Destination Connelly (2 page)

True. We’ve never talked about the secrets we hide under the surface. Yet I find I want to know more now that she’s opened that door. “So, a sister or brother?”

“Sister.” I get the evil eye like she knows what’s coming next.

“She as beautiful as you?”

“Oh, no you don’t, Conn. Don’t even ask about my sister.”

“Why? Isn’t she my type?” I take a long pull of my hops and barley. “Is she a butter face?”

“A butter face? What the hell is a butter face?”

“You know, everything’s smokin’,
but
her face.”

“Oh my God. No, she’s not a butter face, you fucking asshole. She’s stunning. And smart. Exactly why she’s not your type.”

“Ouch, that hurts,” I say, pointing my bottle at her. “And I’ll have you know the women I date are smart. Some of them anyway.”

“Date?” she asks mockingly, dragging out the word unnecessarily.

I shrug, wondering why that causes a twinge inside.

“See? That right there is why you are going to stay away from my sister. Now, have you eaten?”

“No. You offering?” I ask, finishing off my drink.

She smirks. “No. I thought maybe you would offer this time. You’re a better cook than I am.”

“True that.” We both laugh. One of the very many lessons forced on me by Barb Colloway, my fan-fucking-tastic mother. “Okay. Give me twenty minutes to shower and change then pop on over. I’ll leave the door open. Fish okay?”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll whip up some rice.”

“You mean that bagged crap?”

“Uh…is there any other kind?” Her nose wrinkles in confusion. Ella eats processed food like it’s about to be banned. It should be—it’s poison in a bottle or box or can or whatever else they put it into.

“Yes. The good fucking kind.”

“Fine. Then I’ll bring some wine.”

“Now you’re talking. You have excellent taste in wine. See you in a few.”

“Okay,” she calls after me. I walk to the front door and let myself out.

A
s I slip
inside my condo, strip off my clothes, and step under the hot spray a few minutes later, I think about Ella’s question regarding the acquisition. I let my mind drift to the business meeting I have in two days with the owner of Steele Executive Recruiting—SER for short—which is the executive recruiting firm I’ve been doggedly pursuing for the last several months.

At first, it was just mild interest on my part. I’d heard it was for sale and I almost dismissed the acquisition after our first meeting—until I found out who “he” was, that is. From then on, I have actively pursued the company, continuing to up the stakes whenever Carl Steele has gotten cold feet, which has been several times.

With one hundred fifty employees, SER is a relatively small organization that works with small- to mid-level-sized clients. They are highly successful and have a fantastic reputation in the industry yet don’t place even a third of the executives my company does. So it’s not like they are a huge competitor of mine I need to gobble up. And they could merge with a number of other smaller firms or simply dissolve; a competitor would easily scoop up their best and brightest.

No, I don’t need Steele Executive Recruiting to round out my business plan or fill a competitive hole. I don’t need them for technology or their talent or their paltry 5.7 million dollars in annual net revenue to add to my own bottom line. There’s one reason and one reason only I want to acquire them, adding them to Wynn Consulting’s portfolio, the human resources consulting company I run as president and CEO.

Nora fucking Cantres.

Do you know how many Nora Cantreses there are in the US? Surprisingly, too fucking many. I could have pulled a Gray and hired a PI to find her like he did with Livia. I could have, but my youth at first and, as I grew older, my pride prevented me from doing it. Even though I haven’t hired a professional to find her, I’ve always kept my ear to the ground and my eyes peeled for her, nonetheless.

And this is the thing about my line of work: human resources. It’s a small and incestuous community. And the subspecialties within HR? Even smaller. So a few months ago when I started hearing rumors of a “star” executive recruiter who worked for SER by the name of Nora Cantres, my interest was piqued. And when everything about her fit
my
Nora to the proverbial “T,” I knew this wasn’t coincidence. I had finally found her.

Some men would do anything to scourge the woman who callously trampled their fragile masculine ego from their memory banks without a backward glance. Especially one who whispered promises of love and devotion yet coldheartedly broke them weeks later.

But I’m not like other men.

I still think nonstop about the woman who devastated me eleven years ago. Do her eyes still sparkle like jewels when she laughs? Does her voice still drop low and throaty when she’s turned on? Will her moans of ecstasy still dive right into my chest cavity, squeezing my heart like a gentle fist?

