Chosen for Power (Women of Power, #1) (5 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Elle slammed the reindeer cookie cutter down and viciously yanked the extra dough from around it. Her mother, brother, and sisters all stopped to stare at her.

“Whoa. Put the reindeer down gently and step away from Santa,” her brother said in mock seriousness.

“I thought it would get better after she took that long nap this morning, but she’s been this way all afternoon,” her mother told her siblings, as if Elle wasn’t standing right in the middle of them.

“What’s up, Elle? Did the business deal with the Swiss not go well?” Bree asked, sprinkling a cookie.

“It was fine. The papers are all signed and express-mailed to the government agencies. The deal closed without a hitch,” Elle told them as she stabbed the reindeer back into the dough.

“Did something happen at the dance then? Oh no,” Allegra cried, “please, tell me that horrid man from that financial service company didn’t find you. You know, the one we had thought about buying out?” Allegra turned to their mother. “He’s been sending her flowers at the office.”

“We have to remember how blessed we are. Although, I do wish you all had been of an age to be married before we became so blessed. I worry all the time about my babies being taken advantage of,” her mother said worriedly as she poured some more flour into the mixer.

“I wouldn’t mind being taken advantage of,” Reid joked as he wiggled his eyebrows.

“I especially mean you, young man," their mother said without looking up from the mixer.

Elle grinned. Her brother was thirty-five, but their mother still talked to him as if he were thirteen.

“I want grandbabies, but not by some woman who tricked you into it. I just wish you all could find the true love that your father and I shared. You need to slow down, stop working so much, and get out there to enjoy life. Take risks, fall in love, get married, and give me grandbabies.”

Elle and her sisters rolled their eyes while Reid looked distinctively pale at the idea of settling down. But, for as much as Elle laughed with her sisters, she had found what her mother wished for. She had taken a risk last night and had fallen in love—she stabbed the reindeer again—but she’d messed it all up. She didn’t find out who he was and now her happily-ever-after would never come true.

“Did you get a chance to meet Drake Charles last night? He’s such a wonderful man. So compassionate,” her mother told them.

“Drake and Margaret sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S—” Allegra began to sing before their mother, Margaret, hit her in the face with a well-aimed dusting of flour.

“Oh, please,” her mother laughed as Allegra wiped the flour off.

“See. Mom has a crush on the elusive Mr. Charles,” Allegra teased.

“You’d have a crush, too, if you met him. He’s the type of man you should be looking for,” she informed her daughters.

“I’m not going to marry some old, reclusive man, Mom. Sorry,” Elle complained as she handed the reindeer to her brother who put it on a cookie sheet.

“He’s not a recluse. He leaves his house all the time. He owns that big building on the same street as your offices. You know the one, just two blocks down. He goes to work there every day. Once a week he stops by the hospital to read to the kids. And once a month he brings them a toy or a book. Just because he avoids extra attention doesn’t mean he’s a recluse,” her mom said passionately.

But it didn’t matter to Elle. The thought of dating anyone right now put a bad taste in her mouth. There was only one man she wanted in her life and kooky Drake Charles was not the one.

Drake knocked on the hospital door decorated with princess stickers. Entering the room, he handed his last wrapped package to the little girl inside. Her parents sat smiling beside her bed while they held hands.

Tara was just ten years old and fighting cancer. She’s lost her hair but refused a wig. She was determined to beat it and she was showing positive signs so far.

“Merry Christmas, Tara. Hi, Dina. Grant.” He nodded to her parents and placed the box on Tara’s bed. “I don’t know, Tara. I’ve been hearing how you’ve been sneaking into the nurses’ lounge at night and eating ice cream. You might be moved to the naughty list.”

The little girl grinned, not looking guilty at all. “Well, they said to take it one day at a time. I’m just choosing to take it one ice cream at a time. If you don’t go after what you really want, there’s no guarantee you’ll be around to get it tomorrow.”

Truer words had never been spoken. And the only
want
he could think of was the woman from last night. He didn’t care if it involved hacking a phone or hunting her down by any other means. He was going to find her. “How old are you again? I might need to take this back and get you a briefcase so you can take over the world.”

“I’m ready, but my body isn’t yet. It will be soon, though.” She smiled and her rounded face lit up. Drake raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“We got the latest tests back. She’s in remission,” Dina said with tears of joy welling in her eyes.

“I get to go home in a couple weeks. Isn’t that fantastic? I haven’t been home in three months,” Tara said excitedly.

