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  The Contract

  Copyright © 2016 Melanie Moreland

  Registration # 1129457

  ISBN # 978-0-9936198-7-8

  All rights reserved

  Published by Enchanted Publications

  Edited by D. Beck

  Cover design by Melissa Ringuette,

  Monark Design Services

  Formatted by Christine Borgford,

  Perfectly Publishable

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Table of Contents

  The Contract

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Deborah Beck, my friend and editor.

  This one is for you.

  Thank you.

  And, as always,

  To my Matthew—my reason for everything.

  RICHARD

  I BENT OVER THE TABLE, the din of the busy restaurant fading into the background as I struggled to contain my anger. Repressing the urge to yell, I kept my voice low, fury dripping from the words. “What did you say? I’m sure I didn’t hear you correctly.”

  David relaxed back in his chair, not at all concerned by my ire. “I said, Tyler is being promoted to partner.”

  My hand tightened around my glass so hard, I was surprised it didn’t shatter. “That was supposed to be my promotion.”

  He shrugged. “Things changed.”

  “I worked my ass off. I brought in over nine million. You told me if I surpassed last year, I’d be made partner.”

  He waved his hand. “And Tyler brought in twelve million.”

  I slammed my hand on the table, not giving a shit if it drew attention to us. “That’s because the bastard went behind my back and stole the client. The campaign idea was mine. He fucking ripped me off!”

  “Your word against his, Richard.”

  “Bullshit. This is all bullshit.”

  “The decision is made, and the offer has been extended. Put in the effort, and maybe next year will be your year.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. You’ll get a generous bonus.”

  A bonus.

  I didn’t want another fucking bonus. I wanted that promotion. It should have been mine.

  I stood up so fast my chair toppled back, hitting the floor with a loud thud. I drew myself up to my full 6’4” height and scowled down at him. Given the fact that David didn’t break the 5’8” mark, sitting, he looked rather small.

  David raised his eyebrow. “Careful, Richard. Remember, at Anderson Inc., we’re all about teamwork. You’re still part of the team—an important one.”

  I regarded him steadily, tamping down the desire to tell him to go fuck himself. “The team. Right.”

  Shaking my head, I walked away.

  I strode into my office, slamming the door behind me. My assistant looked up, startled, a half-eaten sandwich in her hand.

  “What did I fucking tell you about eating at your desk?” I snapped.

  She scrambled to her feet. “Y–you were out,” she stuttered. “I was working on your expenses. I thought . . .”

  “Well, whatever you thought was fucking wrong.” Reaching across her desk, I plucked the offending sandwich from her hand, grimacing at the concoction. “Peanut butter and jam? Is that the best you can do on what they pay you?” I cursed as the jam dripped on the edge of my jacket. “Goddamnit!”

  Her already pale face blanched further as she looked at the red smear on my gray suit. “Mr. VanRyan, I’m so sorry. I’ll take it to the cleaners right away.”

  “Damn right you will. Get me a sandwich while you’re out.”

  She blinked. “I–I thought you went to lunch?”

  “Once again, your thought process is incorrect. Get me a sandwich, and a latte—extra foam—no fat. I want Brian Maxwell on the phone—now.” Impatiently, I yanked off my jacket, making sure the pockets were empty. “Take this to the cleaners—I want it back this afternoon.”

  She sat stock-still, gawking at me.

  “Are you deaf?”

  “Which would you like done first?”

  I flung down my jacket. “That’s your fucking job. Figure it out and get it done!”

  I slammed my office door.

  Fifteen minutes later, I had my sandwich and latte. My intercom buzzed. “I have Mr. Maxwell on line two for you.”

  “Fine.” I picked up the phone. “Brian. I need to meet with you. Today.”

  “I’m fine. Thanks for asking, Richard.”

  “Not in the mood. When are you available?”

  “I’m booked all afternoon.”

  “Cancel.”

  “I’m not even in the city. The earliest I can be there is seven.”

  “Fine. Meet me at Finlay’s. My usual table.” I hung up, punching the intercom. “Get in here.”

  The door opened, and she tripped in—literally. I didn’t even bother to hide the fact I rolled my eyes in disgust. I had never met anyone as clumsy as her—she tripped over air. I swore she spent more time on her knees than most of the women I dated. I waited until she struggled to her feet, picked up her notebook, and found her pen. Her face was flushed, and her hand shook.

  “Yes, Mr. VanRyan?”

  “My table at Finlay’s. Seven o’clock. Book it. My jacket better be back on time.”

  “I asked for rush service. It, ah, there was an extra charge.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I’m sure you were happy to pay it, considering it was your fault.”

  Her face darkened even more, but she didn’t argue with me. “I’ll pick it up in an hour.”

