Chapter One
The façade of the coffee shop matched the other businesses in the strip mall—drab, dated and disappointing. Brandon Knight shook his head, knowing that the Pasadena planning commission’s request to review the design plans for the new office park must be a mere formality. No one could possibly choose this over what his development company offered to erect.
After this final meeting with the owner, all the obstacles would be cleared away. He was prepared to spend far more than the businesses were worth to make it happen. He made things happen.
They just weren’t always the things he’d planned.
He pulled opened the glass door and held it for a gaggle of teens hopped up on espresso. It gave him the chance to look inside at the dull hardwood floors, exposed pipes along the ceiling painted every neon color imaginable. Magazines, newspapers and board games littered the available tabletops. This place didn’t just need a new location, it needed a complete makeover.
People seeking their mid-morning caffeine rush filled the tiny space. He slipped into line and a nervous sensation snaked up his spine. No one seemed menacing or out of place, and yet he couldn’t shake the unease. His gaze bounced from the mismatched chairs to the solid wood tables to the shelves of even more board games. His attention settled on the back of the barista. His gut twisted as his mind leapt with recognition.
Every time he saw natural blonde hair with more than a hint of curl, his heart vaulted. Even though this woman was too thin to be Megan, and dressed too plainly in dark jeans and a black T-shirt, his pulse raced in hopeful anticipation.
The line moved fast, the blonde barista making drinks and a goth brunette taking the orders. It was a well-oiled machine, and yet he couldn’t help wishing he could catch the blonde’s face so this misguided expectation would die already.
He ordered a grande Americano and stepped to the side to wait as she made his drink. Her hands were a flurry of motion as she made drinks two at a time. She was too busy to turn around, so he walked around the edge of the counter. She moved to the side to set two drinks down and nearly dropped them both.
Air sliced through his lungs as he caught her pale blue gaze. Her can-I-help-you smile curdled. Her name fell off his lips as he watched her expression amplify from shocked to furious in less than a second. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her into his arms and kiss her until they needed to come up for air.
She looked out into the café and called out the order, then turned back to the espresso machine and worked it with stunning ferocity.
“Megan,” he called out again, trying to think over the pulse pounding in his brain. Megan was a socialite with a trust fund deep enough to buy and sell this place a hundred times over. Megan was supposed to be on a beach, sunning herself while her father avoided extradition for embezzlement. Megan couldn’t be standing in front of him.
Yet here she was. A smaller, angrier version of the beautiful hotel heiress he loved.
He cleared his throat and tried to steady his swirling mind. “Megan, talk to me.”
She flourished whipped cream atop two more drinks and then moved them to the counter without looking his way. It was almost as if she didn’t recognize him.
“Meg, what are you doing here? Did you have some kind of accident?” His gut twisted at the idea that she had amnesia, that she might have been hurt and he hadn’t been there to help her.
She said nothing, just pasted on a smile as she finished two more drinks and announced them to the people waiting.
“Megan,” Brandon said again, trying to decide if he should leap over the counter.
“He ordered an Americano,” the goth woman working the register said to Megan. “You skipped it.”
“I’m not giving him a damned thing ever again.” Megan worked the machine as she spoke, her expression hardening.
“He’s a customer. Make his order, princess, or I get Lenny.”
Brandon’s eyes narrowed at the negative tone. Even with as angry as Megan was at him, he didn’t have to watch someone talk down to her. “Megan, what are you doing here making coffee? What’s going on?”
She said nothing, spared no extra movements as she worked the coffee grinder and espresso machine with an efficiency that impressed him. The clicks of the grinder, the whir of the steam, the slosh as she pumped syrup into the cups, all of it mixed together as he watched.
“Megan,” he started, but didn’t know what to say. He always knew what to say. “You owe me some kind of explanation.”
“I owe you nothing.” Megan spoke without looking at him. “You are a liar and a cheat and if I never see you again, it will be too soon.”
“If this is about your father—”
“This is about you leaving me the hell alone. I don’t know why you’re here, and I don’t care, as long as you leave.” Her words were strong, but her hands were shaking, nearly spilling a macchiato.