“Oh, that’s fantastic.” Drake gave the girl a hug and shook her parents’ hands. When Tara had been admitted three months ago, the outlook for remission was bleak and Tara had been given a short time to live. Grant’s brother was a match for a bone marrow transplant, and after two rounds of chemo and radiation, Tara had undergone the procedure. So far, she was now producing healthy cells.

“Here. Open your Christmas gift. Although it seems Santa already gave you something even better this year.”

Tara tore open her gift with glee and placed the big ribbon on Drake’s head. She opened the box and pulled out a beautiful princess doll. Inside were matching pajamas, dresses, and tiaras for the doll and Tara.

“This is so cool! Thanks, Drake.” Tara put on the tiara and hugged her doll.

“Now, when you go home, you’re not going to forget me, are you? Remember, I have a college scholarship with your name on it.” There was no doubt Tara was going to change the world.

“Mr. Charles, you’ve done so much for us. We’ll never forget you.” Dina hugged him and he felt almost complete. He was just missing the redhead by his side to share this moment. Maybe she was even somewhere in the hospital now.

“Keep me updated. You all have my personal email. I want lots of pictures.”

“You got it,” Grant said as he shook Drake’s hand.

“Merry Christmas.” Drake smiled as he saw Dina take a seat on the bed to ooh and aah over the doll.

Now Drake had a mission. He looked around the hall and saw only a few nurses. They must be celebrating the holiday in the nurses’ station. He made his way down the hall and into the back room where they were eating the desserts he’d brought.

“Caught y’all red-handed,” Drake teased the six nurses taking their break.

“Mmm, these are delicious. You spoil us, Drake.”

“I did it to butter y’all up. I need two things. First, does anyone know how much Tara’s bill is? I know her mother works at a coffee shop and her father is in construction. They can’t have that much money.”

A nurse went to the computer and pulled it up. “Looks like they have insurance, but there’s some things that aren’t covered. It’ll be close to twenty thousand by the time she leaves. You want to do the regular?”

“Yes. Just send me the bill.” When Drake knew families were strapped for cash, he silently paid the bill while the families were left wondering why their accounts showed a zero balance. “Now, the second thing I need is to find the owner of this cell phone. A lady dropped it at the gala last night. She’s about five feet six inches with red hair and green eyes. She’s probably in her late twenties, early thirties. She told me her mother volunteers here and I think she might be a doctor.”

“That would make her mother in her fifties or sixties,” one of the nurses mumbled as Drake could see her thinking of all the volunteers.

“Unfortunately for you, that’s the age range with the most volunteers. But I don’t know of any redheaded women doctors that age here. Do you, Stella?”

“No. I sure don’t. The only redhead on staff is a man. So, I think it’s safe to say she’s not a doctor here. And you’re sure her mother volunteers here?” Nurse Stella asked.

“Positive.” Drake nodded.

“Does she have any brothers or sisters? Does she have kids or is she an aunt?”

“Yes, she mentioned having sisters and maybe a brother. But she didn’t say anything about kids,” Drake told them.

One of the nurses in the back of the room snapped, “I know who it is. It has to be Margaret Simpson. She’s here at least three times a week. She’s one of our best volunteers and she’s always joking about having to come here to make up for the fact she doesn’t have any grandchildren of her own. She treats everyone here as if they were hers. The kids love her. You know her.”

Drake tried to remember all the volunteers, but there were so many.

“That’s right. And while her hair is kind of blond now, there are streaks of red in it. Goes by the nickname Retty,” another nurse put in.

“Oh, I know who you’re talking about. Thank you so much. You’ve been a big help,” Drake said as he prepared to leave. How many Margaret Simpsons were in the Atlanta area?

“I’m surprised you don’t know her oldest daughter, Elle,” a nurse in the back of the room said.

That had him stopping in his tracks. Elle—that name struck a chord for him. "Elle? Why would I know her? Is she a doctor here?”

“No. She’s in big business like you. She’s the CEO of Simpson Global. I guess you could have meant one of her sisters, Bree or Allegra. But I think Elle’s the one with the golden red hair. Her sisters are more strawberry blond. Elle’s a big supporter of Children’s Hospital, too. She’s the one who paid for the new MRI machine.”

