Chapter and Verse (2 page)

Melody was right.  She’s not always right, but little sister pegged this one.  Hamm was a sparkling conversationalist, able to hold his own on a variety of subjects.  That’s one of the things that made us compatible.  Every time he would initiate a topic or respond to one, his eyes hit my chest.  Every.  Damned.  Time.  How did I not notice this?  It was obvious!  After he stared, his eyes would narrow and he would lick his lips.  If he was thirty years older, I’d have told my dad on him.  Then I started thinking about our sex life.  He spent an inordinate amount of time on my breasts, come to think of it.  I figured he was a breast man and never gave it another thought.  I should have.  The sex wasn’t that damned good, you’d have thought I would have noticed his little predilection.

With all these thoughts whirling in my mind and my anger on a slow boil, I barely noticed when he dropped to one knee right there in front of Melody and everybody.  She kicked me under the table and I scowled at her before I noticed her eyes were huge and her head was nodding towards Hamm.  I swiveled my glare and there he was.  Breast height, practically drooling, kneeling on the floor.  I resorted to my fallback.  I started blinking like I had a bug in my eye.  This could not be happening.  Not here, not now, not to me.  Please God, where was one of those giant sinkholes when you needed one?  Huh?

He cleared his throat, and popped open a bright blue Tiffany’s box.  Great.  Tiffany’s.  Where else would he shop?  The rock was four carats at least.  I couldn’t imagine what the weight would feel like.  It was appalling in its gaudiness.  He didn’t know me at all.  If he did, he used none of that knowledge when he bought that ring.  At that point, sadness overtook anger.  I’d wasted two years on a man whose total attraction to me consisted of the way I filled out my bra.  Folks, it doesn’t get much more depressing than that.

“
Dor’, I’ve waited as long as I can wait.  You’re perfect for me in every way.  You love me for who I am and not for how much money I have.  Every time I see you, you light up the room and I see nothing else.  Will you marry me?”

I placed my index finger under his chin and moved his eyes up to mine.  It was the final straw.

“
Are you proposing to me or my tits?”

His blush said it all.  He’d been caught red-handed and he knew it.  He stammered as I closed his Tiffany box in his face.

“
I realize this is difficult for you Hamm, but I’m more than a nice rack.  I appreciate that you appreciate the girls, but that’s all that you appreciate about me.  What happens when they’re not perfect anymore?  When you find a pair you like better?  What happens then?”

My sister suddenly started laughing and we both turned to her.  Hamm still on the floor, me in my chair.  She took a sip of water and found enough control to answer our stares.

“
You do realize that you’re building your refusal around your tits, right?  Screw that Dor’.  Just tell him the truth!  He’s a pervert that’s only gonna get pervier as he ages.  You can do better and you will!  Dorothy, close your eyes.”

I did it, even though I didn’t know why.  Next I heard my sister address Hamm.

“
You.  Perv.  You’ve been with her two years now.  What color are her eyes?”

Hamm stuttered his answer.

“
Her eyes.  What color are her eyes?”

I felt him start to tremble before I heard him take his seat.

“
I don’t know... blue?  Yes.  Blue.  She’s got beautiful blue eyes.”

I could hear the thin veil of triumph in my sister’s tone.

“
Dorothy, open your eyes.”

I did and leveled them on Hamm.  He turned as white as the linen tablecloth.

“
Oh.  I...uhm...”

Melody continued, her voice a little softer.

“
Bet he could tell you your cup size...”

I’d heard enough and I’d seen more than I could take.  My disappointment was spiraling and all I wanted to do was change into a pair of shorts and go for a run.  A long, cleansing run.  First though, I had to take care of this disaster.

I reached over and placed my hand over Hamm’s.  For the first time probably, he looked directly into my eyes.

“
For the record, I don’t think you’re a perv.  I’m flattered that you love my girls.  I really am.  But I can’t build a life with you based on that.  You understand that right?”

His shoulders sagged and he looked at the table.

“
I understand.  My father won’t, but I do.”

Something danced through my mind, but it was so fast I couldn’t grasp it.

“
Your father?  What’s he got to do with this?”

Off the hook, Hamm suddenly felt he could speak freely.

