by Jo Grafford
Rachel watched until she made her way down the street and disappeared inside the bookstore. Sighing, she smoothed her gloved hands down her black silk mourning gown, straightened her saucy travel hat, and set her nose in the direction of Main. According to the telegram she’d received from Mrs. Ella Grace Karson, proprietress and co-owner of the Silverpines Inn, the room she’d reserved was just a hop, skip, and a jump down Main Street past the bank and law firm.
Though it was a bit on the chilly side, the sun was out and it was a fine morning for a walk. She pulled the ends of her black travel cloak a little tighter against the breeze and moved down the platform stairs. A few pedestrians on Main Street eyed her curiously, and a dusty cowpoke on a horse tipped his hat to her as he clopped past.
A gentleman in a dark leisure suit and walking cane stepped from the cafe to her left and paused at the sight of her. “Well, if it isn’t the belle of Boston herself.” He tucked his cane under his arm to give a muffled clap with his gloved hands. “Welcome home, darling.”
Rachel frowned at the faintly familiar cocky arch of blonde brows and scrambled to place a name to the handsome face smiling at her. “Mr. Banfield?” Unbelievable! He was one of her former co-dance instructors and dance partners at the Boston Young Ladies Finishing School where she’d worked until she’d married a year ago. What was he doing in Silverpines?
“Finneas to you, darling, or Finn, if you prefer.” He removed his hat and bowed low before her, making two young women who were standing outside the cafe titter behind their hands.
Darling! Rachel drew back in surprise. She was nobody’s darling, at least not any longer. She was still officially in mourning for her late husband and hadn’t a single romantic prospect in sight.
Without waiting for her to respond, Finneas Banfield returned his hat to his head, reached for her hand, and drew it through his arm. “Where to? I am most happy to escort you wherever you are going.” He tugged her gently on down the sidewalk.
The first tendrils of alarm curled in her bosom as she was assailed by the heavy-handed scents of too much aftershave and cologne. Though it was nice to see another friendly face, his show of over-familiarity struck her as odd. They’d never been close friends and certainly never courted. Quite the contrary! He’d always struck her as snobbish and aloof, a cut or two or three above her humble background due to his distant connection to some duke back in London.
Her feet ground to a halt, forcing them to pause their promenade. She removed her hand from his arm and pivoted to face him. “What a surprise to see you! If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you to Silverpines?”
“You,” he replied simply.
“Me!” She took a half-step back. “I don’t understand.” She peered anxiously into his aristocratic features, wondering if he’d become a tad “touched” in the head since their last encounter.
But his piercing blue eyes stared back at her without the slightest tinge of madness in them as he slowly expelled his breath. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to approach you about this, but then you upped and left Boston before your mourning period was over.”
Rachel’s sense of alarm grew to prickles that danced across the tops of her arms beneath the sleeves of her gown and cloak. “Approach me about what?”
He returned his gaze to hers and spread his hands. “I made a deathbed promise to Matthew that I would look after you.”
She folded her arms. “You knew my husband?” It was difficult to picture Professor Matthew West socializing with an independently wealthy gentleman of leisure like Finneas Banfield. They’d not moved in the same circles.
He gave an offhand shrug. “We attended school together. Our families go way back.”
It didn’t sound like a close friendship to her. “I wasn’t aware of your acquaintance with my late husband. And though I greatly appreciate whatever comfort you may have offered him in the hospital, I don’t need looking after.” She couldn’t recall him once visiting Matthew during his final days, and she should know. She’d hardly left her beloved’s side. She crossed her arms to mask a shiver.
He bestowed a disparaging glance on their surroundings. “I’ll admit this isn’t the place where I pictured myself settling down, but a promise is a promise.”
Now that sounded more like the snobbish man she remembered. “Settling down?” she inquired incredulously. “You plan to stay?”
“I may not be perfect, Rachel, but one thing I am is a man of my word. I’ve secured a townhome over on 8th Avenue and Ash.”
