Blood, Cupcakes and Wicked Business (Grimstone Island)

by Rochelle Pearson

  Matthews’ army glared holes at them from the other. Against their better judgment, the few who wanted to reason, taking on the lion, began to recite other options. He declined them all. More like shot them down with a rifle and addressed Keeland.

  “Let’s have it.” His voice was amazingly deep. He was handed a pen from one of his staff. Keeland said nothing, opening a portfolio. Veronica’s vision zoomed in—release forms. The longer form was Matthews’ account. Inches apart, Keeland and she appeared emotionless to the surrounding audience. However, she intercepted each wave of extreme displeasure that radiated off his body.

  You’re up, girl.

  Just as Matthews reached across the table, Veronica slapped a hand on the pile of paper, making everyone jump.

  Matthews, bewildered at first, then just noticing her, narrowed golden irises. Confusion and shocked stares aimed her way.

  “Excuse me?” Matthews growled.

  “Ms. Ardelean,” Keeland said sharply. She hid a wince. Ms. Ardelean, my pale white ass—which was riddled with bite marks because of you, Mr. Elwood.

  Veronica induced even more confusion by taking the papers. Standing, she did her own addressing—directing it straight to the trillionaire. “Mr. Matthews, I’d think you’d like to hear one last pitch.”

  Mona tugged her skirt. Keeland abruptly stood too. “What are you doing?” he hissed in her ear. Veronica ignored them both.

  “I can’t imagine what you have to say would interest me, young lady,” a bored Matthews said. He probably thought this was a ploy. A last-ditch effort. Plan Z. “Please, hand over my paperwork. I have places to be.”

  “No.” The single response caused a flurry of gasps around the conference table.

  “Veronica,” Keeland rumbled, and not in a sexy way. Oh, I was so in for it.

  She locked onto Matthews. Whatever he saw, tensed his large body.

  “Mr. Matthews, Remington’s property will be yours this time tomorrow.”

  That did it. Lovely, fellow employees voiced loudly that she was talking out of her ass, that she was new and her desperation shouldn’t reflect against the company. Yes, they quite did. Mona hissed for everyone to shut up. Keeland yanked her away from the table, but she pushed him off and swerved around him to get Matthews’ attention again. He was rather amused by all of this.

  “I’m serious, sir. I can guarantee you’ll have your bar up and running on the lot of Caesar’s Palace,” she rambled on, fighting to convince him, ringing each word with seriousness.

  Winging the hell out of it all the way to Satan’s porch steps and back.

  “That isn’t true.” Keeland shook his head. “I apologize for my assistant.” He shot her a glare. Veronica, however, didn’t take offense to his condescending tone. She refused to back down or stumble on hurt feelings.

  She cut him her own glare.

  Back to the lion, “Mr. Matthews, I am in the process of obtaining the property. If you’ll just—”

  The lion rose to his feet, silencing everyone with a wave of his beefy hand. “That’s enough.” He considered her, a slow smile creeping. “Ms.?”

  “Ardelean.”

  “Ms. Ardelean... tomorrow you say?” He arched a bushy eyebrow, intrigued.

  “Yes.” Hopefully. “Possibly sooner.” Okay, that’s enough cockiness. Damn, was that the sun’s heat currently scorching the side of her face or just Keeland’s soulless glare? Throw money at the latter.

  Matthews watched her without uttering another word. Instinctively, her spine straightened. Chin raised. Come on, come on, come on.

  “Tomorrow, then.” He nodded curtly. “Last time.” He growled then snapped his fingers and just like that he and his posse exited the conference room.

  Hooray—

  Keeland crowded her side. “In my office. Now.”

  Fuck. Pray for me.

  * * *

  All right, honestly, she wasn’t scared of Keeland acting like a rogue bull again. She was, however, slightly worried about getting fired—a realistic possibility since she hadn’t actually heard back from Remington yet regarding the threat she’d issued. So essentially claiming to Matthews that the sale was basically in a solid grip was a big whoppin’ premature bluff.

  Shit could go either way at that point and that’s what scared her.

