I'd assured my father I wasn't "compromised." Enticed? Intoxicated? Tempted? Sure. There'd been no mistaking that Jax wanted me; I could feel the evidence through the layers of our clothing. But compromised? Even if I'd been willing, how could I have been? One look at my dad and his stormy expression, and Jax mumbled something and excused himself. I didn't see him at the reception after I returned, so I never got to talk to him. Not that I knew what I would say. I mean, what do you say to someone you've never actually been formally introduced to but allowed to kiss you? Twice!
" Hey, don't worry about my dad. He can't really smite you with hellfire and damnation. Just kiss me again!"
Or maybe, "I know you don't do relationships, but maybe you can do me again?"
Or perhaps, "Pay no attention to that angry man behind the collar. I'm worth it, really!"
Maybe I could have clarified everything with Jax if we hadn't been interrupted.
Damn it, Daddy!
For the five thousandth time, I wished my dad had found a job in the railroad industry that used to be the primary source of income for our town. Or a banker, or architect, or a janitor. Even my friend whose dad was a cop didn't have the problems I had. Anytime I tried to bring someone home he made sure to wear his clerical collar. Like a flea collar on dogs, Daddy's had the ability to kill relationships dead, as if the white collar he wore gave him the power to bring down the wrath of the Almighty on men interested in his daughters.
While his calling didn't make my life any easier, and I was often frustrated by him, I did love my dad. He was smart, funny, hardworking, and gave good advice. He adored my mother and the way he treated her set a high bar for anyone I'd ever want to marry. He didn’t fit the stereotype pastoral image. Rather than a pudgy, soft-spoken teetotaler, my dad at almost sixty was in better shape than many men half his age.
But because of him, I never did get my dance with Jax, and despite the warning from both Maggie and Paul, I'd wanted it.
Still, my conscience still pricked me. Deep down, or maybe not so deep, I knew it wasn't Daddy's fault. Part of me felt like punishing him for how hard he'd been on me lately. But in the end, he's not the one who bailed on me. God knew he'd stood by me when others wanted to shun me. And he had good reason to be suspicious of my companion, especially after my last choice of one.
My anger shifted back to Jax. What kind of guy kisses a girl he doesn't know? A player, that's who. And worse, what did that make me? I'd never let any date kiss me that intimately, that soon. And the comment he made about sucking my breasts? I should have been disgusted at his outrageously inappropriate words. Instead, it still caused a warmth between my legs just thinking about it.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. So just who is Jaxson? The charming man who listened sympathetically as you went on and on about your man mishaps? Or a coward who can't stand up to your dad? And why do you care about this so much? It's not like it's the first time it's happened.
My reflection rolled her eyes at me. That's easy. You were attracted to him. He answered a call that's been left ringing by so many other men. You can't get past the effect his touch had on you. You're disappointed because you thought you saw something in him that made him different, and you were wrong. Just like the last time Daddy tried to warn you. He was right the whole time. He's probably right this time, too. Now, get a shower. Pull on those big girl panties, and by those, I mean the sexy new ones.
I sighed. I’d wasted enough time on this topic. Jax was looking for something different than what I was willing to offer, and I deserved better than a blow-off. Blowing a raspberry sound with my lips as I accepted the truth, I forced myself to turn on the shower to warm up.
Within an hour, I was out the door wearing a pretty new scrap of lace for panties and a matching bra for confidence, ready to launch full-time into a project that had previously been sharing my focus with the wedding planning. I had been hired to head up a fund-raising gala to benefit a new teen center. I had a full day ahead of kissing up to local CEOs and other wealthy individuals to try to woo them out of hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars. Some of these I'd been able to handle with phone calls, but others required a more personal introduction and plea. Most made more money in a week than I could in a year, so the reality was they could afford to be generous. But these people had also grown to the positions they held by being scrupulous, so they had to be sold on the product and have their ego stroked about what a good thing they were doing.
And, as someone who could talk to almost anyone with little effort, that was something I could do.
Daddy always told me I could sell ice to an Eskimo. Even as a child, when my sisters and I went door to door soliciting Girl Scout cookies, it was me who did all the talking. I sold my quota as well as that of my sisters. But it was the people I enjoyed, not the sales.
When it came to deciding on a career, I'd felt lost. Nothing felt right. I wasn't the domestic genius my sister Faith was, or as pretty or talented as Laurel, nor as smart as Angela. It wasn't that I was dumb; I was a good student, but I grew bored easily. For a long time, I despaired I had no real talent that would translate into a job. I couldn't imagine doing the same thing every day. I majored in business only because I didn't know what else to do.
With no other prospects, I took a position at a bank where several of the employees must have locked their personalities in the vault along with the money. But life has a funny way of turning things up on their head. When one of my colleagues wanted to put together a birthday party for her one-year-old but didn't know where to start, I volunteered to help her. Being a social butterfly, I loved planning parties or themed dinners. It turned out to be such a success that another of the guests asked for my advice putting together an event to market a new product. I leapt to the challenge, and an idea was born.
