Restrained Box Set: Boston Doms Books 1-4, page 28
Carter nodded, a bit of admiration shining in his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be quite successful. You had a non-compete clause with CPH, but perhaps, in lieu of my being able to smooth the way for you with recommendations, you’ll accept a gift.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think…”
“Your client list, Lizzie. My own lawyer will likely read me the riot act for this, but CPH has been dissolved, and I’m not planning on returning to accounting work in this state. If you agree, I’ll have an amended clause drafted and sent to your lawyer giving you permission to contact any of your former clients. If they want to remain with you, I think they should. You did stellar work for us for five years and I’m sorry I never recognized you for it.”
“That’s very nice of you. Thank you. You can contact Mr. Hetherington. I assume you still know where his office is.”
He chuckled. “I think I can find it. You don’t tend to forget unpleasant depositions like that one.”
“What will you do?” Elizabeth was surprised she cared, but the man had just handed her an olive branch.
“I’m retiring. My brother has a small construction firm in Florida. I’ll do his books, get some sun.” Standing, he pulled down the lapels of his jacket and cleared his throat. “Good luck to you, Lizzie. Both with your work and with the events in your personal life. Please tell Mr. Fairhaven that I’m sorry to interrupt his convalescence.”
“My convalescence is over,” Alexander said from the doorway. He tugged at one of his crisp, white sleeves. “I will be working from my home office until after the holidays, but I’m quite well, thank you.”
“I suppose I should have known from that punch.” Carter worked his jaw and then smiled. “Please excuse my intrusion. I should have called first, but I was afraid, rightfully so it appears, that you wouldn’t agree to see me.”
Alexander stifled a snort. “You are among my least favorite people, Carter. The only reason I didn’t have Milos throw you out is because this whole goddamned mess had a happy ending.” He held out his hand and Elizabeth stepped to his side.
“I will be happy to show him out now, sir.” Milos said as he stepped forward.
Elizabeth held up her hand. “I won’t lie to you, Harry. It wasn’t good to see you. But I appreciate your offer. And your apology.”
Her former employer nodded, slipping past her with a resigned sigh.
“Merry Christmas, Lizzy.”
3
“Sir, Mark Joont is here.”
Alexander rubbed the back of his neck as he pushed away from his computer. Lying down would have been smarter than trying to work, but there was the matter of the twenty-two steps up to the bedroom—and back down again—and the rest of the Board of Directors needed reassurance that he wasn’t at death’s door. He’d avoided everyone until yesterday afternoon when he’d finally felt well enough to speak to his admin, Philippa, and tomorrow, he’d have to go into the office for a few hours.
“Where is Elizabeth?”
“I’m right here.” She hovered in the doorway behind Samuel. “I was unpacking.”
Alexander couldn’t help his smile. “Then let us go prove that I am very much alive.”
The walk to the parlor felt like a mile, and Alexander refused to let Elizabeth take his arm. Not with a reporter waiting for them. Ben, who’d shown up only minutes earlier, sat next to Mr. Joont, and both men stood when Alexander and Elizabeth entered the room.
“Mr. Fairhaven, it’s good to see you up and about,” Mark said as he extended his hand. “Miss Bennett.”
Once they’d taken their seats and Samuel had served them all coffee, Mark pulled a tape recorder from his pocket. “May I?”
Alexander nodded. “Of course.”
The reporter’s brown eyes flicked from Alexander to Elizabeth. “I have
questions, but perhaps you’d like to start by telling me what happened to lead the Beantown Babbler to speculate about your death.”
“The Babbler is a second-rate gossip magazine that cannot perform the most basic of research,” Alexander said. “I was shot when a paid assassin tried to abduct Elizabeth from the restaurant where we were dining. At Mass General, I underwent surgery for a punctured lung. My doctor discharged me after three days, and I’ve been home for another three days since. As you can clearly see, Mr. Joont, I’m recovering quite well. I’ve returned to work—
though I’m taking meetings from home today. One of the perks of being the boss, after all.”
