7

Caleb

Victoria, can you bring me the files for the Blackwater estate? I want everything: property tax records, payroll, employee pension payouts, back through ten years.”

“You want me to request copies through your mother’s office?”

“My mother’s office? No, I want the original files on everything.” Mom retained a separate business office for her own personal interests and private accounts apart from the family holdings. I’d never questioned it before because my father set it all up for her, and it was basically keeping with the status quo after he died. I’d been so overwhelmed since I’d had to step up to take over the bulk of Dad’s business when he got sick, that I’d not paid attention to what seemed insignificant at the time. Funny how the passage of time can change that.

But was a historic property that had been in my family for generations insignificant? It shouldn’t be. My father loved it and I couldn’t imagine him wanting it sold to strangers. He would have wanted his kids to enjoy it with their young families. Families. None of us were even married yet, or had families of our own. But some day we would. My sister, Willow, was the closest in line for kids since she was already engaged. To a guy who taught history at Brown University, and I’d only met one time. One time. Dad sure as hell would’ve met him more than once if he were still alive. Put the family first, Caleb. I decided I needed to get a little more involved with my family.

A pang of regret hit me hard right in the chest as I realized my dad would never know a single grandchild from any of his five children. What kind of legacy was that to pass down if the family estate was sold off before he was barely cold in his grave? Christ, my mother was a piece of work. She’d never said a word to me about it.

“I’ll go down and see Myrna in the file room and she can point me in the right direction hopefully. You know ten years is going to be a lot of files, Caleb.”

“I realize that. Box them by year and have Spence help you get them up here to my office. He can line the boxes under the window.”

“And when Myrna wants to know why we’re emptying her file room?” she asked.

“Good point. Just tell Myrna we need them for an internal audit because the property is looking for a buyer. I don’t want my mom to know, okay?”

Victoria nodded once and that was our code for, “Got it, boss,” which was just another reason why she was an excellent PA. She was all business with no drama, but most of all, I could trust her. “Victoria,” I called her back as she was almost out the door, “did you—did you know Blackwater was up for sale?”

“Yes.” Her dark-blue eyes were full of compassion for me. That feeling a person gets when they understand you are the last to know what is really going on, and feel sorry for you. “My parents mentioned it to me a while back.”

“What did they say?” I needed to know.

“That it was a shame for such a magnificent place as Blackwater to go to people who wouldn’t have the connection to the island.”

“Your parents are right.” Blackwater wasn’t going to go to strangers. I knew that much. It might be sold, though . . .

To me.

“I also need Spence to get the chopper ready for seven tonight, so set that up with him, please. I’m staying with Lucas this weekend and visiting Blackwater for myself.”

“Lucas,” she said quickly, “tell him—please tell him I said . . . hi.”

That was weird. Victoria always kept her emotions in check, but seeing she’d just lost that careful composure the second I mentioned my brother’s name meant something was going on. Lucas was a touchy subject for a few people. His twin, Wyatt, and our mother were at the top of that short list. I stayed out of it since it wasn’t my battle.

“Will do, Victoria,” I said with a smile—something I rarely gave, but sensed she needed right now. Which just goes to show I’m not always an asshole.

INthe car I had time to ponder, and more importantly, to digest, what I’d learned about the Blackwater estate and its management. Much of it didn’t sit well with me, with the most disturbing revelation being the letting go of employees who had no retirement compensation in place. How had that been allowed to happen? I was still in disbelief over what I’d discovered in those files. My father had never been mercenary like that. He took care of his people, and loyalty was always rewarded generously. There hadn’t even been any health insurance. It took some major self-control on my part to keep from confronting my mother, but I managed to hold myself back.

All I could hear was Brooke. “And no job for a woman who gave thirty-five years of her life working for one of those fine west-side mansions before they closed it down and dismissed everyone.” Every ounce of her bitterness justifiable. Mrs. Casterley deserved so much more than what she’d received. It was now on me to fix it.

“Isaac, take me to Harris & Goode on Hereford Street.”

“Yes, sir. Will you be wanting Starbucks as well?”

“Not this time. I need to engage the services of an interior designer.”

It was just after five o’clock on a Friday so traffic was all jacked up. People were hurrying to get a head start on the weekend and to beat the rain, which couldn’t decide if it wanted to piss down or not. Isaac stopped at a red light on the corner of Massachusetts and Newbury, and in the twisting mass of humanity crossing the street . . . I saw her for the third time in my life.

Brooke.

Brooke whose last name I didn’t even know yet.

