Sweetened With a Kiss
Sweetened with a Kiss
by
Lexxi Callahan
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY AUTHOR
Copyright © 2013 by Lexxi Callahan
Editor: Sarah Frantz
Copyedited by: Rahab Mugwanja
Cover art: Pickyme Artist
This is a work of fiction.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
The only thing Stefan hated worse than riding in a limousine was wearing a suit. Martin, his father’s executive assistant, had shown up with both. On a Saturday morning. A Saturday morning that Martin knew Stefan was training for the New Orleans 70.3. Everyone knew that Saturday mornings were off limits. Saturday mornings before the New Orleans 70.3 were sacrosanct. Real threat of death type stuff.
So, something wasn’t just wrong. It was bad wrong.
Stefan sat up on his bike. It wasn’t like his head was in the game anyway. Not with Jen’s plane already halfway across the Atlantic. He glanced at his watch, telling himself he still had time. Dinner was handled. His sister Lizzie had the party under control for tomorrow night. Everything was ready.
He waved at the friends he trained with to keep going and was off his bike before the wheels stopped spinning. Martin straightened up from leaning against the STI limo and held out a cell phone. Not Stefan’s phone. His iPhone was still strapped to his bicep but turned off because no one would call him while he was training for the triathlon that would qualify him for this year’s Ironman Hawaii. Everyone knew better.
“Who is it?” He stripped off his fingerless gloves, not looking up at Martin, before he took the phone.
“Nic Maretti.”
Of course. Everyone knew better but Nic. Nic just didn’t care. But if Nic called, it was worse than threat of death type stuff because Nic took his silent partnership in Stefan’s investment group to the extreme. As in invisible. So this wasn’t good. “Maretti? You couldn’t wait an hour?”
“I can wait all day,” the deceptively calm voice with the light Texas drawl matched Stefan’s New Orleans city sarcasm perfectly. “But you have about forty-five minutes before Volikov lands in Houston to meet with my father and his cronies.”
Stefan stopped, cold suddenly despite the unseasonably warm January day. He stared at his hands, not seeing them as his brain rebooted out of training mode and into business mode, lists of things he would have to do forming and prioritizing without much effort. A heavy weight settling on his shoulders that he’d almost started to believe would be gone by now. Not anymore. Before he could say anything, Nic continued.
“Andreas is showing off and flying him over on the company jet. But the pilot works for me so I can give you another half hour delay if you think it will help.”
“It won’t hurt.”
“This conversation never happened.”
Stefan and Nic had lots of conversations that never happened, so his response was automatic. “Is this phone going to self destruct?”
“No, I would have sent that phone to my father.”
“I owe you,” Stefan said.
“Yes,” Nic said completely unconcerned. Stefan knew better. Nic would collect. He knew it. Stefan knew it. That went to the bottom of his priority list. That could wait.
Instead, he gave himself a moment to feel the anger trying to incinerate him. This Saturday? Of course it would have to be this Saturday. Then he shut it down. No time for that right now either. He should have run this morning instead of cycling, but he’d needed to improve his bike time. He wouldn’t think about that either. Not yet. “The limo’s a bit much,” he said to Martin, his voice flat.
“Your father’s at the Tower. I thought you’d want to change.”
“Does he know?” Stefan asked.
“I’ll let you make that call.”
“Fine.”
“Do you want me to send a driver for Miss Taylor?”
“No, I’m going. Keep the limo on standby.” He tossed Martin the key to his SUV, not quite believing he had committed himself to not one but possibly two limo rides. “Follow us.”
He changed while the limo pulled back onto the road. He finished buttoning the pinstriped shirt then began to wrestle with the tie. Funny. His hands were shaking. Jen’s plane landed at eight. He had roughly six and half hours to sort out this mess because he was not missing her flight. They needed to talk and if she set foot back in New Orleans before he saw her, he’d lose the upper hand. He wasn’t going there again.
When Stefan finally managed to get the half-Windsor finished on the tie, he called his father.
“Why aren’t you on your bike?” Mac barked, instead of the usual hello.
“Alex Volikov is on his way to Houston.”
Mac Sellers got real quiet on the other end of the line. Real quiet was not a good thing for Mac Sellers to be. It made the hairs on the back of Stefan’s neck stand up. “I’m calling that Russian prick,” Mac said, sounding calm but Stefan knew he was anything but. His father did not play games.
“This is just a courtesy call, old man. I’ll handle it.”
“I thought this was all settled.”
“It is. Alex is a pain in the ass. He’s playing with us.”
“On a Saturday morning?” Mac chuckled. “That crazy Russian likes to play with fire, doesn’t he?”
“I’ve got this.”
