When You Are Mine (7 page)

W
alsh stepped out of the elevator, adjusting his tie and checking the shine on his shoes. His father’s suite of offices took up the entire twenty-first floor of a New York skyscraper. He had come here with his mother as a child, awed by this inner sanctum from which his father ruled. He hadn’t understood then exactly what his father did, but he knew it was important, and that Daddy was powerful.

Now he knew what Daddy did.

Daddy was a pirate. A swashbuckling tycoon who preyed on the dismal circumstances of corporations too weakened to fend him off. Acquisitions. Takeovers, amicable or hostile. It really didn’t make a difference to Martin Bennett. If he wanted a company, he would have it.

It took something like acquisitions to stretch his father to the outer limits of his intelligence and ambition. He was a raider. A marauder. And Walsh, God help him, was sitting at his feet to learn everything he knew. One day, this company would be his. He was determined that it would be on his own terms, but for now, he had to live with his father’s.

Unmitigated adoration had burned bright for his father until Walsh was twelve years old and seen the man’s feet of clay. He’d never forget the angry exchanges through the walls of their brownstone, or his mother’s wrenching sobs after his father’s infidelity.

Walsh checked his watch, shoving those emotions aside. Martin Bennett didn’t deal in emotions. He dealt in power, results, and cash. Eyes incessantly trained on the bottom line and his ever-expanding interests, his dad had missed a lot of the smaller details of life, like his wife and son. In the grand scheme of things, though, did it really matter?

Not to Walsh. Not anymore.

“Morning, Claire.”

Walsh greeted his father’s assistant with genuine pleasure. He’d always liked her. He remembered the strange feeling of relief he’d felt the first time he came to the office and saw the staid, older woman who had replaced Laura, Martin’s previous assistant.

Laura had been blond, voluptuous, condescending, and rude when his father wasn’t around. The affair with her had destroyed his parents’ marriage. The marriage had been unsalvageable, but at least Walsh hadn’t had to look at Laura’s smug face every time he came here.

“Walsh.” Claire smiled, standing to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good.”

He hoped her usually omniscient glance missed the lines of fatigue around his mouth and eyes. It had been a long month, between making arrangements for Iyani and overseeing some additions at the Kenyan orphanage. He had only returned yesterday, per his father’s summons. He had intended to head straight back to North Carolina, but Claire had called asking that he come to New York first.

“So why does he want to see me? I know you know.”

Claire smiled a tiny bit, cracking her professional demeanor just enough to reveal her affection for him.

“You’ll see.” She studied him over her fashionable tortoiseshell glasses. “Go on in.”

“Is my tie straight?”

He backed toward his father’s office door, using his old standby—the boyish grin. She rolled her eyes and shooed him into the office.

“Unacceptable,” Martin Bennett snapped into his cell phone. Walsh pushed the door open wider.

The opulent office always made Walsh feel like its luxury was closing in on him, from the expensive Persian rugs to the clean lines of the mammoth desk, set in front of the breathtaking view like a crown jewel. There was only one comfortable chair in the whole office, and his father kept that for himself. All the other seats were beautiful, but hard and unyielding, keeping you slightly on edge. Walsh knew this was just one layer of his father’s design to maintain every advantage he could, no matter how small.

The office overlooked the crowded New York landscape. Seeing the breadth of the city made his father proud of the patch of urban jungle he’d subdued with the machete of his relentless ambition.

“I don’t pay you to ‘think’ you know things.” Impatience pierced his father’s every word. “I pay you to know, unequivocally without a doubt, what to do. Action, Miller. Not excuses. I want that company, and don’t come back until you have it.”

His father hung up without a good-bye. The weight of his considering look fell on Walsh like a steel beam. One Walsh had learned not to buckle beneath.

“Walsh.”

“Dad.”

“How’s your mother? She has a birthday soon, doesn’t she?”

“Um, she’s fine.” Walsh mentally scrambled to orient himself to this new tactic. One of the unspoken terms of his parents’ armed truce was that they never asked him about each other. “Yeah, her birthday’s tomorrow. I’m flying back today for the party.”

“Hmmm. Still seeing that old man?” Martin picked up a heavy hourglass on the edge of his desk and flipped it over, setting it down with a thud before the sands could settle.

“Sam Whitby?” Walsh frowned, taking his eyes from his father’s face only long enough to watch the sands’ rapid fall in the new direction. “He’s only five years older than you, Dad.”