“
Are you kidding?  I blew the chance to hook up the Greenlees to the Lincolns.  My whole family believes we’re a match made in heaven.  I had to do one thing and I couldn’t even get that right.  I am dead meat.”

I felt Melody’s hand on my arm trying to calm me down.  Hamm didn’t know me, but Mel’ sure did.  I began to squeeze his hand and he started to notice.

“
Dor’, that’s painful.  You wanna let me go?”

“
You dated me for two years because your father wanted you to?  Is that what I’m finding out here?”

“
Well, yeah.  It started out that way, but I fell for you, honest I did.  You’re gorgeous and funny and smart as a whip.  How could I not love you?”

“
You didn’t even know the color of my eyes Hamm.  How freaking stupid do you think I am?”

“
Ouch.  That’s really starting to hurt now.  Seriously.  You’re gonna break my fingers Dor’...”

“
You’re lucky I don’t make a grab for the steak knife and eliminate the chance for a Henry Hamilton Greenlee the Fourth.  I’m going to turn you loose and I suggest you get the hell out of my sight.  Forever.  Do not call, text, or show up at my door.  No gifts, no flowers, no cards.  Forget my name.  Got it?”

“
But... I love you Dorothy.  I do.”

“
Mel’?  Hand me that steak knife.”

I moved my hand a fraction of an inch and that’s all it took.  Hamm proved that not only could he rock that suit, he could run in it as well.

I picked up my wine glass and took a sip of the dry white we’d ordered with dinner.  Melody cleared her throat.

“
The whole restaurant noticed what just happened.”

I finished the wine in one large gulp and then poured another while my eyes went to my sister.

“
And that affects me how?”

She took a drink from her water glass and dabbed her lips with her napkin.

“
Not at all.  It doesn’t affect you at all.  You want dessert?”

We ordered the chocolate lava cake and discussed our options for getting home.  I was officially single again and as depressing as that may sound, my heart was lighter for it.

I spent the remainder of my college life single.  Believe me, it was better that way.  Trust was now an issue for me and it was one that would follow me for years to come.

I graduated at the top of my class.  My folks and my sister was there to cheer me on.  I nailed my speech and knew that I’d found my calling.  The entire audience hung on my every word.  I was funny, insightful, and gave them just enough hope that the downward spiraling job market didn’t seem as daunting.  My job there was done.  I walked off the stage to a standing ovation and for the first time in ages, I saw pride in my father’s eyes.  It was one of the best days in my life.

The memory has me wistful and teary eyed, until the peel of the ringing phone made me jump in my desk chair.  I reached for it because it was my business line.  I only gave active clients my cell number, the only other people that had it were family members.  My desk phone rang twice before I reached for it.

“
Dorothy Lincoln.  Can I help you?”

“
Ms. Lincoln, this is Miranda Page.  I’m the personal assistant of Mr. Deacon Sloan.”

Deacon Sloan... Deacon Sloan... how did I know that name?  It was right there in my memory bank, but I couldn’t access it for some reason.  Total recall slips sometimes, but good breeding never lets me down.

“
Ms. Page, how can I be of service?”

Her voice was sweet like treacle with practiced tonality.  She was someone important, if it was only in her own mind.  It didn’t matter.  I’d learned over the course of many interviews that key players often came in strange forms.  Case in point, Ollie the Norwegian Elkhound.

“
Ms. Lincoln, as I’m sure you’re aware, Mr. Sloan is a very important man in the business community.  His online presence is world renown and his business acumen is unprecedented.”

I rolled my eyes and sat back in my chair.  This was obviously gonna take awhile and I had a hunch the man was a legend in his own mind.  She continued as I knew she would.

“
He’s turned the dot-com business community upside down and has made a fortune in the process.  He’s now one of the top ten wealthiest businessman and in the top five most eligible bachelors.  Three years running.  Quite an achievement for a twenty-eight year old.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

Deacon Sloan.  Okay.  Now I knew who he was.  He was on the cover of Forbes a couple of months ago.  I only knew this because I had my annual gynecologist appointment and for some reason, the magazine was on the table in the waiting room.  Then I remembered something else.  The three piece black suit that fit him like he owned the tailor and the grin that belonged to the devil himself.  Black hair and silver eyes.  The “Lone Wolf”.  Every woman wanted to nail him and every man was afraid of him.  Rumor had it he was ruthless and charming.  Scary.

