He lived life on his terms—no excuses, no regrets.
And when it came to business takeovers—no mercy.
Although he was bold, he wasn’t reckless. He had enemies, but was smart when dealing with them. Liking or hating competition was a waste of time. Neither emotion moved a buyout forward. Business was business. Nothing personal. The less drama, the better.
The media didn’t follow him, because he kept his private life extremely private. The deadliest animals in the wild disguised themselves to match their surroundings. Maintaining a low profile meant he didn’t get involved in anything that didn’t directly affect his business. Last night, Kenzi Barrington had looked as if she might. She’d walked past him, and something about her expression had caught his attention.
He told himself he’d followed her only because a beach drowning had never increased the value of any property. Nor would it be good for business to have to explain to a family like the Barringtons that their youngest had met her end while staying at a resort he now owned.
It had been more than that, though, and he was at a loss to explain it. She’d drawn him to the beach and held him entranced. His fascination with her was impossible to justify to himself the next day. She was beautiful, but lust hadn’t been what he’d felt when he’d followed her. As he’d stood watching her walk, he’d experienced the strangest sensation that he was supposed to be there with her.
There was a chance her presence at the resort was linked to the next project on his calendar. When Trent Davis had approached him as a possible buyer for the Henderson’s company, he had put Poly-Shyn on Dax’s radar. Dax had looked into it, but at the time, the company had been stable. No fast money could be made there. However, fighting within the Henderson family over the future of the company had caused its stock to plummet, and it was now ripe for forced takeover. So far, Dax hadn’t done more than explore his options. Had the Hendersons sent a family friend to covertly uncover his level of interest in the project?
Clay picked up after a few rings. “Dax, you’ll be happy to know I smoothed things over with the Barrington woman. I went over early with a Bloody Mary and breakfast, laid on the Landon charm, and then sent her home in my private jet. She was embarrassed but not upset when she left. She probably doesn’t even remember getting sick. You can thank me with a fabulous lunch after we videoconference with a buyer today at noon. Max Andrade called me.”
Leave it to Clay to get involved out of what had likely been nothing more than curiosity. “You sent her home?” His question surprised even him.
“Did you hear me? Max Andrade. That’s a solid buyer, if we can sell him on the property. He’ll want to keep it as a resort, and that would mean less time invested in dealing with permits and demolition. You could get in and out, and make a killing if you do this right.”
Dax rubbed one of his pounding temples. Focus. “You’ve dealt with Max in the past. How do we play this?”
“He’ll come in with a low offer. He always does, but if he sees potential in the area, he has the funds to meet your profit goal. With him, the price doesn’t matter as much as getting what he wants. I’ll pressure Hurd to put in an offer quickly, and we’ll apply some pressure. Tourist trap or Silicon Valley tax shelter: You don’t have a preference, do you?”
“None,” Dax answered automatically. He told himself he was relieved Clay had dealt with the Barrington woman. There was no need for him to see her again.
Still, he couldn’t shake the image of how desperate she’d looked just before she’d fallen asleep.
“Don’t touch me.”
He’d been trying to help her for God’s sake.
She’d looked terrified . . .
“Don’t touch me.”
Had someone hurt her?
The idea of it filled him with rage. He’d love to have five minutes alone with whoever had put that fear in her.
Hell, killing didn’t require that much time.
Dax shook his head. What the hell am I thinking? I don’t know her, and her issues are none of my concern.
“You don’t sound excited. What’s wrong with you this morning?”
Dax rubbed his temple again. “I’m fighting something.”
“Good. I don’t mean good that you might be sick, but good that it’s not what I thought. For a minute there, I thought you might be mooning over the Barrington woman. She is one hot mess, even sober. Sweet, but I can see why she’s not married.”
“Shut the fuck up about her. Understand?”
“Uh-oh. You liked her, didn’t you? I saw it in your face last night. Do yourself a favor, Dax, and stay the hell away from that one.”
“Be here at noon, and we’ll use my laptop to conference with Max.” He took a deep, calming breath. “And thanks for handling everything this morning.”
Clay cleared his throat. “You’re welcome, but proceed with caution, my friend. And I’m not talking about Max.”
Dax rolled his eyes in frustration. “I have no intention of seeing her again.”
“I know,” Clay said in a voice laden with irony, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Chapter Two
Planes and hangovers don’t mix. Not even private jets. Kenzi had done her best to sleep on the flight, but she collapsed into the back of the town car that met her at the airport and didn’t dare check a mirror. She knew she looked how she felt, like shit.
Her phone beeped as messages piled up on her cell phone. She didn’t have to check them to know who they’d be from. Her mother and father would be first, followed by her brother Ian, who would deliver a request for her to call home because her absence, even when announced, worried her parents. One by one, her other brothers would follow suit and deliver the same message with their own personal flair. Grant would be worried about her but even more about how she was upsetting their mother. Asher would order her as if she worked for him. Lance would lay out all the reasons why calling was the best for all involved. She wouldn’t hear from Andrew if he was deployed, and he was, but when he was home, he joined the phone chain along with the rest of them. He threw in his tediously long lecture about duty and loyalty.