To look after me? Shaking her head at his casual use of her given name without her permission, she took yet another step back. “I hardly know what to say.” It was true. For once, all her training and decorum failed her. Her mind was utterly empty of casual niceties. Her encounter with Finneas Banfield was too sudden, too unexpected. She needed more time to process it.
“Say you’ll have breakfast with me.” His cultured baritone with its faint British accent waxed a tad husky with pleading. “I hear the Silverpines Inn serves a hash brown casserole worth sampling.”
“Thank you for asking, but I cannot spare the time. I have a prior engagement.” Thankfully! She wasn’t in the mood to break bread with a tiresome man from her past who had himself convinced she needed looking after.
“Oh?” he inquired. His ocean blue eyes sharpened with interest.
“Good day, Mr. Banfield,” she said firmly, strolling across the street to the entrance of the bank. She didn’t like it one bit that he would witness where she was heading next.
“Finneas!” he called after her.
I hope you enjoyed the excerpt from
SILVERPINES SERIES
Wanted: Bounty Hunter
Available now on Amazon + FREE in KU!
Much love,
Jo
Sneak Preview: Her Billionaire Boss
Jacey Maddox didn't bother straightening her navy pencil skirt or smoothing her hand over the sleek lines of her creamy silk blouse. She already knew she looked her best. She knew her makeup was flawless, each dash of color accentuating her sun kissed skin and classical features. She knew this, because she'd spent way too many of her twenty-five years facing the paparazzi; and after her trust fund had run dry, posing for an occasional glossy centerfold — something she wasn't entirely proud of.
Unfortunately, not one drop of that experience lent her any confidence as she mounted the cold, marble stairs of Genesis & Sons. It towered more than twenty stories over the Alaskan Gulf waters, a stalwart high-rise of white and gray stone with tinted windows, a fortress that housed one of the world's most brilliant think tanks. For generations, the sons of Genesis had ridden the cutting edge of industrial design, developing the concepts behind some of the nation's most profitable inventions, products, and manufacturing processes.
It was the one place on earth she was least welcome.
Not just because of how many of her escapades had hit the presses during her rebel teen years. Not just because she'd possessed the audacity to marry their youngest son against their wishes. Not just because she had encouraged him to pursue his dreams instead of their hallowed corporate mission — a decision that had ultimately gotten him killed. No. The biggest reason Genesis & Sons hated her was because of her last name. The one piece of herself she'd refused to give up when she'd married Easton Calcagni.
Maddox.
The name might as well have been stamped across her forehead like the mark of the beast as she moved into the crosshairs of their first security camera. It flashed an intermittent red warning light and gave a low electronic whirring sound as it swiveled to direct its lens on her.
Her palms grew damp and her breathing quickened as she stepped into the entry foyer of her family's greatest corporate rival.
Recessed mahogany panels lined the walls above a mosaic tiled floor, and an intricately carved booth anchored the center of the room. A woman with silver hair waving past her shoulders lowered her reading glasses to dangle from a p
earlized chain. "May I help you?"
Jacey's heartbeat stuttered and resumed at a much faster pace. The woman was no ordinary receptionist. Her arresting blue gaze and porcelain features had graced the tabloids for years. She was Waverly, matriarch of the Calcagni family, grandmother to the three surviving Calcagni brothers. She was the one who'd voiced the greatest protests to Easton's elopement. She'd also wept in silence throughout his interment into the family mausoleum, while Jacey had stood at the edge of their gathering, dry-eyed and numb of soul behind a lacy veil.
The funeral had taken place exactly two months earlier.
"I have a one o'clock appointment with Mr. Luca Calcagni."
Waverly's gaze narrowed to twin icy points. "Not just any appointment, Ms. Maddox. You are here for an interview, I believe?"
Time to don her boxing gloves. "Yes." She could feel the veins pulsing through her temples now. She'd prepared for a rigorous cross-examination but had not expected it to begin in the entry foyer.
"Why are you really here?"