“
I would agree Ms. Page.  Please, call me Dorothy.”

I could hear her smile on the other end of the line.  Somehow I knew the smile wasn’t genuine.  I thought of a piranha grinning at a minnow and shivered.

“
Of course.  And you may call me Miranda.  Let me get to the point.  Mr. Sloan has been made aware of your skill as a biographer and he feels it’s time to get his story out to the world.  Your ability to catch the true nature of your subjects is truly remarkable and he believes that you may be the writer to do him justice.  He’d like to schedule a meeting to discuss this with you.  Are you free?”

“
I’m not free, but I’m reasonable.”

Well shit.  At some point in my life, I needed to invest in a filter between my brain and my mouth.  I have a theory about that.  I think that I say exactly what I think because it makes me as human as the people I write about.  If I start to filter my thoughts, then so will they.  It takes away from the spontaneity of the relationship, a key element to my writing style.

“
Erm... yes.  Anyway, would Monday morning at eight o’clock be too early?  His business day starts at nine and he could devote an hour entirely to you if you could make the time for him.”

Who was she kidding?  The Lone Wolf wanted ME to write his biography and she wondered if I could make time?  I was already on the map.  This book would put me in the galaxy.  I could make a mint if I did this right, buy the house in the country, and become a recluse.  I’ve always wanted to be a recluse.  Another theory for another time.

“
Monday at eight would perfect.  Tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”

She dictated, I wrote, and although it was Friday afternoon, I knew that my life was about to change.  I had no clue.

“
Anton, take a breather.  I said I would do it and I will.  What does Pierce think about it?”

Anton reached for his beer, the early summer heat causing condensation to form on the bottle.  The porch was wide and offered shade, but shade did not equal relief from the heat.  All three “boys” went home the first two weeks of June to spend time on their parents farm.  Grant and Bree Sloan had been high school sweethearts and never looked back.  They owned dairy cows and chickens as well as maple trees, in Vermont.  They kept bees as well, and the boys grew up working hard and better for it.  Their only beef with their parents, was their neverending needling for them to marry and reproduce.  They wanted grandchildren and made no secret of the fact.

“
You know Pierce.  He never says anything about anything.  He buries his nose in research and lets the world pass him buy.  Mom and dad need to press him for grandkids.  He’d cave in a nanosecond.”

“
You know they take us one at a time.  The heat’s on me, then you, then Pierce.  He’s safe for now.  Anyway, back to the topic.  Don’t either of you think that twenty-eight is a bit young for a biography?”

Anton laughed and beer flew out of his nose.  He reached for a dish towel and wiped himself down.  Deacon watched him with amusement in his eyes.

“
Are you shittin’ me?  Your face is everywhere Deke.  The business world trembles at the mention of The Lone Wolf.”

Deacon waved as if swatting a fly.

“
I hate that nickname.  If I ever figure out who started that...”

    “
Yeah, whatever.  Look.  Either you tell your story or people like the asshole that gave you that label will start making one up.  Here’s your chance.  I thought you already had an appointment with that biographer chick.”

“
Chick?  She’s Dorothy Lincoln.  Her father is Brian Lincoln.”

Anton sat up and put his beer on the table loudly.

“
Wait.  Brian Lincoln?  The acquisition tycoon?  That Brian Lincoln?”

Deacon took a long pull from his bottle and nodded slowly.

“
One and the same.”

“
Why isn’t she living off of her trust fund?”

“
As near as I can tell, she doesn’t have one.  I had her investigated and she’s so clean she squeaks.  She graduated with honors, gave the commencement address and was snatched up by the Post.  She wrote her first biography at twenty-two and took the world by storm.  She never looked back and never took a dime of daddy’s money.  She’s self-made through and through.”

“
Just like you.  You sound almost proud of her Deke.  Interesting.  Does mom know?”

Deacon narrowed his eyes at his scheming sibling.

“
Shut the fuck up Anton.  I’m impressed and that’s all.  She found her niche and she stuck with it.  She didn’t have to screw anybody or lie to get to the top, she worked hard and earned it.  Have you read any of her books?”

Anton settled back in his lawn chair and watched his father extracting honey from a hive.

“
Maybe one or two.  Have you?”