“I’m not leaving.”
“I’m getting Lenny.” The brunette turned on her heel and marched through an archway into a back room.
Megan didn’t miss a beat, finishing making orders and then taking the next one at the register. If he didn’t know her so well he’d think she’d forgotten he was standing there, catching her in whatever game she was playing. He couldn’t fathom what it could be.
He looked around the café for video cameras. Her sister had done a season of a celebutante reality show. Maybe Megan had gone that route, too. He shook his head. Megan was intensely private.
After all, no one knew they’d been together for the last seven years.
“What seems to be the problem?” A dark-haired man emerged from the archway with the tattletale in tow. Brandon had come here to meet with Len Kulik, and the picture in the dossier was spot on for the young Russian immigrant looking to turn one coffee shop into a chain. Offering to invest in Kulik’s dream would make the development deal smooth out considerably.
“Brandon Knight.” He held out his hand and shook Len’s, smiling as recognition bloomed on the other man’s face.
“I’m surprised you came yourself. Since your call I’ve been doing some research on your company.”
“When something is important to me, I handle it personally.” His gaze swept back to Megan as she shoved a handle on the espresso machine. She rolled her eyes at his words.
“Great, I’ll be with you in just one minute.” He turned to the goth chick. “I don’t see any problem.”
“The princess is refusing to serve him.” She tilted her dark bob at Brandon.
“Megan,” Len said. “Make his drink.”
“No.” Her voice was strong, but she clenched her jaw, which Brandon knew meant it was trembling. Megan was great at putting on a show and making the world think she had it all together even when things were falling apart.
The goth chick snorted and shook her head. “Told ya.”
“Megan, your job is to make the drinks. Make his order.” Lenny leaned closer to Megan than Brandon was comfortable with, but before he could object she spoke.
“Fine, I’ll make it.” She took her obvious hostility out on the machine as it perked and whooshed.
She was so angry that he wanted to tell her to forget the damned drink, forget the coffee shop, forget everything and just let him take her someplace where they could iron all this out.
He caught the wildness in her gaze as she turned to face him, the steaming drink in her hand. “I made your drink, but I won’t let your lips near anything I’ve touched ever again.” She let loose a string of expletives like he hadn’t heard since military school, and none of them were the fun ones. He held up a hand to try and stop her from embarrassing herself further, but she ended the tirade.
Her last foul words still hung in the air when he saw the cup arc towards him. He jumped back, the cup connecting with his chest and spilling the scalding liquid down the front of his white dress shirt. If he hadn’t arched his back, it would have really hurt.
“Megan!” Lenny cried out.
“Not to worry,” Megan said as she marched towards the archway. “I quit.”
…
Brandon Knight’s sculpted physique blocked the stairs to her apartment as effectively as he’d barricaded her from the rest of her life.
And to think that she’d slept with him.
The southern California sun hadn’t been out long enough to warm the early November day and the chill crept through her thin coat. Her apartment within the walls of the aging cement and stucco building might not be much, but it was hers. She wanted to shove him aside, climb the stairs and lock him out as successfully as he’d locked her out of the only life she’d ever known. But she knew his body too well to think she might be able to move over six feet of muscle before he was good and ready. She leveled her gaze at him and cleared her throat, speaking over the whir of the traffic behind her.
“If you’re thinking I’ll invite you in for a cup of coffee, you’ve already had yours. Without my employee discount, I can’t afford to douse you with another.” Megan shifted her weight in her ankle boots, wishing she’d thought of a way to tell him off and still keep her job.
Brandon glanced down at the brown stain marring the front of his perfect white shirt. Not so perfect anymore. She could only hope she’d ruined the suit as well.
“You could have burned me, Meg.” His espresso-brown eyes were very serious, but his lips twitched, mocking her with a half smile.
“Considering how you’ve burned me, it would have been appropriate. Get out of my way, Brandon. Thanks to you I need to spend my day looking for a new job.” Her weary body betrayed her at the words, her shoulders drooping in defeat. After working a closing shift at the bar last night and an early morning shift at the coffee house, she was running about two quarts low on sleep.