Soon, I was filing for a license for Graceful Eventures, LLC where I used my business savvy and social skills as a private consultant specializing in organizing special occasions or educational events. It was always something different, so I never got bored. My reputation grew, and soon I was able to move out of the spare room in my apartment to a small space in a new office building. This was the first fundraising project I'd ever done, and while it was the most difficult event I'd tackled to date, I was excited to work on a cause that came to mean something important to me.
The morning rolled along as I'd hoped. I'd intentionally started with men and women with whom I worked in the past and knew would likely be willing to either contribute money or buy dinner tickets to the event itself, which is what I most needed to sell since each plate cost a thousand dollars. Then, I could move on to those I didn't know well but could 'name drop' those who'd already contributed. One thing I'd learned about the business elite—most didn't like to be left out or left behind.
After a working lunch in which I was able to convince all four partners of one of the most successful law firms in the area to purchase four place settings each, I began my trek back to my car. I had to park three blocks from the last office due to such limited parking in the downtown area. My feet screamed at me for both the fast pace I set as well as the spiked heels on which I made them balance. In my everyday life, I preferred my cushioned, flat slip-ons, but today I needed to come across as confident and professional, and a somewhat sexy look never hurt, either.
Just as I collapsed in my driver's seat, my cell rang. A quick glance showed a heart-shaped face framed by black hair, stunning green eyes, pierced nose, and a mischievous smile. It was Jade, my other best friend and now part-time assistant for this project. Whereas Maggie was the sweet girl-next-door who was loyal almost to a fault, Jade was flashy and outspoken.
Jade and I had been assigned as roommates our freshman year in college, and when I'd first met her, I couldn't see how we'd get along. By appearances, we seemed to be polar opposites. I preferred comfortable jeans and soft sweaters or pretty shirts; she wore skintight jeans or leather pants and skimpy tank tops and boots. She went on tr
emendous spending sprees just for kicks, while I was frugal out of necessity. Out of habit, I constantly monitored what I said, but she was sarcastic and bawdy.
And I adored her.
Her carefree attitude carried over into how she treated me. She didn't care who my dad was and what he did for a living. She didn't make me feel different from anyone else, included me in anything she did, although I certainly turned down her invitations more than a few times.
Somehow, despite, or maybe because of, our differences, we hit it off. Like her name, she became a rock in my life, shiny but solid; the kind of friend who had your back but told you what she thought you needed to know, not what you wanted to hear. I wasn't always sure what I gave back to her, but I liked to think I helped to keep her grounded from some of her reckless ways.
She had an uncanny gift for numbers, and most people would be shocked to know several highly successful businesses across America sought her consultation for their finances. She was also the daughter of a power couple of a Fortune 500 company. She could never work a day in her life and still live in extreme comfort. You'd never know it since she chose to live simply—if you could call having a penthouse apartment simple. But considering the mansion she'd come from, it was.
"Hey, girl! Are you back from the tropics?"
She had traveled to Hawaii for a "working vacation" with her parents, who wouldn't take "no" for an answer when she tried to beg off from it. They claimed they hardly ever saw her since she'd moved away from their New York estate and this trip had been planned "forever." There were contacts there they insisted she meet, and this was the only time it could be arranged. I'd only met her parents a couple of times, and while they weren't outright affectionate, they were polite and welcoming in a stiff business-like way. They were used to getting what they wanted, and a wedding for someone that didn't come with connections for them wasn't deemed important enough to miss this trip.
"No, I'm still stuck here in this hell." Only Jade would think an island vacation would be hell, work or no work. "I still can't believe I had to miss Maggie's wedding."
"We missed you. She was beautiful, of course."
"I'm sure she was."
"So, what's up?"
"Good news! Hold on to your panties!" her voice trilled in my ear. "I'm sending a name and address to your phone."
"Oo-kaay." I wasn't sure how to take her announcement.
Seconds later, a 'ping' sounded indicating her text had come through. "So, what is this?"
"It's a who, and he's for you."
Oh, crap. It wouldn't be the first time she'd tried to set me up on a blind date.
I narrowed my eyes even though she couldn't see me. "I believe we've had this conversation before. Our taste in men is very different. And how do you expect me to meet someone who lives thousands of miles away."
By choice or coincidence, she chose guys with similar personalities to hers—the stereotypical bad boys who were more interested in seeing what her bedroom looked like than how smart and talented she was. I couldn't understand why she never aimed higher. I'd made a few attempts to talk about it, but she always waved it off and said she wasn't the commitment type like I was.
Despite knowing this, it didn't stop her from making suggestions for dates for me. I tried double dating with her once. After that night, I swore never again, having spent an entire dinner fending off a handsy date and declining his offers for a threesome before the appetizers had arrived. I didn't know if Jade was into that kind of thing, although it wouldn't surprise me. And while I was no prude, that was a big 'no' for me.
She laughed. "He's there in Passion. Check the text."
I did and saw J. Carter, 504 1st Ave., Suite 900, Passion, VA.
Seconds ticked by and what sounded like a long-suffering sigh blew through the speaker. "Seriously, Grace? Nothing? No bells going off?"
"Um, should I know that name?"
"Given that his name dampens the panties and puckers the nipples of most women between eighteen and eighty, yeah."