Drake stood rooted to the ground. Elle Simpson—business’s most powerful woman and the woman on this month’s
Business Weekly
magazine. He couldn’t believe it. Although now that he thought about it, Phillip had said she was a fox when he placed the magazine on Drake’s desk a couple of weeks ago. Her red hair had been pulled back and she’d been in a suit and had on minimal makeup: the standard executive getup. Strip that away and shake out her hair—yeah, he could see it, but there was no way she could be the owner of the phone. The owner of the phone was hot and passionate, not cold and ruthless as he’d heard Elle described. He’d just have to keep looking.

“Thank you, ladies. That may be the woman I talked to. I’ll make sure to get this phone back to her. Merry Christmas.” Drake flashed a half-hearted smile and walked from the room.

“That’s not all he’ll make sure she gets,” one of the nurses said as the others giggled.

Elle Simpson. "I'll be damned," he muttered to himself as he rolled the idea around in his mind. No wonder she didn’t want to talk business or money. She had just as much as he did and she was probably in the exact same situation as he was when it came to dating. He just couldn’t believe the stiff CEO on the cover of
Business Weekly
was the same woman who stripped him down and made love to him on a bench. He could still feel her, taste her, and he responded instantly to the image of her breasts bouncing as she rode him. Drake stopped at his car and it seemed as if all the worry left him. Suddenly he was smiling. He just might have found her, but he needed to dig deeper to confirm it. It just seemed too out of character for the ruthless CEO.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Drake tried to find Elle’s address while he drove to his house to meet his parents. Just like her phone, the information seemed as if it had been made purposely hard to get. Which it probably had been. Just like his address. But it was damned inconvenient right now.

However, he had found out with a well-placed phone call to Phillip, who knew everything about everyone, that Elle wasn’t your typical woman. Her business portfolio was beyond impressive. Instead of folding when it had gotten tough, she had pulled in her family and had told them to do whatever they loved. As a result, Simpson Global had expanded in many different directions.

It was also evident that she was a mostly private person. While she attended some events and was featured in some magazines, she focused exclusively on business. Elle ferociously protected her personal life, especially after she had a very public breakup with a man when she first became CEO. According to Phillip, the man had been nothing but a corporate spy who went on a smear campaign in order to help facilitate what turned out to be a failed takeover.

Drake was impressed, though. She’d come out stronger and more respected than ever. Elle had not only prevented the takeover, she’d also managed to beat that competitor in several business deals the following year. She had made her point without ever going to the media, never complaining, never filing suit. Nope. She’d earned respect and had sent a clear message to anyone who dared to cross her again.

He knew about her business, but he really wanted to know
her
. Phillip had found articles where she had received numerous philanthropic awards. She’d never publicized herself like the politicians, celebrities, and other CEOs who took camera crews with them to a soup kitchen. No, Elle had gone in jeans and a T-shirt and the only evidence she had spent all this time helping others was some grainy photos taken by cell phones and the awards she had been nominated for. She spent time working with underprivileged youths, women in business, children, and animals. She enjoyed sports and her family was very close, just like his.

He looked at the clock in the car and stepped on the gas pedal. His parents were already at his home. His mother was probably fretting about overcooking the Christmas Eve turkey while his father was probably sprawled out on the couch watching any football game he could find. Even though the only thing he wanted to do was find out if Elle was the woman he had been with, it would have to wait.

He pressed one of the buttons on his rearview mirror and the large gate guarding the entrance to his house slid open. A tall stone fence lined the street with thick trees, blocking the view of the sprawling antebellum estate from passersby.

He had been comfortable in his small downtown apartment, but his mother and father had sold their house in Atlanta and had moved to the beach. They seemed to be coming home more and more frequently and staying with him for longer periods of time. Suddenly his apartment had seemed microscopic.

The day his mother had woken him while picking up his underwear in his room had been the last straw. He’d called a real estate agent, had given her a budget, and had told her the house had to have a kitchen big enough for them all to gather. Dinnertime was special while growing up and that tradition had continued. He had also told her the house had to be big enough for him to hide after said dinner to avoid his mother’s constant reminder about not letting life pass him by. If the pattern of their visits continued, it would probably just get worse if he ever did get married and have kids. So, he had instructed the real estate agent to find a house with a separate guesthouse.

So far it had been working well. Both he and his parents felt independent and they weren’t tripping over each other. But tonight, the night after the ball, he was going to be grilled. No matter how large his house, there would be no escaping it.

