One Way or Another_A Friends to Lovers Contemporary Romance

by Mary J. Williams

  Ms. Benedict,

  Thank you for reaching out to Mr. Devlin. Unfortunately, he will not be in New York in the foreseeable future. As for your offer to come to him? Impossible, I'm afraid. When at home, Mr. Devlin is incommunicado. No exceptions.

  Sincerely,

  Ricardo Peña

  "Yikes." Calder had read warmer junk mail. "Still, Zach Devlin didn't actually write the email."

  "Devlin has a reputation as a perfectionist. Unless something's changed, I doubt he'd let even the most trusted assistant send any form of communication without his approval."

  "What are you going to do?"

  Bryce opened a pretty enamel compact, took a tube of lipstick from the desk drawer, and applied a new coat to her lips. With a snap, she shut the mirror.

  "I drew a line in the sand. Either I write the screenplay, or Devlin can look for a different project."

  The familiar glint of resolve in Bryce's gray eyes made Calder smile.

  "If the fool doesn't give in, his loss."

  "My feelings exactly."

  "Hey, are you guys ready?" Destry stood by the office door, an impatient look on her face.

  "We're coming," Calder assured her.

  "Well, hurry up. The ants in Andi's pants are starting to chafe my ass."

  Bryce, the writer, hoarded colorful phrases like a miser and her gold. She quickly scribbled down Destry's latest gem.

  "If something I said ends up in another of your books, I'll need compensation."

  "A hug? A kiss?" Bryce gave Destry both.

  "Good thing I'm such a pushover." Destry let out an exaggerated sigh.