  But damn it, I had to do something!

  “Who the hell gave you the authority to make a promise to the one man who is this close to dragging the Resurrect name through the mud?” Keeland demanded, throwing his portfolio to the floor.

  “Kee-”

  “Who? Because it sure as fuck wasn’t me!” With immense force, he shoved his leather chair into the wall, leaving a deep crack. Beside her, Mona squeaked, not sure what to do.

  “But—”

  “How dare you play that bullshit? We can’t fulfill that promise!”

  “Well, actually—”

  “How could you betray me?”

  Okay, that pinched.

  “Damn it, Veronica!” he shouted, and a magic storm thundered, whipping hair and sending paper flying. Tornado Keeland had touched ground.

  Before his pencil holder went soaring, Veronica grabbed it and started throwing pens at his chest like darts. And yes, you can believe she threw a few at his dick because she was sick of him being one.

  “Will. You. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. And listen,” she yelled back, aiming nicely. He couldn’t duck from them all. Bitchy vamp, is fast, huh? She ran out of pens and picked up a visitor chair. Mona wrestled it away, but that was fine because Keeland finally quit talking, although the storm still was near.

  “Thank you.” Veronica flung wisps of hair out the way. “Now if you’re quite finished—”

  “Ver-”

  “No! Uh huh, you’re done talking!” she eyed the chair Mona held. Hell, if I need it, I’ll just toss her with it. “The reason I told Matthews that Remington will sell is because it’s true.” Kinda. Eighty percent. Fifty. At least thirty. The time frame was tight, and possibly nonexistent. Gods, help me win this.

  “How is that possible?” Keeland bit out each word.

  She picked up her purse, that was snagged before entering his office. Now unzipped, she took out her phone. Instead of explaining, she simply showed him the evidence:

  A file of Remington’s son, Harold Remington Jr.’s, cell records—page after page, his contacts with Madam Mooney, a supernatural escorting service that caters to wealthy individuals. They prowl in the west coast of the United States.

  Pictures of Jr. entering clubs with a woman identified as one of Mooney’s women.

  Audio of a noisy setting—his voice coming clear, asking for oral sex.

  And lastly, the video, which she could only stomach six seconds of—Jr. banging a woman up against a grimy brick alley wall.

  “The man is Remington’s son.”

  “Where did you get all of this?” Mona asked, peering at the phone.

  “I know a guy.” Or woman, the source’s gender was up for debate. Just a ghost with an untraceable email address.

  “Trusted?”

  “It’s creditable.” One hundred percent ready to supply damaging information about anyone on the globe. And... it wasn’t the first she’d contacted them. Her father had instructed her countless times when wanting to coerce an individual who was in his way to permanently step aside.

  Again, it was worth bringing up old, unwanted memories for Keeland. Who saw this now as they stared at one another. Clearing her throat, she spoke to her high heels. “What makes this detrimental is that Jr. here, Remington’s prodigal son, is currently running for Nevada senator. And wouldn’t it look bad for a man in office to consort with prostitutes?” Though they weren’t human, it still would appear that way to the state’s mortal citizens. She met Keeland’s gaze to gauge how he was taking it. Whether he even would. “We get the property, or all the evidence will be released to multiple media outlets.”

  “That’s blackmail,” Keeland said qui
etly... then cracked a broad grin.

  “It’s genius,” Mona said, impressed. “Diabolically evil and downright wrong... I fucking love it.”

  She waited for Keeland to say more. He didn’t look at me, but at Mona. “Start a new set of contracts.”

  “But Keeland, Remington may not take the bait,” she cut in. Her desk phone still unchecked. She was itching to see if he’d called. “Despite jumping the gun—”

  “More like pummeling it.”

  She flinched. Damn.

  As her heart was packing to head south, Keeland’s sudden smile had it changing course. “I’m confident Mr. Remington will make contact and to be sure, I’ll send his people another photo.” He waved her phone. “Mona?”

  “Yes, sir?” she asked by the door.

