Chapter 1

EMERSON

Charleston, South Carolina

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Emerson said, tossing one dress after another from her walk-in closet onto the bed where her sisters batted them away to keep from being hit in the face. “God, there’s nothing in here. Why did I let you two talk me into hiring a stylist to buy me some new clothes?”

Actually, she knew the answer to that. One of their company’s biggest clients had invited them—Emerson specifically—to the fundraising gala, and Emerson didn’t feel she had much choice. She had balked at the expense of a stylist, but Kendra had seen it as necessary for Emerson, as head of a successful company, to look the part.

The company was known worldwide for the first-class work their parents had done in building it from the ground up. Richard Ravenel had made a name for himself, his company and his family. Not only did Emerson, Kendra, and Tegan want to carry on the tradition and legacy, but they wanted to make a name for themselves as the new owners of Ravenel Reliance. They wanted the world to know, and especially the family that had disowned their father for his choice of bride, that they too were worthy of the Ravenel name.

Building the business hadn’t been easy, but in the end, Ravenel Reliance had become the foremost authority on art, artifacts, antiquities and jewels in the world. That often meant hobnobbing with Charleston’s and the world’s elite, and ensuring everyone knew Ravenel Reliance was open for business.

Kendra laughed. Of the three of them, she was the fashionista of the family. Emerson was the tomboy who preferred breeches or leggings with boots and either a soft, clingy T-shirt or sweater.

Stepping into the walk-in closet, Kendra took her older sister by the shoulders and pushed her out. “Stephanie did an excellent job, although looking at the state of your closet it’s a wonder you can find anything at all.”

“I think this one is nice,” said Tegan, holding up a dress with a high collar that only bared Emerson’s shoulders and arms.

“Gack!” said Kendra, racing out to snatch it up. “I thought Stephanie and I got rid of this thing. It is truly hideous.”

“I bought that in Paris,” said Emerson, defensively.

“Where? In a secondhand shop specializing in ugly dresses made of fabric that could spontaneously combust?” Kendra walked over to Emerson’s dresser, picked up a pair of scissors she’d seen earlier and cut the offending dress into three pieces before tossing them in the trash can.

Emerson groaned, and Tegan laughed.

“What about this?” Kendra asked, bringing out a cobalt blue silk chiffon and lurex ruched evening gown with an ostrich feathered cape and sleeve accessory.

“Feathers? Seriously? I don’t think so.”

“Then don’t wear the cape.”

“Oh, hell no. Why don’t I just go naked with a long stemmed rose between my teeth?” snarked Emerson. “Better yet, you go, and you wear it.”

Kendra leaned against the door jamb. “That’s not going to work.”

“Oliver Toney didn’t invite me or Kendra, and the event this evening is black-tie and invitation only.”

“I doubt the people at the fundraising gala really give a damn which one of us it is…”

“I disagree. The invitation wasn’t to Ravenel Reliance. It was sent to you.”

“Toney is on the board of directors…”

“And wants you to come. This dress would be killer on you,” said Kendra.

“If you like it so well, you take it. I can tell you for a fact I won’t be wearing it… ever.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Kendra mumbled heading back into Emerson’s closet. She returned with a black evening gown made out of tulle and embroidered lace that would hug her sister’s curves, making the most of her voluptuous figure. “What about this?”

Emerson turned to Tegan. “She hates me. I’m telling you; she hates me.”

“I don’t hate you and you know it. I just don’t think you ought to hide your sexy self in clothes that either hide your light under a bushel, so to speak, or that smell of horses.”

Emerson sniffed under her armpits. “I took a shower and washed my hair, and I shaved all the applicable body parts.”

“It would be so much easier if you waxed or had laser treatments.”

“Ouch and ouch,” returned Emerson. “I guess that one is okay. Besides, I let you do my hair and make-up.”

“You’re kind of whiney this evening,” said Tegan, reaching up to place her hand on her oldest sister’s forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

“No. No I am not. I am deathly ill. Let’s send Kendra in that blue monstrosity. She can tell Toney I’m on death’s doorstep, but Ravenel Reliance is still there to support the charity.”

