“If we move the Jurgen meeting to Thursday, can you get those notes typed up and filed ASAP? And tell my three o’clock I need to move him to five. Oh, and call Miami and tell them maybe on the new project, but I need to see the projections again.”
“...Projections... Got it.” My assistant, Sandra, scribbles quickly in her notebook. “Can I get you anything. Water, aspirin?” She frowns at me, concerned. “You should really be taking it easy, after what happened.”
“I’m fine,” I protest. “The doctors gave me the all-clear days ago. Just a few bruises. Tell her, Cam,” I add, seeing my second-in-command enter my office.
Cam laughs, answering with a faint Scottish accent. “It’ll take more than a tumble to dent this one,” he reassures Sandra with a charming grin. “She’s made of sterner stuff.”
Sandra doesn’t look convinced. “That hotel should be sued,” she says, “Leaving wet stairs with no signs. It’s a wonder you didn’t kill yourself, slipping like that.”
Cam and I exchange a look. The truth is, it wasn’t water that sent me tumbling down a steep flight of concrete steps. But until we know who pushed me that night, we’re sticking to our story. Things are bad enough with the press without them knowing there’s someone out to hurt me.
Not that my unnamed assailant did the real damage that night. A fractured rib and minor concussion was nothing compared to the agony of my broken heart.
Even now, I feel a shock of pain just thinking about him. Vaughn. I still can’t believe the man I trusted was actually a paid employee of my rival, Brent, hired to seduce me. But I had no choice but to accept the truth -- especially with the evidence right there in front of me in the grainy security footage of our very own sex tape. Brent wanted to use the video to force me out of the company, but I called his bluff and refused to resign.
I haven’t heard from him since, but I’m not so foolish to think he’s given up on replacing me yet.
“She’s right,” Cam says, as soon as Sandra leaves.
“Not you too,” I sigh. “I told you both, I feel fine. A couple of days cooped up in that hospital room was more than enough. I have a company to run, remember?”
A company that can’t risk any more negative publicity -- not with our share price still unstable, and hostile takeover bids ready to pounce.
“No, I mean, you could have been killed.” Cam frowns. “We don’t know who tried to hurt you -- or why. And that means we can’t stop them trying again.”
I give Cam a careful look. Even he’s not above my suspicion now. He was my father’s closest advisor, and my life support since I inherited the company, but until I have proof who’s out to harm me, I can’t be too careful.
“I’ve got extra security here at the office and twenty-four-seven surveillance at my apartment,” I try to reassure him. “Trust me, Sandra would tackle anyone to the ground before they got through that door.”
Cam manages a chuckle. “I can see there’s no convincing you to stay home any longer. Are you ready for lunch?”
“Just a minute.” I check my schedule, trying to remember if there’s anything I’m missing. My life as CEO of Ashcroft Industries is so hectic these days, it sometimes makes me miss the time when all I had to worry about was transcribing notes for my asshole of a boss, Carter, or studying for the LSAT -- for the fifteenth time.
My phone goes just as I’m heading out the door. I glance at the screen and freeze.
Vaughn.
He’s been calling non-stop, showing up at the office, demanding to see me. I can’t bear the thought of being in the same room as him. When I think about how I trusted him, how I opened myself up and let myself be vulnerable for the first time.
The wicked things he did with my body. The pleasure I enjoyed at his masterful command.
But it’s over. Those days are behind me now.
I hit the button to ignore his call, and make a mental note to change my number. Then I tuck my phone away and turn to Cam with a bright, fake smile. “Let’s go!”
Lunch is downtown, at whatever the latest hot new restaurant is today. We don’t have reservations, but just one mention of the name ‘Ashcroft’ and we’re ushered past the line and shown to the best table in the house.
“Not too shabby.” Cam grins, holding out my chair for me. I sit, looking around. It’s full of white linen tablecloths and New York’s business elite, and just a few weeks ago I would have been nervous to be the center of attention, feeling all eyes on me.
Now, I see familiar faces. I smile and wave at some, acknowledge others with nods. It’s all part of the plan, the PR offensive Cam and I designed to reassure everyone that the new head of Ashcroft Industries is in control and safe behind the wheel. Lunches, dinner parties, galas and mixers: an exhausting schedule that has me shaking hands and making small-talk with all the big investors and financiers we need to keep on board if I have any hope of holding off those takeover bids.
A few people come over to the table, paying their regards and enquiring after my health. “I heard you were in a coma,” one society wife gasps, her forehead not moving from all the Botox.
“Lord, no,” I laugh. “Just a sprained ankle. That’ll teach me not to break in new shoes before a big event!”
“Nicely played,” Cam murmurs as the couple move off.