  “Add in a clause that says we’ll be bound to not disclose the... sensitive, information about his son if all goes according to plan. As will his side to be quiet. I run my business how I please, but let’s keep the darker parts in the grave.”

  Evil man, I love him.

  “Absolutely.” Mona smiled then dashed out.

  “As for you...” He slowly strode towards Veronica. “Ms. Ardelean.” He possessed her chin.

  “Are you going to fire me?”

  “That depends,” he said, brushing his thumb against her plump, bottom lip. “If you accept my apology.”

  “For what, exactly?” Red eyes narrowed.

  “Being an ass.”

  “A giant ass, Boss Man.” She squeezed his middle. “It’s accepted... if—”

  “Oh, Gods,” he groaned.

  “Hush. It’s accepted if you make an announcement in front of the entire staff about how fucking awesome Queen Assistant Veronica is.”

  He burst out laughing “Assistant Veronica—”

  “Don’t forget Queen.”

  “Not a problem.” He raised his hands. “That is, if we’re out of the woods.”

  “Understandable. But when we are, dinner is on you for the next month.” she kissed his jaw, moving down his neck, palming his cock. A low squeal emitted when he lifted her onto his desk, hands ran under her skirt.

  He offered a better option. “Hmm, how about... forever?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Keeland might be one damn happy man whose woman makes each day better than the last, but behind his desk, he was still a cocky SOB. As predicted, Remington called demanding for the ball to get rolling. Yes, he’ll sell. Hmm, I wonder why?

  For chump change his building was theirs. It was officially being extracted from his hands as soon as they hung up the phone. A part of Keeland wanted to end the call by voicing his hope Jr. won the election, but for sure the silly quip would’ve shattered everything.

  That doesn’t mean he didn’t laugh like a triumphant maniac. Because he certainly did. Long after confirmation on the proceedings passed to lawyers from either party. Long after the signed contracts were faxed. Long after telling Matthews the queen assistant pulled through sooner than expected. Long after receiving the man’s thirty-page plan for the building, which was copied to the ground assessment team Keeland had already on sight in Vegas.

  And remained still bursting far greater than the sun when the lead member sent him the estimated reno cost—-the final dollar sign handed to Matthews, which he agreed to, leaving Resurrect with a gut-busting profit.

  George Matthews swings money around like a frat boy does his dick. Thank the Gods for his ego. To round this off, laughter carried throughout the elf’s domain long after he’d gotten an email receipt of the deposit.

  The deal was always for clients to pay fifty percent after signing.

  Matthews paid in full.

  Not conventional for a businessman but Resurrect garnered his faith.

  No.

  Veronica made that happen.

  * * *

  A quarter till eleven at night, two souls remained on the fiftieth floor.

  Keeland’s.

  And hers.

  He strode down dark hallways, soundless, cutting through the blackness, aiming for Veronica’s office. He permitted an early release to everyone, including Mona, so they could celebrate the remainder of the afternoon. However, that had been hours ago. He gotten a brief message from his assistant that she planned to stay to begin scheduling the construction, design process collaborating with Matthews’ people.

  Keeland currently held another form of apology for going off earlier. It was far greater than a raise, and he knew she was going to love it.

  * * *

  “Excellent, thank you.” Veronica said goodbye to the chief of construction Resurrect uses overseas, feeling so proud and exuberant that the refurbishing undertaking would run smoothly for Matthews’ new building. Tomorrow, more calls would flood in from other contributors to confirm times and dates, which she’d have to run through with Keeland and—

  A knock interrupted her train of thought. “Yes?”

  Keeland entered.

  He locked the door behind him.

  This was one of the many times the ability to breath was realer than ever. Then she’d say my breath hitched upon seeing him. Or sighed when he stalked closer like a predator, sexy and dominant. Or gasped when he placed a box of bakery smelling goodness on the desk.

  “You didn’t.” she gaped.

  “I did. I’d like to apologize again for my behavior.”

  “It was warranted. I blindsided you.” she shrugged.