  I waved my hand; I didn’t care when she retrieved it, as long as it was in my possession before I left.

  “Mr. VanRyan?”

  “What?”

  “I have to leave today at four. I have an appointment. I sent you an email about it last week?”

  I tapped my fingers on my desk as I observed her. My assistant—Katharine Elliott—the bane of my existence. I’d done everything I could to get rid of her, but I’d never had any luck. No matter what task I gave her, she completed it. Every demeaning chore she handled without complaint. Pick up my dry cleaning? Done. Make sure my private washroom was stocked with my favorite brands of toiletries and condoms? Without fail. Alphabetize and clean my massive CD collection after I decided to bring them in
to the office? Completed—she even boxed up every CD when I “changed my mind” and had them delivered back home, spotless and in order. Not a word passed her lips. Send flowers and a brush off message to whomever I had dumped that month or week? Yep.

  She was at the office every day without fail—never late. She rarely left the office unless it was to do an errand for me or scuttle to the break room to eat one of her ridiculous brought-from-home sandwiches since I forbade her to eat at her desk. She kept my calendar and contacts in precise order, my files done in the exact color-coding I liked, and screened my calls, making sure my many exes didn’t bother me. Through the grapevine, I knew everyone liked her, she never forgot anyone’s birthday, and made the most delicious cookies, which she shared on occasion. She was fucking perfection.

  I couldn’t stand her.

  She was everything I despised in a woman. Small and delicate, with dark hair and blue eyes, she dressed in simple suits and skirts—neat, tidy, and completely dowdy. Her hair was always twisted into a knot, she wore no jewelry, and from what I observed, no makeup. She had zero appeal and not enough self-respect to do anything about it. Meek and timid, she was easy to roll over. She never stuck up for herself, took whatever I dished out at her, and never responded negatively. I liked my women strong and vibrant—not a doormat like Miss Elliott.

  However, I was stuck with her.

  “Fine. Don’t make it a habit, Miss Elliott.”

  For a second, I thought I saw her eyes flare, but she simply nodded. “I’ll pick up your jacket and leave it in your closet. Your two o’clock teleconference is set and you have a three-thirty in the boardroom.” She indicated the files on the corner of my desk. “Your notes are all there.”

  “My expenses?”

  “I’ll finish them and leave for your signature.”

  “All right. You can go.”

  She paused at the door. “Have a good evening, Mr. VanRyan.”

  I didn’t bother to reply.

  RICHARD

  BRIAN SIPPED HIS RYE, REGARDING me over the edge of the glass. “I agree that must burn, Richard. But what do you want me to do about it?”

  “I want another job. That’s what you do. Find me one.”

  He laughed dryly, setting down his glass. “We’ve had this discussion already. With your credentials, I can get you any job you want—except here. There’re two major players in Victoria, and you work for one of them. If you’re finally ready to move, give me the word. I’ll have offers for you in any major city you want to consider. Toronto is booming.”

  I huffed in annoyance. “I don’t want to move. I like Victoria.”

  “Is there something holding you here?”

  I drummed my fingers on the table as I pondered his question. I had no idea why I refused to move. I liked the city. I liked its proximity to the water, the restaurants and theatres, the bustle of a big town in a small city and especially the climate. There was something else—something I couldn’t put my finger on that held me here. I knew I could relocate; in fact, it was undoubtedly the best thing to do, but that wasn’t what I wanted.

  “No, nothing tangible. I want to stay here. Why can’t I get a job at The Gavin Group? They’d be fucking lucky to have me. My portfolio speaks for itself.”

  Brian cleared his throat, tapping his glass with his manicured fingernail. “As does your personality.”

  “Blunt and in charge works in the advertising industry, Brian.”

  “That’s not exactly what I’m referring to, Richard.”

  “What exactly are you fucking referring to then?”

  Brian signaled for more drinks, and sat back, adjusting his tie before he spoke. “Your reputation and name speak for themselves. You know you’re known as ‘The Dick’ in many circles.” He lifted one shoulder. “For obvious reasons.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t care what people called me.

  “The Gavin Group is a family-run company. Unlike Anderson, they operate the company on two fundamental principles: family and integrity. They’re extremely particular when it comes to their client base.”

  I snorted. Anderson Inc. would work for anyone. As long as there was money to make, they’d create a campaign—no matter how distasteful it was to some consumers. I knew this, and I didn’t care much one way or another. I knew The Gavin Group was far more discriminating in regards to clients, but I could work within those boundaries. David hated The Gavin Group—to leave Anderson Inc. and work there would piss him off so thoroughly he’d offer me a partnership to come back. He might even offer it on the spot when he discovered I was leaving. I had to make this happen.