“He looks fifteen years older.” Martin riffled through his catalog of disdainful expressions before settling on a sneer for Kristeene’s suitor. “Don’t know what she sees—never mind. None of my business. So you’re back from another one of your little mission trips, huh?”

“It’s not a…never mind.”

Walsh couldn’t be bothered to explain again why the orphanages were so important to him. Philanthropy was another planet to his father, a strange land where people actually cared about the well-being of others.

“There was a little girl from the orphanage who had a brain tumor. I took her to Rivermont for surgery. She didn’t make it and I flew her back to Kenya to be buried there.”

“Sorry about that.” It sounded like Iyani could have been a goldfish Walsh had flushed down the toilet as far as his father was concerned. “I have my eye on a new company.”

“Oh?”

Walsh kept his tone neutral. He approached each of these paternal conversations with tactical precision, careful not to volunteer too much information, but to wait for his opponent to make the first move, revealing how to best defend.

“Merrist Holdings.” Walsh recognized the predatory gleam in his father’s eyes, savoring the taste of coming conquest. “You familiar?”

Walsh kept his posture deliberately languid, but his mind executed a rapid-fire retrieval of any information he could recall about Merrist Holdings. It never paid to reveal excitement about any venture. He had learned early that his father invariably viewed emotions as leverage. For him to know you wanted something was to give him a weapon to use against you.

“I know very little about Merrist, Dad. Enlighten me?”

“You must know something.” His father fired him a knowing look.

He always made it his business to know his father’s next move. Part of the stratagem he employed to negotiate their relational minefield.

“I think Merrist was a family-owned operation. Medium-size logistics firm based in Burlington, New Jersey.” Walsh lifted his Charvet tie to study the medallion pattern. “Recently went public. Established a Chicago branch about a year ago, which hemorrhaged profit. Now they find themselves with little cash flow. In addition to carrying some hefty debts they took on to open the new plant. Am I close?”

“So you are familiar.” His father smiled, the closest thing to pride Walsh ever got to see in his eyes. “I want that company.”

“And you want me on the team?”

“You
are
the team.” Martin held his son’s eyes captive for an extra moment before turning to survey the city skyline. “Can you handle it?”

“Of course I can handle it.” Walsh made sure he didn’t sound defensive or, worse, eager. “I’ve just never taken the lead on an acquisition before.”

“Neither had I until I did it the first time.” Martin challenged Walsh with his best alpha male look over his shoulder. “It’s like sex. Grab your dick and figure it out.”

“I’ll be fine.” Walsh stood, not giving his father the chance to dismiss him. “I’ll have Claire send me any pertinent information we already have.”

“Of course, you’ll need to spend more time here, and less time in North Carolina.” His father picked up that damn hourglass again, his face in its usual hard lines, but his eyes alert and careful on Walsh.

“Of course.” Ah, the end game. Always control and manipulation. “The summer will be over soon anyway.”

“You can’t wait until the summer’s over to pursue this.” Out of his father’s face, Walsh’s own eyes stared back at him with iron in the irises. “I need you on this now.”

“I said I’ve got it.” Walsh stiffened his back and calcified his tone. Martin Bennett only understood aggression; he only respected the kind of mental brawn he employed himself.

“You’ll need an assistant.”

“I’ll ask Claire for recommendations.”

“I’ve already selected someone.” Martin turned to face Walsh wearing a younger man’s wolfish grin. “Trisha McAvery.”

“Hmmpph.” Walsh grunted, refusing to blink, trying to decipher what his father was up to. “Okay, Trisha should be fine.”

“That’s a mild response. Most healthy, red-blooded males would jump at the chance to work with a woman who looks like Trisha.”

“I hope that most healthy, red-blooded males would appreciate how highly unprofessional a relationship with an employee would be.” Walsh’s voice was a stone wall he dared his father to scale.

“Who said anything about a relationship?” Martin laughed like a rogue.

“Not interested.” Walsh strode to the door, eager to get out of his father’s presence. His soul needed a shower.

“You and Sofie practicing a little premarital monogamy?”

Walsh turned back toward his father, his hand on the door.

“Dad, I’m not marrying Sofie.”

“Of course you are.” Martin cut his hand through the air, a dismissal. “Everyone knows that.”

“I don’t know it.”

“Sofie believes it.”

