THE HOT SPRAY of the shower jet beat down on her upturned face and stretched neck as she stood with her hands on the blue tile wall in front of her. Steam billowed up around her, the water massaging her into wakefulness. Four-thirty came early, but Jacqui Karston had been waking that early for the past two years, losing herself in the projects of The Karston Foundation ever since her family died in a plane crash without her. She was up late every night, as well. She had to be. There was still so much to do to rebuild Biloxi after Katrina devastated the coast ten years ago. The city had already did quite a bit, of course, but it was not enough. It would never be enough in Jacqui’s eyes, not as long as there were vacant lots and partially demolished buildings scattered everywhere, and, if she were honest with herself, she needed the distraction.
After blow drying her hair, she brushed it into long, blond walls, framing her narrow face, keeping her closed off and uninviting. It also added the illusion of height to her already five-ten frame, which only made her look that much taller in her three-inch heels. Height meant power. People took you seriously if they had to look up to you, and Jacqui demanded people took her seriously.
With her travel mug full of black coffee and an everything bagel wrapped and ready to be devoured, she locked the door to her silent house, leaving her father, whom she forced to move in with her a year ago, and their housekeeper sleeping soundly, as she headed to the offices of The Karston Foundation. The morning traffic was a mere trickle in the pre-dawn hours, and by six-fifteen, she walked through the dimly lit foyer of the building bearing her family name. There was only one other person there that early, Karl Henry, the building’s custodian. Since the Karstons pulled Karl’s life out of the rubble of Katrina’s aftermath, he always made sure Jacqui never unlocked her own office door. Once he realized her coming in early after the death of her family was a permanent thing and not just a onetime occurrence, he adjusted his hours to match hers. Even though Jacqui hated he had to leave his family that early every day, she appreciated the fact that he threw himself into his job. Biloxi needed more people like Karl. If more people were as driven as he was, then the Gulf Coast would have been restored to its former glory already with empty lots filled and damaged buildings renewed with fresh purpose. The casinos had been quick to rebuild after Katrina, but that didn’t help the smaller businesses who needed it. Some had lost everything and moved to other areas. The Karstons didn’t want to see any more people leave their city. They needed a reason to stay, and Marc, her late husband, had been determined to give it to them. She had joined his crusade and devoted the last decade of her life to doing just that. However, over the last two years it had consumed her every waking moment, making her cut out anything that failed to help her fulfill Marc’s mission.
Her office light was on, and her personal coffee pot already had fresh coffee waiting on her, another of Karl’s services. She tried to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but the quiet man refused to listen. “You gave my family hope to keep going after the storm hit,” he said. “You gave me a job and helped us get back on our feet. What’s a pot of coffee compared to that?”
Jacqui stood behind her desk and picked up a silver picture frame that held the last portrait ever taken of her family. Her husband, Marc, had his arms around her shoulders while their nine-year-old daughter, Maggie, sat on Jacqui’s lap, Marc’s hand on his daughter’s right shoulder. Jacqui had her arms around her daughter. Jacqui smiled as she stared at the picture, her family staring back at her. Helping the Henrys was Marc’s vision for his city. He wanted to save people, save their homes, their businesses. She joined in that vision, believing in it, in Marc. Yet, when her family needed her the most, she was not around to save them. It was her job as wife and mother, a job she had failed at doing. She didn’t deserve hot coffee being made for her. She deserved nothing, because she still owed so much.
By eight that morning, she was so absorbed in the plans for her new project, the Maggie Karston Community Center, that she hadn’t noticed her personal assistant, Lily Anderson, until the young woman came in to dump out Jacqui’s cold coffee and replace it with fresh. Realizing she had basically been in the same position for the last hour and a half, Jacqui tried to stretch her cramped muscles. Everything was tight, and she heard her joints pop as she stretched her arms high over her head. Her father would scold her for not being more active. “Muscles need to be worked.” Yet, when did she have the time? There was so much to do and so few people to do it.
Lily handed her a manila folder as she set a cup of steaming coffee on Jacqui’s desk, the travel mug replaced with a ceramic one with a skyline of Biloxi wrapped around it. “This is the information you wanted on Rutherford Construction,” the small brunette said. Lily was another one they pulled from the wreckage of Katrina. She had been attending the local college when the hurricane barreled through and reduced her apartment to rubble. Marc found her sitting on the curb, just staring at what was once her home. The college would keep going, but even at nineteen, Lily was ready to call it quits. He put the young woman in his car and took her home where they were already housing several refugees. Marc wasn’t giving anyone a chance to give up, and Jacqui loved him all the more for his compassion and generosity. She was determined to carry on his legacy.
“Anything in the file you should warn me about?” Opening the folder, Jacqui leaned back in her chair. “Any reason I should go with these guys instead of someone here?” Jacqui wanted to help solidify Biloxi and the surrounding area, and therefore, always hired locally, another tradition Marc had started. The only reason she agreed to even meet with Neal Rutherford was because her financial adviser, Brent Wellington, forced her into taking the meeting. Brent had been with Marc and her since the beginning, and she felt loyal to him. Still, while she agreed to the meeting, she hadn’t agreed to hire them. She was counting on her personal assistant to help her find the way out she needed.
