by Penny Ward
One Month Later
What do you get when you have back-to-back conferences and a stressed-out boss who needs to close three business deals by midday tomorrow, which also happens to be the same day as Thanksgiving?
A freaking nightmare, that’s what.
Clint is flying home to South Dakota on his private jet this afternoon to spend Thanksgiving with his family. It’s not something I anticipated in his schedule; he usually puts business before anything else.
But ever since his dad died a few years ago, it’s become a tradition of his mom’s to have all four Townsend heirs home for the holiday. It was his father’s favorite time of year, and Delilah wants to celebrate it all the more because of it.
“And Hell hath no fury like my mother when one of us kids misses Thanksgiving!” Clint had also pointed out earlier when I dared to suggest he fly out tomorrow afternoon instead, as it’d be a lot easier to administer the conferences.
But high winds and icy conditions are forecast for Rapid City then, which could result in several delayed flights and the airport in lockdown.
“So I’ll need you to come with me, Lauren,” he’d then said, completely putting me on the spot.
It was five minutes past eight and I’d only just walked into the office. I hadn’t had a coffee, he hadn’t had his coffee (as I was still holding it), and there he was, looking as drop-dead gorgeous as ever and dumping all that on me.
“Excuse me?” I’d squeaked, not sure if I’d heard him accurately.
“I have to seal these deals. I need you to do the note-taking for the videoconferences, one on the plane, one once we’re grounded and at my folks place in Rapid City. Then there’s the one with Japan tomorrow morning. I need you on this. It’s not up for discussion.”
Like hell it’s not, I’d thought at the time.
The arrogance of him.
“But I’m…I mean, I have no luggage. And where would I stay?”
“I’ve organized a car to run you home to collect some things. Pack for a couple of days. You’ll be staying with my family at the manor.”
“Okay, but—”
“What, Lauren? I need to call up the Chicago office in the next thirty seconds or I’m going to lose a lot of money!”
“I want a few days off, then,” I’d blurted out. “To go home to Colorado…to see my dad.”
I was actually going to ask him for the time off, anyway.
Last night, my Aunt Meredith had called to say that Dad had entered hospital with pneumonia and even though he’s stable, he wants me to go see him.
I know, as if my life isn’t nerve-racking enough.
Now I have my poor dad to worry about.
“WHAT?” Clint had fumed at me. “WHEN?”
“From Sunday…I can fly out from Rapid City?”
“What? Lauren! You could’ve asked me earlier!”
“Well I found out only last night that my dad isn’t well, and you could’ve told me yesterday about this South Dakota bullshit!”
I didn’t want to get angry with him, but the audacity of him to get upset with me when he’d practically gone and done the same thing and the thought of how my dad could have died, it all just overwhelmed me.
I’m only human.
But the sound of our raised voices had permeated through the glass and out to the other offices.
“Everything all right in here?” Bill had asked gruffly, poking his head in.
“Yes, Bill. Thank you,” Clint had replied coldly before turning back to me. “Fine. I’ll give you three days. Now go get packing. I need to make this call.”
So that was how this morning went down and I haven’t spoken to Clint since.
I’ve already gone and come back from the apartment, only to find him still yakking away with the Chicago office. Now all I can do is sit at my desk with my bags packed and wait for him to finish so we can leave for South Dakota.
“Lauren! Is everything ready?”
I jump when he rattily calls out, slowly rising from my desk to walk to the open door.
“Yes. I spoke with the head pilot, and the jet is on standby. Everything is in order.”
“Good!”
I see his mood isn’t any better.
Wonderful.
“And you’ve memorized the setup of the video output and input for the jet? I don’t want to have the signal drop out mid-conference!”
“If it drops out, Clint, it won’t be because of anything I’ve done. It’ll be because we’re on a plane, thousands of feet above land, where reception is not exactly award winning,” I reply sarcastically, peeved by the fact that he even had to ask me such a thing.