  Smiling, Calder watched the exchange. None of the Benedict sisters were pushovers. Love and respect. For each other. Some might think the emotions made them vulnerable. Calder knew better. They were stronger together. Always. Forever. Nothing could beat them. Not time. Not space. And especially, not Ingo Hunter.

  ~~~~

  DEE WAKEFIELD TURNED out to be an impressive woman.

  Tall, lanky, with a shock of platinum hair styled into a modified mohawk. Dee sported more tattoos than the naked eye could tally. Up her long legs, down her well-toned arms. Colorful and eye-catching, the varied designs were true works of art.

  Calder knew her age to be forty-one. She looked ten years younger.

  Black Army boots. Black knee-length cargo pants. Black t-shirt. Her black leather jacket rode the back of her chair. Crisp. Clean. Minimalistic. In other words, like the woman herself, totally badass.

  If Calder was a little girl, she would take one look at Dee and think, I want to be just like her. She chuckled to herself. Though grown and completely comfortable in her own skin. A tiny part of the adult Calder wished the same thing.

  The five women gathered in the lounge area of Calder's private office. The furniture was stylish yet comfortable. Designed to put visitors at ease. After a round of introductions, Andi, Bryce, and Destry chose the plush blue sofa. Dee picked a chair of contrasting brown. Calder sat in its mate.

  Coffee all around. And a tray of jam-filled cookies. Untouched. But they were there if anybody felt the impulse.

  "Adam didn't give me the particulars. He's as closed mouth as they come." Dee obviously admired the trait, if her smile was any indication. "You need an investigator. He thinks we'd be a good fit."

  Calder had studied up on Dee after Adam emailed an extensive file. She'd sent copies to her sisters. For a good part of the morning, Andi checked out the impressive list of references. Glowing was the best way to describe the responses. Each and every one.

  After ten years in Navy intelligence, Dee went on to get a degree in psychology. To help pay her way, she worked security for some heavy-hitter companies. Now a private investigator, her reputation was stellar.

  Adam provided Dee's professional qualifications. What they needed was a feel for the woman.

  "Does the name Ingo Hunter mean anything to you?"

  "We've met." Dee's dark eyes narrowed. "If you need information to help him, you have the wrong woman."

  "Not a fan?" Andi asked.

  "No."

  One word. Circumspect, yet spoken with utter contempt. Calder decided then and there, Dee was the woman they needed. She glanced at her sisters, hoping to gauge their reactions. One look told her Bryce felt the same. Andi would have a million and one more questions, but Calder could see the yes in her eyes. Destry, always a wild card, gave a single affirmative nod.

  The Benedict sisters had found their private investigator.

  "We want dirt on Hunter. As much as possible. If he's clean—"

  "Ingo Hunter was born crooked. Then proceeded to rot from the inside out."

  Calder expected heat. Instead, Dee's words dripped with ice.

  "He hit on you."

  Dee raised an eyebrow as she met Destry's understanding gaze.

  "More of a full court press. I'm on quite a few no-hire lists because of Hunter. Luckily, there are enough haters to keep me busy."

  Sympathetic, Bryce placed a hand on Dee's.

  "He doesn't like when a woman says no."

  "Or sends a foot to his gut. If my aim hadn't been off, I'd have sent his balls into his fucking throat."

  Destry raised a hell yes fist into the air.

  "I knew we were going to be friends."

  Surprise lit Dee's eyes. She looked around, the stiffness melting from her spine.

  "You too?" she asked them all.

  "None of us landed a punch. Unfortunately." Andi's sigh was filled with regret.

  "Please tell me you plan to bring Hunter down. If I weren't a greedy soul at heart, I'd offer my services free of charge."

  Calder loved Dee's enthusiasm.

  "Hunter's destruction would be a bonus, to be sure. Right now, our goal is to discover the reason he's latched on to our mother."

  "Little Red Riding Hood let the wolf in the door. We need to know if his intentions are relatively benign. Or does he plan to devour everyone in sight?"

  Calder raised her cup to Bryce.

  "Nice metaphor."

  "Seemed to fit." Bryce shrugged.

  Andi explained the situation. With pinpoint focus, Dee asked questions when necessary. Mostly she listened, taking notes.

  "I can get started immediately. Adam told you my rates?"

  Calder had done her research. Dee wasn't cheap. Above what the average private investigator asked, but comparable with others equal to her qualifications.

  "We're good. If you'll messenger over a contract, I'll—"

  "Brought two with me. Copy for you, copy for me. All we need is a notary. And a check from you to retain my services. Naturally."

  "Naturally."

  "Naturally." Calder appreciated a pragmatic woman. She pressed the intercom button on her desk. "Sara?"

  "Yes, Ms. Benedict?"

  "Will you see if Liv Briscoe has a free minute? If so, have her come to my office right away."

  "You have your own notary?" Dee asked.

  Smiling, Calder shook her head.

  "Liv has an office a few floors down. She used to manage a bank before the interior design bug caught her. Did my office for me." Calder looked around, happy.

  "I didn't know what to think when Adam mentioned the name Benedict."

  Calder understood why Dee hesitated. She'd dealt with preconceived notions her entire life.

  "You expected to find a bunch of spoiled rich girls?"

