The Gate (Dark Path Series) (7 page)

“I’ll stay right here. The view is better. Unless you’re throwing me out?”

She dug her nails into her palms, her temper simmering. “Now listen here, you stuck up, mental dip—”

Her cell vibrated in her pocket to the soft strains of Vivaldi’s
Storm
—Raymond’s ringtone. She swallowed. Giving Bryan her back, she took out her phone and flipped it open.

Come to me. Now.

She sighed.
He just won’t quit.

“Catherine, are you okay?”

She stared at the text as she faced a worried sounding Bryan. “How do you know my name? I never gave it to you.”

“I found out pretty easily.” He shrugged. “I was afraid I went too far. I don’t want you to be too angry with me.”

“Why not? Don’t you want me not to be angry at you at all?” Should she answer Raymond, or wait to see if he texted again? If she didn’t, there was a good chance he would make good on his promise, seek her out here, and make her obey him in front of everyone at The Gate.

He would humiliate her like he did the first time she’d left him. She shuddered over the memory. Her ass throbbed again, but she grew damp.
Damn him!

“I, uh, have to go. You can stay and drink. You won’t get thrown out.” She turned to walk away.

“Cathy, please don’t—”

Stopping in her tracks, she twisted around, pointing a finger. “Do not call me that. Understand?” Only one man ever had, and he was dead.

Before she ended up apologizing for her outburst, she added a healthy dose of vanilla flavored rum to her drink, downing it in a single gulp. She saluted him with her empty glass. His face turned petulant, huffy. Not in the mood to deal with the young man who should be at some therapist’s office instead of at The Gate, she walked up the stairs where the more serious games were played, hoping she would be asked to join in. Then she could avoid Raymond if he texted her again.

By the time she reached the third level, her phone rang.

Chapter Seven

After signing the last page, Max handed the contract to Alden. He grabbed his coffee from the table, taking a deep sip. Not even eight in the morning, and he was already on his fourth cup. For some reason, neither the caffeine nor the shower he took at the crack of dawn gave him the energy he needed—doubtless, because today was different from all the rest. This was the one day he set everything aside to grieve for the loss of Cameron, the one person he’d failed in so many ways.

He checked his watch. Catherine would arrive soon to join in his bereavement.

Alden tucked the contract inside his briefcase. “That’s one more thing I can check off of my To Do list.” He finished his espresso and covered a yawn with his fist.

There had been only a handful of times over the last four years where Max requested his assistant to come to his penthouse before the start of normal business hours. His aide knew better than to complain. He would be well compensated for his dedication.

“You have a list?” The idea humored Max. He stood, slipping his hand in his pants pockets while he viewed the city skyline from twenty-five stories up. Rain fell from the overcast sky, slapping the window.

“I always make a list. I might have a fabulous memory, but I feel more accomplished when I cross out one of the many interesting assignments you make me do.”

He snorted at the touch of petulance in the young man’s voice. “You can start on those
interesting assignments
when you get into the office. Remember, I’m not to be disturbed for any reason today.”

His assistant nodded. “Want me to stay until Catherine arrives?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” He glanced at the fruit and pastries on the dining room table. She liked her sweets. He hoped breakfast would cheer her up. When she called the night before, she’d sounded far too somber with tears in her voice.

He approached Alden and ruffled the man’s hair just to get a rise out of him. “I’ll even let you take one of the Danishes you’ve been salivating over since you arrived.”

The young guy shot from the couch, grumbling under his breath as he took a comb out of his pocket and restyled his hair.

When the doorbell rang, Max answered it. “Jesus, Catherine, you look like shit.”

She wore faded jeans and a gray turtleneck under an oversized hoodie that washed out her pale face and brought attention to her bloodshot eyes.

“Thanks for the compliment,
Maxwell
,” she growled and pushed him aside. “What’s
he
doing here?”

“Alden stopped by with some contracts I had to sign. He was just leaving.” He held the door open and signaled for his assistant to exit. The man had a bad habit of antagonizing Catherine whenever they ended up in each other’s company. The first time she met Alden, she didn’t fall for his overtures that worked on most women he invited to his bed. Since then, he hadn’t been civil with her—but then, neither had she.

“Dressed appropriately for the weather, I see.” Alden smirked, scanning her from head to toe, then leering at her chest hidden behind her hoodie. “Wearing the new five-dollar bargain bin line this winter, I see.”