Beautiful Brooke walking full-on in my direction, toward what I guessed would be the Convention Center T stop. From there she would take the train to get off at Aquarium, where the ferries transferred people and cars to the different outlying stops: Cape Cod, Provincetown, and Blackstone Island being the main destinations. I had a perfectly clear view of her, too.

I didn’t have to worry about being caught staring because of the window tint. Thank fuck for window tint.

So I enjoyed every second of her walk across the street right in front of me, from her approach, to her passing the car, to her retreat.

My heart pounded mercilessly as I devoured her. Completely and utterly devoured every detail I could see of the girl who had infected me with desire from the first moment I laid eyes on her, and then sealed the deal when she spoke to me in her beautiful, sultry voice.

Her hair was down again, but this time she had on a soft black hat. She stood out in the crowd because of the baby-pink military jacket she wore, with the same high black boots over tight-fitting leather pants. Brooke possessed goddamn amazing legs. Legs I wanted to have wrapped around me with my hands free to touch the rest of her. I’d kiss every inch of those legs first before I moved on to the part where we fucked good and sl—

No, not fucked because it wouldn’t be like that with her. Would it? I didn’t want it to be . . . I was so confused about what I wanted at this point; I’d talked myself out of pursuing her several times already just to shelve that plan the second I saw her walking across the street.

Jesus Christ, I was in major powerful lust with this girl. Lust? It was a different feeling for me, though. It wasn’t like the lust for sex I’d known in the past. It was more of a need. A raw, unfiltered, almost frightening need—that quite honestly scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I couldn’t explain why, but I felt like I just needed her. Brooke was like a breath of fresh air into my very narrowly constrained life. Refined, yet not haughty. Strong, but wielding her strength with a careful sense of purpose. Fiery, but not with anger, just wickedly intelligent sass on the tip of her tongue ready to fly. Someone who knew who she was, but not through entitlement and prestige. In other words, a complete anomaly in my world.

She had a leather bag over her shoulder and a Starbucks in her hand. Her expression was what I remembered from the cocktail party—beautiful but with that same touch of sadness. I kept on taking in my front-row show until she was swallowed up by other bodies moving in front of her once she stepped onto the sidewalk.

She was going home after the end of her work day. Home to Blackstone Island where she lived in a cottage above Fairchild Light at south-end—a place I probably hadn’t been since my high school days when James and the rest of us drank beer under the lighthouse in the summer and indulged in general teenage mayhem.

I would be on the island in a few hours. Maybe I could see her this weekend. I reached for my phone and pulled her number up on Messenger . . . and just stared at it with absolutely no idea of what to say. The light turned green and the car moved on. I closed the Messenger app and put my phone away.

She was so young. The weird thing was she didn’t seem as young as her years. Losing her parents at fifteen probably had something to do with it. That would certainly make a kid grow up fast. But there was also the evidence of a life lived and the maturity of experience in how she handled herself. The scar on her face possibly? The comment about “nobody puts their hands on me anymore”? I’d bet those two clues meant her life experience had been painful and she’d been hurt, so maybe that was the reason she appeared older than twenty-three.

No, I wouldn’t try to see her this weekend. That wouldn’t work for what I had planned over the next two days. I had to be patient so I could fix the mess with Blackwater first. I had to take care of family business and do what I knew my dad would if it were him.

“Harris & Goode, sir,” Isaac announced as he pulled up to the curb.

I’d had Victoria make a late appointment with the owner in the hopes that Brooke wouldn’t be there, and so far everything was working in my favor. I wanted this deal done before she was informed on Monday morning. In a few minutes I’d know her full name.

“I’m here to see Mr. Harris,” I told the guy at reception, not quite able to process his dark-pink leopard scarf—or was it a shawl?—as office attire. The thing was fucking huge and draped down past his knees. I was in a design studio after all, so maybe he knew something I didn’t.

“Welcome. I’m Eduardo and you are Mr. Blackstone?”

“Yes.”

“Right this way, Mr. Blackstone. Mr. Harris is expecting you. His office is upstairs.”

Eduardo led me through to the back where I caught a peek at Brooke’s office as we passed by the doorway. I knew it was hers because I saw the red flowers I’d sent to her. I was glad she liked them enough to still have them in her office weeks later.

It dawned on me she’d just been in there a few minutes ago, and I liked to think I could still smell her perfume lingering. It was hard to tell because all kinds of scents seemed to be swirling around in this place. Starting with Eduardo’s cologne. I had a suspicion he was her phone call out on the street the night of the clusterfuck cocktail party. Which was good news for me because he was one hundred percent certifiably not her boyfriend.