Unfortunately, she also needed to be able to make rent at the end of the month. As long as she could find something else quickly, the look on his face when she’d finally been able to tell him where to stick it would be worth the effort. Though for some ungodly reason, simply having him within slapping distance made her feel better, which was so counterproductive. She couldn’t afford for him to make her stomach tumble, her knees weaken or any parts of her body warm. Not anymore.
She hitched her tangerine Prada satchel higher on her shoulder and shot him a look she hoped would kill him. Unfortunately, her efforts were as weak as her bank account. He didn’t even move.
“We need to talk.” He didn’t move and her empty stomach began to knot. He really was cruel and heartless. Nothing but total desecration of her life would ever be enough for him.
“I can’t think what about.” She looked longingly up the cement stairs towards the dented metal door of her apartment. She’d thought it was safer to be on the second floor in this part of Pasadena, but she’d never considered Beverly Hills would decide to block her way.
“Let’s start with earlier today.”
“I’m sure it was a treat for you to watch me lose my job.” Tension knotted between her shoulder blades.
“I seem to remember you quitting,” he said, humor glinting in his eyes. “I know you’re upset about what happened—”
“You don’t know the first thing about me.”
Somehow he closed the few steps between them in an instant, his fingers pressing into the flesh of her upper arm, his presence filling up her personal space. “I know everything about you, Megan. And if you don’t want the world to know, I suggest we take this upstairs.” He tilted his head towards one of the apartments beside the stairway. She didn’t notice anything besides the planter box of dead plants and dingy welcome mat that had been there since she moved in last month.
She shrugged, more to get his hand off her than to give in to his demands. But with the movement, he stepped aside and she took the opportunity to climb the stairs, the heels of her boots clicking on every bare step.
“There isn’t even a deadbolt?” he asked as she unlocked the door.
Megan didn’t answer, just pushed the door open and was accosted by the stale smell and bare, yellow-tinged walls of the place she slept most afternoons, between being an early morning barista and late-night bartender. The inflatable mattress in the corner was covered with a faded quilt she’d smuggled out of her parents’ house before the auctioneers had come to catalog everything. The hard-sided Louis Vuitton luggage did well enough as chairs, but she didn’t want to invite him to sit.
“This is ridiculous, Megan.” He punctuated the statement by slamming the door. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove—”
“You’re the one with something to prove. Was your daddy proud when you stole my family’s company? Did he pat you on the head and tell you what a good corporate raider you’d become?” She laced her voice with saccharine, hoping the bitter undertone didn’t shine through too brightly.
“I didn’t steal a thing. That was your dad. I’m sorry if it hurts you, but—”
“Are you sorry?” She crossed her hands over her chest and wondered if it would matter.
“I’m sorry you’re angry. But running away is a little adolescent.”
“You can go now.” She pulled the newspaper from her bag and set it on the chipped Formica countertop. For a fleeting moment she rued the loss of the dollar she’d had to pay for it, along with the jar of tips she’d forfeited by quitting. A few months ago she’d never thought about where her money went, and now the loss of less than fifty dollars had her near panic. She dropped her bag to the peeling linoleum floor and leaned against the bar as she batted open the pages until she found the employment section.
His hand came down on the paper with a slap. “If you don’t want to explain what you’re playing at, you can still listen to what I have to say.”
Her shoulders tensed, but she refused to look up at him. Let him talk, let him leave. She needed him to go as much as she needed to find another job. Probably more. Because with him here, making the small room seem impossibly tiny with his larger-than-life presence, she had to think of just how far she’d fallen. She’d do anything not to have to analyze that. It was one of the reasons she needed to work so much. That, and she had an affinity for eating.
It was hard to imagine she used to think the perfect way to end a night of clubbing with her so-called friends was to find her way to his penthouse. Harder still to imagine her life free of worry and fear.