  “That’s still no excuse to raise my voice. Especially at you.” He tapped the light pink box, Sweet Suffering scrawled in fancy cursive. “A woman, an angel, in the shop had these ready before I even told her what I wanted for you.” He cocked a brow in question. Veronica laughed, then lifted the lid.

  Six black cupcakes in gold foil with black icing, and red sprinkles. Their name printed on a polka dot card: Scorpio Cakes. Contains the venom of an Emperor Scorpion.

  A quick taste of the icing and sprinkles told she was dealing with dormouse blood—a flavor equated with chocolate, and the sprinkles: solid bits of nutty squirrel blood. The mild heat of the venom tied in beautifully, providing an explosion of appealing flavors.

  Be still, my metaphorically beating heart.

  “That explains why she said, ‘Tell her I said hi,’ and winked.” Keeland planted on the edge of the desk and swiped a dollop of frosting. Veronica watched the hottest thing ever: him sucking the ink-colored paste off his index finger. Seeing him do that sat right next to watching his face when he comes.

  “There’s blood in it,” she reminded him, though too late. He considered the substance in his mouth, swallowing, then shrugged.

  “Lightly metallic,” he says. Typical assumption for non-conventional drinkers. “What’s it like to you?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “It tastes sweet. Try the sprinkle.” She was only interested in him putting more of her favorite treat in his mouth, all the while making his strong jaw move and thick throat work.

  “Faintly metallic, again,” he concluded after eating a few red beads.

  “They’re nutty to me,” she said, smiling at the beast who leaned in for a kiss.

  “It tastes better on your lips,” he murmured, becoming a living sin. No longer was there a buildup within. She’s so over that. The body told her what it wanted, craved and she followed through.

  This led to a brand-new fantasy to take place.

  Her boss seated in the rolling chair, eyes ignited, hands tied, and frosting smeared on his exposed chest and abs. His cock was presently in her grasp as she painted a smiley face with more chocolaty icing on the shaft.

  “So strange,” he groaned, as she licked her handiwork. “But I like it.”

  Down three cupcakes, Veronica successfully converted Keeland to cupcake worshipper.

  That was if she fed it to him while stroking his dick.

  A lump of dark fluffy cake went into her mouth while she shucked her blouse across the room.

  “Take everything else
off.” Keeland nodded to the skirt and bra, straining against the knot she locked him in behind the chair. “Except those,” he directed to the heels.

  “Naughty,” she smirked, abiding her boss’s wishes. Never had she ever been a temptress. Never had she ever stripped naked and straddled a man with a cupcake in her damn hand, then between where groins touched and kissed him deeply. Mouths stretched to the fullest, each tongue explored. Looping arms around his neck, she brought them glued tight, ignoring the sticky feel of frosting that moved from his chest to her breasts. She wiggled, he moaned. He rubbed his cock along her entrance, making her to moan.

  Sorry, bud, she said silently to the poor cupcake as it catapulted to the floor.

  “Oops,” she giggled. It landed frosting side first on the carpet. Keeland tsked.

  “Destroyer.” He nipped her collarbone. “Lover.”

  She melted.

  “You’re mine,” the reply said huskily, before scrapping pebbled nipples against his sculpted pecs. Keeland tapped her forehead with his, consumed by pure joy, affection, wickedness.

  “I love you, Veronica.” He kissed once. Gods, curl me inside him. “Look at me, baby.”

  She did, fighting overwhelming pools of tears that threaten to unleash. He could see the struggle as she latched onto his bright gaze. “You’re mine,” he whispered.

  “I love you,” she whimpered, on the cusp of breaking.

  Suddenly, creaking sounds filled the office then a searing rip. Wide eyes gaped at him, arms stretching forward. The scraps of his tie lay shredded on the floor.

  “You honestly thought anything would keep me from getting to you?” he mused.

  “Dammit, I earned my play time!”

  “I’m greedy and impatient. You know this already, love.” He bounced her up in his arms and settled, flush on top on the desk. Her hair fanned underneath, mingling with the scatter of business documents that had not flittered off. No thoughts went to whether to move them, or to glance at where the box of remaining cupcakes landed.