“You’re always so witty,” she volleyed back. “At least you don’t have to worry about the rain ruining your helmet hair because of all the overpriced gel you use.” She sat on the couch.

“Enough you two,” Max said, drumming his fingers against the doorframe.

After scooping up a cinnamon Danish from a plate on the table, Alden grabbed his briefcase and coat. “Stay out of trouble, Cat,” he sneered.

“Thanks for coming out this early. I appreciate it.” Max clapped him on the back.

“Anything for you, boss.” Juggling his briefcase and Danish, he pulled on his coat. Sympathy crossed his face. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

“Take care.” He shut the door then joined Catherine on the couch. “You look like you need a hug.”

“You look like you need one, too.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tight.

He rested his cheek on top of her head.

“Damn it. I still miss him after all these years,” she whispered and hid her face into the crook of his neck. “Will the pain ever stop?”

“Not for us. Cameron made sure of it.” He closed his eyes to stop the stinging. He’d already shed enough tears for his baby brother whose senseless death would haunt him to his grave.

***

Erika sat down in the bistro. She pulled the napkin she’d kept from her purse and studied it, the edges wrinkled and ripped from her constant fiddling. She’d saved Max’s number in her cell, but she didn’t want to get rid of the actual napkin yet. Should she call him?

The last time she couldn’t get her mind off a man it had been Chris. If he had any idea about her attraction to Maxwell Crawford, he’d flip out. He hadn’t been too happy with her when she’d bowed out at dinner the week before. He had no idea about her chat with the owner of Crawford Media, and when the rest of their dinner party wanted to continue celebrating at a bar, she’d used that as her cue to leave. He’d wanted to accompany her home, but she told him to go have fun. He ended up kissing her for all to see, as if to claim her. Any other day, she would’ve been thrilled, but with her new attraction added into the equation, she was more confused more than ever.

The way she’d responded to Max was very different from her comfortable banter with Chris. Her heart didn’t pound as fast as it used to when she was in his presence. But with her mysterious man, heat swirled in her belly and her chest constricted—a few other places clenched as well. She’d laid awake every night since she’d last spoken to him. When she thought of him, she grew achy between her legs. Once, she tried masturbating but could never get off the way she wanted, causing the emptiness inside to worsen.

Her stomach growled. At least her lusting hadn’t diminished her appetite. She glanced out the window, hoping to spot one of her friends arriving. Both Alyson and Kim were running late. The wind outside whipped around, sending pieces of debris from the street flying up in the air. Gray clouds filled the sky—a sign of rain to come. She shivered, hugging herself for warmth even though she wore a wool sweater. On a day like today, she would rather have stayed in bed napping—better yet, with someone lying next to her.

I wonder if Max is a cuddler? Probably not. He’s pretty intense. I bet he’s an excellent lover and experienced—

“Hey, girl.” Alyson tapped her on the back, leaned down to kiss her cheek then sat across from her.

“Hiya, sweetie.”

The redhead pointed to the napkin. “What’s that you got there?” She took off her coat, laying it in the chair next to her.

She almost snatched the tattered scrap away to hide it, but in a way she was glad her friend saw it. Not talking about Max was killing her. She needed advice on how to handle the situation.

“It’s a cocktail napkin with a phone number.” She handed it over, trying to keep her voice steady. All she wanted to do was hop in her seat like some sixteen-year-old who’d been asked to the prom by the captain of the football team.

Alyson scanned the writing. “Maxwell?”

She nodded, doing a small hop in her chair nevertheless. “You may know him better as M.L. Crawford, the owner and CEO of Crawford Media.”

The redhead clutched the edge of the table in dramatic fashion, causing her bracelets to jingle. “You’re not serious! How’d you meet him? He’s not into the social scene, even for industry events.”

“I’ve seen him twice, once at the awards ceremony then a few nights ago at the restaurant I went to for dinner with Chris.”

With a gasp, she took Erika’s hand. “Girl, give up the deets. What did Chris do? He must have been royally pissed off.”

She shrugged. “He had no idea about the second time. A group from the office came in, and we joined them in another room. When I came out of the bathroom, Max was at the bar. We talked for a bit. He left before Chris found out. No harm, no foul.”

“No harm, no foul?” Alyson lifted her hands in the air. “From a major dry spell for years to two men wanting you. I’m jealous.”