“So you’re feeling good?”
Alexander smiled, the practiced expression second nature to him after years in the boardroom. “I’m quite hale, and I’ve been cleared to resume my daily activities. I can only assume that since I haven’t made a public appearance since the shooting, the Babbler decided to resort to libel in a pathetic attempt to garner attention.”
“Your Board of Directors neglected to return my calls.”
“They’re paid quite well not to. We have a PR department for such things.”
Mark flipped to another page in his notebook. “Fair enough. What about you, Miss Bennett? Are you well? You were injured in the attack?”
“I’m fine. I sprained my wrist. A bullet grazed my thigh, but it was really only a scratch.” She twirled her wrist in a circle. “I’m afraid you have nothing salacious to report on, Mr. Joont.”
“The last time we spoke, at the press conference outside your home, you had to refute domestic violence allegations. I’ve learned that you’ve since moved out of your apartment and are, presumably, living here. Is that correct?”
“I will never understand this fascination with my relationship status,”
Elizabeth said quietly. “Yes. Alexander asked me to move in with him and I said yes.”
“Will you be saying yes to another question soon?” Mark asked with a sly smile as his gaze skittered to Elizabeth’s ring finger.
Alexander choked on his coffee. “That, Mr. Joont, is a private matter,” he managed, reaching for a napkin. He dabbed at his lips. “I love Elizabeth. You can report that if you must, but that is the extent of the deeply personal questions we’ll answer. Our relationship is between the two of us.”
“You’re heir to a rather large fortune, Mr. Fairhaven. Not to mention your own personal net worth. You can’t tell me your relationship status isn’t news.
Or something your Board of Directors would want to know about.”
Ben cleared his throat. “Is there some speculation that Mr. Fairhaven is hiding his relationship? Or that the Board has raised a single concern?”
At his side, Elizabeth tensed, and Alexander laced their fingers as he cut Mark off before he could reply to Ben’s question. “I don’t appreciate the tenor of these questions. You’re in our home, insulting Elizabeth. If you must know, I pursued her. I asked her to move in with me. And now, I’m warning you to end this line of questioning right now or I will end this interview.”
Alexander refused to look away, pinning Mark Joont under his stare. The reporter stammered for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Let’s move on, then. Shall we talk about the case against Phillip Pastack and Leonard Hayes?”
“There’s not much to say,” Ben offered. “Miss Bennett and Mr.
Fairhaven have given their depositions. Both men have pleaded guilty and their sentencing hearings are set for tomorrow.”
“That’s awfully quick, isn’t it?” Mark cocked his head.
“Pastack has less than three months left. He’s dying of cancer,” Elizabeth said quietly.
Alexander squeezed her fingers. “The judge made an exception because of his illness. He’ll live out the rest of his days in a prison hospital. The cases were linked, and in order to sentence Pastack, Hayes had to be sentenced as well. Elizabeth and I will not be attending. We hope to put this whole unpleasant experience behind us and have a happy Christmas.”
“Can you share any information about the attempted kidnapping?”
Elizabeth looked at Ben. Once he nodded, she sighed. “I’ll give you the high-level version. Pastack was angry that I’d escaped the attempt on my life at my apartment and had managed to formally accuse the firm of tax fraud before they could arrange to have planted evidence against me ‘discovered.’
The case was open and shut. He—” she shuddered, “—admitted that his plan was to have me die in a very painful way for the trouble I’d caused.”
“And he hired the hitman.”
She lifted a delicate shoulder. “Yes. I was headed to the ladies’ room when the…hitman…grabbed me and forced me out of the restaurant. Only Alexander and my private security stopped him from abducting and killing me.”
Alexander felt Elizabeth tremble at his side. He’d had quite enough of this semi-public show. As Mark opened his mouth to ask another question, Alexander held up his hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Joont. I’m afraid that’s all for today. I have a business meeting to attend to.”
Elizabeth schooled her features while they exchanged pleasantries, but as soon as the front door shut, she pulled away from Alexander. “I need some air. I’m going for a walk.”
