by Gun Brooke
Table of Contents
Synopsis
Praise for Gun Brooke’s Fiction
By the Author
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Epilogue
About the Author
Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Groomed for high-stakes business since her childhood in Sweden, Sylvie Thorn resides in Manhattan. As Thorn Enterprise’s US branch president, she goes into business with Maeve DeForest, a party-loving socialite.
Aeron DeForest, Maeve’s clandestine daughter, was brought up by nannies and sent off to boarding schools and has always been invisible to her mother. After college, Aeron moves to the Adirondacks and becomes a successful horror novelist.
When Maeve dies, Sylvie learns Maeve has a daughter, and she needs Aeron to sign vital papers. After an initial clash, they reluctantly start working together. Just when they start to believe in love and their all-consuming passion, outside forces threaten to keep them apart forever.
Praise for Gun Brooke’s Fiction
Fierce Overture
“Gun Brooke creates memorable characters, and Noelle and Helena are no exception. Each woman is “more than meets the eye” as each exhibits depth, fears, and longings. And the sexual tension between them is real, hot, and raw.”—Just About Write
Coffee Sonata
“In Coffee Sonata, the lives of these four women become intertwined. In forming friendships and love, closets and disabilities are discussed, along with differences in age and backgrounds. Love and friendship are areas filled with complexity and nuances. Brooke takes her time to savor the complexities while her main characters savor their excellent cups of coffee. If you enjoy a good love story, a great setting, and wonderful characters, look for Coffee Sonata at your favorite gay and lesbian bookstore.”—Family & Friends Magazine
Sheridan’s Fate
“Sheridan’s fire and Lark’s warm embers are enough to make this book sizzle. Brooke, however, has gone beyond the wonderful emotional explorations of these characters to tell the story of those who, for various reasons, become differently-abled. Whether it is a bullet, an illness, or a problem at birth, many women and men find themselves in Sheridan’s situation. Her courage and Lark’s gentleness and determination send this romance into a ‘must read.’”—Just About Write
Course of Action
“Brooke’s words capture the intensity of their growing relationship. Her prose throughout the book is breathtaking and heart-stopping. Where have you been hiding, Gun Brooke? I, for one, would like to see more romances from this author.”—Independent Gay Writer
September Canvas
“In this character-driven story, trust is earned and secrets are uncovered. Deanna and Faythe are fully fleshed out and prove to the reader each has much depth, talent, wit and problem-solving abilities. September Canvas is a good read with a thoroughly satisfying conclusion.”—Just About Write
The Supreme Constellations Series
“Protector of the Realm has it all; sabotage, corruption, erotic love and exhilarating space fights. Gun Brooke’s second novel is forceful with a winning combination of solid characters and a brilliant plot. The book exemplifies her growth as inventive storyteller and is sure to garner multiple awards in the coming year.”—Just About Write
“Brooke is an amazing author, and has written in other genres. Never have I read a book where I started at the top of the page and don’t know what will happen two paragraphs later. She keeps the excitement going, and the pages turning.”—MegaScene
A Reluctant Enterprise
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eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.
A Reluctant Enterprise
© 2016 By Gun Brooke. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-501-5
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: June 2016
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Shelley Thrasher
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
Cover Art by Gun Brooke
By the Author
Romances:
Course of Action
Coffee Sonata
Sheridan’s Fate
September Canvas
Fierce Overture
Speed Demons
The Blush Factor
Soul Unique
A Reluctant Enterprise
Supreme Constellations series:
Protector of the Realm
Rebel’s Quest
Warrior’s Valor
Pirate’s Fortune
Exodus series:
Advance
Pathfinder
Novella Anthology:
Change Horizons
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Len Barot (Radclyffe) for sticking by your resident Swede. I’m so happy to be part of the BSB family.
No writing experience is the same without Dr. Shelley Thrasher, my editor, whom I adore. You are priceless and a very good friend. I love working with you. Sheri, the graphic artist—we’ve worked on tons of covers together and for me that is a huge part of the fun. Sandy, you deserve your own shout out as you are the best!
Thank you to the rest of the BSB crew—Sandy, Connie, Stacia, Cindy, Lori, and those of you I don’t know the name of, you are all tremendously important to the finished product and you may not be readily visible to the reader, but they’d know if you weren’t around. Thank you for being such pros.
To my first readers—my dream team—Maggie, Laura, Sam, and Eden. You’re such troopers going through my stories with your respective eagle eyes. You each bring your own flavor with your comments. *hug*
Thank you naturally to my readers. Those of you who read and buy my books, some of you even buy all of them, and to those who like my fan fiction, I owe you so much. Your lovely comments, emails, and tweets, mean the world to me. I love corresponding with you.
