Lust & Leverage

by Kaye Blue

  Lust & Leverage

  Kaye Blue

  Lust & Leverage

  Copyright © 2017 Kaye Blue

  All rights reserved.

  *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and incidents are invented by the author or used fictitiously. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, businesses and business establishments, places, or events are entirely coincidental. This book is intended for mature audiences only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.kayebluewriter.com/newsletter

  Contents

  Kaye’s Newsletter

  The Paid in Full Series

  The Woman Who Broke My Heart is Going to Pay…

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  A Note From Kaye

  Kaye’s Books

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  The Paid in Full Series

  The new series from Kaye Blue! Find it here!

  The Woman Who Broke My Heart is Going to Pay…

  The woman who broke my heart is going to pay.

  Becoming a billionaire wasn’t enough; I’m using all my wealth and power to make Mia submit. It’s a simple ultimatum: be mine, or lose everything.

  Except every moment I spend with her tall, cool loveliness is turning me upside down, inside out, ripping off the armor I’ve spent years welding in place.

  The things I admire most about her are the ones that drive me crazy. She’s loyal to a fault and doesn’t give a damn about money or status—mine, or anyone else’s.

  They say revenge is a dish best served cold…and we’re generating way too much heat. Beneath the hurt and the hate, the truth is, I’m falling for Mia.

  Or maybe the real truth is, I never stopped loving her.

  One

  Mia

  *

  “Right this way, Ms. Marshall.”

  I looked at the sleekly dressed secretary who had spoken and silently followed.

  I wasn’t entirely sure what else to do, wasn’t entirely sure what I was doing here at all, so I simply followed along, hoping that answers to the questions that burned through my mind would soon reveal themselves.

  As I walked, I took in the surroundings.

  The corridor was long, brightly lit, the walls adorned with tasteful and no doubt expensive art. The white marble floors inlaid with cream carpet were impeccably clean, and the entire place reminded me of the secretary.

  Sleek, sophisticated, beautiful.

  My curiosity deepened, but not about this place.

  No, I was curious about what possible reason I could be here.

  I was manager and chief operating officer of my father’s tire recycling business, but our small-town operation couldn’t be more different from this place than I was from the secretary.

  We worked out of modular offices on seven acres of grassland stacked high with used tires.

  I was currently on the top floor of a skyscraper in the middle of a city a thousand times bigger than my hometown.

  And worst of all, I had no idea why.

  “Please have a seat,” the secretary said.

  I’d been so lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t paid attention to her stopping, so I almost collided with her. But after a few seconds I recovered and nodded.

  “May I offer you anything?” she asked.

  “No. No thank you,” I said, my voice starting out shaky but getting stronger.

  “Very well,” she said.

  She turned and strode away without another word or backward glance. And after looking around the well-appointed and semiprivate waiting area, I sat.

  My throat was dry, desert dry, and I regretted my decision not to take her up on her offer. But then decided that I had done the right thing.

  As thirsty as I was, my stomach was a riot of nerves.

  I’d barely slept the night before, something I knew had to be clear from my appearance, despite my best efforts, and I wouldn’t risk getting sick on top of the exhaustion that was barely masked by the adrenaline coursing through me.

  So I sat, far too anxious to flip through the magazines on the table to the left of me.

  I scanned the titles, though, hoping that maybe the selection of magazines would give me some hint as to what this place was and who had summoned me here.

  No luck.

  There were newspapers, political magazines, science magazines, life magazines. The only industry not represented was entertainment, but even that absence did little to provide me any clues.

  Soon bored with the magazines, I looked around the small waiting area again, searching for some hint. I hadn’t seen one before, but I could have missed it.

  Like the hallway, I saw impeccable floors, nice art, and not a single clue as to what this place was.

  My stomach lurched, the nerves that had made drinking impossible coming back full force.

  I sank back into the chair, noting how nice the leather felt, noting that it was real leather and not that plastic you usually got in waiting areas. I might not have been a fancy person, but I knew without a doubt this chair probably cost more than a month’s salary. I knew the same was true of the carpet, the heavy steel-and-glass tables.

  Even the fake plants looked like the cream of the crop.

  I shifted, my sensible black pumps squeaking.

  I’d gotten them, along with the black skirt suit and imitation pearls I wore at the same discount store. This outfit, together with an appropriately colored shell was my utility player.

  My day-to-day was usually jeans and a T-shirt, but if there was an important occasion, a funeral, a wedding, a business meeting, I pulled out the suit, matched it with a shirt, slid on my black pumps, and called it a day.

  I had done the same today, but for the first time in as long as I could remember I knew that I was criminally underdressed.

