“No, it’s fine. New Haven is only a forty-five minute drive from the office.”
“That’s a long ways. I could meet you halfway.”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind the drive. I’ll see you then.”
“Wait. I thought you said you worked until ten at night.”
“Not when I have something better to do. Goodnight, Rachel.”
He hangs up and I set the phone down. I’m sweating from being so nervous, or maybe it’s because his voice got me all hot inside. His voice is so deep and sexy. I could listen to it for hours.
I can’t believe I just did that. That I asked a guy out. I’ve never done that before. But I’m glad I did. There’s something about this guy that I really like. And it’s not just his looks. It’s something else that I can’t identify. It’s like when you meet someone and you instantly click, kind of like when I met Shelby. I had a feeling we’d be friends and I was right. So maybe I’m right about Pearce too. Maybe this coffee date will lead to something more.
What am I thinking? It can’t be more. I’m not looking for a relationship. This is just a date. Not even a date. Just coffee. We’re just going to talk business. That’s all this is.
CHAPTER SEVEN
7
PEARCE
I don’t date. And yet I have a date tonight. Technically it’s not a date. Rachel called me last night, saying she wants to meet for coffee. She said she’s interested in the company. Maybe she’s hoping to get an internship here, although she’s getting a degree in history so that doesn’t make sense. So why does she want to meet?
My mind lists out all the possible reasons and they all come back to money. I don’t like that I think that way, but my family constantly has scam artists trying to get our money so my mind naturally goes there.
Trust no one. Even those closest to you. I’ve learned that’s how I have to live in order to survive. I don’t even trust my own parents, especially my father.
So as much as I’d like to believe Rachel just wants to talk over a cup of coffee, I’m wary of her motives. I have to be. I don’t know this woman, and even if I did, I still couldn’t trust her.
Trust no one. It’s all I know.
It’s 2:30 and I just got out of a meeting and am now sitting at my desk reviewing a stack of contracts. But I can’t seem to stay focused. As soon as I start reading I get distracted, my thoughts wandering to Rachel. Her bright blue eyes. That warm smile. She’s been in my head for a week now and I don’t understand it. I met her one time. Yet I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.
This is not good. I can’t let myself be distracted by a woman. And I never have been. Until now.
I focus on the paperwork in front of me. Line after line of legal jargon that all sounds the same. So Rachel works at a museum. I don’t think she told me the name of it. I wonder how long the tour will be. She seemed surprised I wanted a tour. I’m surprised I asked her for one, but I really want to see her again and that was the only excuse I could come up with when she called.
I didn’t think she’d call. Many women are intimidated by me, or more likely my wealth or the Kensington name. But Rachel didn’t seem to be. She seemed a little nervous at the start of the call last night but then she relaxed.
I wonder why she took so long to contact me. I gave her my card a week ago, and when she didn’t call after a few days, I assumed she never would. That’s when I made a conscious effort to stop thinking about her, but I couldn’t. As hard as I tried, she continued to consume my thoughts.
When she called me, I was surprised but also pleased. Just hearing her voice again caused that strange, rapid heart movement again. I should really see a doctor. That can’t be normal.
Dammit! My mind is wandering again. I need to stay on task. I go to the break room and get a cup of coffee, then return to my desk, grab a pen, and begin marking up the contract in front of me.
I check my watch. It’s only 2:45. This day is going by very slowly. Usually I’m so busy I don’t even notice the time, but today I’m acutely aware of it, wishing it were later. Wishing it was six o’clock.
My cell phone rings, which can only mean one thing. It’s from them. Nobody else calls that phone. Nobody knows the number except my fellow members. Each of us were given a cell phone so we could be contacted at all times. I try to keep the phone hidden because cell phones are such an oddity that letting people see I have one causes too many questions. I’m sure someday everyone will have a cell phone, but as of now, they’re rare, so tend to draw attention.
“Yes, it’s Pearce,” I say as I answer.
A recorded voice says, “Input your member number.”
I type it into the phone; 1479.
The voice speaks again. “Meeting notice. This Saturday, 11 a.m. Eastern Standard Time. Exit 128. This concludes the call.”
The phone goes silent and I hide it back in my suit jacket. It’s been a month since we had a meeting so I assumed we’d be having one soon. It’s unfortunate it’s this Saturday. I have so much work to catch up on that I had planned to be here all of Saturday as well as Sunday. But you’re not allowed to miss the meetings. They would punish you if you did.
The ‘they’ I’m referring to is the organization. The secret society I belong to. It’s extremely exclusive. We have members located around the world, but the majority of them are in the United States. Although the organization doesn’t consider itself a secret society, that’s exactly what it is. We operate in secrecy, cloaked among the masses while working behind the scenes to control how countries operate. How money exchanges hands. How currencies are valued. How leaders are chosen. We control how the world functions, or at least we think we do.
