Claim

by Sierra Cartwright

  Even though it was still hours until dawn, she went to the closet and pulled out a short, fluffy peach robe. Though she loved summer, she had to admit that she looked forward to fall for a chance to drag out her assortment of thick, warm clothes and cozy throws. Knotting the belt around her waist, she headed downstairs.

  Obviously she’d been in a hurry last night. She’d left the overhead lights on. Her shoes were in a discarded heap, and her coat was still hanging from the banister. The leather paddle lay in the middle of the entryway floor.

  She crouched to pick it up. As she stood, she was keenly aware of the muscles that had been tested last night.

  Unsure what to do with the paddle, she ignored it while she moved her shoes to the bottom stair. Then she grabbed her coat.

  Kennedy’s card was in the pocket. She didn’t know what to do with that, either. If she pulled it out, it might be tempting to give in and dial his number.

  What could it hurt?

  She opened the closet and hung up the coat.

  Last night, Kennedy had accused her of having a shell around herself, and he was correct, more so than he might have realized.

  Last night, she’d made a mistake by curling against him after they’d played together. Their scene had affected her on a lot of levels.

  Plenty of Doms had beaten her. A few had even gotten her off. But Kennedy had drawn out the scene for maximum impact, not just physically, but emotionally, sexually. He’d watched her reactions. He’d demanded her participation. He’d taken her to depths she hadn’t known existed.

  Then she’d sought his reassurance and strength while they’d been on the couch. As if that hadn’t been enough, he’d wanted to get to know her on the drive home, not the surface information she shared with others, but the private thoughts she kept to herself.

  Because it was tempting to share with him, she told herself she’d need to build better defenses to keep him out.

  Before she could change her mind and reach for his card, she closed the door.

  The paddle was still there, seeming to mock her, or at least daring her to call him.

  As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t ignore the damn thing. Since she was untidy by nature, she had a housekeeper come in every Monday. Knowing she’d be mortified if Sandra found the toy, she fought off the temptation to just toss it into the coat closet. Instead, she picked it up and carried it into the kitchen with her. She put it on the counter while she started the coffeemaker.

  She dug beneath a pile of mail to find a piece of chalk then scribbled a note on the board that was shaped like a wine bottle, reminding herself to buy one of those single brew coffeemakers.

  Because the brew was taking its sweet time, she poured some fresh water into the tall glass jar that held her stalks of bamboo then wandered to the window and pulled up the blinds. Snow still drifted down. Wind howled, ripping final, stubborn leaves from tree branches. It was a good day to be inside, maybe with a fire and a good book.

  But it would also be a fine day to think and rethink then think some more about last night’s events. And that, she refused to do.

  Even though the pot wasn’t yet full, she pulled out the carafe, ignoring the hissing as drops dripped on the burner. She filled a cup, put the carafe back then took a long drink before pushing away from the counter.

  Finally able to think, she headed for her home office to bury herself in work, her magic escape. She ran RightNow, a professional staffing company, and she used Sunday mornings to preview the coming week.

  As part of her ritual, she ripped off the top, used pages of her half-dozen yellow legal pads. She wadded each page individually and tossed them into the trash can. Or, rather, that was her goal. Mostly they ended up in a pile near it.

  Then she powered up the computer, using the time to infuse her veins with more caffeine.

  She logged into the work server and read emails then looked at her calendar to be sure she had meetings scheduled with all her managers. Then she double-checked that all members of the office staff had confirmed their attendance at the weekly meeting. She analyzed each item that was on the calendar, looking for potential pitfalls.

  Then, coffee in hand, she scooted her chair back and looked at the yearly calendar. She had an identical one on the wall in her downtown office. Regularly occurring events were written in blue ink. Action items were in red. She knew when retailers started hiring extra holiday help. She also wrote in annual events, tradeshows, tax season, even political campaigns. Months before each item, her sales team contacted appropriate owners and planners to discuss needs and submit bids.

  She turned back and jotted a note to ask her office manager if the mailing to local retailers had gone out for RightNow’s upcoming open house. Several times a year, she invited small business owners to the offices to learn about her company’s services. Early on, she’d realized it was more difficult to say no after they’d met the staff and had the best cookies on the planet. Free-flowing sangria didn’t hurt, either.

  During the week, her staff emailed articles about the Boston scene and any breaking business news. Unless something was marked as urgent, she saved all of those for Sunday, as well.

  She scanned the headlines and deleted the ones that didn’t grab her.

  That done, she took a legal pad with her when she went back to the kitchen to replenish the coffee. She pretended she didn’t see the paddle—or feel its after-effects—then scooped up the pile of mail from her kitchen counter. The piece of chalk she’d used earlier fell to the tile floor and broke in two.

  Since her hands were full, she used the pad of her foot to temporarily move the pieces out of the way.

  She carried the pile over to the kitchen’s granite breakfast bar.

  The sun seemed to be desperately trying to push blackness from the sky. But with the thick, oozing clouds, the day unfurled with seething, inky gray dreariness.

  She sorted out the bills, put the junk mail aside then neatly stacked the magazines and trade journals.

