by Nelson, Cara
They loaded their dishes with Carla’s stew, Zoe’s cornbread, and Kyle and Olive’s brownies (made that morning from a brownie mix purchased for the occasion). Olive picked at the stew, eating the potatoes and meat, poking a carrot with suspicion. She had mostly eaten freezer fish sticks and hot dogs at home, so this was a new dining experience for her, but Shea had given her a talk about eating a variety of nutritious foods and how they helped her kidneys function. There had been a short video about the food pyramid involved, but Olive had rolled her eyes at it so much that it ended early.
Kyle plied his daughter with more cornbread, a second brownie, another glass of water. He was anxious to see her gain weight and get stronger. Already, he had plans to schedule her for a check-up with his mother’s kidney specialist. He watched as she joined in the general conversation at dinner, a little less withdrawn, a little less thorny than she’d been at first. They’d spent a day fixing up her room—one wall was silver now—and taking her to see her mom in jail.
Ashley had been full of instructions for Kyle, but spent most of her visit trying to convince them both that it was a mistake and someone planted all the drugs on them—that it was in no way her own fault she was there. It disgusted Kyle, but he was moved by unexpected pity, seeing how vital it was for Ashley that their daughter should believe her to be innocent. And Olive seemed ready to believe anything that might bring her mom home sooner. It was a relief to Kyle when they were told their time was up.
He could see how drugs had affected her, how she must once have been a devoted and protective mother before the meth took her, making her paranoid and angry. He had carried Olive crying from the jail, her child’s resolve melting as soon as her mother was led away.
As Aaron cleared the table, Olive commandeered her grandmother for a game of Apples to Apples. Kyle grabbed a bag and claimed Shea’s hand and tugged her toward the door.
“We’ll be back in a few minutes, Ollie,” he said. “We’re just going down to the gym.”
Kyle’s instinct had been to sneak out with Shea, but he didn’t want Olive to think he was skipping out after she had been suffered so much change so fast. So he had reassured her instead. Once the door shut behind them, though, he caught Shea in his arms and kissed her full on the lips. His mouth curved in a smile when he felt her gasp. Eagerly, he drew her down the stairs to the school, which was closed for Sunday. Flicking on the lights, Kyle told her to get her running shoes.
“I didn’t even put on shoes, Danny Boy. I saw the chance for alone time and I ran,” Shea joked.
“You left your shoes here last night. Check the hall.”
“I was hoping for less clothes, not more,” she said.
“Go with me on this.” He grinned.
“Fine.”
Shea marched back when she had her shoes on and presented herself for inspection.
“I’m ready.”
“Okay, let’s jump rope,” he said, tossing her a speed rope and getting started.
“This isn’t what I had in mind, Dolan,” she said, starting with a slow skip.
“I think better when I’m working out. Stay with me here.”
“Okay, but I’m starting to sweat already.”
“I mean it. I want you to stay with me,” Kyle said earnestly, not even breathing hard from the exertion of jumping rope.
“I’m jumping rope. That’s proof I’m with you,”
“I mean for good,” Kyle said. “Hear me out, lass.”
“You’re serious. I thought you were just tormenting me with exercise.”
She dropped the rope and stepped up to him, laying her hand on his chest. Suddenly, she was breathing harder, and it wasn’t from jumping rope. Kyle let his jump rope fall to the floor and covered her hand with his. His fiery blue eyes were intense, his gaze seeming to capture her and hold her suspended in midair. She held her breath.
“Truth is, lass, I want to marry you, but I think with all the change, with taking in Olive and moving in together, we need to wait a while, get settled in. But that’s—that’s my intention with you: to take a bride, to have a baby if you will, to be your husband,”
Shea looked at him in disbelief with tears in her eyes, biting her trembling lower lip.
“I didn’t buy you a ring. I can’t actually afford a ring right now. Thing is, I’m starting a series of classes in a couple of weeks that’ll teach basic boxing to kids, give them some skill and some discipline, get them off the streets. And Zoe’s talked one of the schools into paying me and Aaron to come do demos and teach a unit on self-defense to some kids in PE. So, there’s going to be more money coming in, and when that happens, I want to take you to pick out an engagement ring. Until then, I got you this.”
Kyle pulled out the bag and handed it to her. She reached in, never taking her eyes off him, and lifted out a pair of blue mittens.
“Where’d you find mittens in June?” she asked, bewildered.
“I had to look around. They had to be perfect. It had to mean something, you know.”
“These are bitch mittens, aren’t they,” she said, beaming at him and starting to laugh.
“Technically bitch mittens are boxing gloves, but I didn’t want to give you boxing gloves, so I got these. They’re your favorite color; there’s two of them in a pair like—us, we’re a pair. I won’t let you down, Shea.” He broke off and kissed her, dragging her up against him almost desperately and parting her lips to take the kiss deeper. Shea clung to him with equal passion, and he tasted tears. “Tell me yes, or that at least tell me you’ll give me a chance.”
“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything, Kyle. I know it’s going to be messy and there’s going to be Ashley’s trial, and Olive’s going to have problems, and then she’ll be a teenager, which is its own kind of hell but—I want to do all that with you. Like as long as we can be together, that’s what I want. I want to know that at the end of the day, I get to come home to you and be where I belong.”