“Elizabeth, I put no stock in his rude and baseless implications,”
She forced a smile. “I know. And I love you for that. But he’s just asking the questions everyone else will. How can this possibly look to anyone who doesn’t know us?”
“Fuck them. What we have is between the two of us. No one has the right to judge our relationship.”
“You don’t understand,” Elizabeth said as she balled her hands into fists and shuddered just out of his reach. “You’ve been dealing with the press, with gossip, with being in the spotlight for years. I’ve had…two and a half weeks of it?” Starting to pace, she shook her head. “You can afford to ignore gossip. I can’t. I’m starting my own business. In your office building. All anyone’s going to say about me for the foreseeable future is that I ‘bagged a rich one.’”
She headed for the hall, Alexander striding after her. At the front door, Samuel was at the ready with a wool coat she’d never seen before and fur-lined gloves.
“You promised me you wouldn’t give up on us,” Alexander said as he caught her wrist.
Elizabeth froze, the coat clutched in her free hand. With a sigh, she turned, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. “I’m not running away. But right now, this house feels like a gilded cage, and I need some air. I’ll be back in an hour. I promise.”
When she slipped out the door, Milos followed.
Nick let his phone to go voicemail. He didn’t need another call from the Forlano family today. Not until he could liquidate some more of his assets.
Perhaps he should move. A smaller home, farther from downtown.
An alert flashed across the screen. Dammit. Fairhaven Exports’ stock had taken a nose dive today with the reports of his brother’s demise. Rather than call Alexander—or Ben Hetherington, one of his college roommates and Alexander’s lawyer—Nick shrugged into his wool coat, tugged on gloves, and headed out into the snowy afternoon. A walk would clear his head. And perhaps give him some perspective.
4
A s Elizabeth stalked down the street, her boots slid on the snow-covered sidewalk. Milos caught her elbow, righting her at the end of the block. Without a coat, hat, or gloves, the massive Greek bodyguard had to be freezing.
“Shit. I’m sorry, Milos. We…can go back.” With a sigh, Elizabeth stopped. She hadn’t accounted for her bodyguard following her everywhere, but as she glanced around the empty street, a shiver ran through her. She’d not been outside, save for the few brief moments between the hospital and the house, since the hitman had tried to kidnap her. “Or…at least somewhere warmer. Though I don’t even have my wallet. I wasn’t really thinking when I left.”
Buzzing from Milos’s pocket stopped her from further apologies. “Yes?”
the big Greek bodyguard said. “Of course.” He tucked the phone back in his pocket and gestured to an awning in front of a bank’s ATM vestibule.
“Thomas is coming with the car.”
“It’s all of three blocks,” Elizabeth said, shocked.
“I didn’t suggest returning home, Miss Elizabeth. Perhaps to Miss Kelsey’s? Or Miss Toni’s?” Milos offered a small smile.
A black town car pulled up alongside them, and Thomas hopped out, his eager brown eyes twinkling. He opened the back door and gestured inside.
“Where to?”
Elizabeth furrowed her brow. This…wasn’t the limo. Alexander hadn’t said anything about the new town car—then again, he’d been largely asleep the past few days.
“I figured you would rather this than the limo. That’s Mr. Fairhaven’s bag,” Thomas said.
With a weak chuckle, Elizabeth nodded, ducking inside the warm car.
“Oh, Alexander,” she whispered. Her purse, phone, and wool hat rested on the seat. Milos folded himself in front next to Thomas, then they both turned to her.
“Where to, Miss Elizabeth?” Thomas asked.
“Um, Copley Place? It’s only four days until Christmas. I suppose I should do some shopping.”
Three hours later, with a spa gift basket for Toni and a leather-bound journal for Kelsey, Elizabeth handed her credit card to the liquor store clerk for the eighteen-year-old bottle of scotch for Nicholas. Terrance’s gift—a pair of buttery leather gloves—would be delivered the next day.