I almost choked. "Jade! Could you please be serious?"
"Never been more serious. I'm so jealous of you right now."
"Because..."
"Because you have an interview with him in about twenty minutes. I think Mother is trying to make up for forcing me to come here, and she made some phone calls on our behalf. It used to be this guy would just send off a check, but apparently he's changed his policy about donations, and that's why we hadn't heard back from him."
My brain flitted through all the names of who might attend the dinner that Jade and I had spent hours compiling and reaching out to. "Wait! As in JAC Enterprises?"
"Yes!" I held my phone out. Her enthusiasm was going to pop my eardrum one of these days. "His secretary called and said Mr. Carter would like to meet with you in person about a possible large donation! Mother says he rarely turns out to the events themselves, but hopefully, you can score a big check!"
"This is great, Jade! You caught me at the perfect time." I grimaced as I looked in the rearview mirror and grabbed a small bag I kept in my purse. After putting Jade on speaker, I reapplied some lip color and toned down the shine that had appeared after sitting in the close quarters of my car.
"Hey, Grace."
"Yeah?"
"Maybe you can get something more than a check from him. Like a phone number. Or accidentally drop your business card and do one of those sexy moves where you bend over and flash him your tits."
"Jaaade—"
"What? I'm just saying the man is hot in pictures. Unbutton your shirt more. You're gorgeous. You'd make beautiful babies together."
"You're insane." Not that I was considering her suggestion, but my hand flew to my silk blouse, fingering the neckline. Any more open holes and J. Carter would be getting the peep show Jade was likely envisioning. Not gonna happen!
"And yet you love me anyway."
"That I do. Gotta run if I'm not going to be late. Literally."
"Oh, perfect! You'll look all hot and flushed, sexy-like, so he'll know what you would like after you've—"
"Goodbye, Jade!" Laughing, I hung up on her before she could finish her thought.
I scooped my purse back up and traveled back the direction I'd come from earlier. I paused in front of an Art Deco-styled building. I double-checked the address against my phone. It was modestly tall for our town and looked recently renovated as part of the urban renewal program our city council had started a couple of years ago. I glanced toward the top floor. Somewhere up there was where my next appointment would take place with J. Carter, a self-made, highly successful entrepreneur, who dealt mostly in real estate but dabbled in other investments.
Walking through the elegant lobby, I ran through my mental dossier on what I knew about the man who went by his first initial only, at least in business. It wasn't much, only what Jade had briefed me on when she'd suggested his name. I knew he'd gotten his start when he designed some gadget that looked a bit like a water gun but hooked up to cans of caulking or sealant that made it easier to get into tight spaces with less waste. He was smart enough to patent it, and it wasn't long before an adhesive company acquired his design for a cool five million dollars.
In turn, he bought a house, remodeled and sold it, netting another tidy profit. Renovating homes seemed to evolve into a career for him. And as he did so, he developed, patented, and sold a couple of more small gadgets that the construction world suddenly wondered how they ever managed without them. With his newfound money, he smartly diversified his assets, invested wisely, and by the age of twenty-eight, he'd gone from a poor boy of a single mom to a multi-millionaire. And, I knew he was a major influence in the renovation of our small city of Passion.
After the elevator delivered me to the top floor, I stepped into a beautifully decorated foyer that housed a receptionist. She directed me to a desk at the opposite end of the room. Instead of the stark, modern lines I expected, it was almost like stepping into someone's living room with a
seating area complete with a cushy-looking couch, armchairs, coffee table, and plants. A wall fountain faced me, offering a sort of tranquility with its trickling noise that didn't distract but kept the office from being overly quiet.
Behind an elegant desk made from expensive mahogany sat an attractive older woman who smiled at me as I approached her. "How can I help you?"
"I'm Grace Hart. I have an appointment with Mr. Carter."
She ran her eyes across my face, and her smile brightened. "Ah, yes. I'll let him know you're here. Can I get you anything to drink?"
When I declined, she gestured to make myself comfortable and picked up the phone.
I could hear a harsh voice through the receiver, but his secretary didn't appear particularly bothered. She kept smiling like she knew some secret.
"Ms. Hart? I'm afraid Mr. Carter is running behind, but he'll be with you in a few minutes."
Rather than sit, I was drawn to a series of pictures on a long wall which photo-journaled the evolution of a house from conception to finished product. I don't think I'd ever appreciated how much time and work went into the development of a building, from the architectural drafts to the foundation and skeletal frame, from electrical and plumbing to the landscaping; every detail planned down to the last wire, tile, and plant. Another row of pictures showed before and after pictures of a building. After a second glance, I realized it was the one in which I now stood.
Wow! This guy is good. He’d managed to make the building feel modern and fresh while keeping the overall essence of its history.
When the summons happened, I followed the secretary's directions down a short hall. There was a large, empty conference room with glass windows on my left, and on my right was the only other door which was partially closed. I paused in the doorway, at first thinking no one was inside until I heard a masculine voice exclaim, "Tell them I expect both of their people on the scene, or I'll start deducting from their bill."
Against the Rules Page 4