  “I can hold back and work within their parameters.”

  “It’s not only that.”

  I waited until the waiter withdrew after delivering our fresh drinks. I studied Brian briefly. His bald head gleamed under the lights, and his light blue eyes twinkled. He was relaxed and at ease with himself, not at all worried over my dilemma. He stretched his long legs, leisurely crossed them, swinging one as he picked up his glass.

  “What else?”

  “Graham Gavin is a family man and he runs his business the same way. He only hires people of the same mindset. Your, ah, personal life isn’t what he’d consider acceptable.”

  I waved my hand, knowing exactly to what he was referring. “I dumped Erica a few months ago.”

  My ex-whatever, made headlines with her drug problem when she walked off the runway in a narcotic-induced high during a fashion show. I was tired of her high-maintenance attitude, anyway. I had Miss Elliott send flowers to rehab with a note saying we were done, and then I blocked her number. Last week, when she tried to see me, I had security escort her out of the building—or, rather, I had Miss Elliott take care of that task. She actually looked sorry for Erica when she went downstairs, returning a short time later to assure me Erica would not bother me again. Good riddance.

  “It’s not only Erica, Richard. Your reputation is well known. You’re a playboy outside business hours and a tyrant during the day. You’ve earned your nickname. Neither sits well with Graham Gavin.”

  “Consider me a changed man.”

  Brian laughed. “Richard, you don’t get it. Graham’s company is family-oriented. My girlfriend, Amy, works there. I know how they operate. I’ve never seen a company like it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “His entire family is involved with the operation. His wife and children, even their spouses work there. They have picnics and dinners for their staff and their families. They pay well; they treat them well. Their clients love them. Getting hired there is difficult since it’s rare anyone leaves.”

  I mulled over what he said. It wasn’t a secret how important family was at The Gavin Group, or how little turnover the company had in personnel. David hated Graham Gavin and everything he stood for in the business world. To him it was a dog-eat-dog world, and that was how he played. The bloodier, the better. We had lost two major accounts to Gavin recently, and David had been furious. Heads rolled that day—many of them. I was lucky they hadn’t been my accounts.

  “So, I’m shit out of luck.”

  He hesitated, glanced at me, then looked over my shoulder. “I do know one of their top executives is leaving.”

  I leaned forward, interested at that piece of news. “Why?”

  “His wife was ill. Her prognosis is good, but he’s decided to make a change for their family, and stay home.”

  “It’s a temporary position?”

  Brian shook his head. “This is the sort of man Graham Gavin is. He’s giving him early retirement with full pension and benefits. He told him once his wife recovers, he’ll send them on a cruise to celebrate.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Amy is his assistant.”

  “He needs replacing, then. Get me an interview.”

  “Richard, have you not been listening to a word I said? Graham won’t hire someone like you.”

  “He will if I can convince him I’m not
what he thinks.”

  “And how are you going to do that?”

  “Get me the interview and I’ll figure out that part.” I took a long sip of my scotch. “This has to be done under the radar, Brian.”

  “I know. I’ll see what I can do, but I’m telling you—this will be hard to sell.”

  “There’s a generous finder’s fee if you get me in.”

  “Is it worth it to prove to David you’ll leave? You want the partnership that much?”

  I ran my hand across my chin thoughtfully, scratching at the scuff. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “David hates Graham. Nothing would anger him more than losing me to him. I know a few of my clients would jump ship too, which would add insult to injury. I’m going to get Graham Gavin to hire me and when David tries to get me back, it’ll be my turn to say ‘things changed’ to him.”

  “You’re rather confident.”

  “I told you—that’s what makes it in this business.”

  “I’m not sure how you plan to accomplish it, but I’ll see if I can get you in.” He pursed his lips. “I went to school with his son-in-law, and we still golf together. We’re supposed to get together for a round next week. I’ll feel him out about it.”

  I nodded, my mind going a thousand miles an hour.

  How did one convince a stranger they weren’t what they seemed?

  That was the million-dollar question.

  I only had to figure out the answer.

  RICHARD

  THE NEXT MORNING, I HAD an idea, but I wasn’t sure how to execute it. If Graham Gavin wanted a family man, he’d get one. I only had to figure out how to accomplish that small detail. I could do it—it was my field of expertise, after all—I was an idea man.

  My main problem was the sort of women I typically had in my life. Female versions of myself. Beautiful to look at, but cold, calculating, and not interested in anything except what I could give them: the fancy dinners, expensive gifts, and if they lasted long enough, a trip away somewhere before I dumped them. Because I always did. I only cared about what they could give me, as well. All I wanted was something pretty to look at and a warm body to bury myself in at the end of the evening. A few hours of mindless pleasure until the stark, cold reality of my life set back in.