How many video linkups have I had to do for him now? At least twenty.
He picks up his briefcase off the desk and strides to me.
For a minute I think he’s going to hit me—that’s how steadfast he is—but despite his frequent outbursts, I know he would never do that.
Clint may be a lot of things, but he’s not violent…with people, anyway.
Material objects, on the other hand, I can’t vouch for.
I look at him carefully, the faint tick of a smirk etched on his face.
“Well I see you’re still all rainbows and unicorns this morning, Miss Swift,” he taunts before walking past me out the door.
Ooh, the hypocrisy of Clint Townsend!
Ever since the benefit, this is what our relationship has been like. Part professional, part argumentative, and only a sliver of wit.
We haven’t had any more “moments” or “long stares” since he told me that he just wanted to put what happened at the benefit behind us.
In fact, the last month has been fairly monotonous.
Whenever we are in a room alone together, Clint always finds a way to make sure it isn’t for long—whether it’s a phone call he has to make or an errand I have to run or simply that he needs to get back to some paperwork.
Which has left me to do a lot of thinking.
I’ve decided that come January, I’m going to take him up on his offer of leaving Townsend Investments. I’m going to ask for a strong letter of recommendation and then move on. It’s just not acceptable to work so closely with someone whom I can’t deny I have strong feelings for anymore.
And who also just happens to be my boss…whom I’ve already slept with.
The last month has only made it worse for me in that regard.
I miss Clint’s pensive expressions, his witty remarks, the way he would tell me snippets about his life from out of nowhere, and the way his eyes had always seemed to light up on mine. It feels like I’d taken all those things for granted and pretended they weren’t happening so I wouldn’t have to deal with what they could mean.
But here I am, torturing myself over it anyway.
Maybe he likes me, maybe he doesn’t.
Either way, I need to break free of Clint Townsend.
“Lauren! Are you coming?” Clint shouts again, this time from halfway down the office aisle.
I don’t answer him. I just bite my tongue, take a deep breath, grab my luggage, and follow.
South Dakota, the gateway to the Black Hills, Rapid City, and the home of the Townsend Empire, here I come.
Chapter Two
I slowly open my eyes and try to get my bearings: gray leather seats, new car smell, tinted windows, the back of the driver’s head up front, and Clint’s shoulder under my chin.
Wait, what?!
I quickly sit upright and shift away from him, wiping my chin where I’d drooled in my sleep.
Nice.
Real ladylike, Lauren.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” I tell him groggily, praying that I haven’t dribbled on his metallic-gray Armani suit. “What time is it?”
He grins at me like a bastard. What has him in such good spirits all of a sudden?
Oh wait, that’s right: the outcome of the videoconference on the plane. He’d managed to seal the deal with the investor
in Kuala Lumpur.
“That’s perfectly fine, Lauren. You didn’t snore…much.”
I crack a faint smile and turn away from him to peer out the window. Judging by the blocks of buildings and houses, I’d say we’re already in Rapid City.
It looks like quite a lovely place: a middle-sized town nestled in a bevy of trees.
“The City of Presidents,” I heard someone call it once, with attractions like Mount Rushmore, the Crazy Horse Memorial, Custer State Park, and Wind Cave National Park. Even the old historic town of Deadwood is only a stone’s throw away.
It’s a shame that I won’t get to see any of the sites. Mount Rushmore is a piece of America that your parents tell you about as a kid, and even though you’ve seen it in pictures, you know it’d be way cooler to see it up close.
But Thanksgiving for me this year is strictly business, I’m afraid.
“Oh, and it’s about to hit five o’clock,” Clint adds, still staring at me. “Perfect timing, really. We’re almost there.”
By there he means Townsend Manor, his childhood home and where we will be staying for the weekend.
I don’t know why, but I’m nervous as hell to meet his family. For the duration of the jet ride, I’d been wondering about what they’ll be like. Will they be tyrannical and snooty, like you’d first insinuate? Or will they be nice and witty, like Clint used to be?