On a personal note—some people are helpful by their mere existence. My immediate family, Elon, Malin, Henrik, Pentti, grandchildren, Ove and Monica, how could I write if you guys weren’t there to cheer me on and express pride in me? Other friends, such as the ladies in my book circle, and my
online friends around the world, including the people I care about in Rhode Island, all add on to the safety net I rely on.
Dedication
To Elon
It’s always been you
To Maggie
Nine years of friendship isn’t nearly enough—just so you know!
*bigga huggar*
To my friend Jack
Stay afloat. Spot more subtext. That’s all!
Prologue
Aeron read through the text on her computer screen yet again. This novel was the closest she’d come to expressing what was in her soul. The fear, the determination to carry on despite profound loneliness, and—now this. Grief and ultimately losing the chance to find out the truth about herself. Her latest character embodied her emotions.
If she didn’t use a pen name, A.D. Solo, which in itself was rather ironic, people would learn far too much about her, both from the metaphors and her protagonist’s feelings.
Unable to reread what she had written even once more, she decided to send the excerpt to her publisher as it was.
Two guardsmen stood in her path. Knowing her duty, she gripped her poison-laced dagger and raised it to her neck. “Let me pass or I will forfeit my life.”
“A woman. No wonder we’ve been so unsuccessful.” The man to the right laughed scornfully. “Devious little creatures. I say we let her do the deed for us.”
“Are you insane?” The other man roared. “Don’t you know only her breath can break the seal on the scroll? Her living breath, I might add.”
“Damn. I guess we capture her then.”
“I will use the dagger. It will kill me in less time than it takes you to dismount.” Oddly this part of her duties didn’t scare Dajala. She was born into a family of all men, as her mother died while giving birth to her. Her father and brothers thought nothing of her, and the loneliness had made her think of ending her life several times. Now she pressed the dagger against her skin and readied herself for the excruciating pain.
“Not so fast,” an alto female voice said in her ear and twisted the dagger away from her neck. “I have a better idea.” She tore the dagger from Dajala’s hand and tossed it toward the man who had just belittled women. It cut his cheek and he fell off his horse instantly. The other man growled and dug his heels into his horse’s sides. Before the horse gained momentum, the woman behind Dajala fired a small arrow from her miniature crossbow.
“See?” she said, chuckling mirthlessly. “You should never be so quick to volunteer to die, Dajala of Helogius. Life has too much to offer.”
Excerpt from Beyond the Sorceress’s Grave, by A.D. Solo.
Chapter One
Manhattan—Present Day
The dark-purple clouds that hovered over most of Manhattan were especially dark over the Trinity Cemetery. Sylvie Thorn had prepared herself emotionally during the entire car ride on the way here; she refused to show how much she loathed funerals. In a black skirt suit, she shivered as the wet wind rushed along her stocking-clad legs. She prayed the priest would take pity on the crowd and be brief, as she began walking toward the covered seating area on either side of the coffin.
“Sylvie. It’s good to see you. I’m sorry it’s under such tragic circumstances.” Her friend and mentor Helena Forsythe kissed Sylvie on the cheek. “Noelle and I just got here and saw your car pull up.”
Sylvie gripped her umbrella harder. “Yes, it’s a sad day. Maeve was only forty-five.” Sylvie pressed her black clutch closer to her body. The summer rain was colder than she’d expected, making her shiver. Glancing around her, she nodded politely at the passing people. Also dressed in black, the movers and shakers of New York old money exited their cars. Most arrived in chauffeured vehicles and were met by men and women in uniform handing them large, black umbrellas. Sylvie had one, and Helena and Noelle shared one.
“I’m glad you’re here. My staff arranged the funeral, but Maeve’s, um, friends, or perhaps the right word is entourage, took care of the reception at her house.” Sylvie began walking toward the part of the cemetery where Maeve DeForest would be laid to rest after the ceremony.
“Did you find out why she wanted you to arrange the funeral?” Helena murmured discreetly in Sylvie’s ear. “I knew she was your silent partner, but I didn’t realize you were that close.”
“I got to know her well these last few years. As my silent partner, she enabled me to conduct my affairs regarding Classic Swedish Inc. with complete autonomy.” Sylvie’s throat constricted. “I suppose I initially judged her by what I read in the gossip columns, like most people do. We hardly moved in the same social circles, as I’m a relative newcomer in Manhattan. Not that I’d be inclined to barhop the way she loved to. That said, there was more to Maeve than people realized, which I’m sure you know.”