I’m twenty-eight years old. I should be able to go more than two days without talking to my parents before my family dives into crisis mode.
Even when her parents had sent her away to an all girls’ private high school in Nova Scotia she’d had to check in with them twice a day or they lost their minds. There was a sad irony in that for her. Why send me to study in another country but expect me to check in like I’m living under your roof?
Because you don’t trust me to make decisions for myself.
That’s nothing new.
Kenzi opened her eyes and looked at the driver. The wire coming from his ear fit with the military cut of his hair. “Are you from Platinum Transportation?”
“No, ma’am. My name is Parker Draun. Your family hired me before you left the country, but unfortunately I was unable to locate you prior to your departure.”
Kenzi closed her eyes again and laid her head back on the seat. Was the man who he said he was? What proof did she have that he wasn’t a kidnapper? A crazy murderer? Was this how she’d meet her end?
I should be so lucky.
No, she corrected herself, I don’t want to die. I just don’t know if I can live the lie anymore.
She knew there were people who had endured worse than she had, but that saddened her instead of making her feel better. Think about something else. Anything else. Something good.
She thought about the man she’d met the night before and the assumptions she’d made about him. Her memories of the night were sketchy, but she remembered how he’d made her feel.
People joked that beer goggles made everyone attractive.
Rum goggles were apparently even more potent.
Not that the feeling had been mutual. Nothing says, “I’m not interested” like sending someone else the next morning to handle my departure.
What did I expect? A call to see how I was doing? He didn’t even tell me his name. His friend had to do that.
Dax Marshall.
Even his name is sexy.
Take me, Dax.
Do me, Dax.
I wonder if that’s his real name or if his parents had saddled him with something like Erwin, but he wasn’t getting laid because no one wanted to scream that name out?
Who am I kidding? He could be named Watch-Out-I-Have-a-Rash and women would sleep with him. He was hot.
And I’d been drunk. Oh, so drunk.
Thank God nothing happened.
At least, I’m ninety-nine percent certain nothing did.
Although, I do remember taking my dress off.
Kenzi cringed. Then he put it back on. Yeah, that’s a sign if ever there was one.
So much for using that memory to make me feel better.
Without opening her eyes Kenzi took out her phone and said, “Willa.” The best cure for her mood was to talk with a good friend. Willa Chambers and her twin sister, Lexi, had been Kenzi’s best friends since they’d met in boarding school. They’d seen her through some rough years and never pushed her to explain what had fueled her bad choices. Even though they were her age, she often turned to them as someone would to older sisters. Although they’d claimed their decision to move to Boston had been job related, she knew the truth. They loved her as much as she loved them. She couldn’t imagine her life without them.
“Kenzi, how was your trip? Do you feel better?”
“Much,” Kenzi lied.
“I know how important that reality show was to you. Have you talked to your family about it yet? Maybe you can convince them to reconsider.”
“Not worth it. I’m over it.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
Kenzi sighed. “It was a silly idea, anyway. I’ve never seen my mother as happy as she has been lately. She’s planning Asher and Emily’s wedding, helping Emily prepare for the opening of her museum, and picking out names for their children. Why would I want to do anything that could threaten that?”
“That’s a lot of Emily.”
“Having her around has been good for my mother. I’m happy Asher found her.”
“Liar.”
“I’m trying, Willa. Isn’t that good enough?”
“You have to pretend with them, but you don’t have to with me. Remember what you said to Lexi and me when we asked you how you could tell us apart when no one else could? You said it’s because you see us. US. Not just our features or how we dress. Well, I see you, Kenzi. And I’m not your mother. You don’t have to watch everything you say to me. So you don’t love your future sister-in-law. So what? She practically moved in with your parents for a while. I don’t know how I’d feel if my parents tossed me out in my teens but took in some strange woman like she was their long-lost daughter.”
“Easy on the understanding, Willa; it’s not making me feel better.” Kenzi sat up and stretched. “I don’t dislike Emily. It’s not her fault my family is fucked up.”
“So, what will you do now?”
“Maybe nothing. I don’t have to work. My trust fund can support me.”
“First, when you talk like that I want to slap you. It’s really hard for me to pity you when you go all sad-rich-girl on me. Second, you’re not a child anymore. You can make your own decisions now. If you want to do a reality show, take some of that trust fund and film it yourself.”
“My family would never let it be seen.”
“Blah. Blah. Blah. Excuses. If you want this, Kenzi, fight for it. Tell your story.”
“No matter who it hurts?”
“Whatever you’re holding in is tearing you apart, Kenzi.”
“There are things I’ve never told you, Willa.” Sober, Kenzi pushed back the dark memories that threatened to wash over her at the mere mention of that time. It was a battle she’d fought and won within herself countless times in the past.