Five simple words, yet they carried the force of a full frontal attack. Beneath the myriad of accusations shooting from Waverly's eyes, she wanted to spin on her peep-toe stiletto pumps and run. Instead, she focused on regulating her breathing. It was a fair question. Her late husband's laughing face swam before her, both taunting and encouraging, as her mind ran over all the responses she'd rehearsed. None of them seemed adequate.
"I'm here because of Easton." It was the truth stripped of every excuse. She was here to atone for her debt to the family she'd wronged.
Pain lanced through the aging woman's gaze, twisting her fine-boned features with lines. Raw fury followed. "Do you want something from us, Ms. Maddox?" Condescension infused her drawling alto.
Not what you're thinking, that's for sure. I’m no gold-digger. "Yes. Very much. I want a job at Genesis." She could never restore Easton to his family, but she would offer herself in his place. She would spend the rest of her career serving their company in whatever capacity they would permit. It was the penance she'd chosen for herself.
The muscles around Waverly's mouth tightened a few degrees more. "Why not return to DRAW Corporation? To your own family?"
She refused to drop the elder woman's gaze as she absorbed each question, knowing they were shot like bullets to shatter her resolve, to remind her how unwelcome her presence was. She'd expected no other reception from the Calcagni dynasty; some would even argue she deserved this woman's scorn. However, she'd never been easily intimidated, a trait that was at times a strength and other times a curse. "With all due respect, Mrs. Calcagni, this is my family now."
Waverly's lips parted as if she would protest. Something akin to fear joined the choleric emotions churning across her countenance. She clamped her lips together while her chest rose and fell several times. "You may take a seat now." She waved a heavily be-ringed hand to indicate the lounge area to her right. Lips pursed the skin around her mouth into papery creases as she punched a few buttons on the call panel. "Ms. Maddox has arrived." Her frigid tone transformed each word into ice picks.
Jacey expelled the two painful clumps of air her lungs had been holding prisoner in a silent, drawn-out whoosh as she eased past the reception booth. She'd survived the first round of interrogations, a small triumph that yielded her no satisfaction. She knew the worst was yet to come. Waverly Calcagni was no more than a guard dog; Luca Calcagni was the one they sent into the boxing ring to finish off their opponents.
Luca apparently saw fit to allow her to marinate in her uneasiness past their appointment time. Not a surprise. He had the upper hand today and would do everything in his power to squash her with it. A full hour cranked away on the complicated maze of copper gears and chains on the wall. There was nothing ordinary about the interior of Genesis & Sons. Even their clocks were remarkable feats of architecture.
"Ms. Maddox? Mr. Calcagni is ready to see you."
She had to remind herself to breathe as she stood. At first she could see nothing but Luca's tall silhouette in the shadowed archway leading to the inner sanctum of Genesis & Sons. Then he took a step forward into a beam of sunlight and beckoned her to follow him. She stopped breathing again but somehow forced her feet to move in his direction.
He was everything she remembered and more from their few brief encounters. Much more. Up close, he seemed taller, broader, infinitely more intimidating, and so wickedly gorgeous it made her dizzy. That her parents had labeled him and his brothers as forbidden fruit made them all the more appealing to her during her teen years. It took her fascinated brain less than five seconds to recognize Luca had lost none of his allure.
The blue-black sheen of his hair, clipped short on the sides and longer on top, lent a deceptive innocence that didn't fool her one bit. Nor did the errant lock slipping to his forehead on one side. The expensive weave of his suit and complex twists of his tie far better illustrated his famed unpredictable temperament. His movements were controlled but fluid, bringing to her mind the restless prowl of a panther as she followed him down the hall and into an elevator. It shimmered with mirrored glass and recessed mahogany panels.
They rode in tense silence to the top floor.
Arrogance rolled off him from his crisply pressed white shirt, to his winking diamond and white gold cuff links, down to his designer leather shoes. In some ways, his arrogance was understandable. He guided the helm of one of the world's most profitable companies, after all. And his eyes! They were as beautiful and dangerous as the rest of him. Tawny with flecks of gold, they regarded her with open contempt as he ushered her from the elevator.