“
Absolutely.  If I’m gonna take this seriously, I need to know who I’m working with.  She’s going to be privy to my life after all.  I needed to know what her angle is.”

“
What’s your conclusion?”

Deacon leveled his eyes on his brother and the atmosphere grew serious.

“
She’s completely honest and forthright.”

“
Does that make her dangerous?”

Deacon settled back into his own chair and took another swallow of beer.

“
That depends on my angle now, doesn’t it?”

After a long weekend of helping his father with cows, chickens and bees, Deacon was almost glad to get back to his penthouse and the business he was comfortable with.  Monday would come soon enough and although he was always at Sloan Enterprises by seven-thirty, this particular Monday piqued his interest.

He’d seen her publicity photo on the back of her books, but it was a headshot in black and white.  He could tell she was a blonde, but that was about all.  She was pretty too.  He had a thing for blondes, but he’d have to be careful with this one.  He’d be spending a lot of time with her and he couldn’t allow her to get attached.  Marriage was not in his future.  Let Anton and Pierce carry on the family name.  He enjoyed living alone and dating whomever he deemed worthy.

His dating history and sexual exploits were common knowledge and he made no excuses for either.  He’d never been serious about a woman in his life and Miss Blonde Writer would have to understand this going in.  There would be no falling-in-love with her subject.  The heartbreak she’d undoubtedly suffer would bleed into her work and this biography had to be objective and clean.  Just like their relationship.  If she could accept that, then they’d have a decent working relationship.  If not, he’d find another biographer.  He was direct in his speech and mannerisms and he was not about to pull punches with this stranger.  If he hurt her feelings, sobeit.  Better hurt feelings up front than a broken heart later on.

His alarm rang at six o’clock, just as it did every weekday morning.  He probably didn’t need the alarm, but he set it just in case.  He ran five miles every morning, then showered and dressed for work.  His light breakfast would be waiting on his desk.  Miranda knew him and never disappointed.  She kept him on schedule and fed and he’d be lost without her.  He knew she harbored a crush on him, but that was to be expected.  Every woman did it seemed and she was one of the few that didn’t press it.  She did her job and did it well.  He needed her so he tolerated the lingering glances and “accidental” occasional touches.  He figured it came with the package and he allowed her the familiarity.

He strode into the building as if he owned the place, which of course he did.  He liked coming in early because nobody but security and Miranda was there.  He found that if he came in any later, he was stopped numerous times by well wishing employees and ass-kissers.  One was pleasant, the other a nuisance.  People often speculated which was which.

The building was five stories tall and was prime real estate in Manhattan.  It was within two blocks of his penthouse, so when weather permitted, he often walked to work.  He entered the elevator and hit five, tugging at the hem of his suit jacket to make sure it fell correctly.  Appearances were often everything.  He commanded this ship, everyone needed to be aware of who the captain was.  When it came to his empire, he was all business.

Anton worked on the fourth floor and was head of his Marketing department.  He never stopped on that floor because Anton wouldn’t be in until the stroke of nine.  He was a Marketing wizard, but he worked a straight nine-to-five.  Period.

Pierce worked on three and was head of Research and Development.  He would probably be there already, but when he was in the “zone”, any disturbance unnerved him.  Pierce was painfully shy and although he loved his brothers, his painful attempts at conversation extended to them as well.  He was close to Anton, but he loved and protected Pierce fiercely.

The entire fifth floor consisted of three sections.  His legal department, the three people that handled his publicity, and his office.  He walked with confidence down the hall that led to his domain.  As expected, Miranda was already at her desk, checking his email.  She quickly dispensed of things that held no bearing to his business life and made sure he saw anything that was personal or demanded his personal attention.  She looked up and smiled at his approach, then pressed the button under her desktop that released his office door.  He could have used his key, but why bother?  Miranda was on the job.

“
Good morning Deacon.  Did you have a nice weekend?”

“
Hi Miranda.  I spent it with my brothers at the farm.  Anything I should know about?”

Miranda handed him a short stack of memos as she answered his question.

“
You have an eight o’clock with Dorothy Lincoln, but I could reschedule if you like.”

Deacon looked at her and decided she was entirely too eager to dismiss Ms. Lincoln.  Her infatuation was growing and becoming obvious.  He’d have to deal with that sooner rather than later.