Until she’d seen the look of shock and pity on Brandon’s face, she’d been proud of all she’d accomplished. There was a satisfaction that came from independence and hard work that she’d never imagined. She’d come so far, and yet seeing Brandon reminded her of how far she’d fallen, how she might never get back to the safety and security she’d known.
The life of leisure and privilege was over, the last chapter a tragic ending written by Brandon when he’d taken Carlton Hotels from her family. Everything was auctioned and it still wasn’t enough for the creditors. What more could Brandon want from her? Her very soul?
Megan wouldn’t let him see her afraid. He’d caught her off-guard at the coffee shop, that was all. He’d stared at her across the counter with his bitter-chocolate eyes, derision in his voice when he asked what she was doing serving people coffee, and she’d snapped. She’d been reacting to him ever since.
Megan squared her shoulders and pulled in a deep breath. She was a Carlton, and though her father may have betrayed the responsibility of the name, she still believed in it. It was all she had left. Being a Carlton might not be worth much on the open market, but it meant she knew the best defense was a good offence. And she knew exactly how to play Brandon Knight.
After all, she’d been doing it for the better part of a decade.
She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and looked up at him, hoping her ice-blue eyes would work their magic. However, he seemed to be studying her like she’d grown an extra head. She started unbuttoning her coat, keeping her gaze on his face.
“You don’t really want to talk, do you Brandon?”
He blinked as she slid the coat off her shoulders and set it on the counter. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“You, speechless? Never.” She straightened her posture, grinning when the movement caused him to drop his gaze to the deep vee of her tight T-shirt. She’d learned quickly the more cleavage she showed, the more tips she’d find in the jar at the end of her shift.
“I want to know what you think you’re doing. It’s one thing to have a quarter-life crisis, but this is a bit extreme. I know what your father did was a shock—”
“It didn’t surprise me half as much as you think. I knew he was a snake.” She grinned, and he rewarded her efforts with a frown. Obviously he’d tired of her charms, but she’d known that, suffered that blow when she could least afford it.
“You knew he was embezzling from Carlton International?”
“I knew he was supporting more people than he could have on what he earned. Mistresses are quite expensive, as you know.” Her throat tightened and she clenched her jaw to keep it from trembling.
“Then what are you doing? If you aren’t upset about how he disappeared with millions of other people’s money, why are you hiding out?”
“I’m not hiding.”
“Megan, everyone thinks you’re with your parents wherever it is they escaped to. And I find you making coffee and living like this?” He waved his hand through the air, forcing her to take another look at her sad apartment.
“Funny, isn’t it? All those fundraisers I helped with for the Carlton Houses and they were full when I needed them.” She shrugged. “It’s amazing how few jobs there are for people who didn’t bother to graduate high school.”
“But you went to Beverly Prep.” He rubbed at the back of his neck.
“And my mother needed an interpreter for her European vacation the spring of my senior year. I wasn’t going to volunteer to go back.” Megan pasted on her brightest smile. “It’s fine. I got my GED last week. Maybe now I’ll qualify to answer phones.”
“But you speak three languages.”
“So do the French and Germans. Now if I’d bothered to learn Spanish, I might have a bright future in telemarketing.”
He ran his hand through his cropped dark brown hair. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“Have you ever tried to get an apartment with no money, no job and no credit history? This was the best I could do.”
“Please, Megan. Your trust fund—”
“Is probably what Daddy dearest is using to pay for his life on some island with no extradition agreement.” The truth hung heavy between them. She hadn’t meant to tell him, but she didn’t have the energy to lie. She couldn’t understand why her father would need to steal from his children if he’d taken all the money the newspapers claimed, but there were a lot of things about the situation she couldn’t wrap her head around.
Brandon looked about the room. “Is this all you have?”
“I have what I need. Well, except for a day job.”
He quirked a brow. “You have a night job?”
“The Blue Parrot. It’s karaoke tonight. Will I see you there, too?”
Brandon closed his eyes, his broad chest rising and falling with a deep breath. He opened his eyes, his dark gaze colliding with hers. “Get your things. You can stay with me.”
“No, I can’t.” She’d rather die in Pasadena than have to listen to him having sex with Gemma Ryan down the hall. Besides, when she’d sold her things she’d vowed never to depend on anyone again.