“Sofie can believe in the tooth fairy and Santa Claus.” Walsh sifted grit into his words. “I’m still not marrying her.”

“You can’t marry just anyone. One day Bennett will be yours, and you need the right kind of woman on your arm when you walk through certain doors.”

“Maybe I’ll wait for someone I love.” Walsh faced his father fully now, matching his aggressive stance.

“Love,” his father said, somewhere between a laugh and a hiss.

“Yeah, Dad, some people marry for it. You wouldn’t know about that, though, would you?”

Anger made reptilian slits of his father’s eyes.

“You don’t think I loved your mother?”

“I think you broke my mother’s heart.” Walsh snapped the words before firming his mouth and smoothing the scowl from his face. “I think you cheated on her. Guess that was just part of grabbing your dick and figuring it out.”

“Son, I—”

“I have a flight to catch.” Walsh turned on his heel to leave before his father could offer excuses for the inexcusable.

W
hen she’d first started working with Maid 4 U, Kerris had thought there was nothing more cathartic than cleaning bathrooms. Give her an old toothbrush, a can of Comet, some moldy tile grout, and she was happy as a tick on a dog. Unfortunate comparison, but somehow it fit.

She had often lost herself in contemplation over a freshly scrubbed toilet or a sparkling sink and mirror. She had convinced herself in a particularly dirty bathroom to accept Cam’s invitation for a date after six months of asking. By the time that bathroom was sparkling, she had decided she was waiting for something that would never happen. She shared a deep friendship with Cam. He was good to her, understood her issues, and wanted what she wanted more than anything as much as she did—a family of her own making. They’d had their first date the next day.

Kerris flung her sponge into the claw-footed tub, leaning her forehead against the cold rim. She released a breath she felt like she’d been holding for days. She closed her eyes, but the memories that had assailed her ever since that kiss at the hospital played on the backs of her lids with 3-D vividness. Inescapable images. Pleasure she had only imagined, never tasted.

She’d been haunted by a misplaced sense of rightness between her and Walsh as they’d touched. It had frightened and enchanted her. It was the thing she had stopped believing was possible, but with a man who could never belong to her; could never commit to her or give her the children she wanted. They were from completely different worlds. She couldn’t ever breathe the rarified air in the world Walsh inhabited, much less share his life.

And he was Cam’s best friend. There was that.

If only she could delete the memory of him; the sweet brush of his lips and the desperate hunger of his hands. She closed her eyes tighter, tasting him again, hearing the hitch of his breath at that first touch. Smelling the intoxicating scent of him, a glorious male animal in heat.

She banged her head against the tub, willing the memories to shake and dislodge.

In the two weeks he had been gone, she had revised her opinion of herself. She wasn’t a frozen river, iced over and immune to a man’s touch. In those stolen moments in Iyani’s room, redolent with death, the ice had cracked, and she was rushing water threatening to overflow her banks. The passion she had believed was a myth, she now craved.

How would she hide it from Walsh?

“You almost done in here?” Meredith asked from the doorway, pulling the bandanna from her hair. She, like Kerris, wore cutoff jeans and a Maid 4 U T-shirt.

“Yeah. Just a few more minutes.”

“You okay? You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“I’m cool.” Kerris relaxed the muscles of her face one by one, avoiding Meredith’s don’t-shit-me eyes. “Just tired.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Meredith leaned against the doorjamb. “Well, what’d you think of the mayor’s house?”

“Beautiful, but not my style. Too stuffy.” Kerris picked up her sponge to finish the tub.

“Did you get to meet his daughter, Ardis?”

“No. She lives here?”

“Yeah, I think she came in after you.” Meredith rolled her eyes. “She’s a real peach.”

“What does she do?”

“Well, college was a hobby for her. Now she’s having a layover until she finds the perfect man to take care of her and set her up as a professional socialite.”

Meredith, a card-carrying worker bee, derided anyone who didn’t see the value of gainful employment.

“She graduated a couple of years ago, but I haven’t heard of her lifting a finger for anything but one of her committees. What a waste.”

“If that’s what the lady wants to do. It’s her life, right?”

“I just don’t get it. At least Sofie models.”

“Sofie?” Kerris squeezed the sponge till water poured from it. “Why’d you mention her?”

“Oh, she’s with Ardis. Apparently their families have been friends forever, and Sofie’s been staying here during the summer when she comes to visit Walsh. I overheard them talking about Mrs. Bennett’s birthday party tonight, so I guess she’s in town for that.”

