Chosen for Power (Women of Power, #1)
Read Chosen for Power (Women of Power, #1) Online
Authors: Kathleen Brooks
Chosen for Power
Women of Power Series, #1
Kathleen Brooks
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
An original work of Kathleen Brooks.
Chosen for Power copyright @ 2014 by Kathleen Brooks
Cover art by Calista Taylor
http://www.coversbycali.com
Books by Kathleen Brooks
Bluegrass Series
Bluegrass State of Mind
Risky Shot
Dead Heat
Bluegrass Brothers
Bluegrass Undercover
Rising Storm
Secret Santa: A Bluegrass Series Novella
Acquiring Trouble
Relentless Pursuit
Secrets Collide
Final Vow
Bluegrass Singles Novellas
All Hung Up
Bluegrass Dawn
Women of Power Series
Chosen for Power
Built for Power
Fashioned for Power
- coming January 19th, 2015
Destined for Power
- coming March/April of 2015
Elle Simpson tugged at the old dress she was wearing. It had been her mother's. Just as her younger sisters wore her castoffs, Elle wore her mother’s when there was no money for new clothes. Her cheeks were scrubbed clean and her golden-red hair was pulled into a tight braid that hung down her back as she stood tall in the hand-me-downs.
Her mother gently pushed Elle and her sisters forward while the woman in the black suit looked down at her with a forced smile. Bree and Allegra, Elle’s younger sisters, tightened their grips on Elle’s hands while Reid, her older brother, stood directly behind her with his hand on her shoulder. They looked up at the woman as a group and waited as her mother pleaded her case.
“Please understand, Mrs. Henson. My husband is gone most of the year fixing the railroads. He always sends his checks home, but sometimes they take a while to get here, depending on where he’s working. I promise, I’ll have the money.”
“Mrs. Simpson,” the lady said with a sigh, “I’m sorry, but I’m running a school, not a charity.”
Elle felt her family stiffen collectively. They did not take handouts. They may be poor, but they were proud.
“I’m not asking for charity, Mrs. Henson,” her mother said, offended. “I have never missed paying a bill, and I won’t miss this one. I’ll have the tuition by the end of the month. Please, just let my kids enroll.”
Mrs. Henson took in the hand-me-down clothes with scuffed shoes and shook her head. Elle felt her temper flare. Sure, they weren’t rich like the other kids at the school their mother was determined to send them to, but that didn’t mean they weren’t good enough.
“Mother, I think the better question would be whether Mrs. Henson can convince us Winsor Academy is good enough. Since Temple Park is offering us full scholarships, I think we should go there. After all, we’re the smartest kids in our school,” Elle said with as casual a voice she could muster.
“Temple Park?” Mrs. Henson asked with surprise.
“That’s right,” Reid said before their mother could tell Mrs. Henson that Winsor’s biggest rival had offered them no such thing. In reality, they’d laughed at their mother for even applying there for admission into the other elite private school. “They said something about helping them win the Academic Bowl.” Reid shrugged with a bored look as he glanced around Mrs. Henson’s impressive office.
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to do some testing. School starts in two days so we need to move fast. I’ll have you each meet with our counselors for an academic test, and then I’ll let you know tomorrow. Just promise me that you won’t agree to Temple until we can revise our offer.” Mrs. Henson hurried through her desk pulling out papers and writing brief notes on them.
“I promise,” Elle’s mother said, hiding the relief in her voice.
Two days after they aced every test Mrs. Henson put in front of them, Elle took a seat by herself in the cafeteria of Winsor Academy. Her brother and the rest of the freshmen ate later in the day. Her younger sisters had already had their lunch break, so there was no one for Elle to sit with. So far no one had spoken to her. They all just looked at her and whispered. Some laughed, others made snide comments about her to their friends loud enough for her to hear, but they never talked to her. It had taken the other kids three minutes to find out Elle's family lived in the poor section of town and they didn’t have a nanny, a driver, or a butler. They weren't from Old Atlanta society and, therefore, were not one of them.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” The soft, flawless southern voice caused Elle to cringe as she anticipated being picked on once again.
Looking at the owner of the voice, Elle felt like throwing in the towel. The girl next to her was drop-dead gorgeous. She had long, wavy blond hair with ice-blue eyes shining brightly. She stood with a soft smile on her full pink lips as she looked down at Elle.