  "I did." Dee met Calder's amused gaze head on. "You aren't what I expected. Rich. Undoubtedly. But you don't strike me as entitled party girls."

  "We have our moments."

  "I'm happy to help stick a fork in Ingo Hunter's plans. Not that the money isn't a nice bonus."

  Dee's laugh was genuine and full bodied.

  "I wouldn't believe you if you said otherwise. One thing." Calder sent Dee a speculative look. "If you didn't think we'd mesh, why the meeting? Why was
te your time?"

  "Adam is a hard man to say no to. And before you ask, we're friends. Nothing more. He's way too pretty for my taste."

  Calder had wondered. Dee was a vibrant, attractive woman.

  "I wouldn't have blamed him."

  Dee looked pleased with the compliment.

  "We hit the brother/sister dynamic right away. Which is the real reason I came today."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Never seen the man so talkative about any woman. Calder this, and Calder that." Dee shook her head. "You have a high-class shine I figured would turn Adam off."

  Calder didn't know what to say. Obviously, high-class shine wasn't meant as a compliment. Yet, the words were delivered in a friendly manner, completely without rancor. She braced herself for a further insult, ready to fire back. Dee saved her the trouble.

  "Whatever happens between you and Adam, I think you're the real deal, Calder Benedict. Solid, twenty-four-carat gold."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ~~~~

  CALDER SPENT THE rest of the afternoon answering messages, returning phone calls, sorting through a stack of snail-mail technology experts once claimed the advent of computers would eliminate, yet never did. Seemed the more she relied on the internet, the more she found herself surrounded by stacks and stacks, reams and reams, of paper.

  Drudgery, in Calder's book, but necessary.

  "Done."

  The last letter. Calder wrote her signature with an extra flourish. A vital reason Erica's Angels succeeded where other charities failed, was attention to details. If she let the trivial things slide, another thing might follow. And another.

  Eventually, Calder would spend all her time playing catch up. Donations would vanish. People in need would suffer the consequences. Paperwork was a royal pain, but necessary.

  Calder rolled her head from side to side. When she felt—and heard—a definitive pop, she winced. Too much time bent over her desk. And not in a good way.

  A smile lit her face as her thoughts turned from business to pleasure. Adam. A game of boss and secretary?

  No, she decided. Neither of them was the subservient type. Better some good old-fashioned playtime. After hours. Door locked from the inside. When she purchased the huge oak desk, sex was the last thing on her mind. Now, Calder realized the surface was big enough for all kinds of non-business-related activities.

  "Ms. Benedict?"

  Pulled from her fantasies by her assistant's voice, Calder's heart jumped from her chest, landing firmly in her throat. She swallowed once, twice, then answered the intercom.

  "Yes?"

  "Mr. Calder is on line three."

  "Thank you. You can leave for the day, Sara. I won't need anything else."

  Calder's father never contacted her via cell phone. He couldn't be bothered. Too many numbers. All of which he could have programed into his cell. Wisely, she kept her mouth shut on the subject. Edwin didn't react well when she pointed out the obvious.

  "Dad." Edwin couldn't see her. Yet, Calder plastered on a false smile. "How are you?"

  "Like a bee in a field of clover. How's my girl? Bright as a penny, I'll wager."

  Calder couldn't help but smile. Edwin was her father. The only one she'd ever have. And, for all his faults—of which there were many—she really did love the unreliable S.O.B.

  "I'm good. Are you in New York?"

  "For the next two days. Business. However, I'm free tonight. How does dinner with your old man sound?"

  "Great."

  "I'll pick you up around seven thirty. It'll give me a chance to say hello to your mother."

  "See you then."

  Edwin and Billie. The marriage from hell. The divorce made in heaven.

  Considering the contentious nature of every breakup, Billie maintained an oddly harmonious relationship with all her ex-husbands. Lunch. Dinner. Phone calls. They exchanged birthday cards. Reminisced when the mood hit. And, though nobody confirmed the fact—thank goodness—Calder suspected her mother had an on and off exes with benefits arrangement with more than one.

  Seemed to work for them, Calder supposed. Billie and Edwin shared a love for the dramatic. Together or apart, they weren't happy unless they found some reason to stir the drama pot.

  For her own sanity, Calder long ago learned to maintain as much neutrality as possible through every up and down.

  Edwin claimed he was in New York on business. No reason to doubt him. Up to a point. His definition of the word was as fluid as an ocean's tide. Big business. Monkey business. And everything in between.

  More than once, Edwin had tried to suck Calder into one of his schemes. When she turned him down—every time—more time than normal would pass between phone calls. No was a word her father didn't care for when delivered by someone other than himself.

  Calder locked the outer office door. Edwin believed he could talk anybody into anything. The fact his only child turned out to be the exception chafed like a burr under his proverbial saddle.

  Hopefully, tonight was about dinner and nothing else. If not? Calder would have said no to her father's invitation and dealt with his inevitable pout, followed by months of silence.

  And her world, either way, would continue to turn.