“There was. I’m just worried one of those younger people she used to hang with has had too much to say about the reception.” Noelle crinkled her nose. “I shudder at the idea of them having turned it into one of her infamous theme events.”
“Let’s hope not,” Helena said darkly.
They reached the seats around the blindingly white casket boasting a large arrangement of white roses on the lid. The turnout was impressive, especially when you considered the weather. Sylvie scanned the crowd and recognized business people, politicians, socialites, celebrities, and some she couldn’t pinpoint.
Just as everyone began to sit down, she spotted someone making her way through the people on the other side of the casket. Umbrellas swayed as the person murmured something inaudible, perhaps excusing herself for nudging people aside. Eventually a woman stood across from Sylvie. Her soaking-wet hair of undeterminable color hung just past her shoulders. A young man asked her to join him beneath his umbrella, but she merely shook her head.
“Who’s that?” Noelle murmured.
“No idea. Although…no, it can’t be.” Helena’s eyes narrowed as she studied the young woman. “There were rumors, but surely that was just the tabloids?”
Sylvie couldn’t take her eyes off the pale, slightly freckled face of the woman before her. Rain had soaked her charcoal trench coat. Then she raised her gaze and met Sylvie’s eyes. Dark green, they scanned her slowly, as if the woman considered it her right to pass judgment on Sylvie’s reasons for being there.
Once again, Sylvie asked herself why she’d agreed to arrange Maeve’s funeral. Not only that, but she had been summoned to participate in the reading of Maeve’s will the next day. Yes, she had a vested interest in how Maeve’s wealth was distributed, as Maeve’s estate owned unquoted shares in Sylvie’s chain of spas located throughout the US. Their joined business endeavor was her ticket to freedom once she managed to buy out the heirs of Maeve’s estate.
Yet another cold fist gripped her stomach and twisted it painfully. So much could go wrong. As if all this wasn’t enough. Maeve’s accident. The uncertain financial state of their mutual affairs…Sylvie’s grip on the umbrella slipped and she squeezed the handle harder.
Damn. She truly hated funerals.
*
Gothenburg, Sweden—1983
“Daniel. She’s too young, don’t you think? And so sensitive.” Mommy stood over by the half-open window, blowing cigarette smoke away from the room. Daddy hated that Mommy smoked. He called it a filthy habit with that hard voice that meant Mommy was in trouble. But Mommy wasn’t afraid of Daddy. Not the way Sylvie was. When Daddy looked at Sylvie with his blue eyes all shiny and cold, like her marbles, she felt the need to rush to the bathroom. On several occasions, she had almost peed in her pants, which would have been terrible. She was a big girl now, eight years old, and big girls didn’t have accidents.
Daddy often reminded her she was a Thorn. This meant being important and better than other people. Sylvie knew from her school this wasn’t true. The other kids didn’t think she was better. They didn’t think she was good at anything. Everyone could already read and write some, and Sylvie couldn’t even spell her own name. She and Mommy
had practiced so many times, but the letters only looked funny and backward when Sylvie tried. Once, Daddy had come home while they sat in the kitchen with her crayons. When he saw her wobbly letters, he snorted and shook his head.
“Sometimes, Camilla, I think you must’ve made this kid all on your own. I could read and write when I was four.”
“Oh, good for you,” Mommy said and looked angrily at Daddy. “All kids are different. Some learn later and some are early like you. It’s nothing to boast or be ashamed about.”
“Don’t even try. If she could’ve written at four, you’d be the first to brag.” Daddy had stomped off, and Mommy put the crayons away and said it was time to eat. They hadn’t practiced very much since then.
“Nonsense, Camilla,” Daddy said now and placed his hands on Sylvie’s shoulders. Big and heavy, they sat there like anchors pulling her down. He wanted Sylvie to come along to the funeral with him and Mommy. That’s what it was called when they buried dead people. “She’s eight years old. At that age children know about life and death. That church group you have her attend makes sure of that, don’t they?”
When they left the house, Mommy and Daddy both wore black, and Pernilla, Sylvie’s nanny, had dressed her in the new dark-blue and white sailor dress. White knee socks and Sylvie’s much-coveted black, shiny buckle shoes completed her outfit. Mommy tried to tell Daddy one more time she thought Sylvie was too young for funerals, but as usual, when Daddy used that stern, impatient voice, even Mommy obeyed Daddy. Everyone in their house did, and everyone at Daddy’s office too. Mommy said Daddy was the boss.