“No,” Elle answered a little hesitantly as she moved her tray over some.
“Mallory! What are you doing talking to
her
? Our table is over here, remember?” a girl with a big bow around her ponytail asked with a look of horror on her face.
“She must have forgotten over the summer,” teased another girl with a matching bow in her hair.
Elle watched as Mallory stiffened but put her tray down next to Elle’s anyway. “Thanks, but not today. I’ll see you at cheer practice.” She sat down amid the outrage of her friends and smiled. “Hi. I’m Mallory Westin.”
Elle may have only been at the elite school for half a day, but even she knew the name Westin. It was everywhere: Westin Library, Westin Field. And now Mallory Westin was sitting with her. “I’m Elle Simpson,” she said, looking around to see if she was going to have chili or something else dumped on her. “I’m sorry, but why are you here?”
Mallory laughed a bit without a hint of offense at the question. “I’ve heard all about you. I wanted to get to know you better, especially since you’ve made it this far without crying. They’ve been pretty harsh, haven’t they?” she asked, gesturing to the people in the cafeteria.
Oh yeah, they’d been harsh. They’d whispered horrible things, just loud enough for her to hear. They’d knocked her books from her hands, and she had been smashed in the face by a dodge ball in gym class. “And you’re not one of them?” Elle asked with a hint of sarcasm. “No, you’re not one of them; you’re the queen bee and can order your minions as you please.”
“That’s right, I belong to the same clubs, have my last name plastered everywhere, and even have followers. But I never said I like it. I’m much more than just my parents’ name,” Mallory said.
Elle thought she saw a flash of steely resolve beneath her glossy smile. “Well then, have a seat. It’s nice to meet you, Mallory.”
The smell of sesame chicken made her mouth water. Elle Simpson thanked the guy behind the counter of her favorite take-out restaurant and took the bag of food. It would be another dinner alone after a long day at work. The thought of slipping off her heels and settling in for a night on the couch sounded perfect after the exhausting day.
Elle opened the brown bag and smiled when she saw the extra fortune cookies they threw in for her.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going.”
“Oh, sorry. I was . . .” Elle’s eyes narrowed and then widened in shock. Chord McAlister, the son of a bitch who had dated her only to steal inside info against her family's business, stood in front of her with his arm around her old roommate and friend.
“Rebecca? What’s going on?” Elle stuttered as she looked between the two. Her heart pounded as she felt a stab of betrayal deep within her.
“What does it look like? I’m on a date,” her old friend snapped.
Elle looked back to Chord and took him in. She hadn’t seen him in eight years. Not since his failed attempt to take over her company and subsequent downfall. He was still Chord, though: expensive suit, smooth smile, perfect hair. And the smug look on his handsome face told her he hadn’t changed at all during his exile.
“I didn’t know you were back.”
“You don’t know a lot of things, babe.”
Eww. Elle might have loved that endearment when they were dating, but now it gave her the shivers. “Becca, I don’t understand. What are you doing with Chord?”
“Just because he wasn’t good enough for the almighty Elle doesn’t mean he isn’t good enough for us mere mortals,” Becca spat. Her beautiful brown hair was pulled up in a sleek ponytail that swayed with anger as she spoke.
Elle felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. Becca had been her sorority sister in college and then they’d been roommates after graduation. Becca had gone on to work at a television company while Elle went to get her master’s in business. “But, you know what this man did to me. You were there. You saw it all. How could you be with him?”
“Playing the victim again, Elle? You’re so good at that, aren’t you? Can you never take responsibility? He told me how you made up the whole story about him.”
“Becca, he tried to take over my company! He tried to destroy me and everything my family had worked for.”
Chord smiled and Elle wanted nothing more than to slam her fist into his perfect face. She should have known something wasn’t right when he had pushed her out of the bathroom so he could do his hair in the mornings.
“I told you she'd say that. After all the horrible things she told me about you. It’s just jealousy. She saw you and I had chemistry so she got between us, just like she’s trying to do now. If she can’t be happy, then no one can," Becca said with a smirk. "Going home alone to eat dinner in your pajamas?”
The barb hit home. Elle felt the tears pushing on the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She pushed her shoulders back and raised her chin in defiance. “If you’re happy, Becca, then so am I. Have a good evening.”