I hear her whispers, her whimpers, her moans, her laugh, her very heartbeat. I feel the silk of her hair under the pads of my fingers, the kiss of her breath on my cheek, the brush of her lips against mine. I imagine her sweet taste lingering on my taste buds.

Her memory has forever echoed inside of me since the last day I saw her. Yet as much as it’s haunted me, there was a part of me that always held fast to that echo anyway. When it would fade, I’d sit quietly and listen until I could hear it again. I couldn’t force myself to let it go, let the ties sever. If I let her memory fade, it felt like none of it was real and I had to believe it was. It was real to me anyway. Now I have to find out if it was real to
her
.

It’s time for Nora and me to meet up again, but this time, we’re all grown up and in very different places in our lives. And now,
I’m
pulling the strings. I am going to reel her in and tie those fucking strings in so many goddamn knots she won’t know where to begin to free herself. With any luck, she’ll just give up and give in.

I’ve gotta hand it to my mom about now. Because she wanted “worldly,” well-rounded boys, my brothers and I were in just about everything under the sun, including Boy Scouts, and I became very fucking proficient at tying knots, even earning a Knot Master patch.

Tying a physical knot isn’t much different than tying an invisible one. You simply take the tools you have to work with and bend them to your will. You play, you twist, you curve, you angle, you loop, and you pull tight. You pull so damn tight, you know whatever you’ve bound won’t come undone without a big fucking razor-sharp Ginsu.

So while I started out tying physical knots in my youth, I mastered the invisible ones in adulthood. Now I’m the motherfucking king of loops and turns and angles, bending everything and anything to
my
will,
my
benefit.

And I’ve already expertly started weaving a combination of them to get what I want. I started the day I heard her name. And at last, two days from now, I will come face-to-face with Nora Cantres for the first time in eleven years. It’s a meeting I have requested,
required
actually. On top of Carl Steele’s demands, I have a few of my own before I ink this acquisition, which I hope will be after this next meeting.

The thing is…I just give a shit about
one
of my demands.

Just one.

When I said earlier Ella was the only woman I could possibly imagine myself with, that’s not entirely true. She’s the only one since Nora, but from the time I met Nora when she transferred to my high school in our junior year, she called to me on every level. Nora is the one woman I have had both an unholy physical attraction to and a bone-deep emotional, almost spiritual, connection with.

So I make no fucking apologies for what most people would consider extreme, maybe even unethical, measures to get to the woman who’s always had my balls firmly in her grasp. She’s managed to avoid me for more than a decade, but she can’t run anymore. I’ve made damn sure of that.

I realize that, while in just two days I’ll come face-to-face with the only woman I have ever loved outside of my mother, I know nothing about her now or how much she’s changed. Over a decade is a long time. People mature, evolve, and change whether we want them to or not. I know I have. As I wipe off the steam on the bathroom mirror from my hot shower and look at the reflection staring back at me, I have to wonder if Nora will like the different man she will see standing before her.

Not likely,
I muse. Hell, even I don’t like the unemotional, aloof man I’ve turned into most days.

I may not know a lot of things, but I know now that I’ve found her again, I will not rest until I own Nora Cantres, thoroughly and completely.

And once I possess her, I’ll have to decide what I’m going to do with her. Because along with the deep-seated love that I’ve never been able to squash, I also have a whole fucking boatload of anger and resentment being thrown around in that noxious sea. I’m just not sure which emotion will bubble to the surface once I see her again.

Anyone will tell you I’m not a vengeful person. I’m not exactly a graceful loser, yet I don’t retaliate maliciously either. However, the need I have to hurt her so it’s a permanent scar on her psyche that will never heal, the same way she did to me, keeps trumping everything else I feel for her. And with eleven years to gather steam, right now I don’t know if I can stop acting on the revenge brewing inside me, waiting to be unleashed, waiting to blow.

Or if I even
want
to.

N
ora

“
I
really wish
you’d reconsider the offer, Nora.”

“No. And I’m done talking about it, Uncle Carl.”