Lily, now twenty-nine and filled out into a beautiful woman as opposed to a skinny teenager, clasped her hands in front of her and shook her head. “Actually, from everything I could find on the company, they do amazing work. They’re always on time and usually come in under budget. They have offices throughout Florida and into Georgia, all with excellent reviews. To be honest, I can’t see a reason not to hire them. Sorry.”
Jacqui smiled up at the girl, all five-feet seven-inches of her. “Brent didn’t bribe you to say that, did he?”
Lily laughed as she gave Jacqui a playful wink. “He can’t afford me.” She then turned and began walking out of Jacqui’s office. “I’ll leave you to your dilemma. I’ll be at my desk if you need anything, Mrs. Karston.” Jacqui watched her walk away, her navy-blue skirt hugging her ass and her four-inch heels stretching her athletic legs. She didn’t know how her assistant managed to stay in such tight shape. She was almost always at the office with Jacqui, working the same insane hours. When the younger woman found time to exercise was a mystery to Jacqui, as well as something she envied.
She stared at the manila folder Lily had handed her. Jacqui really hoped her assistant would have found some reason for her to cancel her lunch appointment with Neal Rutherford. She wanted to keep the money in the Biloxi area, not send it off to line a CEO’s pockets who has nothing invested in her city. Everything Jacqui did, she did to improve the local economy. She bought from local vendors; she ate at locally owned restaurants, and she hired from local contractors. Brent knew this. So why did he seem hellbent on her working with Rutherford Construction, Incorporated? Of course, a better question would be why she didn’t just refuse.
A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she closed the folder. Because I owe Brent for helping me get this far. Brent had been the one who had made Marc’s vision possible, and she owed him for that. Of course, that didn’t mean she had to like it.
She slipped the folder into her briefcase, ensuring she wouldn’t forget it. As she leaned back in her chair, she picked up the silver picture frame again, this time focusing on her daughter’s thin face. The project, the Maggie Karston Community Center, was to honor Jacqui’s daughter. Neal Rutherford would have to guarantee his company could make it perfect before Jacqui even came close to considering his company for her project. While Rutherford Construction may look good on paper, they also had to feel good in her heart where the community center had been born. So far, her feelings were terribly mixed about it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Morgan Brewer finished tying the laces of his work boots and patted the bare ass of—What was her name again?—before pushing himself off the hotel bed and reaching for his sports coat. He knew Neal would already be waiting down in the lobby for him. Neal Rutherford never arrived on time to meetings. He was early. “Being punctual is your first opportunity to prove you’re honest and respect the other person,” the founder and owner of Rutherford Construction always said. “If you can’t be on time to a meeting, how will they believe you can finish a project on time?” Neal Rutherford always met his deadlines. It was one of the reasons his company was so sought after throughout Florida.
After slipping his coat on, Morgan popped three Tylenol into his mouth and drank half a bottle of water to wash them down. His head throbbed as he ran a brush through his hair, trying to bring order to the almond-colored mess. He needed a shower, but he had needed sleep more. While Neal made sure they arrived the night before, so they wouldn’t be cutting it close, Morgan decided a free night meant it was time to hit the casinos and try his luck at the machines as well as the skirts. Striking out at the craps tables, he had won big in the skirt department, and the two of them had found consolation over his gambling loss in a bottle of Captain Morgan and Morgan’s bed. That morning the Captain was exacting his due while the skirt drooled on his pillow.
Morgan gave himself a once over in the mirror and shrugged. It is what it is. Leaning down, he kissed the sandy blonde on the cheek. Telling her to let herself out when she was ready. He then slipped out of his room and into the red-carpeted hallway. He had faced meetings in worse condition and pulled it off; he’d make it through this one. Besides, he hadn’t met a lady yet who could resist Morgan Brewer’s charms. That’s why I’m probably divorced and without a relationship now, he thought as he pushed the button for the elevator. He gave his charms away to every pretty smile when he should have left them at home. Ah well, some men are just not meant for marriage. The downside of that, however, was he could never really spend time with his four-year-old son, Dustin. That was Morgan’s only regret.
As he expected, Neal was in the lobby, sipping coffee from the cardboard cups they put in the rooms. When he saw Morgan crossing the lobby, he made a point of checking his watch, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “I’m impressed. I thought for sure you would be late.” He made no move to stand.
Morgan smiled. “I know your feelings about punctuality.”
Neal nodded. “Almost makes me wish I hadn’t given you the wrong time.”
Morgan stared at the man, his eyes narrowed in confusion. “The wrong time?” Neal Rutherford was not a man to play practical jokes, so as Morgan stared at the older man, the dark hair turning to silver around the edges and salting his mustache, he wasn’t sure what to make of his comment. “I don’t understand.”
Neal’s face practically sparkled. Whatever was going on made the man quite sure of himself. “I knew that, while I went to my room to study the proposal sent to us by Jacqui Karston, you wouldn’t be able to resist the casinos or the free alcohol they pass out while you’re playing.” He shrugged after taking another sip of his coffee. “So, I told you a half hour earlier than I needed you down here just to be safe. From the look of your eyes, I’m guessing I’m accurate on how you spent your night.”