He parked his car in the garage and made his way to the kitchen, all the while daydreaming of Elle. The smells of Christmas Eve dinner floated through the air and mixed with the smell of the fresh evergreen tree in the nearby living room. His mother, fully outfitted with her own apron, stood guard over the turkey in the oven.

“Oh, thank heavens. What took you so long? The turkey would have been overcooked if you had been any later,” Penny Charles clucked as she scolded him. The turkey would be perfect. The turkey had never been overcooked. Even when he was nineteen and was two hours late arriving from college, the turkey had been perfect.

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” Drake ignored the clucking and wrapped his mother up in a hug that brought her off the ground, screaming to be put down. He’d started doing that to his mom when he hit six feet, towering almost a foot over her.

He’d inherited his height from his father, Steven, who was six-foot-one. “Son. Glad you’re home. How were the kids?”

“Great. Tara will be released in a couple weeks.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Penny pulled the turkey out of the oven and Drake almost started drooling. “Now, tell us about the ball. Was it beautiful? Was it romantic?” She clapped her hands together before pulling out a giant knife.

“It was beautiful and everyone had a great time.” Drake knew he did. He’d found Elle Simpson.

“If only you had a wife to share it with,” Penny sighed as she prepared to cut the turkey.

Drake paused and thought about the night with Elle. It had been better than any night of his life because he was with her. Sure, there was hot sex, but the laughing and talking and dancing—all things he had hated to do with women prior to last night—had been wonderful.

“You know, Mom, you may be right about that.” Drake snagged a pinch of stuffing and headed into the living room. All he heard was the clanging of the knife on the stone floor behind him and what might have been his mother fainting. But he had a very important phone call to make that couldn’t wait.

Elle fluffed her pillow and flopped back down on it with a huff. She stared at the ceiling in hopes of finally falling asleep but knew it wouldn’t happen. She was mad. She was livid. Worst of all? It was with herself.

She had fallen in love with a man, and what did she do? She’d run out leaving him naked and never even remembered to ask his name. His name. She had been so naïve in thinking she could have a one-night stand with a man like him. He was tall, handsome, kind, funny . . . Elle turned over, buried her head in her pillow, and screamed.

Slowly she raised her eyes from the pillow and looked at the red numbers on the clock. It was a little before midnight and it looked like sleep would not be coming for a while. Giving up the pretense, Elle swung her feet out of bed and pulled on the red silk robe draped over the chair before heading downstairs.

A light from the kitchen spilled onto the bottom of the stairs. She heard the sink turn off and wondered who was still awake. She walked into the kitchen and saw her mom, wearing the same fuzzy robe she’d had for twenty years, drying the last of the dirty dishes.

“You know, we have a dishwasher,” Elle said as she snagged a Christmas cookie.

“And some things are done better when done by hand.” Her mother placed her treasured china back into the cabinet and took a seat on the stool next to Elle. “So, what has you up so late?”

Elle pushed around the cookies and found a big star. “Just a problem I don’t have the answer to and don’t think I can solve.” Her new idea was to eat all the cookies. Maybe she’d stop feeling so horrible.

“’Tis the season for miracles, sweetie. Why don’t you ask Santa for help?” Her mother stood up, grabbed a reindeer cookie, and then kissed her forehead. “It’s a couple of minutes before midnight. You still have time to make that Christmas wish. Good night.”

Elle watched her mom disappear up the stairs and took another bite of her cookie. She knew her mother still saw her as a child sometimes, but making a wish to Santa Claus? Elle rolled her eyes and got a plate to put cookies on.

She made herself a cup of hot chocolate and turned off the lights. The Christmas tree cast a warm glow across the living room and sparkled over the presents beneath it. Taking the plate of cookies and her drink, she sat on the comfy overstuffed chair looking at the tree and the childhood stockings her mother still hung.

She set her cup of hot chocolate and the plate of remaining cookies by the fireplace, walked over to the window, and looked up to the stars shining in the dark night sky. “Santa, all I want for Christmas is to find the man I’ve fallen in love with.”

She closed her eyes and made a wish, too, just for extra luck. Then she quickly looked around and made sure none of her siblings were on the stairs. She felt foolish enough as it was, but she’d never hear the end of it if she were caught making a wish to Santa for a man.

Elle snapped her fingers. She got it. She’d hire a professional investigator to find Mr. Right. Feeling as if she’d done everything she could do on Christmas Eve, she headed upstairs for what little sleep she could get. She’d need it to pretend everything was all right in the morning and to settle the nervous excitement she felt. At least she had a game plan now.