“I’m learning.” I take a breath, hoping that the show is over, and I can have just a few minutes to relax. But just as I’m sipping my water, a hush falls over the restaurant. People start to whisper, looking over at me with gossip in their eyes.
“What’s happening?” I ask Cam in a low voice. “Do I have something stuck in my teeth?”
Before he can reply, a shadow looms over me from behind.
“Keely! What a coincidence,” the voice booms out. I look up, and my heart drops.
It’s Brent.
He’s dressed in a flashy designer suit, smiling down at me with a smarmy grin. Behind him, his adopted sister, Isabelle, and my ass of an ex-boss Carter wait like trained puppies on their master’s command.
“How are you doing, sis?” Brent asks, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “You shouldn’t be out and about so soon, after a major head injury like that. Is your memory coming back yet?” he adds, frowning with fake concern.
“Brent, always joking around,” I laugh, getting up. I have force myself to hug and kiss him on the cheek, painfully aware that we’re the center of attention here. “It’s great you’re back in the country. Wasn’t there that nasty business with customs out of South America?”
Brent echoes my fake laugh. “I guess this family likes living life on the edge.”
I try not to shudder. I never knew Ashcroft was my father while he was alive, and Brent Isabelle and I are related by law, not blood, but still it freaks me out to hear him talk about us all as family.
Still, I know what he’s doing: trying to show we’re all just one happy group, while secretly plotting to kick me out of the company. He already tried to blackmail me by recording a secret sex tape of me and Vaughn. Who knows what else he’s capable of?
Attempted murder?
Brent leans in close, and murmurs so that nobody else can hear. “Time’s up, princess. At the next shareholder meeting, I’m going to call a vote for Excaliber Finance to buy out the company.”
I gasp. “You can’t. That will destroy Ashcroft Industries.”
Brent sneers. “No, my father already did that, the day he named you as his heir instead of me. Enjoy your lunch,” he adds loudly. “That dizziness will go soon, I’m sure.”
He turns on his heel and heads for a table at the other side of the room.
My mind races. “When’s the shareholder meeting?” I ask Cam.
“Two week time.” He looks stressed. “Maybe he’s bluffing?”
I look over at Brent, toasting his friends with what I’m sure is the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu.
“What if he isn’t?” I can’t stand the thought. All my work, all my father’s work, suddenly destroyed. “You know what a takeover would mean. They’d strip the company for parts, lay off hundreds of people, move production to sweatshops overseas...”
“Easy there.” Cam covers my hand with his. He gives it a squeeze. “We’ve got two weeks to figure out who the votes are and win them back. This isn’t over yet.”
I try to take a deep breath, but every time I look at Brent, it turns my stomach. “I’ve lost my appetite,” I say, pushing back my chair. “I think I’m just going to head back to my apartment for a couple of hours. I need to figure this out.”
“Taking a rest is probably a good idea.” Cam nods, looking worried. “I’ll call you a cab.”
The cab lets me out at an address on the Upper East Side, a huge old brownstone overlooking Central Park. It’s one of the most exclusive buildings in the city, part of Ashcroft’s estate that passed straight to me when he died. With Brent and Isabelle in residence at his country house, I decided to move in here to be close to the office -- and alone. There’s twenty-four hour security, and a panic button inside my door upstairs. Whoever’s out to hurt me--they won’t be able to do it here.
“Afternoon, Miss Ashcroft.”
“Hi Tommy,” I greet the doorman as he lets me inside. “Can you please call my car in a couple of hours? I’m not staying home long.”
“Of course.” He tips his cap as I head for the elevators.
I’m still not used to people calling me ‘Ashcroft’. Part of me feels like it’s a betrayal of my parents -- the parents who loved me and raised me for eighteen years, until they were killed in a car accident. But the more time I spend at the company, the more I realize that the name is an honor too. Everything I learn about my genetic father tells me that he was a good man: the kind of boss who cared about his employees, and the impact his work left on the world.
Charity donations, good wages and benefits, safe working conditions -- all the things this takeover will strip away if Brent gets his way.
I let myself in to my apartment on the top floor, feeling a headache that has nothing to do with my recent accident. How am I supposed to stop Excaliber when I don’t even know who they are? Cam told me, companies like this are a paper trail, registered abroad and filtered through so many dummy corporations, it’s impossible to know who’s pulling the strings.
“Keely.”
I freeze, opening my mouth to scream. Someone’s here, waiting in the shadows, but before I can lunge for my panic button, a hand comes over my mouth, and strong arms lock tight around me, pinning me in place.
“Don’t panic,” the voice tells me. “I just want to talk.”
The terror melts away, my heart racing fast -- but with desire, not panic.
I know that voice. I recognize the scent of him. And I remember this feeling, being held tight against his body, the way I fit just right in his arms.
It’s Vaughn.