  It was her goal that nothing big happened in the Boston business scene without her awareness.

  She reached for a legal pad that was perched on the edge of the bar and pulled it closer. Then she flipped open a glossy architectural journal and saw an in-depth exposé about the almost-complete State Street Plaza building. She already knew the building was a product of Aldrich Real Estate Holdings, but seeing a snapshot of him standing in the not yet complete marble lobby with its spectacular chandelier stopped her. The piece had been designed by an architectural art company, and it flowed in waves, curving, seemingly animated. One of its crystal curtains was twelve feet long.

  She hesitated for a moment longer, then wrote his company’s name on her legal pad.

  The article had numerous pictures, along with an artist’s rendering of what the edgy twisted-glass building would look like when it opened. Several of the residences had already been completed, and a few photos highlighted interior and exterior features. One of the units would even have its own waterfall. Not a bad amenity in heart of Boston’s financial district.

  It would also have a club and spa facilities, she noted. And all those had special staffing needs, even if they were managed by outside interests.

  While contracts with huge companies provided needed stability for RightNow’s bottom line, no job was too small. Which brought her back to…

  Kennedy. Signing up even a part of Aldrich Enterprises would benefit her firm.

  Though they had their own in-house HR department, working with an outside agency for their constant job openings could save them time and ultimately, money.

  Mackenzie pulled her fingers through her hair, dragging back the chunk of her bangs that never behaved unless she used a blow-dryer and straight iron.

  She would never use their personal relationship to advance RightNow’s interests. And she was insane for even considering it.

  Leaning forward again, she put a fat X through his name and tossed the architectural magazine
aside, on top of the paper destined for the recycle bin.

  Even though she’d done that, she couldn’t vanquish thoughts of him, or the scene. And it wasn’t just because of the paddle sitting on the counter.

  Putting thoughts of him from her mind, she jotted a few more notes.

  Thankfully, somewhere in the distance her phone blasted out a Lady Gaga song, Bad Romance, something she’d programmed in after she’d caught Brian and his bride-to-be at the fundraiser.

  She slid from the bar stool and managed to reach the hall table before the caller was sent to voice mail.

  Concerned that it might be Kennedy, she hesitated for a second before reaching for it.

  Seeing her friend’s name and picture on the screen, she answered the call.

  “Are you alone?” Bella demanded.

  “Good morning to you, too,” she said, returning to the kitchen to drain the dregs of the coffee pot into a mug. “And yes, I’m alone.” Then, because it had sat on the burner for so long, she splashed vanilla-flavored creamer into the dark depths.

  “Kennedy Aldrich didn’t spend the night?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I was hoping,” Bella confessed.

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “We were thinking that maybe Operation Get Back on the Damn Horse had been a success.”

  “No.” She took a long drink. “If there’s any hope of success, it sure won’t be with someone like him.” The creamer hadn’t helped.

  “You don’t get it,” Bella protested.

  “Don’t get what?”

  “It has to be with someone like him. You’ve gotta have someone who is secure and confident. You’d chew up anyone else.”

  She laughed. “You make me sound like a shark or an alligator. Something big with nasty teeth.”

  “No. Just a woman who knows what she wants and won’t put up with any bullshit. Hell, you let him whale on your ass last night.”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  “Bet you can’t sit down.”

  “I can,” she protested, thinking about seeing the word brat on her buttocks last night. “It’s getting back up that’s a challenge.”

  “Ha! I knew it! Did he ask you out?”

  “He gave me his number.”

  “His office number? Or the private one?”

  “Personal cell,” Mackenzie said.

  “You going to call him?”

  And play the game by his rules? “No.”

  “Are you crazy? You have the phone number for one of the hottest mega-rich guys on the planet—”

  “Who is seen with a new woman every month.”

  “So what? He didn’t ask you to marry him. What could it hurt to let him spoil you for one night? You deserve it after the Jackass King.”

  “If you called to nag, I’m not home. Leave a message at the tone.”

  “Oh, fine. I wanted all the details, but if you’re going to be stingy…”

  “I am. I’m keeping every single juicy, delicious bit to myself.” Along with the nerve-shredding things he said.

  Bella huffed and waited.

  Mackenzie let the silence grow.

  “At least find out if the cattle prod part is true. That part I bet she made up.”

  “Bella!”

  “The stocks? That I believe.”

  “Hanging up now.”

  “Wait! I’m done talking about your mega-millionaire.”

  “Last warning.”

  She got quiet, something unusual for her. “I wanted to see if you’ll go to a gallery opening with me on Friday night. It’s at that new place in the art district. Doodles, I think it’s called. They’re debuting a bunch of unknowns, and a girl from the office is showing off some silver work, so I promised I’d show up to support her. James was supposed to take me, but he called this morning—”

  “Wait. James? Did you say James?”

  “Yeah.” Bella exhaled. “I know.”