The organization was formed in the 1700s when European investors realized the potential for immense wealth in the land that would soon become the United States of America. The people making these investments were already wealthy but they wanted more. More money but also power. Power that would come from controlling the rich and vast resources of this new land, and the transport of those resources. They wanted to be the first to develop the cities, dictating the architecture and planning the layout of the streets. They wanted to build the companies that would attract people to live in these cities, and once the cities were built, they wanted to establish the newspapers that would control the messages they wanted to convey.
Only a select few can afford to do all these things, and those people became the founding members of the organization. Over time, other members were added based on how they could benefit the group. The organization recruited the owners of large companies in different industries—oil, electricity, railroads, banking—so that the group’s power was diversified. As these industries became more regulated, the organization saw the need to have control measures in place within the government, so they used their money and power to get some of the members elected into Congress which caused their power and influence to grow exponentially. They could do what they wanted without government interference.
Not everyone in the government is part of the organization. If they were, we’d be found out. Politicians are constantly watched, their backgrounds studied and dissected by reporters hungry for a story. So for that reason, there are only a handful of members currently in office. But that’s all you need if they’re strategically placed.
Those placements include positions on key Congressional committees, such as the Appropriations Committee, which controls where the money is spent, or the Defense Committee, which controls not only our involvement in wars, but also the collection and storage of information on almost every person on the planet. Having people on the inside of these two very influential government entities has proven to be quite useful and is what has made us the most powerful secret society in the world. There’s also the fact that we now control the presidency as well. This took years to accomplish but we’ve now successfully seated the past three presidents.
Although this group started in the United States,
it grew to include members around the world because they needed their influence to reach beyond U.S. borders. World leaders were not willing to simply hand over power to this group, so it took some negotiation, specifically bribes and blackmail, to get it done. But since membership is limited to the select few families who have the proper lineage, our members in foreign countries were carefully chosen and then given positions of power in those nations.
The reason I’m a member and my father is a member is because my ancestors were some of those early investors in America. They had money, and their money allowed them to start a business. They decided to make that business the manufacturing of chemicals necessary for producing materials vital to many industries. As soon as our first plant was built, it was already overcapacity and we had to build another. And since those early days, we’ve just continued to grow.
Chemicals are used in many useful ways, but they can also be used in destructive ways. They can kill. Destroy things. Take down buildings. Blow up cars. Knowing this, the members saw the benefit of including a Kensington in their group. And since membership is passed down to sons, my father is a member and so am I.
Membership isn’t a choice. You’re a member from the day you’re born, but you don’t find out until you’re older, usually around 20 or 21, when you’re mature enough to keep a secret as great as this. My father chose to tell me when I was 16. The day he took me to New Haven and shot that homeless man was the day I learned about the organization and my membership in it.
The organization is not the real name. It’s the name we use with outsiders. Freelancers. The people we hire to do the things that need to be done. Sometimes they make us do these things ourselves, but in most instances, we use a freelancer. As members, we need to keep our hands clean. We can’t have anything being traced back to us.
Keeping our secrets is difficult, especially as technology continues to become more sophisticated. Hidden cameras, microphones, and other equipment could all be used against us to provide proof to the public that we exist. We’ve been caught many times, sometimes by accident by someone who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. When that happens, the person must be ‘taken care of.’ That’s the phrase we use because it’s more civilized than coming out and saying what actually happens to the person. The truth is that the person is killed. Murdered. By one of our freelancers.
Given what we do, you’d think some people wouldn’t want to be a member, but surprisingly many people consider it an honor. It’s exclusive, for one, which makes people feel special. But it also has perks, such as access to the Clinic, a secret medical group reserved for only the wealthiest and most powerful people in the world.
The Clinic has treatments and medicines that aren’t shared with the masses. If they were, certain illnesses would disappear off the planet and we can’t have that. Treating illness is a business. A very profitable business. And it provides a lot of jobs. In fact, many members feel we’re doing the world a favor by keeping these treatments a secret. Millions of people would be out of work if these illnesses didn’t exist.
I don’t agree with this philosophy. I think everyone should have access to these treatments, but I would never admit that. As a member, I need to go along with their ideals. Keep quiet. Arguing with them wouldn’t change anything. And as for the Clinic, I really don’t know what they’re capable of. What they can treat and what they can’t. I don’t think they can cure cancer. I think their treatments are just slightly better than what’s available. At least that’s what I tell myself so I’m not consumed with the guilt I would feel if I knew they really could cure a fatal illness.
Dunamis. That’s the name of the group I belong to. The name is never to be spoken outside of official meetings. Even the generic name, the organization, is not supposed to be uttered to anyone but our freelancers, but I hear members say it at other times so that rule isn’t always followed. But as for the real name, you’d be severely punished if you ever said it outside the company of other members.
Dunamis is the Greek word for power. Not just any power, but extreme power. Some even associate it with divine power, as in the power of God. That just shows you what the founding members thought of themselves when they named this group. They considered themselves God. Maybe not THE God but a group with god-like powers. By definition, those with dunamis have power but also strength and ability. They are capable of most anything.