“I know it’s asking a lot of you—I want you to be ready to say yes to me when I can buy you a ring.”
“I’m ready to say yes to you over a pair of mittens, Danny Boy. You’ve got me,” she said shakily, kissing him.
“And you’ve got me, lass,” Kyle said, “you’ve got me forever.”
END OF BOOK II
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Men of the Capital Series
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Excerpt from ‘The Billionaire’s Hotline’ Download Instantly Today!
“That’s right, Miss Hollingford, number nine on the list. Rebecca, actress, 27. Tonight at the Blake, say eight o’clock,” Jasper told his social secretary.
So far, the project had worked like a charm. Hot and cold running blondes at the touch of a button. Last night’s text had delivered a stunning lab assistant to his favorite sushi place in a barely-there bandage dress. She wouldn’t eat, swearing that there were bacteria in raw fish, so he didn’t even have to buy her dinner, just a dirty martini. Tonight he wanted someone light and fun. An actress sounded just right, although 27 was a little on the elderly end of the spectrum for his taste.
Jasper had had a productive day, finalizing the acquisition of two more promising competitors in the wind e
nergy industry. He didn’t care much about green energy, but he liked to breathe and figured it was easier to make a profit off people who were healthy and generating income to buy his other products. It seemed a sound investment. Better than those e-cigarettes he’d passed up; although they were gaining popularity, he still thought they looked ridiculous. He hoped the actress didn’t smoke plastic cigarettes or anything else…he couldn’t stand the taste.
At eight, Jasper was sitting at the bar at the Blake in the same suit he’d worn to work. If it had been a date or an event, something where he had to worry about the impression he’d make, he would have gone home to change. As it was, he was able to work straight through until 7:45 and still make it to his rendezvous on time. He congratulated himself again on the sheer convenience of his planning…investing in a hotel with a lux bar close to the office, hiring a secretary and ersatz bagel boy to orchestrate his social life. It was good to be king, he mused complacently.
At 8:10, his actress had not arrived. He called Miss Hollingford with instructions to text the woman again. At 8:20, he demanded the number and texted her himself. There was no response, and certainly no delectable blonde on the menu at the Blake Bar. Exasperated, he texted again five minutes later. Didn’t she realize his time was valuable? If she showed up by 8:30 and apologized, he’d still sleep with her, he decided magnanimously. If she showed up by 8:40 and was suitably gorgeous, he might even buy her a drink first, although to his mind she had already wasted the getting-to-know-you courtesy quarter hour with her appalling lateness. He knew he should give up and return to the office, but he was reluctant to admit that his system had failed. It was a matter of pride now. Even though he could be at the gym or signing off on a leveraged buyout. Irritated beyond the telling of it, Jasper texted again. It felt good to plague her with obsessive reminders. It was satisfying somehow. He didn’t even admit the possibility that she’d discarded the phone or forgotten to charge it.
At nine, a vagrant entered the bar, her cut-offs and tank top spattered with paint. Messy brown hair was coming out of a lopsided ponytail and her face was flushed. Perhaps she was mentally ill, Jasper thought idly. Security should come take care of this before the patrons were importuned with some sort of scene. Even his house cleaner dressed better than that. What business she thought she had in an upscale hotel bar was beyond him. He punched in another text angrily. Seconds later, an absurdly loud message beep sounded…from the phone that vagrant creature held in her hand. She brandished it with disgust and marched directly up to him.
The mentally-ill street person addressed billionaire CEO Jasper Cates.
“Who the HELL do you think you are?” She hissed. People had ceased to talk and were avidly listening to the confrontation. Jasper let his derisive gaze sweep her from head to toe languorously.
“That depends entirely on whom exactly you think I am.”
“You’ve been texting this phone incessantly for the last hour and a half now what do you want?”
“There appears to be some mistake. I was trying to reach Rebecca,” he said smoothly, pleased that he remembered the actress’s name and wondering why in God’s name the half-witted bagel boy would have given a phone to this harpy. She wasn’t blonde, she wasn’t happy, and she clearly wasn’t overfond of Crossfit, judging by the softness of her shape. She wasn’t even clean.
“Becca is my sister,” she said. “You need to leave her alone. She’s happy. She’s with someone now, and she doesn’t need you fucking things up for her with your stalking.”
“Did you just say fucking in the Blake Bar?” Amusement quirked the corner of his sardonic mouth.
“Yes, I fucking did,” she spat. “Now stop texting and calling this number. It’s not Becca’s phone anymore, and I’m certainly not interested in you.”
“I assure you I won’t be trying to contact anyone at that number again. Clearly Rebecca’s life is going another direction now. I cherish the effort and grace required to inform me of that fact when a simple text message would have been adequate.”
“You were texting her obsessively. It was—alarming. I wanted to make sure you backed off.” A number of sophisticated diners were gaping at her, and her courage withered. “I know how I must look. I was painting my apartment when you started texting and…I guess I didn’t think it through.”
“I’ll take the phone back.”