Morgan raked his fingers through his wavy hair as he took a deep breath. “I was wondering why we were having a lunch meeting so early. Perhaps, then, we have time to grab a coffee before we leave.”
Neal chuckled. “C’mon. I’ll buy.”
The casino had a Starbucks in the plaza area that stretched between the hotel and the casino. Both men purchased a coffee—black and strong—and made their way to the parking garage and Neal’s rental car. As they walked, Neal handed Morgan the file on the Maggie Karston Community Center. “I assume you haven’t glanced at this, yet. Browse over it as I drive. When we meet with Jacqui Karston, I’ll do most of the talking. You just put on that famous charm of yours. This project could help us get into Mississippi.”
Morgan glanced over at Neal. “How’d we get this far?”
“Brent Wellington’s an old friend. He’s been keeping an eye out lately for the perfect project to sink our company teeth into. He’s worked with Jacqui for years, and when she came to him with this community center to honor her daughter, Brent thought it would be a nice bridge for us to cross with. Now, we just have to convince Jacqui we’re the company for the job.”
“You think that’ll be hard to do?” Both men slid into the car and buckled up their seatbelts. Neal shrugged as he started the engine. “Jacqui Karston usually only hires local people. Her heart is to keep the money and progress in the area. It’s a tradition her late-husband started. We’re the outsiders. It’s our job to convince her we’re good for her local economy, as well.”
Morgan found himself nodding as Neal pulled out into the late-morning traffic. He wasn’t too worried. He never had a problem swaying a woman to see his side of things or persuading them to do what he wanted. Charm was one of the tools in his personal toolbox he used with skill, in business as well as the bedroom. Jacqui Karston would see he was the man for the job. He had no doubt. He could appreciate someone having zeal for a cause. It made them eager to see progress. Yet, something usually sparked that fire. Furthermore, it was probably something deeper than just naming something after her daughter. If he could discover that spark, he would have a way past her defenses.
“Are you staying to help set up the new office?” Morgan took in the buildings as they passed casinos, hotels, and small businesses. While it was true there were quite a few vacant lots where buildings once stood and several abandoned buildings that needed demolished, the Biloxi/Gulfport area was still an extremely active community with tourists and locals alike. The white sands of the beach were inviting as, even on a workday, people enjoyed the sun and waves. The homes along Highway 90 still held the southern charm of a period lost to history while newer, flashier buildings crowded in from all sides. Well-kept parks were alive with artists and families, enjoying the day before the afternoon heat reminded them summer was only a month away.
Katrina hit them hard ten years ago, but the residents of Biloxi were quick to bounce back and reclaim their area.
“No,” Neal said. “Once Mrs. Karston accepts our proposal, I’m off to our Savannah office to make sure Edwin keeps his pants up.”
“Now, that wasn’t all on him, and you know it. Cherish Lansky was just as much a willing participant in that affair as Edwin was. I agree he should have been smarter about the whole thing, but they were two consenting adults.” Morgan didn’t doubt Edwin manipulated Cherish into the back of his truck or over the desk or wherever the two of them wound up doing the dirty deed, but Cherish was a grown woman who should have known better. If she had been satisfied at home, she never would have cheated on her husband. Of course, Edwin should have known better than to fuck around with a married woman, especially one looking for a knight on a white steed. Once Edwin found a sweeter piece of ass, he dropped Cherish in a heartbeat and moved on. However, he made two mistakes in his sexual game. First, he chose someone in the same office as Cherish, and second, it just happened to be her married sister, Faith. The difference between the two sisters was that while Cherish wanted to escape her marriage, Faith just wanted to spice hers up. Cherish didn’t take any of it well, and when she blew, the entire Brevard office went with her. She quit and stormed out, Neal transferred Edwin to help him save face as well as, hopefully, avoid a lawsuit, promoted Faith to her sister’s job, and asked Morgan to travel to Biloxi long enough to get the new office running. His wasn’t a punishment, though. At least, he hoped not. Neither was Faith’s promotion, he supposed, depending on whether she enjoyed the job, that is. Still, they could have avoided most of that if adults just behaved like adults.
“I’m not stupid, Morgan. I’ve been around the world of construction enough to know how the birds play with the bees. Hell, I’ve played the game myself. However, when the sexual conduct of my employees has the possibility of causing me to sign a check to settle out of court, it’s no longer a game. It’s bad business. I’m sure Cherish was lashing out like a jilted lover, but it’s not to happen on my dime. Edwin needs to know that, in no uncertain terms. I saved his ass this time. There won’t be a next.”
Morgan knew enough to drop the subject. Edwin Coldwell was not worth pissing off the boss. “So, any advice on how to win Mrs. Karston over?”
Neal pulled into the parking lot of Big Jake’s Steakhouse. Shifting the car into park and turning the ignition off, he glanced over at Morgan. “She’s a proper woman. Don’t be a construction worker.”
How does a construction worker not be a construction worker while trying to sell a construction contract? Morgan stepped out of the car and into the climbing sun. Charm, Morgan. Time to pull out the charm.