“
No thank-you.  I need to meet her and see if we can work together.  Send her in the minute she gets here.”

“
Yes Sir.  Your bagel and yogurt are on your desk and I’ll bring your coffee shortly.”

He walked away as he thanked her.

His office was large and sparsely furnished.  He did this on purpose.  His desk was in the center of the room and the wall behind him was glass that looked out over the city.  He did this on purpose.  If Deacon Sloan summoned you to his office, the primary focus needed to be on the man himself, not on paintings, plants, or knick-knacks.  There was a wet bar in the corner, necessary for late business meetings, and a seating area consisting of a dark leather sofa with matching arm chairs, a brass and glass coffee table between.  The office contained no filing cabinets or other office equipment.  His desk and computer were all that he needed.

He finished his breakfast while he answered his email.  When he noticed the time was seven-fifty-five, he stood and adjusted his suit once again.  He stood in front of his desk, arms crossed, and waited.  Punctuality was a hard limit.  If she were late, the deal was off.  Two minutes later, he heard the “click” of his door unlocking and he smiled.

It felt like the longest hallway I'd ever walked down.  He sure knew how to isolate himself from the "working drones".  Suddenly, I wasn't sure I belonged here.  It felt surreal in a way; like I was walking down a long tunnel to my ultimate demise.  My thoughts were a million miles away when I almost ran right into his receptionists desk.  She was everything I wasn't.  Put together, perfectly groomed, and in total control.

"Mr. Sloan will see you now."

Six simple words that settled in the pit of my stomach like a lead weight.  I adjusted the strap of my messenger bag and tried to look collected.

"Thank-you."

I moved toward the giant wooden door that had an ornate carving of an oak tree on it.  My first impression was, "Pretentious", and then I wondered if the man behind the door was the same.

I heard a faint "click" and the door opened on its own.  I placed a trembling hand against it, prepared to push hard, but the door swung as if on greased hinges.  He stood leaning against the front of his desk, his arms crossed in front of his chest.  His suit was immaculate and tailored to fit him perfectly.  I couldn't stop blinking and his smirk told me he noticed.

"You must be Dorothy Lincoln."

"I must be."

Wait.  Did I just say that?  Really?  Oh shit.  I needed a grip or a hammer to beat myself with.

He didn't so much approach me, he stalked me.  He held out a hand and I took it instinctively, my manners prevailing.  His handshake was firm and I returned it in kind.

"So you're here to write my biography.  I guess we'll be spending a lot of time together Dorothy.  Please.  Call me Deacon."

"I am so screwed."

I closed my eyes when I heard his deep chuckle.  I cannot believe I said that out loud.

“
Please, have a seat.  Can I get you anything?  Coffee?  Tea?  Water?”

I sat down on one of the leather chairs in front of his desk and was impressed with it’s comfort.  After taking a deep breath, I placed my bag at my feet and looked up at him.  He locked me in his gaze and I had to remind myself he was waiting for my answer.

“
Water please if you have it, and thank-you.”

His smile seemed genuine, but then, I’d seen a lot of “genuine” smiles that were calculated for effect.  This wasn’t my first rodeo.

He walked behind the wet bar and leaned down.  I assumed there was a mini fridge because he popped up with a chilled bottle of mineral water.  When he came back and handed it to me, I was surprised that my hand wasn’t shaking.  One point for me.

He unbuttoned his suit button and took off his jacket, draping it around his desk chair.  Holy crap, he was fit.  It wasn’t shoulder pads that filled out that jacket, it was the man himself.  Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, hair as black as any pirate’s and a grin to match.  His eyes were the silver side of gray and as cool as ice.  My mind was waving it’s arms like that weird robot screaming, “Danger!  Danger!”.  I had to stay focused at all times.  That realization hit me first.

He sat down and placed his elbows on his desk.  He waited until I took my first sip of water before he steepled his fingers and studied me.  I felt like he was sizing me up and I fought the urge to squirm.  I waited for him to start the conversation and I wasn’t disappointed.

“
I’ve read some of your books and you’re quite good.  If you weren’t you wouldn’t be here.  I’m only twenty-eight, but my PR department assures me that if I don’t get my story out there, someone will fictionalize it and I might not like the result.  That’s why you’re here.”