“I can’t let you stay here.” The air in the small apartment sagged with tension.
“I don’t see how what I do is any of your business.” Part of her screamed to go with him, to find a safe and clean place where she wouldn’t be scared and lonely. She wanted so desperately to escape what her life had become, but at least now it was of her own making.
“It’s ridiculous for you to be here.”
“No, it’s ridiculous for you to be here, pretending that it matters to you. You got what you wanted from the Carltons. You’ll excuse me if I don’t offer my congratulations on your accomplishments.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you need help packing?”
And to think she used to find his confidence attractive. Hell, she still did. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m never sleeping with you again. You can take that to the bank. It’s much more secure than any investment you’ve ever made.”
“Did I ask you?” His gaze bore holes in what was left of her bravado. “If you don’t want to come home with me, I’ll put you up in a hotel until we figure this out. If you want a job, I’m sure I can find something that makes better use of your talents.”
If his gaze hadn’t slid down her body at the words, she might have believed his altruistic intentions. But she knew Brandon, knew his insatiable desires better than anyone. She’d relished it when it was on her terms, but to be beholden to him? Being with him lost all appeal in the light of what he’d done, who he’d turned her into. Not to mention the piece of trash currently keeping his sheets warm.
“I’m not sleeping with you, not living with you, not working for you. In fact, I’d prefer not to breathe the same air. With you around everything has the stink of betrayal.”
“This is how you want it?”
Not at all, but she didn’t see any other option. She nodded.
He stepped closer, until she couldn’t move without touching him. “Be careful what you wish for.”
His words echoed back in time, the scene unfolding in her mind of when he’d said that to her all those years ago. She’d flirted with him shamelessly. He was everything she’d thought she wanted, even though she knew he was more than she could handle. He’d refused her every advance, until she returned from Europe. She couldn’t hide the shiver that ran down her spine at the memory.
Brandon lifted her chin with his fingers and brushed his lips across hers. Megan froze, her heart pounding a primal beat in her chest. A surge of heat coursed through her body and she pulled in a breath to cool the desire. It didn’t work. It never did. Somehow, through the hazy memory of all she’d lost, she pulled away.
She gazed up at him, wishing she could hate him. “I slept with you because you were my friend. You most certainly are not my friend, so you aren’t entitled to those kinds of benefits anymore.”
“For the record, Meg, I have wanted more from you for a while now. I’m done sneaking around and playing games. Next time you’re in my bed—and believe me, there will be a next time—you won’t be leaving.”
…
Brandon stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs. A bus, like the one Megan had arrived home on moments before, rumbled past. When it was gone he saw the stark difference in the way he and Megan now travelled.
His vintage Corvette, her city bus.
How had he let this happen? He’d been so sure the Carlton deal would tilt everything in his favor, but somehow it threw his plans wildly off track. For a man unaccustomed to making mistakes, it really set him off balance.
He sat down on the cold steps and pulled out his phone, speed dial connecting him almost immediately.
“Was she there?” Humor laced Danny Reid’s voice.
“That she was. You any closer to figuring out why?” Computer keys clicked in the background. Danny’s knack for uncovering corporate secrets played well in the personal realm. What hadn’t they taught the man in Special Ops?
“She’s been in Pasadena for months. When the receiver stepped in to liquidate the assets Carlton left, Megan went to a hotel with her sisters. They stayed until the hotel management realized their credit cards had been frozen. They left, but the bill wasn’t paid until last month, in cash. They all kept things pretty quiet.”
“Which is why everyone assumes they are as guilty as their parents.” He plucked at the stain on the front of his shirt. Why hadn’t she come straight to him?
She’d been finding her way to him for longer than he cared to think about. No one knew about it. She’d been adamant about that. It was a fun arrangement when he was younger, but when he turned thirty last year he’d told her he needed more. She’d been steadily ignoring that fact ever since, though she did accept the key card to his penthouse, still had plenty of clothes there. If he hadn’t been so busy, he would have pushed the issue and they would have been married before the Carlton scandal went public.
