The Bourbon Kings

“No comment?” William said.

As another puff of blue smoke rose above his head, the tobacco’s dirty-sock stench reached her nose and made her sneeze.

“God bless you.”

She ignored the platitude, well aware the bastard had lit up precisely because it would irritate her. He was the kind of man who exploited weaknesses at that kind of level.

“William, if the papers are here, I’ll sign them now. If not, call my office when you’re ready.”

The man bent at the waist and opened the long, thin drawer in the middle of his desk. “Here.”

With a toss, the sheaf skated across the blotter—and the fact that it was stopped by a framed picture of Little V.E., his wife, seemed apt.

“I believe you will find everything in order.”

Sutton picked up the packet. Reviewing page one, she went on to the next … and the third … and the—

Her head jerked up. “I know that is not your hand on my waist.”

William’s voice was close to her ear. “Sutton, you and I have so much in common.”

Stepping away, she smiled at him. “Yes, you’re the exact age of my father.”

“But I’m not in his kind of shape, am I.”

Well, that was true. William filled out his suit better than men decades younger.

“Do you want this done now?” she said sharply. “Or sometime next week with my lawyers.”

The way he smiled at her made her feel like she had turned him on. “But of course. All business, as you stated.”

Sutton deliberately sat in a chair against the wall, and she did not cross her legs. About ten minutes later, she looked up. “I’m prepared to execute this.”

“See? I made the changes you required.” He coughed a little into his fist. “Pen—or do you insist on using your own?”

“I have that covered, thank you.” Dipping in to her purse, she then used her thighs as a desktop, and signed her name above the notary public’s testament that was already filled in. “And I’ll be taking a copy with me as I leave, thank you.”

“As you wish.”

She got to her feet and crossed the carpet. “Your turn.”

William took a Montblanc out of the inside pocket of his pale blue suit jacket, and he signed on another page, above another previously executed notary public’s attestation.

“After you,” he said, indicating the way out with his arm. “The copier is next to the first conference room. I don’t use the Xerox machine.”

Of course, you don’t, she thought. Because like cooking and cleaning, you figure it’s woman’s work.

As she took the document from him and walked for the doorway, a shiver went down her spine. But then she realized that there was another piece to all this, namely a transfer of funds only she could initiate.

So there was nothing she had to fear from him.

At this particular moment.

She was just passing by the executive assistant’s desk when something caught her eye and made her hesitate. It was something down on the floor, sticking out from under the desk’s flank …

It was a piece of cloth.

No, it was a collar. To a coat sleeve.

“Something wrong?” William asked.

Sutton glanced over her shoulder, her heart pounding. “I’m …”

We are not alone, she thought with panic.

From his position squeezed into the well of the desk, Edward knew the instant Sutton somehow became aware of his presence.

As her voice trailed off, he cursed to himself.

“What is it?” his father asked.

“I’m”—she cleared her throat—“feeling a bit faint.”

“I have brandy in my office.”

“Fruit juice. I need … some fruit juice. Chilled, please.”

There was a pause. “Anything for a lady. Although I must confess, this is considerably out of the realm of my usual duties.”

“I’ll stay here. And take a seat.”

As his father came by and then walked off, Edward heard coughing that gradually grew softer. And then he got a boatload of Sutton’s voice, hushed, but strong as steel.

“My concealed weapon is pointed at you and I am prepared to pull the trigger. Show me your face, now.”

Fainting spell my ass, Edward thought. But at least she’d sent his father off on a little errand first.

Edward grunted as he leaned out from his hiding place.

Sutton gasped and covered her mouth with the hand that was not on her gun.

“If I’d known our paths would cross again,” Edward said smoothly, “I would have brought you your purse.”

“What are you doing here?” she hissed as she put her palm-sized gun back into her pastel-pink Derby suit.

“What are you? What did you just sign?”

She looked up. “He’s going to come back at any moment.”

“The question, of course, is what are you going to do about that?”

“What is wrong with you—” Instantly, she snapped to, shooing him with her hand. And just as he retucked himself, Sutton said, “Oh, thank you, William. That is just what I need.”

Wincing as his bad leg spasmed, Edward prayed that she kept protecting him. Also wished he’d greeted her with something other than a reminder that they’d had sex the night before for the first time—although only because he’d assumed she was a prostitute that he’d bought and paid for for the sole reason that he needed a woman who looked like her or he couldn’t get it up.