Elle gave her old friend a weak smile and hurried to her car before she could no longer contain her tears.
“That son of a biscuit!” Mallory cursed in her own way as she took a bite of the sesame chicken and kept her eyes on the monitor in front of her.
“Thanks for the support. It was horrible. They made me feel like I was nothing, worse actually.” Elle had called her best friend as soon as she got into the car. Mallory was on a job, but like a true friend, she told her to come straight over. “Mal, am I really as pathetic as they made me sound? I never thought of myself that way before.”
Mallory reached out and squeezed her hand. “I've known you for what, twenty years? You’re one of the strongest women I know, and you have never once allowed yourself to wallow like you’re doing now. Chord McAlister is old news. You dumped his derriere seven years ago while destroying his reputation and the company he worked for. For crying out loud, he’s been in exile for years. I wouldn’t call that pathetic. I’d call that strong.”
Elle felt a smile tug at her face. She shouldn’t feel good about it, but she did. “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”
“Hey, what are friends for?” Mallory smiled. “Oh, there’s my guy. He’s been trespassing on this singer’s property and breaking into her house leaving her little gifts. I’ll be right back.”
Mallory pressed a button, setting off the silent alarm, and hopped out the back of the utility truck. She strode toward the nervous-looking man lurking in the shadows near the gate of a massive estate. Elle almost felt sorry for him as she watched on the monitor. Mallory’s long blond hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders and her heels accented her slim legs encased in black skinny jeans as she walked toward the man, now trying to find a way over the brick wall. Poor sucker. Mallory was the epitome of the saying “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
Elle slipped off her heels and put her feet up on the table. She hated heels almost as much as she hated Chord. Reaching for some lo mein, Elle shook her head in pity as the man failed to notice Mallory’s approach. Right before he wiggled his way over the top of the wall, Mal grabbed his feet and yanked him down. One perfect spiked heel rested on his chest as she talked down at him. Elle heard sirens in the distance and cleaned up the leftovers as she thought about what her best friend had said.
She wasn’t pathetic or weak. She had never folded or complained about her life. No, she had worked hard since she was a child. She didn’t begrudge her friend falling in love even though she’d never experienced it. And she certainly wasn’t going to let a prick like Chord make her feel bad about herself. Chord was just trying to tear her down but she refused to let him. And she had the charity ball tomorrow where she intended to be very unlike the Elle most people knew. She was going to mingle, flirt, and maybe, just maybe, find someone to have dinner with.
* * *
Elle tapped her bunny-slippered foot as she signed the final paper to purchase a controlling share in a Swiss bank. She put her pen down and closed the folder. The documents needed to be scanned and sent to the bank before their teleconference early the next morning.
When she closed the folder, she caught sight of a picture on the corner of her desk. It had been taken eight years ago at the lake her family visited for one week every year. Her father had his arm around Elle and her mother. Her older brother and two younger sisters stood arm in arm beside them. It was the last family picture they had taken before her father had died unexpectedly from a massive heart attack.
“Miss Simpson?” Elle looked away from her family picture to the tired face of her secretary.
“Yes, Jessica?”
“It’s nine o’clock and the last bus to my house leaves in thirty minutes. If you’re done with the papers, I can email them and be on my way.”
Elle looked at the clock and instantly felt like a grinch. She was keeping Jessica from her family at Christmas time. “I’m sorry to keep you so late. I can take care of the email. And I don’t want you having to take the bus home so late at night. Please, take the limo. He’ll pick you up downstairs.” Elle turned in her chair and buzzed her driver, Finn, on the intercom.
“But you need to get to the Drake Charles Foundation Ball,” Jessica protested.
“I don’t need to be there until ten and Finn will be back by then. Have a merry Christmas.” Elle stood up and walked around her desk. She hugged her secretary before handing her a card.
“What’s this?”
“Your Christmas present. Say hi to Dan and the boys for me.” Elle went over to the scanner in the corner of her downtown Atlanta office. She heard Jessica tear open the envelope and then gasp.
“But, you’ve already given us our bonuses,” Jessica stammered.
“I know. This is your Christmas present. Now, if you hurry, you may be able to stop and get those bikes your boys asked Santa for.” Elle turned from feeding the scanner and was enveloped in a tight hug.
“You’re the best. Thank you.” Jessica hugged her again and then hurried from the room only to return with an elaborate box. “The ball is a masquerade. I ordered this for you.”
