Seven Sons

Liam

I smiled as I replayed the evening in my head. Everything with Jeremy Sanders and his wife had gone well. In the end, the deal would come together, I could feel it.

My smile faded as I recalled seeing that redhead looking my way once again. It had been momentary, but her appearances in my life weren’t random.What the hell was her game?

Melinda snuggled closer and made her delightful little purring noise as she slid a leg over mine. “I had a good time tonight.”

“Me too.” Stroking her long blond hair, I was comfortable here, almost too comfortable.

She deserved the cuddle session after helping this evening, but the time would be shorter than she liked.

“I thought it went well,” she said as her finger traced a circle on my chest.

“Thanks to you.” It was an honest compliment, and it earned me a nibble on the ear.

Mrs. Sanders had been quite taken with Melinda’s knowledge of Arabian mythology.

This evening Melinda Nixon and I had entertained Sanders and his wife at the Boston Opera. It had been tolerable as such things went. Sunday nights were always less crowded. And thankfully tonight’s performance of Aladdin had been in English.

I wanted to add an outdoor footwear line to the company and hoped to persuade the Sanders family to divest theirs. Buying their business would go a long way toward meeting our growth goals for this quarter.

A year ago I had thought it was merely a matter of spreadsheets and check-writing to acquire a business. Three consecutive failures had taught me how wrong-headed I’d been. Since coming to Boston, I’d learned evenings like this were a necessary part of the company courtship dance before making a formal offer——a sort of corporate foreplay.

The dim red numerals of the clock read one-twelve in the morning. I untangled myself from Melinda.

“Do you have to go so soon?” she asked as I climbed out of bed.

I searched for my underwear. “Sorry, I have to meet Josh at six for squash.” I quickly pulled on my clothes, not bothering with the cummerbund or my cufflinks. I kissed her on the forehead. “You did great tonight.”

Melinda held my hand momentarily. “Thank you. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for your deal.” She didn’t beg me to stay; she understood. The rules were simple: I didn’t spend the night. Not ever.

Reaching the door, I pulled a red velvet Cartier pouch from my pocket and left it on the front table for her: earrings with black pearls on white gold hoops, understated elegance. Flicking off her hall light, I closed the door behind me and latched the deadbolt.

Melinda served as intelligent and stunningly attractive arm candy when I needed a date for an event like tonight. In return, I accompanied her to a social event of her choosing every few months. She had looks, class, and also wicked smarts.

We fit well together, but we weren’t exclusive or attached. I slept with other women when I found an appropriate target, and I didn’t care if Melinda had other men. She understood our arrangement: no commitments, no entanglements, no expectations, and no relationship.

On my way downstairs, the appearance of that redhead again nagged at me. She hadn’t been close enough to overhear anything, yet I still couldn’t shake the feeling that she had to be tied to Winterbourne in some way.

Once inside my car, I punched the key fob in and the V-12 roared to life.

Eat your heart out, Daniel Craig. You get to drive an Aston Martin in the movies. I drive one every day.

I rubbed my ring finger. I had dared to love once, and lost.

The scar weighed on me every day.

* * *

Amy

The purple and orange FedEx envelope dominated my desktop. Why did they always arrive on a Tuesday?

I hung up my jacket before closing the door to my office. I needed quiet time to finish my presentation for Friday's investor meeting.

My phone vibrated with a text message.

VIV: See you 2nite

It had slipped my mind; I’d agreed to meet my sister, Vivienne, for drinks. She was my rock, even if she was off-the-wall crazy half the time. I had canceled on her last week and didn’t dare invite her wrath by canceling again.

ME: Might be late

VIV: Then drink fast to catch up

The FedEx envelope was from the devil himself. I’d tried once to tell my assistant to stop signing for these, but it had only worked for a week.Hehad arranged for a process server to wait outside my office and added the fee to my bill.

My hand trembled as I ripped open the package and a single envelope slid out. It was an innocuous white; the return address was the problem.Forrester, Forrester & Jenkins attorneys at law: my ex-husband's choice of divorce lawyers.

Maximilian Forrester was the face of the firm. His ugly mug appeared on late-night commercials on every local television station. I doubted there was anybody in Boston who hadn't heard of Max Forrester, the divorce lawyer who specialized in handling the man's side of the case.

Translation: when you were done fucking your wife, and you really wanted to fuck her over in the divorce, Max was your guy. The man had no moral compass and knew no limits. Calling him a human shark was an insult to sharks. I shook hands with him once, and it took two applications of hand sanitizer to remove the slime. Just his name was enough to make me want to retch.

I dreaded what the letter inside would say. An envelope like this never brought good news.

Samantha Tiffany knocked on my door once as she invited herself in the way she always did. She reached my desk in three strides.

“Friday’s investment meeting just got moved to tomorrow afternoon at two. I hope that’s not a problem,” she announced.

“Sure, not a problem.” It would mean less time to prepare, but handling meetings like this was my job.

Samantha and I had started Tiffany's Fine Chocolates together three years ago. Her name was on the packages, but we were equals. Amy's didn't sound as sophisticated as Tiffany's, and T&A Chocolates didn’t make the cut either.

Our specialty was organic, preservative-free, GMO-free, kosher confections for those who cared to spend a little more for the very best. She was a wizard in the kitchen we called our lab and concocted kick-ass chocolates with her bakery background. I handled the marketing side of the business.

Samantha noticed the envelope. “What’s in it? Do I need to get my earplugs?”

The last time I’d gotten one of these fucking envelopes I had screamed bloody murder. It had scared our receptionist, Lucy, so badly she almost called 9-1-1.

I plopped my ass down in my seat. “Don’t know, and right now I don’t care.”

“Maybe Matt remarried, and you don’t owe spousal support anymore.”