I wish my dad were here. He’d have no qualms telling the Townsends where to stick it if they were acting overly judgmental.
A few minutes later, we pull out of the suburbs and onto a long, winding road laid into a forest.
We keep going for another mile or so and then two huge iron gates appear, marking the entrance to Townsend Manor.
Its name is stenciled on a gold plaque pressed into the stone wall on the right, which also wraps around the entire front of the property.
When the gates open automatically the driver enters, a lengthy bone-white pebbled driveway leading us to the colossal house high on the crest of a hill.
I feel Clint’s eyes on me again, no doubt waiting to see my reaction to his oh-so-stately home.
So I make sure I don’t give him one.
But Townsend Manor is really even more spectacular than I’d pictured in my head. The architectural design reflects both Colorado log-and-cedar finish, with an east-facing deck bathed in the last legs of sunlight, and built to overlook the wooded valleys below. Over to the left in the front paddock, I can also just make out the edge of some horse stables and instantly conjure up an image of Clint and me riding on bareback across the valleys, the wind tousling our hair as the cool mountain air fills our lungs…
Oh Lauren, stop it already. You’re supposed to be still mad at him, remember?
“To the manor born,” Clint suddenly utters risibly before the driver opens the door for us.
I’d been so lost in my daydream that I hadn’t even realized we’d stopped.
Inside the manor, the first person to greet us is Clint’s mother, Delilah, a gorgeous-looking woman for fifty-seven years of age with warm, gray eyes, a motherly smile, and scarcely any wrinkles.
Botox, dragon’s blood, the souls of fifty-two virgins…whatever her secret is to looking so youthful, I would love to know it!
“Clint, darling, you made it,” she says eloquently, throwing her arms around him.
I almost want to tear up as I watch them.
I know it’s not the same, but the whole gesture reminds me of Mom.
“And who is this beautiful young lady?” she then asks, noticing me still standing in the foyer.
“This is Lauren, Mom,” Clint answers, looking back at me with his classic prick smirk. “She is quite a sight, isn’t she?”
I can’t tell whether he’s being facetious or not, but I smile anyway.
“Hi,” I say, stepping forward to meet her. “You must be Delilah.”
“Yes. I’m Clint’s dear old mom. I hope he’s spoken warmly of me.”
“Of course he—” I begin to reply, only to be interrupted by a long succession of screams and squeals.
I look up and see two little fair-haired children come tearing down a wide, spiral staircase that leads to the second story.
“Hey be careful, you two!” a woman shouts close behind them.
As soon as she comes into view it becomes clear that she is Clint’s sister, Dana. She is the splitting image of him, with bright blue eyes, long brown hair, and striking looks.
“Uncle Clint! Uncle Clint!” the kids shout once they jump off the last step, latching onto his legs eagerly.
I watch Clint swiftly transform, cracking the largest smile I’ve ever seen on him and rubbing the kids’ bobbing heads before picking the little girl up and tickling her under the arms.
As I stare at him, I can’t believe how happy he looks. How relaxed…I guess I have a new shade of his to add now: his family shade, perhaps his best one yet.
“Preston and Emma obviously couldn’t wait to see you!” Dana says, giving Clint a quick peck on the cheek.
“Obviously,” he laughs.
A voice suddenly soars over all the others, commanding the room into silence. “And here I was beginning to think you’d sacrificed us for another business deal, brother!”
I turn to my left to see a tall, incredibly attractive man with wavy gold hair and a smug smirk, his sharp gray eyes directed at Clint.
“Ridge,” Clint says firmly, the smile washed from his face. “I could have said the same about you.”
Okay, it doesn’t take much to see that there are some serious issues between these two.
“When did you fly in, Ridge?”
“Last night. Thought I’d take an extra day off. I want to spend as much time as I can with my family.”