He sighs heavily, taking a seat in the empty chair across from my desk. With dark circles under his eyes, he looks more tired than usual and his color is off. I make a mental note to ask him about his health when he’s done grilling me for the hundredth time. He’s almost the only family I have left. I can’t lose him, too.

“Nora, it’s a good offer. You’ll have stability, build a good nest egg for the future and I want that for you. I want you to take the offer.”

He is correct. The offer is generous. Since I live and breathe the executive recruiting world, I’m intimately familiar with generous compensation packages. There is no doubt this falls into that category. While the base salary is the same as I’m making now, my bonus potential is substantial, more than doubling what my uncle pays. Plus, the profit-sharing percentage rivals that of a senior-level executive and all of my relocation expenses will be liberally covered, including an unheard of housing allowance to cover the sale of my existing home.

It’s a dream offer, actually. One I should take and quite frankly, one I would encourage
any
of my clients to accept. In fact, I was only one of six employees of Steele Executive Recruiting who even received formal, long-term employment offers from the company trying to purchase SER, so I realize I should be jumping all over it.

But I can’t, because it’s also too good to be true. I am not an executive within SER. I am a recruiter, plain and simple. Just one of many. I may be a damn good one, but there’s no vice president title behind my name, so there’s no reason I should have even been on anyone’s radar screen to begin with, let alone be given a compensation package worth well over a quarter million dollars annually.

“I would have to move, uproot my life here. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to leave you.”

Another catch in the agreement. I would be required to move to Chicago. There could be worse places to live I suppose, but moving is only a small part of the reason I can’t agree to this.

The offer letter is signed by Camille Hayes, GRASCO Holdings’ Vice President of Human Resources and of course,
his
name isn’t anywhere on the document, but his stamp is all over it. I could smell it a mile away the minute I opened the fancy ivory linen envelope it was couriered in and reviewed the terms of the agreement.

Wynn Consulting is in a different league from SER. They’re the big fish in the HR consulting world. Our little company is but a drop in their bucket, so why Connelly Colloway has any interest in buying my uncle’s company may be a mystery to many, but it’s not to me. That was made even more apparent by the ridiculous offer sitting on the corner of my desk.

So, no. I am not, and will not, take this offer. While it can set me up financially, it will destroy me personally. I need to run far and fast in the complete opposite direction from the sinfully handsome, womanizing CEO of Wynn Consulting. I need to stay away from Connelly Colloway for so many reasons, not the least of which is if he ever finds out what I’ve done…well, I just can’t go there.

“Nora, there’s a contraption now called the phone.” I snort but can’t crack a smile. He leans forward, pinning me down. “Besides, that’s just an excuse. Not even a good one at that. You’re not even seriously considering this offer, so spill. What’s going on here?”

I look away, unable to hold his penetrating stare. It’s always been like that with Carl. I could always pull a fast one over on my parents, but never him. There is no way in hell I am going into details about my past with Connelly, because I would have to get into so many things and I just can’t. As close as we are, there is so much Carl doesn’t know about me. So instead of lying, which I’ll be caught red-handed at, I deflect.

I’m good at that.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Brad or Greg could easily take over running SER. You don’t need to sell. If you’re tired of working, you can just go part-time. You built this company from the ground up. You know you’ll never be happy running to the senior center every day, playing poker, hitting on the old gray hairs, and drinking smoothies full of kale.”

His smile is full of something bittersweet, I think. I wish I knew why. Something’s been going on with him for the last few months and no amount of cajoling has convinced him to spill the beans. He sounds as tired as he looks when he speaks. “It’s time, Nora. I’m getting to be a tired old man and besides, I’m starting to like kale and I’m ready to play a lively game of poker and give those little old ladies a run for their money. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even find myself a wife before I kick the old bucket.”

My mouth turns down. “You’re barely sixty, Carl. What’s really going on with you? I didn’t even know you were thinking about selling your company.”

And I have to admit, that hurt. Carl has been more of a father to me than my own, so when I had to hear from a client, of all people, that he was in discussions with Wynn to sell his business, I was sure the client was misinformed.

Turns out it was
me
and that stung. Still does.