They entered a room surrounded by glass. One wall of windows overlooked the gulf waters. The other three framed varying angles of the Anchorage skyline. Gone was the old-world elegance of the first floor. This room was all Luca. A statement of power in chrome and glass. Sheer contemporary minimalism with no frills.
"Have a seat." It was an order, not an offer. A call to battle.
It was a battle she planned to win. She didn't want to consider the alternative — slinking back to her humble apartment in defeat.
He flicked one darkly tanned hand at the pair of Chinese Chippendale chairs resting before his expansive chrome desk. The chairs were stained black like the heart of their owner. No cushions. They were not designed for comfort, only as a place to park guests whom the CEO did not intend to linger.
She planned to change his mind on that subject before her allotted hour was up. "Thank you." Without hesitation, she took the chair on the right, making no pretense of being in the driver's seat. This was his domain. Given the chance, she planned to mold herself into the indispensable right hand to whoever in the firm he was willing to assign her. On paper, she might not look like she had much to offer, but there was a whole pack of demons driving her. An asset he wouldn't hesitate to exploit once he recognized her unique value. Or so she hoped.
To her surprise, he didn't seat himself behind his executive throne. Instead, he positioned himself between her and his desk, hiking one hip on the edge and folding his arms. It was a deliberate invasion of her personal space with all six feet two of his darkly arresting half-Hispanic features and commanding presence.
Most women would have swooned.
Jacey wasn't most women. She refused to give him the satisfaction of either fidgeting or being the first to break the silence. Silence was a powerful weapon, something she'd learned at the knees of her parents. Prepared to use whatever it took to get what she'd come for, she allowed it to stretch well past the point of politeness.
Luca finally unfolded his arms and reached for the file sitting on the edge of his desk. "I read your application and resume. It didn't take long."
According to her mental tally, the first point belonged to her. She nodded to acknowledge his insult and await the next.
He dangled her file above the trash canister beside his desk and released it. It dropped and settled with a papery flutter.
"I fail to se
e how singing in nightclubs the past five years qualifies you for any position at Genesis & Sons."
The attack was so predictable she wanted to smile but didn't dare. Too much was at stake. She'd made the mistake of taunting him with a smile once before. Nine years earlier. Hopefully, he'd long forgotten the ill-advised lark.
Or not. His golden gaze fixed itself with such intensity on her mouth that her insides quaked with uneasiness. Nine years later, he'd become harder and exponentially more ruthless. She'd be wise to remember it.
"Singing is one of art's most beautiful forms," she countered softly. "According to recent studies, scientists believe it releases endorphins and oxytocin while reducing cortisol." There. He wasn't the only one who'd been raised in a tank swimming with intellectual minds.
The tightening of his jaw was the only indication her answer had caught him by surprise. Luca was a man of facts and numbers. Her answer couldn't have possibly displeased him, yet his upper lip curled. "If you came to sing for me, Ms. Maddox, I'm all ears."
The smile burgeoning inside her mouth vanished. Every note of music in her had died with her husband. That part of her life was over. "We both know I did not submit my employment application in the hopes of landing a singing audition." She started to rise, a calculated risk. "If you don't have any interest in conducting the interview you agreed to, I'll just excuse my—"
“Have a seat, Ms. Maddox. Her veiled suggestion of his inability to keep his word clearly stung.
She sat.
"Remind me what other qualifications you disclosed on your application. There were so few, they seem to have slipped my mind."
Nothing slipped his mind. She would bet all the money she no longer possessed on it. "A little forgetfulness is understandable, Mr. Calcagni. You’re a very busy man."
Her dig hit home. This time the clench of his jaw was more perceptible.
Now that she had his full attention, she plunged on. "My strengths are in behind-the-scenes marketing as well as personal presentations. As you are well aware, I cut my teeth on DRAW Corporation's drafting tables. I'm proficient in an exhaustive list of software programs and a whiz at compiling slides, notes, memes, video clips, animated graphics, and most types of printed materials. My family just this morning offered to return me to my former position in marketing."