Kendra rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time to get ready or I would go, and might I add, I’d rock that cobalt blue dress. If you really hate it, I’m putting it and the matching shoes in my closet.”

“Go right ahead,” said Emerson. “I’d probably fall off the damn things and break my ankle.”

“I suppose you want to wear the black kitten-heeled sling backs with the rhinestone buckle?”

“I’d prefer to wear my riding boots, but I suppose that’s not an option.”

That put Tegan over the line, and she dissolved into laughter. Kendra rolled her eyes—it was her patented go-to move—and Emerson glared at her before they both joined their youngest sister.

“Okay, so I don’t hate the black dress, and I think you did a great job with my hair and make-up. Thanks.”

“Do you really hate Toney enough to risk insulting him and maybe the board?” asked Kendra, genuine concern in her voice.

“It’s not so much Toney himself. Him I can handle; it’s the damage he could do to our reputation, especially here in the city.”

“Well, if he gets out of line, kick him in the nuts and break his nose. God knows you’ve done it to others,” teased Kendra. “Seriously, if we have to leave Charleston, that’s what we do. We’ve talked before about relocating to a more metropolitan city. I think we’d be fabulous in London or Paris.”

“If we lived in Paris, I’d be the size of a house within six months. All those pastries,” said Tegan dreamily.

“Should we suffocate her with a pillow or drown her in the pool?” asked Kendra.

Of the three of them, Tegan was the one least likely to have a weight problem, but she did have a sweet tooth.

“Neither. If I had to look at all those gems and jewelry through that loupe of hers, I think I’d kill myself,” answered Emerson.

“Says the world’s foremost authority on antiquities and specifically Fabergé eggs.”

“They’re so exquisite,” said Emerson. “The attention to detail is amazing. By the way did we get paid for the authentication I did for the woman in Spain? You know, the one whose mother says she has a claim to the Russian throne?”

Tegan shook her head. “I don’t get it. They made such a fuss about being the closest relatives to the last tzar, but the tzars have been out of power for more than a century.”

“Yes, but the Russians have long memories,” said Emerson.

“Speaking of mysterious Russians,” said Kendra, “I think I read that Viktor Romanov was going to be there tonight.”

“Never heard of him,” said Emerson, dismissively.

That wasn’t necessarily the truth. Viktor Romanov was rumored to own not only several Fabergé eggs, but the iconic six—Fabergé eggs that were known to have been in the possession of the imperial family but were never found by the Bolsheviks. Some said they’d been stolen, and some said that they’d been smuggled out when the dowager empress and some of the tzar’s siblings had escaped to the west.

Emerson’s hobby horse was researching the six eggs and the rumors surrounding them in the hopes that someday she could figure out what had happened to them and return them to the world. No doubt there would be lots of claimants, but in Emerson’s mind, they belonged to the world. Although collecting a finder’s fee would be nice. She wasn’t worried about the Nazis having obtained them, as the eggs had disappeared before World War II. Besides, for the most part, the Nazis had kept meticulous records and so far, no one had found any mention of them.

“I’ve heard some unsavory, although interesting, things about Viktor,” said Tegan. “Ex special forces for the Brits, some ties to the Russian mafia, a shit ton of money and a lot of lurid tales about his dominance, sexual prowess, and how he keeps himself aloof from just about everyone.”

Emerson slipped into the black dress. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her.

To paraphrase an old country song, staring back from the looking glass stood a sexy woman where a tomboy had stood before. She touched her hair, her cheek, and then the dress itself.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have cut that hideous dress up,” said Kendra. “Toney is going to lose his mind. You look amazing, Em.”

“Yeah, I kind of agree.”

“Maybe Kendra should go,” said Tegan. “I know Toney throws us a lot of business, but it’s pretty obvious he only does it to impress Em.”

“He doesn’t want to impress Em, he wants to make her his own,” said Kendra putting the last part in air quotes.

Emerson shivered with revulsion. “The man makes my skin crawl. There’s just something about him that creeps me out, but some of our most lucrative jobs have come through him.”

“Something he never fails to remind us of,” said Kendra. “Anybody else on the guest list you want to connect with?”