“There was nothing to tell before. It was all just exploratory until the last meeting when Wynn made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I need this, Nora. I need to make sure my company and my employees are taken care of. I need to make sure
you’re
taken care of.” He says the words with smooth practice, but I can tell they are full of carefully constructed half-truths. “Come now, we’re going to be late,” he says, as he stands.

I stare at him, feeling defeated. This is the only job I’ve had since I graduated college. I’ve risen quickly in the company without feeling like it’s been handed to me because of my skills and savvy working with the upper crust. I’m proud of what I’ve been able to accomplish. Now I feel it all slipping from my grasp and I’m in the dark as to why.

With a resigned sigh, I grab a notepad and make way around my desk, stopping in front of him. “I wish you wouldn’t do this. I’d step up. Do anything you need me to.”

Uncle Carl grabs hold of my shoulder, pulling me to him for a hug. “I know, Ladybug.”

“You haven’t called me that in years. I think I outgrew that nickname when I was ten,” I say, trying to smile. Uncle Carl isn’t really my uncle. He’s my godfather and my father’s best friend, but as far as I’m concerned he’s family. He’s been part of my life for as long as I can remember, attending just about every holiday, every birthday, my graduations. He’s never been married and doesn’t have any children, so I’m as much family to him as he is to me.

“Never. You’ll never be too old for that.” He kisses my forehead before releasing me. “You sure you won’t reconsider?”

“I’m sure.” My decision is steadfast and final.

His lips thin and he nods. “Then I will let
you
explain that to their CEO, who has personally flown in to meet with the SER team this afternoon.”

Oh.

Shit
.

“What?” I whisper, taking a step backward.
Tall, dark, and handsome is here?
In
my
building?

My legs suddenly feel like rubber and I lean against my desk so I don’t crumble into a heap on the floor. I had intended to politely decline the employment offer during our little “meet and greet” with Camille Hayes from GRASCO Holdings this afternoon then return to my office to polish up my resume.

I have no doubt it won’t take me long to find another job. I intend to stay on here as long as they’ll allow it without a contract, but I’d already assumed that wouldn’t be long since I’ll now be considered competition. They certainly don’t want “trade” secrets walking out the door with me, a possibly disgruntled ex-employee.

“I thought—” I stop to swallow the lump of anxiety now sitting thick in my throat and try to send calming thoughts to my now racing heart. “I thought Camille Hayes was supposed to be running this meeting?”

He just shrugs.

“You’re really going through with this, aren’t you?” I croak.

I’ve thought a lot of things the last few weeks since I found out about the potential sale of SER, the main one being that this whole thing was going to just blow over and Carl would come to his senses before the path he’s headed down is irreversible. But with Connelly here, the situation is grave. Any chance I’ve had that this is going away has just fizzled with a loud and resounding pop.

If Carl is truly moving ahead with this sale, and I’m losing hope by the second he’s going to change his mind, all it will take is Carl’s signature and approval by the GRASCO board to make everything official. Then SER will become wholly owned by Connelly Colloway.

Fucking hell. This is really happening.

Carl nods, taking my hands in his. “Yes, Nora. I am. I’ve been trying to tell you that. I know you have a lot to consider, but
please
listen to what they have to say before you just say no. Okay?”

I swallow hard. It hurts on account of the lump that still sits firmly in the middle of my neck, growing bigger by the second, but now it’s turned into full-blown panic.

I nod, unable to speak.

With that, Uncle Carl leads me out of my office, down the hallway, and directly into the mouth of the lion’s den where I have no doubt the king of the jungle himself is lying in wait, ready to pounce the second his prey enters. It’s also 100 percent clear to me who that prey is.

And it’s not Uncle Carl or SER.

On the long walk down the hallway to where I will finally meet up with the past I’ve been trying so hard to outrun, I think I get a glimpse of what a death-row inmate feels like on that slow walk to their final minutes.

Along with pure, utter terror has to be gut-wrenching remorse that you should have done things differently so you wouldn’t have ended up in this position to begin with.

I know I have remorse, regret. Bucketfuls of it. I have many things I’d redo, given the chance.

So many.

Unfortunately, I have no genie in a bottle and real life doesn’t grant wishes for seconds or do-overs. You get one shot to not fuck things up beyond all repair. Too bad I’ve already blown mine.