“Megan and Briana haven’t been in contact with anyone. Most people know Ava is shacked-up with Sullivan, the computer genius with that IPO you made a mint on?”
“I know who he is.” Brandon wondered why Ava had let her sister live in a place like this if she was with Jack Sullivan. Every time he found a missing piece, he realized the puzzle was bigger than he expected. “And Briana?”
“She’s in Oregon living with an aunt and interning at a hotel up there. Megan is the one hiding. If she wasn’t in on it, she’s sure acting like she has something to hide.”
Yeah, like embarrassment. If Carlton had cashed in one trust fund, he likely liquidated them all.
None of it explained why Megan was so hell bent on not accepting help from anyone. He begrudged the admiration he felt for how she’d picked herself up. She was being stubborn to the point of ridiculous, but a part of him understood. Even if his bank account flatlined, he’d have options an education and experience provided.
Why hadn’t he realized she never graduated? His chest tightened. Because he’d been too damned excited when she’d returned from Europe to have realized there was no graduation party.
Brandon tugged on his earlobe and straightened his posture. The past didn’t matter. He needed to focus on keeping Megan safe.
Across the street a pair of unruly looking teens made their second pass past his Corvette. His gut knotted. He could buy a dozen sports cars, but if anything happened to Megan he’d never forgive himself.
“Danny, Megan’s not hiding anything.” It wouldn’t fit in the room she called an apartment.
“She’s paying cash for everything. Nothing is traceable. If she’s not hiding, why else would she go off the grid?”
He opened his mouth to explain exactly how he knew Megan wouldn’t be here if she had any other options, but he couldn’t. His knowledge of her affinity for expensive sheets and sleeping late wasn’t public. More than that, he knew her, knew her rigid sense of fairness that extended from domestic abuse to equal time with the remote control. He knew by looking into her eyes that this wasn’t the childish snit he’d first thought, but a true act of bleak desperation.
What he didn’t know was why.
Following her home before he had all the facts wasn’t his smartest move, and neither was sitting on her stairway, wondering how someone so vibrant and alluring could be in a place so dull and depressing. He’d built his success by knowing more than his competition, by paying attention to details others overlooked. And yet where Megan was concerned, he’d always been blind.
In the last seven years he’s spent more nights with her than without. It had been an absolutely ideal situation, one most of his friends would trade anything for. A beautiful, intelligent woman in his private life who wanted nothing to do with the public trappings of his work. He hadn’t realized just how good he’d had it until Megan disappeared.
Danny’s laugh broke into his thoughts. “Okay, so you obviously have no idea what her motivation is. But this isn’t your problem, man. She’s Carlton’s daughter, not yours. And while she might have chosen the seedier side of Pasadena, she has a job and a place to stay and an obvious dislike of you. So why don’t you get off the guilt train and get back to work?”
His chest grew tight at the truth of his friend’s words. Megan was all kinds of angry and not in any mood to change her disposition. “I need you to run a check on her financials, hers and her sisters. The girls’ trust funds weren’t accessible in the receivership, but she’s claiming her father tapped them before he disappeared.”
“And you’re actually buying that? He took the liquid assets of the corporation because he knew you were bearing down on him.”
“We have no idea what Carlton was thinking before he split, or if Megan had any role in it. And I need some kind of bodyguard on her. Something.”
“Why? Do you think she’s in communication with her father? Maybe she can lead us to him and the money he stole from the company.” Computer keys clicked in the background while Danny undoubtedly set the world in order.
“I want whoever is watching her to be someone who’ll intercede if necessary. She can’t get hurt in this, Danny.” Not more than she already had.
“You need to come back to work and get your mind off Carlton’s girls. You can’t save the world. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Not the world, just her.” Brandon rose from the steps and walked to his car with icy determination. It hadn’t been luck, but planning, instinct and perseverance that earned him the success he now enjoyed.
He needed to approach the Megan situation the way he did a business deal. Information first, action next. The next time he saw Megan Carlton, he’d be prepared.
She’d be the one reeling.