So yes, the name is fitting, maybe even more so now than back then.
Despite the perks, the power, the prestige—I hate being a member of this group. Dunamis has destroyed my life. Destroyed who I am, and who I used to be before I knew they existed. They’re the reason I don’t have a normal life and never will. They’re the reason I’ll spend my life running this company I have no interest in running. They’re the reason I don’t sleep at night, and why I always have splitting headaches, a knotted-up stomach, and tense muscles that never relax. They’re the reason I have no hope.
And they’re the reason I’ll never know love.
CHAPTER EIGHT
8
RACHEL
I arrive at the coffee shop at 5:45. I wanted to get here early because it’s hard to find parking downtown and I needed to leave time to circle the block a few times to find a spot. There was no way I was going to risk being late after my late arrival at the lecture last week. Luckily, I found a spot right out front and now I’m sitting inside, waiting.
I wasn’t sure what to wear so I just put on a casual summer dress. It’s hot out today and the dress is lightweight and cool. It’s periwinkle blue, sleeveless, and fitted on top, then flares out into a full skirt. As I’m sitting here looking at it, I’m realizing it has kind of a retro feel, but I don’t think this style ever really goes out of fashion. At least I’m telling myself that because it’s too late to change and I don’t have a large wardrobe to choose from. For shoes, I wore white sandals that have a slight heel. I kept my makeup simple, like I always do. Just some blush and mascara. I don’t like lipstick so I don’t wear it much. Plus, I think it’s gross when it leaves that mark on your coffee cup.
If this were a date I might’ve added more makeup, but I didn’t want to get too glammed up just for coffee. Glamorous isn’t really my thing. I have more of a natural, girl-next door look. Pearce is probably used to a more glamorous type of woman but I’m not going to pretend I’m something I’m not. Doing so would make me uncomfortable and I’m nervous enough as it is.
Pearce walks in at 5:55. I knew he was the type of person who arrives early to everything. I stand up so he can see me. I picked a table that was off to the side so we could have privacy. I guess we don’t really need privacy. This isn’t a date. Or is it?
I watch as he approaches the table. He has a suit on. A dark gray one this time. His shirt is bright white and doesn’t have a single wrinkle. And his tie is silvery blue like his eyes.
“Rachel. It’s a pleasure seeing you again.” He holds his hand out.
“You as well.” I extend my hand to him, but instead of shaking it, he brings it to his mouth and kisses it, his eyes fixed on mine.
That might be the hottest thing a guy has ever done to me. It was just a hand kiss, but the way he did it was…I don’t know how to describe it other than…perfect.
It was completely unexpected. I mean, who does that? Do guys still kiss a girl’s hand? A girl they just met? Maybe, but I’ve never had it happen before. And although I’m sure it wasn’t that slow, in my mind it seemed like slow motion. Him lifting my hand to his mouth, his lips gently kissing the top of it. And his eyes. He kept that intense gaze going the entire time.
He’s now behind me, waiting for me to sit down. As I do, he slides the chair in. Again, it’s perfect. Flawless. Other guys have tried this and their timing is completely off. They either push the chair in too fast and hurt my legs or push it too slowly and I almost fall off the chair.
“Were you waiting long?” he asks as he takes the seat across from me.
; “Just a few minutes. I got here early. I promise you, I’m not normally late to things. Last week was an anomaly.”
He smiles as he reaches over and puts his hand on mine. “Rachel. There’s no need to bring that up again. I shouldn’t have teased you about it. Please, forgive me.”
I nod, my focus on his hand, which is still covering mine. “So you said you’ve been here before?”
“Yes.” He takes his hand away. “I’d sometimes study here when I was a student at Yale.”
“I don’t come here very often but I’ve heard they have good cappuccinos.”
“Is that what you would like?”
I glance back at the menu board. The cappuccinos are expensive. I should probably stick with coffee. “I think I’ll just have coffee.”
“I think you’d rather have the cappuccino. It’s on me, so have whatever you’d like.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to pay. I made you come all the way here to meet with me. I’m not going to make you buy my coffee.”
He leans back, smiling. “I’m not buying you coffee. I’m buying you a cappuccino. Would you like anything else?”
I smile back. “No. Just the cappuccino. Thank you.”
He motions the waiter over. “We’ll have a cappuccino and a double espresso. Thank you.”
I’m staring at Pearce across the table. Last time I saw him he was cleanly shaved, but today he has a thick five o’clock shadow that I find extremely sexy.
“Rachel, is something wrong?”
I snap to attention. “Um, no. Everything’s fine.”
“You’re not upset that I ordered for you, are you? Some women are offended by that. That’s not my intention. It’s simply a habit. I’m somewhat old-fashioned. Opening doors for women, pulling out chairs, taking their coat, ordering for them at a restaurant. It’s what I’ve been taught, but if you take offense to that, please let me know.”
“I don’t find it offensive. Actually, I like it. I think it’s kind of romantic.”
Needing Her Page 7
