Page 25 of Takeover

“You’re one to talk,” I hiss. “Who gave you all of this?” I make a point of waving my arms at his office. “Daddy or Granddaddy?”

“Welcome to the real world, Ms. Taylor. Your daddy doesn’t work here. All that he’s worked for is now mine,” he declares. His blue eyes darken, and as much as I want to look away from him, I can’t. “With a stroke of my pen, I acquired everything he’s created over the last forty years.”

“You egotistical jerk. My father is ten times the man you are.” This time when I stand up to face him, he doesn’t push me back down. “And if you lay another hand on me, you’ll live to regret it.”

He puts a giant hand on my shoulders and shoves me back down on the couch. “Spoiled princess.”

“Alpha male wannabe.”

“In the real world, Ms. Taylor, jobs aren’t just handed to you because of your relatives. You have to earn it. Work your way up.”

I let out a humorless laugh at his hypocrisy. “God, you’re a hypocrite. Men like you don’t live in the real world. And you never would have treated a man with the same credentials the way you’ve treated me.” I try to stand up again, but he won’t move his hand.

“That’s the only correct thing you’ve said since you barged in here. I don’t live in the real world.” He moves his hand from my shoulder but quickly sits next to me and puts the same hand on my knee to keep me in place. He moves so close to me, I’m forced to move to the edge of the couch. That makes matters worse because now I’m stuck between his hard body and the armrest. The smell of his cologne hits. “I just do whatever the hell I want. Take whatever I want.” He whispers the last in my ear, the innuendo clear that he wasn’t just talking about business. A shiver runs through my body.

“Let me out of here,” I whisper.

“Or what?” When I don’t answer, he says, “Whatever you do, I can undo. You might be a spoiled little rich girl who wears designer clothes, but guess what?” His voice lowers before he continues. “I’m richer. More powerful. Remember that.” He drops his hand from my knee and abruptly stands up. “Now, you may leave.” He walks to his desk and positions himself in front of his meal. “I’m sure you’re smart enough to see your way out. You being a Columbia grad and all,” he says again. He waves me off before turning his attention to his meal.

I grab my coat and purse and walk out of his office, and out of Ethan Bradford’s life.

17

Seven hours later, I still haven’t calmed down from Tara’s abrupt appearance in my office. It only took thirty minutes to determine there was a mistake with the job offer. There’s a recent college graduate named Tara Trainor who was supposed to receive the entry level position. The position reserved for Tara Taylor is that of an account manager, but I have a feeling that she would have found offense with whatever position she was offered.

The problem is not the position so much as the company, run by yours truly.

I don’t normally let anyone get to me the way she did earlier. My dearly departed mother is probably turning over in her grave about the way I spoke to Tara earlier.

Despite the anger that is stewing, I can’t help but be haunted by the look in her eyes. Yes, the anger was the first thing I saw, but just beyond that, there was something else. There was hurt right below the surface. It’s the same look she had weeks earlier. There was an article in the local paper about the closing of Taylor Toys. The entire family was there on the last day, and the pained look in Tara’s eyes has followed me since. That is what brings me to her apartment on a Friday night like a damn stalker.

I let out a deep breath. I woke up this morning with a sense of dread. After Thanksgiving, I did a good job of talking myself out of whatever feelings I thought I had for Tara. I told myself it wasn’t the right time and that she just got out of a relationship. I only have time for my son and my business. And even though the demise of her family business wasn’t my fault, in her eyes, I’m the man who came along and took it away from her. I convinced myself there was no way she’d give me the time of day.

It certainly helped that I had to go to London weeks earlier than planned because Elizabeth had emergency surgery. We’re a small family, and she had no one else to be by her side. So, the relaxing two weeks that I planned over Christmas ended up being a month long juggling act of work, my son, and managing my sister’s care. Luckily, she recovered quickly.

One night after Vincent had gone to bed, we stayed up late talking about our family. My father had a brother, who never had kids, and my mom lost her sister in a car accident when she was only twenty-two years old. She was pregnant with her first child when she died. Her son survived but was raised in Seattle by his father who remarried. Elizabeth and I have no contact with our cousin.

Elizabeth told me she had recently hired a private investigator to look into our dead father’s background. Our father was never faithful to our mother, and Elizabeth is convinced we might have siblings out there.

My mind had immediately gone to Tara and her siblings, and I remember smiling at how close the three of them are. For a few seconds, I had pictured what it would be like to have more siblings and possibly nieces and nephews.

The phone vibrates and snaps me out of my daydream. I quickly grab it in case it’s about Vincent, but it’s a work email.

The fact that this is the one weekend a month he spends with his mother makes me anxious. He was looking forward to it, even though he hasn’t spent a weekend with his mother since before Thanksgiving. Other than FaceTiming on Christmas morning to watch him open his presents, this is the first time in months that she’s going to spend quality time with him. Or so she says. I haven’t talked to her much since Christmas. Her complaints about the time difference between New York and London were enough to drive me to drink. Heaven forbid she misses out on her rest to make her only child happy for a few minutes.

I push thoughts of Lindsay out of my mind. It’s the haunted look I glimpsed on Tara’s face this afternoon that brings me here at ten o’clock on a Friday night like a man possessed. And even though I’ve been here for an hour, there’s still no sign of her, yet I make no move to leave the quiet street.

After getting a text from Lindsay confirming that Vincent is watching a movie, I lean my head against the headrest. Then a car stops in the middle of the street, right in front of Tara’s building, she exits the back, and I expel a relieved breath. Despite the bitter January night, she’s wearing a short, form fitting black dress and a short black leather jacket. But it’s the red stilettos that practically bring me to my knees.

The driver exits the car as well and pops the trunk, pulling out several bags of groceries. When he hands them to her, she thanks him and says a quick goodnight before running inside the building.

I count to one hundred before grabbing the bouquet and exiting the car. As soon as I ring her doorbell, the buzzer comes on and I walk inside the building. I’m immediately upset at her lack of attention. She didn’t even bother to ask who it is, but on my way to the third floor where she lives, I’m hit with an uncomfortable thought. What if she’s expecting someone? She certainly dressed for company. That thought is more unsettling than I want it to be.

Her door is ajar when I get there. Out of courtesy, I rap my knuckles against the door.

“Coming!” she says. “Boy, that was quick. I only ordered the pizza about fifteen minutes ago.” She yanks the door open, and her smile immediately disappears. Her attempt at slamming the door in my face is thwarted when I push it open and step inside.

It’s a big space. It’s obviously a pre-war apartment with what looks like the original hardwood. The place is open with a brown sectional in the middle of the living room. The apartment is neat, but the coffee table is covered in magazines and has an opened laptop in the middle.

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