding her. She forced her leaden legs onto the elevator desperate to get out of the building.
She swiped at the freefalling tears and walked into a wall of muscle.
Chapter Two
For the first time in his life, Alec Danthers had no idea what to do with a woman in his arms. He’d meant to steady and set her away from himself, but her scent struck him. Vanilla and roses. Not overpowering. More like someone baked something delicious while roses opened up in a vase nearby. She smelled like home. Or rather, what he always envisioned home should smell like.
It took him a moment to register her tears. She didn’t make a single sound, but he could feel the wet droplets through his shirt. Maybe if she’d been more hysterical, he’d have given her the awkward pat on the back and made his escape on the next available floor.
Like every other male of the species, he had an aversion to a woman’s tears. They usually made him feel powerless and lost. But there was something so strong in her silence, and in the way she held it all in, only letting the tears and a small shiver escape. Too stunned to do anything else, he wrapped his arms around her shaking frame, but not before pushing the elevator’s stop button, figuring she could use a minute.
Every protective instinct made him want to shield her and destroy whatever or whoever had made her cry. In the silence of the elevator, only broken by the soft jazz in the background, he let her cry. He rubbed small circles in her back, whispering hushed nonsense words. The kind muttered by mothers to toddlers with scraped boo-boos. Not that he knew anything about that. His mother wasn’t exactly the kissing boo-boos type. But he saw the action performed in enough movies to do a reasonable facsimile. As he rubbed, the long, thick strands of her hair tickled the back of his hand.
Eventually, he felt her deep inhale and she stepped away from him. Every nerve and cell in his body screamed at the loss, but he let her go. She wasn’t his to hold on to. But whatever had driven her to cry in the arms of a complete stranger, he’d known pain like that before.
“Holy shit. I’m so sorry,” she said, delicate brows drawn down. Her voice, though feminine, was strong. No hint of a waver or a quiver. And it struck him stupid. His whole being responding to it as if she’d stroked him. Skin itchy and tight, he swayed a little. Whoa.
“I can’t believe I just did that.” She spoke again—seemingly unaware she’d had any effect on him.
She hadn’t raised her eyes to his, but he knew when she did, there would be no more tears in them, save the ones that clung stubbornly to her lashes instead of rolling down her cheeks.
He cleared his throat, trying to get a mental handle on his brain and body. “It’s not a problem. It happens.”
She spoke a mile a minute then, words blending together in a stream of consciousness. “Not to me, it doesn’t.” Her hands flew to cover her cheeks. “I’ve completely ruined your shirt.” She swiped at the drying tears and make-up stains. He held on to the hiss of not-quite-pain as her fingertips brushed at his collar. He forced his jaw shut like a steel bear trap to keep himself from saying anything stupid or groaning in bliss.
“Way to go, Jaya.” She shook her head, covering her eyes with her hands. Sucking in a breath, she pulled herself up to full height, which put her forehead at his mouth. She dropped her delicate hands to her sides and muttered another apology. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning on your shirt. God.” She shook her head again, fumbling for something inside her pocket. When she pulled out a card and proffered it, she leveled her full gaze on him. Almond-shaped, hazel eyes now clear of tears bore into his soul and for the first time in a long time, he felt stripped naked. He saw everything she felt in that honest and open gaze. Hoooly shit.
Too much. The pain, the flicker of interest, the embarrassment. Everything she felt came right out in those beautiful eyes. Unused to that kind of honesty from anyone, Alec was torn between falling into her gaze and going into full retreat. She scared the shit out of him. One more glance from her and he’d tell her every secret he ever had.
More than eager to get out of the elevator, he impatiently jabbed at the button to his required floor. Under no circumstances would he call her.
She was a complication he didn’t have time for. Get in and get out, Alec. He would fix this current mess and be back on a plane to South Africa for the Durban Race in a few weeks. The car was all ready and he pulled a lot of strings to be allowed on that racing team, despite his amateur sta
tus. He didn’t do knight-in-shining-armor-gigs. Get out of her presence before you promise her your life or undying loyalty or some shit. “It’s okay.” He peeked down at the card. Jaya Trudeaux. “Jaya.” He liked the way her name sounded on his tongue.
She blinked up at him, as if surprised to hear him use her name. Then the barest hint of a smile peeked out, showing off even teeth. “You do a lot of these rescue missions? You seem very at ease, considering.”
He felt the smile tugging at his lips. “Well, I really had nowhere else to go.” He looked around. “Sort of trapped.”
“With a crazy crying lady.”
He inclined his head. “Somehow I doubt anyone would ever have the nerve to call you crazy.”
She looked down at her hands. “You’d be surprised.” She shook her head, as if trying to dislodge a vision or memory. “Thanks for the shoulder….” Her voice trailed off.
“Alec.”
She closed her eyes. Muttered something like, “It figures,” under her breath and stepped to the side, the way people did when they first entered an elevator. His brain searched for something to say, aware that any time he had with her was slipping by with the passing of each floor.
“Will you be okay?”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. I’m always fine.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “Well, except for just now. So maybe if you could forget it ever happened…”
“Consider it forgotten.”
Of all the women to stir something awake in him. Talk about inconvenient. In their five-minute interaction, she made him think about parts of himself he hadn’t thought about in years. The parts that wanted to get close and to comfort. The parts he knew better than to trust. They stirred within him, wanting to take care of this woman with the wide caramel eyes that made him think of Bambi. Keep it casual Danthers. Before you get stung. “Well, whatever it is, I promise you, it’s not worth your tears. You can do better.”