“What in the world are you talking about two men wanting me? Maybe Max is just interested in being friends. He just got out of a relationship. With Chris, it’s more complicated.”

“Have you told Kim about the situation?”

“No. The one time I asked about Max, she almost freaked out. There seems to be some major animosity between her brother and him.” She twined a curl around her finger, tamping down the uneasy sensation at the thought of both men hating one another. “I’m afraid to ask either sibling about their issues with him. When I searched for information on the Internet, there’s not much about him. Just his professional accomplishments. There’s not even a Wikipedia page dedicated to him.”

“Strange but not surprising.” Opening the menu, Alyson scanned the page. “The Crawford’s are very private people. Or at least M.L. is. His older brother Daniel is some big wig in Hollywood. The tabloids here don’t bother with him. Crawford Media owns most of those gossip magazines and buys up any blogs or websites that dare to write about them. M.L. doesn’t do any interviews. I think in part it has to do with what happened to his brother Cameron.”

“He mentioned his brother but didn’t say much about him.” She drank her tea. “What do you know?”

Her friend took out her phone, glancing at the screen. “Kim should be here any minute, so I’ll make it quick.” She leaned forward. “Cameron Crawford committed suicide almost ten years ago. His father found him either with his wrists slashed in the bathroom or hung in some bedroom. No one’s sure which way he did it. Crawford, the senior, then had a stroke, fell into a coma, and died a few weeks later. Both remaining Crawford brothers had to pick up the pieces.”

Shock rushed through her. “How do you know all of this, and why didn’t I know? I don’t remember anything in the papers.”

“I have my ways of finding out things. It was all kept hush-hush. M.L. silenced the media, because again, he owns a vast majority of it and has enough power to destroy anyone who tries investigating him or his family.”

“Wow.” She rolled up the napkin, slipping it back into her purse. “I feel sorry for him now.”

Alyson snorted. “I think he’s recovered. When he graces the public with his presence, he always has some beautiful eye candy on his arm. I bet they give him some major TLC.”

She frowned. She was the furthest thing from beautiful eye candy. If Max preferred those type women, she didn’t stand a chance.

“Aw, honey I didn’t mean to burst your bubble.” Alyson patted her hand and searched the room. “Where’s our waitress? I’m craving soup.”

Her appetite vanished. Perhaps it was best she forgot Maxwell Crawford and stayed in her own little world.

“Maybe Crawford has a dog or cat.”

Erika frowned. “Come again?”

“If he has a pet, you can always use that as your excuse to see him again. You can ask him for an interview for your pet column.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think that would go over well. I not only work for his competitor’s magazine, but I’m also the daughter of the president of the publishing company.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try. The worst he could say is no.” Alyson gave her attention to the waitress who stopped at their table.

Hm, she might have a good point
. Max was a nut she’d like to crack. Maybe she could be sneaky and do what she’d suggested? If he didn’t have a pet or declined, at least she would get the chance to see him again. Perhaps share a meal or more wine together.

“Hey, girls! Sorry I’m late.” Kim shivered, a brisk breeze encircling them from her entrance.

She rose to embrace the blonde, Alyson doing the same. When she sat down, the two women started chatting.

Instead of joining in, she opened her purse, eyeing the napkin tucked inside. It taunted her, pushing her to make the phone call.

***

“I can’t believe Cameron’s been gone eight years.” Catherine wiped her eyes with Max’s linen handkerchief.

“Father also.” They’d eaten breakfast together, recalling their favorite memories of Cameron. Afterward, Max drove them to the cemetery, so they could be there around the time his brother had been pronounced dead eight years ago. They did the same thing every year, their morbid mourning they couldn’t let go.

He studied the grave of the man who molded him into the person he was today. His brother and his mother’s graves lined up next to it between two empty plots that would be filled when he and Daniel left the world.

She blew her nose then stuck her hands in her black hoodie’s pockets. Your parents didn’t have a vault or some huge stone statue of an angel or two? Why such simple gravestones?”

He shrugged. “The family vault is already filled with Crawford’s past.” He motioned down a few rows to where the rest of the vaults stood. “I never bothered to ask after Mom died. I just assumed there wasn’t enough space.”

She knelt in front of her dead fiancé’s grave, rearranging the flowers they bought. She moved to his father’s and then his mother’s grave where flowers had been distributed as well.