“Oh, yeah.” Kerris ran both hands over her face, a weary gesture that smelled of Clorox. “That is tonight, isn’t it?”

“Will Walsh be coming back for it?”

Kerris felt Meredith’s eyes locked and loaded on her face with the focus of a sniper. She willed herself not to squirm under the eye of her friend’s scope.

“Um, I wouldn’t know.” Kerris leaned into the tub to reach a spot, conveniently hiding her face. “Cam said he was scheduled to be back a couple of days ago. I doubt he’ll miss his mother’s birthday party.”

“Well, I’m sure Sofie will be waiting with open arms.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Kerris reached up to tighten the bandanna wrapped around her head, needing to occupy her hands. “Well, let me finish up in here.”

Meredith rightly interpreted that as the dismissal and No Trespassing sign that it was, and let it go.

“I’ll wait on the porch then. See you in a few.”

Kerris resumed her scrubbing, biting her lip against foolish tears. She chided herself. Walsh was off-limits. He might be attracted to Kerris, might have great chemistry with her, but he wouldn’t be settling down with someone like her. And what about Cam? He was the surest thing in her life right now. Not only did he love her, but he accepted her. He saw the damage her past had done and wanted her anyway. Wanted a life with her. Wanted a family with her. She couldn’t allow one kiss with a man she really barely knew to ruin that, could she?

“I’m pretty sure I left it in the bathroom,” a voice said from behind her. “Oh! I didn’t realize your maid was in here. Does she speak English?”

“Yeah, she does.” Kerris threaded as much outrage and dignity into the response as she could before she saw who it was. “Oh, Sofie.”

Kerris glanced down, not sure if the rags on her body were much better than the rags in her bucket. Of course, it
would
be Sofie. It was just that kind of day.

“Kerris?” Sofie ventured, as if surely no one of her acquaintance would be cleaning a bathroom. “Is that you?”

“No, it’s my domestic doppelgänger.” Kerris tacked a smile onto the quip. “Hi, Sofie. How are you?”

“Doing well.” Sofie fiddled with the belt of her designer dress and looked like she was afraid menial labor was contagious.

“Did you find it?” a pretty brunette, just as well dressed as Sofie, asked from the doorway. “Oh, hi.
¿Hablas inglés?
”

Kerris gritted her teeth. She should be used to it by now. All her life she’d had people walk up to her speaking Spanish, French, whatever—assuming she was one of them. She wished it were that simple. She was a mutt, that was for sure. And right now both ladies looked at her like she’d just peed on the rug.

“I speak English.” Kerris rose to her feet and gave both ladies a pseudo-sparkly smile.

“Ardis, this is Kerris.” Sofie recovered her manners. “She’s Cam’s girlfriend.”

Ardis looked at Sofie blankly, mouthing “who”? Did she think she was invisible?
I can see you
, Kerris wanted to yell. Wealth doesn’t give you superpowers.

“Cam.” Sofie raised her “you know” brows. “Walsh’s best friend.”

“He’s adorable.” Ardis looked at Kerris with new eyes. Probably wondering what he saw in a cleaning urchin.

“Yes, I hear he’s pretty serious,” Sofie said in a singsongy voice to Kerris. “Heard he’s popped the question.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Kerris asked, raising her brows into the bandanna covering half her forehead.

And what business is it of yours?

“Jo told me. They’re thrilled that Cam has found someone so…compatible. I think your similar backgrounds make you a perfect match.”

Kerris squeezed a dry sponge with unnecessary force, not bothering to respond.

“I just want you to know how much I admire you,” Sofie continued.

Kerris gathered her bucket of cleaning supplies, careful not to brush against either woman’s finery on her way into the hallway.

“I mean, you’ve worked so hard to pull yourself out of miserable circumstances.” Sofie’s private-school-educated voice followed Kerris onto the landing of the stairs. “And now I hear you’re opening your own business. It’ll be a real rags-to-riches story one day. Don’t be discouraged that right now it’s just, well, rags.”

Kerris’s anger throbbed in her temples. Her teeth gated the spiteful responses she wanted to hurl at Sofie. Her jaw ached with the restraint. Obviously Sofie wanted to put her firmly in her place.

“I’m gonna do one more walk through to make sure we didn’t overlook anything,” Kerris finally said. “It was nice meeting you, Ardis. Nice seeing you again, Sofie.”