  “I’ll go.” James was Bella’s on-again, off-again boyfriend. After Bella had broken up with him two weeks ago, she’d agreed to go to The Hub. In typical weasel-bastard behavior, James must have called her again. He’d invite her places then cancel. He’d been known to stand her up entirely. But at other times, Bella swore they had a great time together. Mackenzie wasn’t sure if the man had commitment issues or whether he was a flake. Either way, it didn’t matter. Bella had been there for her during the divorce, and she was happy to return the favor.

  “We can have happy hour before we go,” Bella said.

  “Margaritas sealed the deal.”

  Before ending the call, they made the arrangements.

  It was funny. She could clearly see what others should do with their relationships. But it wasn’t as easy in her own life.

  Comfortable with the decisions she’d made, even if it sometimes meant she was a bit lonely, she picked up the paddle and dumped it into her junk drawer. She intentionally shoved away the vision of stocks. Damn Bella for mentioning it.

  With her hip, she gave the drawer a good shove then went back to work.

  Chapter Four

  Kennedy’s day had started with an emergency. A predawn phone call from Hong Kong had dragged him from bed.

  Promising that he’d be available for an emergency conference call within the hour, he’d hit the treadmill for thirty minutes then showered and downed an energy drink before entering his home office for the video conference call with Hong Kong.

  Aldrich Enterprises Hospitality division was attempting to open a hotel, and there were, of course, delays. And that meant more funds were needed. This one was in the seven-digit range, which his CFO couldn’t approve without consulting him. After reviewing each overrun, he’d told the CFO to “Get it done.”

  The woman had nodded and rubbed her thumb between her eyebrows. “Yes, sir.” She hadn’t even attempted a placating smile.

  Afterward, he’d driven to work, handling three phone calls on the way. When he’d reached the office, he’d scanned the notes his admin had prepared in advance of his meeting with a new, potential investor. After the way this morning had gone, he’d take all the help he could get for his overseas hospitality division.

  He’d originally invited the investor to lunch or dinner at the Old Bronwyn Building. She’d refused. Her company wasn’t interested in being wowed with hospitality. Rather, they preferred to meet with people at their offices so they could see the operation. He’d read it as code for operational inefficiencies.

  His admin buzzed to let him know that Helen Carlisle had arrived.

  He crossed the room and met her at the door.

  Though he’d done research ahead of time, he wasn’t prepared. She’d been called eccentric, but shrewd. Pictures showed her as about fifty, thin, wearing a conservative skirt suit with contrasting pumps. She wore her hair short, severe even, the strands all but plastered to her face.

  This woman had on a black maxi dress, and around her neck was one of the largest necklaces he’d ever seen. Gold-colored squares were interlaced, and they dropped down the front of her dress like a carnival maze.

  She used a silver cane with an eagle’s head on top, something else his research hadn’t turned up. She had dark hair that brushed her shoulders.

  “Ms. Carlisle?” he asked, offering his hand.

  “Call me Helen, and I’ll call you Kennedy.” She shook his hand with surprising strength.

  Outside the doorway, his admin shrugged. “May I bring water or tea?” Jonathan asked.

  “Gin, if you have it,” Helen replied.

  Another test, he knew. How responsive were they? How good were they at meeting the customer’s needs? “Gin it is,” he told Jonathan, knowing he could count on the man. He’d been Kennedy’s personal admin for a long time, and every day, Jonathan came through, handling the most complicated tasks.

  Helen picked up the cane and carried it as she walked across the room and sat in a chair across the desk from him.
r />   “Shall we cut through the small talk?”

  “Please,” he said as he took his chair.

  “We’ll let the others handle the due diligence. And if we go forward, there’ll be plenty of that and non-disclosures. But the bottom line is, I don’t do business with people I don’t like. No matter how good the deal is. If I can’t abide you, I don’t want you taking up space in my brain. Got it?”

  He leaned forward and pressed his palms together.

  “Is my gin coming?”

  “Guaranteed.”

  “Your shoes are hideous. Respectful gentlemen dress the part.”

  “With all due respect,” he said, “I believe in the company. Wearing them is good advertising. I have a pair for every suit.”

  “Send me a pair,” she said.

  “Buy them,” he countered. “Cloud Walkers. They even come in black with a fluorescent white stripe. They’d go great with your dress.”

  “Fashion advice, Kennedy?”

  “Everyone works better when their feet don’t hurt.”

  “I’ve been sitting in your lobby for an hour. I talked to people in the cafeteria. And some on the street. Visited every floor, pretended to be lost.”

  Her ways were definitely unconventional. He had to admire them.

  “Aren’t you going to ask what I heard?”

  “No.” He relaxed against his seatback. “You’re here and you asked for a gin. You would have canceled the meeting or started by berating me if you hadn’t liked what you heard.”

  Jonathan knocked before entering. He wheeled in a serving cart. Her decanter of gin was there, along with a bottle of water and a few slices of lime. He’d brought a glass already filled with a square-cut chunk of ice.

  Helen put her lips together and nodded.

  Jonathan had brought a lidded paper cup for Kennedy. It looked like coffee, but Kennedy knew it would be filled with the new energy drink he was considering investing in.

  “I can manage,” she told Jonathan when he opened the tonic water.