Clint gives a sly laugh, like Ridge has made a crude joke, and puts his niece back down. “Indeed. And Deacon?”
“He’s not coming,” Delilah says dejectedly. “Your younger brother has decided he has better things to do than come visit his family. Honestly, I thought college would be good for him. I thought it would ground him more. Yet the other day I received one of those text message thingies from him saying he wasn’t coming home for Thanksgiving, followed by a photo of his latest tattoo! It’s ghastly business! Your father must be rolling in his grave!”
“Deacon is Deacon, Mom,” Dana tells her, sounding like she’s trying to be as delicate about the subject as possible. “He’s never going to change. You need to stop getting your hopes up about him all the time.”
I’m assuming their younger brother, Deacon, is the black sheep of the family, although Ridge doesn’t exactly appear to be any better at this point. Perhaps there are two bad eggs in this billionaire family’s melting pot.
“Dana’s right, Mom,” Clint says, his frown more pronounced. “You just need to let him go. I’m sure he’ll come around eventually.”
Delilah gives a slight nod of her head, but it’s obvious she’s quite upset over the matter.
“Anyway,” Clint adds, “Lauren and I should really get things set up, as we have a videoconference in an hour.”
“Lauren?” Ridge precipitously chides like he hasn’t seen me yet, when clearly I would’ve been the first person he’d seen when he walked into the room.
We’re practically standing right next to each other.
“Ah, you must be the pretty PA I saw in the paper.” He cocks his head toward me, his gray eyes wickedly searing into mine. “I hope you haven’t actually fallen for him. He’s not worth the trouble, you know?”
“Ridge!” Dana shouts, her eyes emitting a stern warning.
“Yes, you will mind your manners in this house, Ridge!” Delilah echoes.
But Ridge just laughs guilelessly. “Oh, Clint knows I’m just kidding with him. Right, brother?”
“Of course…brother.”
But the look on Clint’s face is as cold as Antarctica in the peak of winter.
Chapter Three
I’ve nev
er felt so pacifyingly rested.
It feels like I’ve been asleep for weeks, all refreshed and rejuvenated, like I could run an entire marathon and never tire out. This mattress really is as heavenly as Rosita, the housekeeper, had promised when she’d shown me to my room last night, which also just happens to be right across the hall from Clint’s.
I’d dreamt about him last night.
He’d crept into my room and kissed me awake, his lips once again traversing down to my hardened nipples, making me moist instantly before he slid in his cock, pushing through with the same vigor that I remember from all those months ago.
I’d woken up afterward completely drenched, my legs tightly wrapped in a silk cocoon, and still panting from how erotic the dream had been.
That’s going to be hard to get out of my head for a while.
I get up from the queen-size bed and pitter-patter over to the curtains, gasping with astonishment when I open them and see the Blacks Hills stretched before me, as vivid as a freshly painted canvas on a clear morning.
Oh yes, I could get used to being in a place like this.
Very used to it.
I go down to breakfast fully dressed in skinny black jeans and a red blouse.
I would’ve put on a blazer too, ready for the videoconference with Japan, but minutes after the fruitful one with Jamaica last night, Bill had called Clint to say that Japan had pulled out, favoring another fund that they’d been in liaison with earlier that day.
I’m not betting on Clint’s mood being pleasant this morning. In fact, I expect it to be downright irritable.
When I walk into the kitchen, I get quite a shock to see the buffet-style selection of food spread out on the countertop: croissants, muffins, Danish pastries, eggs, bacon, toast, cereals, jams, juices, tea, and coffee. Poor Rosita, she must have been up at the crack of dawn to do all this.
But something tells me that her wages more than make up for it. Delilah Townsend is a fair woman with a good heart, that much I can tell.
“Good morning, Lauren. I hope you’re hungry,” Dana says warmly, looking up as she cuts Preston and Emma’s toast into little soldiers.
The two kids give me a wave and then go back to playing on their iPads.