“No. I need it. She gave it to me because she was through with it. It was hers. Were you the guy who gave it to her?”
“No but the phone belongs to my company.”
“Then how did Becca—never mind. My sister gave it to me, and I’m keeping it.”
“Listen, Miss—“
“Largent. Hannah Largent,” she said, hands on her hips, fury at defending her phone burning away her fit of embarrassment.
“Miss Largent, your sister was given the phone for a reason which is no longer viable. Return it to me.”
“Forget it.” She turned around and stalked out of the bar.
Without hesitation, Jasper left his drink and took off after her. The idea of this harpy keeping one of his phones when it could be redistributed to a woman who met his criteria was offensive. That was his thirty dollar disposable phone, and he’d be damned if some stupid actress was going to get away with giving it to her frumpy sister. He caught up to her. Maybe she wasn’t as out-of-shape as he had thought, considering her speed. Grabbing her by the arm, he stopped her. She whipped her head around, her ponytail flicking him across the face.
“Seriously? You’re going to follow me, because all the text stalking didn’t make you seem psycho enough?” She scoffed.
For the first time, he noticed that her voice was gorgeous, low and husky. It made him think of a dark cabaret, a pair of red lips closing around a white cigarette, the tip of a pink tongue darting out to form a perfect pale smoke ring drifting up to the rafters. Her voice was like velvet, and he had a fierce urge to cover her mouth with his.
“My phone,” he gasped.
“No, that’s MY phone. Were you going to give it to some other girl? Wait—that’s it, isn’t it? You gave the phone to Becca or had someone else do it so you could call her to hook up. How many phones have you given out?”
“Twenty-nine.” He smirked.
“That is repulsive. Who does that?”
“I’m a busy man, Miss Lawson.”
Hannah leaned closer for emphasis. “Largent. But if you’re as successful as you act, you already knew that and just said my name wrong to put me in my place.”
Now Jasper knew she sounded like Nina Simone and smelled like cinnamon gum. He found it hard to regulate his breathing, much less keep his hands to himself.
“Excuse me?” His eyebrows shot up.
“You dropped your voice to make it sound confidential, but your eyes cut to the left. You’re trying to manage me with a falsehood.”
“Are you a criminal profiler or something?”
“Actually, I do voiceovers and some sound effects editing. I work both sides of the sound board. I know how to manipulate intonation linguistics. It’s part of my job. You, Mr. Cates, have a Machiavellian inflection.”
“Is that a clinical term?”
“No. I just made it up, but it suits you, because you’ll say anything to achieve your objective. You belittle me, lie to me, and harass my sister.”
“I merely tendered an invitation which she no longer wishes to accept. Return my phone so it can be recirculated.”
“I refuse to abet such a blatantly patriarchal attempt at human trafficking.” Her low voice grew haughty, but no less irresistible for it.
“Human trafficking entails financial gain or compensation. I read Half the Sky, so don’t try to give me a vocabulary lesson and mischaracterize my dating methodology as an atrocity against women and children.”
“Prostitution, then.”
“Again, by definition, a financial transaction. I have never had to pay for or even coerce sexual favors from anyone.”
“You’re awfully insecure for such an arrogant man. I’d like to add you to my repertoire. May I record you?”
Jasper bristled at the implication and set his jaw. “No,” he barked.
“I’ll give you back the phone in three days—that’s when I’ll get my real phone back—if you’ll let me record you being arrogant and manipulative. I’d like to study your intonation and see if I can imitate it for work purposes. It’s more complex than I first thought,” she offered, dropping her voice so he had to step closer.
“No one is studying my voice. I’m not a test subject. I’m a CEO.”
“Congratulations. You must be very proud,” Hannah said slyly. “You’re not getting the phone tonight, and you’re obviously not going to get laid unless you mobilize another disposable tart. So I’ll buy you a cup of coffee if you’ll keep talking to me.”
“I don’t drink coffee,” he spat reflexively.
He was tempted to go to a diner with her, to keep talking to her, to see if he could win her over and perhaps to convince her to put that luscious mouth on him. She had full lips, bordering on a pout, but a tight, cross expression ruined their sensuality. Jasper thought that, given a chance, he could do away with her look of profound dissatisfaction.
“Okay. I’ll have coffee and you can have water or something healthy like that. Unless you’re afraid of tap water, too.”
“Why would I be afraid of tap water?” he said sourly.
“You acted like I asked you to tip back a mug of battery acid when I mentioned coffee. I assume it’s got additives or carcinogens or some crap like that and you’re afraid to drink it. Live a little.”
“I was trying to, but you took her phone,” he said with a rakish grin. “What kind of coffee do you drink? Isn’t tea better for your vocal chords?”
“Yes, Mom. I like coffee. The kind with lots of caffeine and sugar, and whipped cream if I can get it.” She laughed at him.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, equally irritated and aroused by her. This, he supposed, was banter…that snappy nonsense from black and white films that Clare used to go on about. He recalled her perpetual whining that he was a terrible communicator and never engaged with her. Why had he thought of her now? She had been utterly unlike this street urchin with the sexy voice and the fierce opinions. Banter was easy with Hannah Largent because she got a rise out of him.