Elle tried not to roll her eyes. Drake Charles was eccentric, so a masquerade ball seemed to be a perfect extension of his personality. She wondered if he would even be there. Charles had built a fortune through smartphone technology, but he wasn't a front-page-of-
Forbes
-type guy. There were rumors he was a recluse—that he was deformed, or possibly on his deathbed. Nobody seemed to know much about him. All she knew was he gave millions of dollars every year to the same children’s hospital Elle's family supported.
Elle opened the box and pulled out a beautiful gold mask with pale pink swirls. It was elegant in its simplicity. There were no feathers or elaborate designs—just simple swirls, a pink lining around the eyes, and a matching pink satin ribbon. “Thank you, Jessica. This will match my dress perfectly.”
“Remember, you have the call with the Swiss bank at two in the morning, eight their time, so they can conclude the deal and file the paperwork before they close their offices at noon. Then you need to be at your mother’s around eight. Good night, Miss Simpson. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” Elle waited for Jessica to leave before she finished sending the email to the bank’s board of directors and completed the necessary paperwork for the teleconference later that night.
Elle took a tired breath and stood up to stretch as she looked out over the lights of the city. Her mind was still on her family. This business deal would solidify their standing in the world marketplace. Her family had never been as wealthy as they were now, but they’d always been happy. Her father had been a railroad worker and had traveled most of the year to work on various projects. They felt fortunate that he had a job at all. The dangerous and back-breaking work had provided them with a better-than-average income. Her mother had used that increased income to send the kids to Winsor Academy, but they’d never moved from their small house. One night before he left on a four-month tour, her father had told them he had developed a five-year plan to change the fortune of the family. For those five years, the only extra money they had spent was on their schooling. Everything else was put into savings.
Her father seemed to have aged three times as fast from the hard work, but they had a large nest egg. The government had deregulated the railroad industry and small tracks of railroad had been put up for sale. Her father had purchased one of the sections, cleaned it up, and then charged the larger railroad companies for the rights to use it. When her father's new company started turning a profit, he’d bought more sections of railroad in addition to shares of energy companies, steel companies, and even financial services.
But then Elle's father had died when she was just twenty-five. Her mother was devastated and the company had began to flounder as Elle took charge. Her older brother by two years had been trying to “find himself,” yet he had had no trouble finding his trust fund to enjoy in Europe. Bree, at twenty-three, had been fresh out of college and headed to get her master’s while Allegra was only twenty-one and still in college. None of her siblings were ready to take on that kind of responsibility. Elle had earned an MBA and had been working at a low-level job in the company when she had suddenly advanced to president and CEO.
She had immediately proven herself by fighting off a takeover attempt—one that Chord helped plan and execute. Once she had gotten behind the big desk, she had decided that Simpson Operations could be bigger. She had changed the name to Simpson Global and had enlisted the help of her family—the only people willing to believe in her. Her youngest sister, Allegra, loved fashion and had begun purchasing several mid-sized fashion houses with a little help from the family's financial holdings. Soon Allegra had become the executive vice president of Simpson Fashion.
Her other sister, Bree, had shown interest in the construction side of the company and had taken over Simpson Steel. A year later, her brother, Reid, had approached her with an idea: hotel casinos. He’d been in Monaco for several years. Instead of losing his trust fund, he had actually doubled it. He had fallen in love with the casino business. Elle had agreed to lend him enough money to start up Simpson Hotels and Casinos, including the purchase of a small casino, which he had then turned into the number-two casino in all of Europe. Within five years, he had opened three more casinos across the globe that were all thriving.
The first thing Elle did as CEO was hire Mallory’s security company. She was happy to be Mallory’s first client. Simpson Global was now a multi-billion-dollar international conglomerate and her father’s vision was complete.
Elle groaned as she looked down at the floppy ears of her slippers. She had forgotten to slip her heels back on when Jessica came in. Oh well, her secretary knew everything already. She had to be aware of the comical slippers hidden under Elle’s desk.
She kicked off the bunny slippers and glided over the thick carpet to her private closet. She reached in and unzipped the garment bag to pull out the pale pink haute couture gown. She had fallen in love with it when her sister had sent her a picture, suggesting she wear it to the ball. It definitely was not “her,” and that was why she loved it.