“And you never have to, unless you want to. Those who love you will stand with you when you tell your story, and those who don’t—you don’t need them.”
Kenzi brought a shaking hand to her mouth. Willa made it sound so easy. “I don’t know if I can risk being the reason my mother suffers more than she already has.”
“Your mother will survive.”
“Ian will never forgive me if it affects his political career.”
“He loves you. He’ll work it out. He always does.”
“How can you be so sure about what I should do when my head is pounding from nerves just at the thought of hiring my own film team?”
“Oh, that’s easy, because I’m looking on instead of facing this myself. In the end, Kenzi, it doesn’t matter what I think. Do what you can live with. I’ll love you, regardless.”
Kenzi wiped away a stray tear that ran down her cheek. How many times had she yearned to hear those words from her parents or brothers? Too many. Although Willa’s speech had been inspiring, Kenzi wasn’t sold on going forward with the show herself.
After so many years of keeping everything inside so she wouldn’t upset anyone, could she defy her family and expose her pain to the world? Wouldn’t it be better to continue to bury the memories, push past how she felt, and choose the welfare of her family over her selfish desire to be heard?
How long can I pretend I’m fine before I shatter beneath the weight of the truth?
After hanging up with Willa, Kenzi rode the rest of the way to her Boston apartment in silence. Her driver parked then escorted her to her door.
“I’ll be out here if you need me,” he said.
“Of course you will be,” Kenzi said with a sad smile and closed the door between them. Almost instantly, she whipped the door back open and said, “I’ll pay you double whatever my family offered if you don’t tell them anything you see me do or say.”
The man looked at her long and hard until she was sure he’d refuse. Then he said, “My normal fee is fine. I’ll bill you instead and sign a non-disclosure.”
Surprised at how easy that had gone, Kenzi asked, “How much would it cost for you to stop following me around?”
A faint smile curled the man’s lips. “They’d only send someone else.”
“What if you simply promise that I won’t see you?”
He nodded in agreement.
“Do you have a family?”
“Yes, ma’am. A wife and two kids.”
“Are they in Boston?”
“Bellingham.”
“Do you like your job?”
“It pays the bills and allows me to save some on the side. My wife can stay home if she wants. Between my shifts my brother, Josh, will be with you.”
“You’re in business with your brother?”
“Since we shook kids down for their lunch money together in kindergarten.”
“You’re joking.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Call me Kenzi.” Kenzi let out a long breath. She knew what she was doing. It was how she’d always survived. She looked for something to like when situations were otherwise intolerable and clung to it. It was how she’d kept her silence as long as she had. She knew how to bury how she felt and focus on one small good thing as if it were a treasure. “I look forward to meeting your brother.”
Parker nodded and turned his back in a stance that said he’d be stationed outside her door. As if he couldn’t stop himself from saying it, he added, “Your family hired me because they care about you. At the end of the day, family is all that really matters.”
Kenzi nodded and closed the door. She rested against it for a moment. That’s what I keep telling myself, but it’s not that simple.
A short time later Kenzi was stretching on her yoga mat when the bellman called up, saying she’d received a delivery. She told him to send it up. She opened the door and cocked her head to the side when she received a wrapped gift box. She placed it on the coffee table in her living room and opened the card that a
ccompanied it.
“You are stronger than whatever you are facing. Dax Marshall,” she read aloud.
With shaking hands, Kenzi unwrapped the gift he had sent. It was an iPod. She turned it on and saw it came with music preloaded. She hit play and the sound of ocean waves filled her living room.
She didn’t ask herself why he’d sent the gift. She didn’t want to think about how a man who didn’t know her at all knew her so well. She curled up on her couch, gave herself over to the tears she’d held in for so long, and let the sound of the waves wash them away as they always had.
She fell asleep, and it was the most peaceful sleep she’d had in a long time.
Several days later, Dax was back in his London office, snapping at everyone who had the misfortune of walking through his door. Jetlag didn’t normally bother him, but he hadn’t slept well since he’d returned from the Bahamas. He should be in a better mood. Negotiations with Max Andrade were progressing and promising. He was readying himself to turn his attention back to the matter of Poly-Shyn.
A question was eating at him, though, and he finally gave in to it. He walked into his secretary’s office and asked, “Kate, did you track the package I had you send?”
Kate was in her late twenties and single, but she didn’t bring her personal life into the office, and Dax didn’t normally involve her in his. She had, however, handled his detailed request for Kenzi’s gift without hesitation. She looked down quickly and checked her computer. “I did. It arrived that day and was signed for.”
“By Miss Barrington?”
“No, a man. She probably has someone receive packages for her.”
Dax frowned as he snapped, “Then how do I know if she actually got it?”
“Would you like me to call her and confirm delivery?”
“No, I would not,” Dax growled and walked back into his office, slamming the door behind him.