  ~~~~

  EDWIN PICKED THE restaurant. Staid in tone and décor. The kind of place where old New York money gathered. Definitely her father's kind of place.

  Calder smiled as their waiter delivered their drinks. Wine for her, bourbon on the rocks for Edwin.

  "Morocco was sublime. Have you ever been?"

  "No."

  "I spent two weeks last fall. Trust me, you must go. The food. The people. The breeze at night. Nothing smells like desert air. North Africa will blow your mind." Edwin waved his glass for emphasis. He didn't notice when some of the six hundred dollars a bottle bourbon splashed over the rim. "But only if you go first class all the way. Remind me to give you the name of my travel agent. She's a magician."

  Handsome as always. Tall. Fit. With just a touch of a receding hairline and a bit grayer than she remembered sprinkled through his dark-brown hair. Calder inherited her father's build and coloring. Thankfully, his swinging pendulum of emotions hadn't attached itself to her genetic code.

  Calder knew from the moment she looked into his too-bright eyes, a slight sheen of perspiration on his brow, tonight would be one of those nights.

  Edwin was on an emotional high. Borderline manic. Everything was beyond wonderful. Nothing could get him down. Until something did.

  What sent him flying? What crashed him back to earth? Calder had no idea. She'd been witness to both phases. Neither was a particularly comfortable experience. Given a choice, she would choose the high over the low any day.

  The mood modifier prescribed by his doctor would have helped. If Edwin bothered to take the pills. When too high or too low, he preferred to self-medicate. Alcohol, his drug of choice.

  "Someday I'd love to see Morocco. When I can find the time."

  "Jesus, Calder. You're young. Money sure as hell isn't an issue. Now's the time to enjoy life before you get bogged down by a family."

  "A family never stopped you."

  Calder wished she had swallowed the words. But she could only bite her tongue so long before her mouth filled blood.

  Edwin's eyes narrowed over the rim of his glass as he took a long, thoughtful sip.

  "I was devoted to your mother. Billie's the one who screwed around. Tried to saddle me with another man's child. If she hadn't betrayed me—"

  "You would have found a different reason to leave."

  Edwin shrugged. Then laughed. Loud. Boisterous. A sure sign he hadn't reached the peak of his manic episode.

  "Can't argue with the truth. Billie and I were oil and water. Except in bed."

  "Stop. Please."

  "What do kids say today? TMI? Too much information? I was joking." Edwin snorted. "You're just like your mother. No sense o
f humor."

  "A lack of humor isn't the issue. I'm your daughter. I don't want to know what you do behind closed doors." Calder shuddered. "Ever."

  "Too bad you can't hide from your mother's love life. Billie and Ingo Hunter? You could have knocked me over with a feather."

  "She told you?"

  Edwin had arrived early. When Calder came down the stairs, she found her parents. Heads together. Flirting like teenagers.

  "I heard a rumbling from mutual friends. Apparently, they've become inseparable. How long have they been together?"

  "Not long." Or too long, depending on the point of view.

  "Billie always was a fast mover." Edwin rubbed his chin, a speculative glint in his eyes. "Serious?"

  "Hard to say."

  "Darling, Calder. Getting anything out of you is like pulling teeth." He signaled the waiter for another drink. Number three and dinner was yet to arrive. "I only want what's best for your mother. And for you."

  The last time Edwin showed interest in Calder's personal life—beyond his minor role—was the other side of never. Which suited her, thank you very much. He didn't ask because he didn't care. A minor ache—one she long ago learned to live with.

  "Billie is Billie. I can take care of myself."

  "You have to be careful." Edwin's tone changed from casual to serious. "Fortune hunters are like cockroaches. They prefer the dark of night. And, kill one, a hundred more will pop up to take his place."

  "I guess the secret is to find a man who doesn't care about my money."

  "No such animal."

  Just in time, Calder stopped herself from blurting out Adam's name. She didn't want to give her father any kind of ammunition. I told you so was in the top five of his favorite phrases. As much as she wanted to believe she'd found one of the good guys, things were too new. Too fragile. Too… everything.

  If Adam was part of her life the next time Edwin swooped through New York, she might mention the relationship. Or not. Lord, why wasn't she blessed with a less complicated father? And mother? If not for her sisters, bless each one, she didn't know what she would do.

  The arrival of their meal meant a much-welcome break in the conversation. Calder took a bite and sighed with pleasure. The lobster dipped in drawn butter melted in her mouth.