“The gala is one of those events that people kill to get an invitation to. If nothing else, Ravenel Reliance will be talked about in the paper. Besides, I hear the Fitzwallaces of London are going to be there. I haven’t seen either of them in a number of years.”

“Didn’t Cerberus get you out of the UAE when one of the minor royals tried to prevent you from leaving?”

Emerson nodded. “It was kind of scary until Fitzwallace and his team showed up. He’s one of those men that you just know you’re safe with. We hooked up with JJ at one of their safe houses, and she and her team made sure I was okay. I have always been so grateful.”

Kendra nodded. “That could have gone so badly.”

“And the guy from our State Department kept saying they were working on it. If we’d left it up to them, I think you’d still be there. Doesn’t Fitzwallace own some swanky BDSM club in London?”

“Actually, it was JJ’s before they married. Once they got together, he moved his black ops and security firm above the club. They are the most amazing couple. It’s like they have this connection you can just feel.”

“You sound like you envy them,” said Tegan. “You do know they’re kind of famous for owning a BDSM club in Chicago as well. I heard a rumor the other day that they’re looking at Carriage House.”

“Damon Knox’s place?” asked Kendra. “I heard he sold a controlling interest in the club to Viktor Romanov.”

“What does a Russian oligarch want with a kink club?” asked Emerson.

“Do you pay any attention to the society or business pages?” Kendra asked, knowing the answer was no.

“The dictionary defines an oligarch as a very rich business leader with a great deal of political influence. Viktor Romanov certainly qualifies,” said Tegan.

“Are you telling me he conducts business at the Carriage House?” asked Emerson, genuinely curious about the man.

“Not just him, but some of the most powerful people in Charleston and the surrounding areas. There are people who come to play at the club from all over the world. It was well-known in certain circles before Knox sold to Romanov, but Viktor has really upped the ante. It’s as much a power brokerage as it is a kink club,” answered Tegan.

“What about Romanov himself?”

“They say he can be a real bastard. He doesn’t date…” added Kendra.

“I read enough of the society pages to know that isn’t true.”

Kendra shook her head. “The pictures? Mostly women who want to be seen with him. If they’re on Romanov’s arm for a photo op, they’re either members of the club or those who partake in the same kind of kinky activity. The rumor is that he contracts any and all sexual encounters—and there are lots of them—via the club’s contracts. He wants to ensure the women he fucks or uses for his other needs know the score.”

“And what’s the score?”

“That he won’t stay with them. That he won’t be exclusive. That any involvement he has is with the lifestyle and attending to his own needs.”

“So just slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am?” Emerson wasn’t sure why that thought bothered her.

“Oh no. The women who’ve been with him even once brag about how he can go at it all night and always leaves his partners sated and exhausted. The stories about him—sex with an audience, using a whip on a naked woman to the point she climaxes, having sex with more than one woman…”

Tegan nodded excitedly. “They say he once conducted a business meeting in the lounge with a naked woman on her knees giving him a blow job. When she was done with him, he offered her services to the other guy.”

“I’ve heard he likes to tie women up when he’s playing with them and then only fucks women doggy style, never face-to-face.”

“And they allow this guy out in public?” Her sisters looked at her as if she was an idiot. “You do remember this is the same societal group that disowned dad because he married mom, right?”

Kendra reached over and laid her hand on Emerson’s arm. “Dad’s family were and are jackasses, but you have to admit, we had a pretty wonderful childhood.”

Emerson smiled. “That we did.” She took one last look in the mirror. “Well, ladies, it’s time Cinderella headed out to the ball. Viktor Romanov can get up to whatever sexual perversions he likes. I’m going to this stupid gala for one reason and one reason only: the financial health of our business.”

“We’re doing fine,” said Kendra, who did the actual books for the company.

“Not bad, but we need to do better. We can’t grow the business without new and lucrative clients. Right now, we’re less than a month away from financial ruin if we don’t bring in some new business. It’s as simple as that.”

It was and wasn’t that simple. They did need new clients; they needed to expand the base of their business from Charleston and the deep South to something more suited to their specialties in antiquities, art and jewels. If that meant doing business with a guy who wanted a blow job while she was talking to him, fine. It just wouldn’t be her on her knees giving it to him.