  It wasn’t the kind of thing that usually mattered to me, wasn’t even the kind of thing I often confronted, but I felt conspicuous here, out of place.

  At least my hair looked good.

  I’d spent more than an hour this morning taming the curls into some semblance of order, and had even had a little time left over to give myself nice smoky eyes.

  It was as good as it got for me, and it would have to do.

  I chuckled, laughing because my best friend, Chelsea, had spent years trying to teach me the basics of hair and makeup, and though I would never admit it to her it seemed some of the lessons had stuck.

  She’d love that, if I decided to tell her—

  “This way, Ms. Marshall.”

  I almost jumped out of my skin at the sound of the secretary’s voice.

  The woman was thin, obviously in good shape, but I didn’t know how the heck she moved so silently on those sky-high heels.

  I felt my body break into a full blush, but I ignored t
hat and then stood.

  So what if she caught me laughing like a crazy person while sitting alone?

  I was entitled, and if she’d seen anything out of the ordinary, it certainly didn’t show in her icy demeanor.

  I decided I liked her.

  I had no idea what this place was, who she was, but she was good at her job, and didn’t make me feel any more ridiculous than I already did.

  She began walking and I followed her, taking a right out of the semiprivate waiting area and farther down the hall.

  With each step the butterflies in my stomach clapped their wings ever more rapidly.

  By the time we approached the closed door at the end of the hall, I thought I would be sick with my emotions: excitement, fear, a liberal dose of nerves.

  All out of place, all undeniable.

  “He’s ready for you,” the secretary said in an even voice, one that nevertheless struck me as ominous.

  Then, as she had before, she turned and left without another word, leaving me standing in front of the formidable door.

  I stood there far too long, wondering why I was allowing myself to be intimidated by a door.

  But strange as it was, this felt like more than that, like more than a door.

  I wasn’t a big believer in things I couldn’t see, but it was impossible for me to ignore the intensity of the feelings that were racing through me, the ones that told me my life was about to change.

  Which was ridiculous.

  If I’d proven anything, I’d definitely proven it was possible to get through life without very much change at all. Nothing about this should have made that any different, and yet despite that knowledge, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it did and it would.

  I swallowed, wiped my hand against my skirt, the fabric slipping against my sweaty palms, but centering me enough to reach for the door handle.

  I sighed and then with a shaky hand to gripped the heavy metal knob.

  I pushed the door open, noting its weight, the slight creak as it moved, the coolness of the doorknob against my fingers.

  Small things, unimportant, really, but my senses were so heightened I felt each of them, and studied each of them as if they were of the utmost importance.

  The first thing I noticed when the door was fully open was that the floors were not white marble inlaid with cream carpet.

  Instead they were dark hardwood, polished to a gleaming shine. I was taken by the beauty of that floor, but then quickly lifted my eyes from it to center on the room’s lone occupant.

  And in an instant, all of the feelings I’d had, the excitement, the nervousness, the trepidation, the fear…

  All of it made sense.

  Because standing across from me was Alex Segal.

  The only man I had ever loved.

  The man whose heart I had broken.

  Two

  Alex

  *

  I had decided to make her wait.

  In the end, it had been me who had suffered.

  Knowing that she was so close, close enough to see, to touch, after all these years had been a trial, one that had almost bested me.

  But over the years I had learned patience, and I had been able to resist the impulse to go to her the instant she had entered the building.

  The night before had been a similar trial.

  I’d kept tight rein on my emotions, but knowing she was here and close had wreaked havoc on that control. I’d been all over the place, vacillating between anger that stoked instantly whenever I thought of her and the undeniable excitement at seeing her again, excitement that only further fueled my anger.

  That hadn’t been my intention.

  I’d taken this course but kept myself detached from the results, sent my letter and then left the ball firmly in her court.

  The indirect approach had relied on my memory of her being accurate, knowing that as good a girl as she was, as nice as she pretended to be, she couldn’t resist a mystery, and if she was curious, which she often was, she would toss that famous caution to the wind and follow it.

  I’d been able to take my mind off her, at least a little bit, certain that if this particular method didn’t work, there would be another, and another until I finally got what I wanted.

  But when I learned she’d taken the flight, checked into the hotel, my body had gone into overdrive, anger and desire warring for dominance.

  For years I had ruthlessly excised any thought of her, had steadfastly refused to allow anything about her to bubble up. Yes, there had been times, especially late at night when I was alone—always alone—that I hadn’t been able to resist. But those had been nothing compared to the last twenty-four hours. Knowing she was so close, wanting her, needing her with a ferociousness that left me breathless.