All through her shopping trip, Milos had remained an unobtrusive presence, though when she’d lost sight of him once or twice, and had started to panic, he’d appeared at her elbow within a breath or two.
Once she’d returned to the car, Thomas grinned. “Where to now, miss?”
“I don’t have anything for Alexander,” she said. “What do you get for the man who has everything?”
“If you’ll allow me, miss. My girlfriend found this neat little shop that she drag—err, brought me to last week. It’s a little coffee shop that sells all sorts of local artists’ work. You’ll want something unique?”
“Yes. And I could really go for a coffee. Let’s go.”
As Thomas pulled out of the parking lot, Elizabeth leaned forward. “Tell me about her?”
“Pardon?” Thomas gave her a brief glance as he merged with the traffic.
Milos sat silently, his dark eyes scanning the street and routinely flicking to the rearview mirror.
“Your girlfriend. How long have you been together?”
“Two years. She lives in Burlington. She’s a school teacher.”
Elizabeth smiled. His whole face lit up when he talked about his love.
“What’s her name?”
“Mathilda. Mattie for short.”
“Does, um, does Alexander give you Christmas off?”
“Yes, miss. I’m spending it with Mattie’s family. I think I—” Thomas shook his head, as if he’d said too much, but Elizabeth jabbed the seat gently.
“You can’t leave me hanging like that,” she teased. “Spill it.”
“I think I’m going to propose on New Year’s.”
Despite her unease—or at least unfamiliarity—with having staff at her beck and call, Elizabeth genuinely liked Thomas, Milos, Donatella, and Samuel. Happiness welled, and she settled back against the seat. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Congratulations!”
Milos clapped Thomas on the shoulder. “Good job, man. Got a ring picked out?”
A blush spread up the back of the driver’s neck. Under his black cap, his ears turned crimson. “I’m picking it up on Christmas Eve.”
Sparkling holiday decorations hung from every lamp post on a snowy side street. Sun kissed the space between the buildings, bringing the charm of Christmas in Boston front and center. Thomas pulled into a space in front of a little coffee shop. “Artist’s Grind,” proclaimed the wooden sign, complete with paint brushes, a steaming cup of coffee, and an easel.
“This is it, miss. Good coffee, too.” Thomas hopped out to open her door, and Milos stood outside the shop while Elizabeth slipped inside.
“Hi there,” a petite woman with rough-chopped, brown curls said from behind the counter. “Coffee?”
“Sure. Quad-shot Americano, no room?” Elizabeth wandered over to the back of the shop, perusing shelves brimming with hand-painted note cards, picture frames, candles, and hand creams. A small collection of metal work drew her gaze. She picked up one of the business cards.
Macdonald Fergerson
Custom Pieces Available Upon Request
“I don’t get a lot of quad-shot orders,” the woman said. “You want the jolt or you just tired of that weak-assed shit that the bakeries serve around here?”
Elizabeth turned with a snort, and the woman cracked a wide smile. “I like my coffee to be more than flavored water,” Elizabeth replied.
“No Americano for you, then. I’ve got a pour-over that’ll blow your
mind. If you don’t like it, it’s on the house. ‘K?”
“Sure. This is your shop?” Elizabeth picked up a bottle of essential oil, uncorked the stopper, and inhaled deeply. The fragrance of lavender calmed her.
“Yep. Owned it a couple of years now. Those are all local artists you’re seeing there. Nothing mass-produced. You looking for something special?”
“A gift for my…boyfriend.”
The woman studied Elizabeth while she poured a pot of hot water over grounds that she’d spooned into a conical filter. “You look familiar. Been in here before?”
“No. Never.”
“Huh. You famous or something?” The owner cocked her head.
Elizabeth gasped, clutching the little bottle of oil to her chest. “N-no. I mean, no. I’ve been in the news a little lately, I guess.”
“Oh shit. You’re dating that Fairhaven. The cute one. You’re Eliza? Elsa?
I don’t get a lot of time to watch TV, but I remember seeing a photo of you.
You got hurt. Some legal thing.”