He was rewarded with a low laugh that would have scared the hell out of most people. Mac Sellers was a scary bastard, but he loved his son. He hadn’t wanted to go near this Russian deal but he’d believed in Stefan enough to let him do it. And Stefan thought it was the future. If Alex Volikov actually succeeded where others had failed off the coast of Cuba, it would mean more jobs in a depressed area and another expansion of their plant in North Mississippi, which was already operating at capacity. There was no way Stefan would let Andreas Maretti undercut STI’s deal with Volikov.
“OK, you handle the Russian, son, but if this blows up, Maretti is going to get the war he’s been trying to start for the last ten years.”
“You’ll get no argument from me on that.”
“Good. Now, tell Trent to stop driving like an old lady, I’ll see you in fifteen.”
Stefan sat back in his seat and pushed his fingers through his hair, vaguely registering that he should get a haircut. He closed his eyes. He still couldn’t quite believe it had been six months since he’d seen Jen. It seemed like so much longer. He scrolled through his phone looking for Volikov’s number. He wanted this settled before Jen’s plane reached Atlanta.
Any minute now, Jen was sure her brain would start leaking out of her ears. She turned her iPad screen off and leaned back against the head rest, thankful once again she hadn’t been able to talk Martin out of the first class tickets. She glanced out the window, the cloud cover so much more interesting than the numbers and projections, and estimates and blah blah blah that filled pages of the business plan Jared had finished just that morning. Thank goodness he had a head for business, because Jen sure didn’t. The only numbers she really cared about were ounces and cups.
She yawned and stretched her legs out again. Yeah, first class wasn’t so bad. She glanced at her watch and groaned before switching the iPad back on. She had to be ready. So as much as she hated it, she forced herself to keep reading the business plan. She knew Mac would ask her a million questions when she told him she wanted to open a bakery. There was no way she was going to tell Stefan about it because he would just laugh, pat her on the head, and tell her to start picking out flowers for their wedding.
She was pretty sure that Mac would be supportive as long as he thought she had all her financial ducks in a row. If she could get Mac on her side, then she was hopeful Stefan would back down.
She glanced outside to see if there were any pigs flapping around the plane.
No such luck.
Stefan was going to flip out when he found out about her plans for a bakery. But that would be nothing compared to what he was going to do when she told him she didn’t want to marry him. Honestly, Jen wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to tell him.
“Tell him we’re getting married,” Jared had teased her earlier while they waited for her flight to start boarding.
“Have you lost your mind?”
Jared grinned, that black goatee making him look just like the devil he was. “Fine. Wait ’til I get back and we’ll tell him together.”
“You have lost your mind.”
“No, I’m perfectly serious. I can get my half of the money from my father. I passed the damned bar, he needs to make good on his part of the deal. Your trust says you have to wait until you’re thirty or get married, right? We’ll fly to Vegas, do the deed, pass go, collect your two hundred dollars, then cruise down to the Dominican Republic and get a quickie divorce and a tan.”
“You’re serious?”
“What?” he shrugged, stretching out long denim-clad legs and folding tattoo-covered arms behind his head. He was checking out a tall blonde and her red-haired friend who were walking down the concourse but he kept talking. “Does the trust say you have to consummate the marriage? I can close my eyes and think of England if I have to. It’s so simple, I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner.”
“Simple?” she echoed, still not sure whether he was serious or not. Not that it mattered. She loved Jared to distraction, but like a brother. Life really would’ve been so much simpler if there’d been any sort of spark between them when they met at a cooking class four years ago. She’d agreed to go out with him, hoping something would happen between them. But Jen’s heart had been locked up a long time ago and mid-way through dinner both of them admitted they liked each other far too much to blow it with sex.
“I guess it would be simple,” she nodded, watching the two women slow down as they walked past and checked Jared out. “I wouldn’t really need the divorce considering I would be a widow the minute we touched down in Kenner.”
Jared shrugged. “He could try.” Then he sat up, suddenly serious for a change. “Look, just tell him you want your money, Jen. It’s your money.”
“I said I would talk to Mac. Stefan will just say no.”
“Try wearing that black dress we found you for your birthday. See what he says then. If you could get a picture of his face when he sees you in it, that would be sweet.”
Jen scoffed. “He wouldn’t notice.”
There was no way she was wearing that dress again. The only reason she’d had the nerve to wear it on her twenty-second birthday was the giant bottle of champagne she and Jared had consumed before they went out to dinner then a nightclub to celebrate.
“Did he suddenly go blind?” Jared asked. “Look, if he still says no, then tell him we’re getting married. Just make sure you’re wearing the dress when you do. And press record.”
“Do you have any idea what he would do if I told him you and I were getting married?”
“Wake up, hopefully,” Jared laughed, then stopped when she didn’t join him.
“He still thinks we’re engaged.”
“Uh, newsflash, Jen, you are still engaged.”
“I’m not going to marry him,” Jen said. “I’m not that pathetic. But I’m not going to marry you, either.”
Jared pressed his hands to his chest. “You wound me.”