  Hating her with the same intensity…

  And now she was here.

  I hadn’t been able to tear my eyes away from her, and it seemed to be the same for her.

  I’d watched her when she had entered, taking a quick sweep of the room, her gaze momentarily riveted to the floor, and then finally to me.

  Our eyes had locked instantly, and I had seen the exact moment when she recognized it was me.

  Saw the shock in her expression, the fear, and, though it might have been wishful thinking, what I thought was desire.

  She recovered quickly, but I’d seen all of those emotions nonetheless. I wasn’t sure which made me happier, her fear or her desire.

  One of the things I had liked about her, loved about her when I’d been stupid enough to believe in such a thing, was her absolute earnestness. With Mia, there was no pretense, no hiding, no lies. Her emotions had been pure, there for everyone to see.

  There for me to see too, at least for a time, happiness, concern, things that I’d never gotten from anyone else.

  She’d gotten better at hiding that over the years, but not good enough that I couldn’t see it now. Inasmuch as her expression, the desire, called to me, her fear and nerves called to me even more.

  I’d told myself I hated her, was convinced that I did. How could I do anything but after she had crushed my heart?

  I couldn’t.

  But yet, as I stood there looking at her, the only thought in my mind was that I needed to make it better, take away that fear, those nerves.

  Protect her.

  Even after all that had happened, I wanted to protect her.

  Ironically, it was that impulse that managed to get me back on track. After what she’d done, Mia deserved nothing but my scorn, and that was what she would get.

  I couldn’t indulge any other feeling, couldn’t allow it to take purchase in my mind. I knew the desire to protect her was simply a reflex, an impulse from a long-ago time, so I needed to concentrate on something else, and for the moment that was her, the revenge, the freedom, that she would finally grant me.

  After remembering that, refocusing on what I was doing this for, I regained my equilibrium but still didn’t speak.

  Over the years, I’d learned that silence could be a valuable weapon, one that I wielded with expertise.

  So I let her stand there, wonder, knowing it would be all the better for me in the end.

  And while I waited, I watched her.

  I’d seen photos, just background information I’d had collected to get a feel for her life as it was now.

  Not much different than it had been all those years ago.

  But she was different.

  When I’d last seen her in person, she’d been nineteen, chubby in a way that I knew had always bothered her.

  The years had been kind to her.

  She had rounded nicely, her body supporting curves that would intimidate a lesser man, but made me ache to touch them. Her youthful look had given way to a full, yet sharply angled face, one in which I could see the familiar shape of her smile.

  I wanted her with a ferocity that was overpowering.

  And I didn’t understand that.

  Some part of me, the f
oolish part it now seemed, had hoped that I would see her, realize that whatever desire I had felt for her back then was gone, that the need for revenge that had driven me had dissipated.

  In fact, it was just the opposite.

  I had conjured a fantasy in my mind, a combination of who she had been before, who I thought she would be now. But the reality of her was something completely different, something alluring, almost irresistible.

  As much as I wanted her, I also burned with the need to make her pay for what she’d done, to crush her and not look back, just as she had done to me.

  But I was also wary.

  Didn’t know what the fuck I had gotten myself into.

  I dismissed the concern immediately. I hadn’t gotten where I was by being intimidated by anything or anyone, and that extended to Mia.

  There had been a time when a word from her had the power to make me think that I was unstoppable.

  Had the power to break me.

  But that time had long past, and now I was different.

  I was in control.

  And it was far past time for me to excise Mia Marshall from my psyche completely.

  I returned to her face, again locking eyes with hers, that same shock of awareness, overwhelming desire, burning anger coming back with just a glance.

  I ignored all that, though, and continued to wait, wondering how long she would hold out.

  Time ticked by.

  It could have been five minutes; it could have been five seconds, I didn’t really know for sure. Being around her seemed to take away any sense of time.

  I tried to remind myself that I didn’t know this Mia, but she did as I expected.

  She could never stand awkwardness, and it was ingrained in her to be polite. So soon, she shook off whatever had held her in her spot and walked toward me.

  It was an interesting and quite a beautiful thing to see. Mia approaching me, doing her best to appear all business, and doing a pretty good job of it, though I could see emotion in her eyes.

  She came to a stop in front of me, leaned back to lift her head to look at me.

  She was tall, made even taller by her heels, and we stood almost eye-to-eye, and instantly, I remembered how wonderful she had felt in my arms, my chin tucked on top of her head as she had held me tight.

  I ruthlessly pushed that memory away too.

  Instead I brought myself back to the here and now, looking at her face up close, searching for changes that had occurred over the years, searching for glimpses of the person I had known, finding both.