Chapter One
“Sure. Right.” Trevor James shut down his computer, only half listening to the phone conversation. “Of course.” He placed the documents on his desk into his drawer and locked it. “Okay.”
He scanned his desktop, returned a pen to the holder at the corner of his desk. The pristine surface left nothing for him to fiddle with. A glance at the time had him groaning silently.
“Do we have to discuss this now?” he interjected, prepared for the coming reprimand. “It’s one in the morning for you.” And ten o’clock for him. He had far more important things to do in that moment than listen to his father.
“The markets are open in the Far East,” Howard Faulkner countered, like that explained his urgent need to discuss company business.
Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose and called on the patience he’d spent forty-one years cultivating when dealing with his father. “I have to go,” he said, voice flat. “We can discuss the rest tomorrow. After I’m in the office.”
The distance didn’t dilute the disapproval shoved through the harsh grunt. “You’ll never run this company if you’re only available from nine to five.”
Great. Fucking excellent news.
As the president of the San Francisco office of Faulkner Investment Group, Trevor had built the office into the most profitable one within the company. It even outpaced the headquarters in New York City, which was his father’s domain. But apparently that wasn’t good enough.
No, none of that mattered, not when it was his good fortune to be Howard Faulkner’s one and only child.
Maybe he should’ve lobbied to take over the Hong Kong office. Would that have been far enough from his father’s reach? Probably not. The moon would still be too close.
Trevor spun his chair around to stare blindly at the glowing lights of the Bay Bridge in the distance. “Then I guess you’d better hand off the company to one of the Yes Men who kiss your ass all day long.”
The abrupt harrumph was expected, and he smiled at the sheer predictability. The entire conversation was redundant and pointless. His father was going to die in his big office chair in Manhattan, and everything would be handed over to Trevor whether he wanted it or not.
This is your heritage. You will work here. You should be proud of your name.
He was so damn proud of the last statement that he’d legally changed it to his mother’s maiden name when he’d turned eighteen. At least he’d had a few years of relative anonymity before he’d knotted his tie and stepped into the company fold.
“You wish,” his father snarled with yet another predictable volley.
Trevor waited a beat, sarcastic disgust twisting in his stomach as he turned his phone around to see that the call had been disconnected. Of course it had. The ending rally by his father rarely varied. And his own “I truly do” was only heard by him.
Fucking A. He heaved a sigh before shoving the annoyance aside. This was not new, and it wasn’t going to change until the old man died. Retirement wasn’t in the vocabulary of a man who didn’t know what vacation meant. Or sleep.
He rechecked the time and mentally shuffled his priorities for his next appointment. He’d discarded his suit jacket three hours back when his executive assistant had finally departed for the night. He removed his tie now, draped it over his desk and set his watch next to it before he unbuttoned his collar and rolled up his sleeves. His belt came off last. He slid it free and curled it into a loose loop before setting it beside the other items.
He’d prepared the boardroom earlier after he’d walked through both floors of the office to ensure he was alone. The unnatural hush of the space was both settling and disturbing. Over one hundred people worked there, and most of them would be shocked if they found out about tonight’s meeting.
The hallway was dark except for the soft shine of the recess lighting in the lobby below. A quick glance over the rail confirmed that no one had arrived yet. Good. He hated being late.
The surrounding buildings and the glow of the moon provided a pale light in the boardroom when he entered it. He pushed back most of the chairs so they lined the interior wall and the row of floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the exterior wall. The condoms were spread across the coffee credenza next to a packet of wipes. He placed more at one end of the table along with a few lengths of material, two sets of leather wrist cuffs and a flogger—just in case.
He opened the Boardroom app on his phone, anticipation ramping up his lust. The custom application had been designed by him and created specifically for this group. Pride rose in his chest. He glanced through the short list of planned scenes taking place around the city tonight and in the near future. He’d orchestrated this, and in the process, had given every member the freedom to play and explore their sexual desires in a safe, sex-positive environment.
His father would curl his righteous, indignant old toes if he had one iota of a clue that his precious son was the mastermind of a private sex group.
He made one last check of the players for his scene and froze. Concern flashed in before he could block it. One woman had dropped out, but another had filled her spot.
That was fine. It happened all the time.
There wasn’t anyone in the group whom he’d object to fucking—man or woman. Sex was sex. As long as everyone agreed to what was going on, everything was good.
But he hadn’t expected Danielle. Not tonight. Not here.