Yeah. Eduardo knew about a lot of things I didn’t.

“Ah, Mr. Blackstone, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Jon Harris.” He shook my hand and asked if I’d like some coffee before we got started, the usual pleasantries exchanged. “How can we help you here at Harris & Goode?” he asked.

I decided to skip the bullshit and let him know exactly what I’d come for. “My 1920s penthouse just a few blocks from here needs a complete renovation. More specifically, a woman’s touch as far as the designing goes—that point is essential, Mr. Harris. I hope you understand that I know exactly who I want working on my project. I need some help transforming a bachelor apartment into something a family could be comfortable in, and it definitely needs to be a woman doing the designing.” I smiled pleasantly before casually glancing at my watch to check the time, just to help nudge him along a little bit.

“I see.” He eyed me curiously, probably wondering what planet I’d dropped in from. “What would be the budget for your renovation?”

There we go. The universal language that everyone can speak fluently. “Oh, I think five million ought to be sufficient for my needs, but open to upward adjustment, of course.”

He bowed his head slightly, as if to suppress his elation at realizing what a contract for that amount of money could do for his business, even without the future referrals he might gain through me. “I am absolutely certain we can help you, Mr. Blackstone.”

“Excellent. Just the words I wanted to hear, Mr. Harris.” And that was how it was done.

IT had been so long since I’d needed casual clothes, it threw off my usual routine of packing for business trips. That should tell me something. Only thirty-one years old, and I couldn’t remember the last weekend I’d had away.

I really couldn’t remember when or where, and it annoyed me. Because it brought back what my dad had told me on his deathbed in full-on Technicolor. I could see him saying the words to me. “When you find whatever it is that makes you happy, Caleb, hold on to it with everything you’ve got. Your heart will let you know.”

Did I even know what my “happy things” were?

No, I did not.

I did, however, know what didn’t make me happy. And that was being so fucking confused about my feelings for a girl I barely knew. My feelings? I scowled at that thought, and threw the last of my shit into my bag and zipped it closed.

Just enough time for a quick shower before heading back to the offices where the heliport sat at the very top of Blackstone Global Enterprises.

I stripped off everything and let the hot water roll over me for a minute before I went for the soap. I wasn’t sure about a lot of things at the moment, but one mystery had been cleared up for me. Brooke Ellen Casterley. I was also in possession of her design bio, and had an appointment to meet with her late Monday afternoon.

So, it was happening, and I’d have to deal with it Monday when I walked into her office to let her know about her new project, and hopefully relieve her financial stresses. She didn’t need to find a second job any longer. The retainer fee I’d deposited tonight, payable directly to her, would take care of any urgent debts. I’d made sure.

My plan might flop if she decided she wanted nothing to do with me, but I felt confident she would accept. And if she did accept the job, at least she would be working for me for as long as it took to renovate the penthouse. That meant I would have access to see her and talk to her . . . for a long time. What did I care if the styling cues weren’t to my taste? What did I know about the interior design of a home? Nothing. Everything I’d given input on before was for business offices.

Just thinking about her even a little drew a reaction out of my aching cock. Remembering how she looked walking across the street in her pink coat and leather pants had me rock hard in seconds. Some soap applied under the steaming hot shower spray to just the right places . . .

My hand reaching down to grip the heavy weight was inevitable.

I needed to release some tension, and it felt far too fucking good once I started to even consider stopping. I wouldn’t stop pumping my fist up and down the length of my cock. Couldn’t.

The sound of my hand as it fought for friction against the tight skin of my dick sounded almost brutal. Root to tip, twisted, and then slammed back down all the way again. Over and over the motion was repeated, all while images of her bombarded me. Some real, some fantasy—mixed in together to make such an erotic concoction I nearly went down in the shower at one point when my knees buckled. Only one thing would end it. And that would be when I came furiously hard from picturing the image of Brooke beneath me, surrounding me, and in my arms as we did this together.

It took about three more seconds after I imagined how beautiful she’d look while we were fucking.

Beautiful is how Brooke would be with my cock buried deep inside her. She would be mine when that happened.

I called out her name when cum shot up hard from my balls and out through the head of my now-abused cock. It kept coming in punishing spurts to mix with the steam and the hot water, draining me in a way that felt unfamiliar because everything was different now.

Her name on my lips as I came would have happened whether I wanted it to or not. Brooke and I were inevitable.

Inevitable.