Protected By The Enemy (Hacienda Heights Book 2) Read online

  Mina

  I’d soaked in an Epsom salt bath at Hustler Headquarters several times throughout the day and still hadn’t managed to dispel all the aches that plagued me. I felt somewhat human, which was a vast improvement over the staggering zombie I’d resembled yesterday.

  Logan was due to arrive any time. As I shuffled through papers on the couch, I was a little nervous to bring him into Hustler Headquarters—given our penchant for intense fights and explosive make up sex shortly afterward. I’d impressed upon every single one of my girls the importance of remaining abstinent while doing business with their client. No matter how attractive the client was, how much booze you’d had to drink, no matter how he may insist. Don’t indulge.

  Filthy hypocrite that I was, I’d managed to break my own carefully crafted rules a dozen times over now. First in Morocco, and now twice since taking Logan’s first payment. I’d stashed away the three million he’d already provided and was tempted to send it and the three million I had in reserve to the blackmailer.

  Only one thing stopped me. In the first email, my blackmailer stipulated I had to con Logan out of the six million. It really shouldn’t have mattered how I raised the money, but I had the sinking feeling that if the amount didn’t come from Logan personally, they’d make good on their threat and start hurting my girls.

  They’d already shown they had no compunctions with murder. It would have been very easy for this Bea Hunter person to have killed me. One spark and my gas tank could have gone up in flames. Trapped unconscious in my car, I wouldn’t have been able to escape before it was too late. They could have cut my throat or strangled me. I shuddered.

  No, the attempt on my life had been a shot across the bow. They could find us, they could kill us, and they could get away with it. The message was clear, and I cared too much about my girls to fuck around with the mysterious blackmailer. With any luck, she’d be caught red-handed at the party of Miss Ginger’s. But if she was just another link in the chain, well...at least I’d come one step closer to discovering the motives behind this.

  Luciana poked her head into my office. Just the sight of her golden face made me feel a little better. Luciana was one of my first girls, and an unfortunate incident had forced her back into headquarters for the time being.

  Luciana Allende was the daughter of an Argentinian politician. She’d tried her luck at becoming an actress in LA, only to be literally and figuratively screwed over by her agent. She’d been one of my greatest assets, and the one who’d kept the rest of the girls from panicking when I’d been forced to reveal the threat we were under.

  Her long black hair was pulled into an elegant twist at the base of her neck, and a strand of diamonds glittered at her throat. She must have a ritzy client to see. She didn’t have a contract that I could recall, but given the jostling I’d gone through, I was surprised I could remember my own name. Maybe it was a date. I hadn’t been very good at keeping up with my girls’ personal lives of late, too absorbed in my own melodrama to sit down and chat.

  “Mina, there’s a man here to see you.” An appreciative note crept into her voice and the glint in her eyes was rather speculative. It had to be Logan.

  “Send him in, please.” I shifted the stack of papers in front of me, the jumble of reports from my girls. “And Luce? I need your numbers again. I think it’s a simple accounting mistake but they were off for last quarter.”

  Something flickered in her gaze, and I felt like a bitch for scolding her. Everyone had been pitching in, forgoing their paychecks for the month to dig us out of the hole I’d managed to sink us in. Luciana, in particular, had been going above and beyond, keeping all the others in line.

  “I’m sorry, Luce.” I scrubbed my hands over my face. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like an accusation. I’m just...super stressed right now. I’m sure that accounting did the paperwork wrong. Don’t worry about it.”

  Luciana nodded tightly and retreated from the doorway, wearing a rather wounded expression.

  I could have punched myself. Way to go, Blakely. Alienate your girls as well. You weren’t doing enough damage to your professional reputation already.

  I sank back in my chair and waited.

  Logan entered the room a minute later, drawing the heavy oak door closed behind him. It clicked into place audibly, a shutter between us and the rest of the world. My rigid posture relaxed a fraction. I wasn’t on call to impress Logan.

  I frowned. He looked distinctly rumpled, like he’d rolled around in the suit and neglected to comb his hair.

  “What happened to you?”

  Logan grimaced. “I went to a hotel last night. Katherine was pissed at me for upsetting Phoebe. God knows why I left my own damn house. Still, it’s probably best I’m not there for the time being. I’ll get a room at the Ritz-Carlton if I have to until this whole thing blows over.”

  He rubbed his neck as he sat across from me, and only then did I notice the discoloration barely hidden by his upturned collar. My palms twitched and sudden blinding fury reigned in my head. He had a fucking hickey. It was too fresh and inexpertly done to be from our tryst at the coffee house.

  “You might want to wear cover-up,” I said coolly, gesturing to my own neck with a sneer. “It’s a little unprofessional to be walking around with that on display, don’t you think?”

  He flushed, the first real indicator of guilt I’d seen on his face in ages. “As you’ve yet to turn up anything on the blackmail leveled at my father, I’m still technically engaged.”

  “You need to drop her like a bad phone plan,” I snapped. “Either you’re with me in this, Logan, or you’re not. I don’t care which, but I’m tired of being jerked around.”

  “It isn’t that simple,” he growled.

  I slapped my palms down on the expensive coffee table and leaned forward so my face was close to his. “Yes, it is that simple, Logan. A successful businessman can spin anything. This blackmail isn’t even about you. Let your father take the heat for whatever the information contains and then re-forge the company in response. It’s a classic PR move.”

  “Some of us actually give two shits about our fathers, Mina,” he snarled, hands curling into fists at his sides. “He’s dying. And I’ll crawl into the grave after him before I let him go out during the midst of a scandal. My father will be remembered as a good and successful man, no matter what I have to do to ensure that.”

  “Even if it means fucking Phoebe Mason?”

  Logan’s entire body jerked, as though I’d reached up and slapped him. My palms tingled with the desire to do just that. Silly me, believing him when he’d said he wanted to be with me, and me alone. It was another fantastic fabrication from Logan Farraday. He should hang up his hat as CEO and go into politics. He had the right demeanor for it.

  “I’m not fucking Phoebe Mason. And what about you, huh? You seem cozy with Gideon Harvey. Has he gotten what he paid for yet? Has he fucked you?”

  That did it. I swung at him, snarling in fury when he caught my wrist inches from his face. He’d gone there. He’d called me a fucking prostitute. Again.

  “Maybe I should fuck Gideon,” I hissed. “He at least seems to know what the hell he wants.”

  Logan used his grip on my wrist to haul me forward and over the coffee table, jerking me into his arms so forcefully I smacked against the muscle of his chest audibly.

  His lips crushed mine in a sensuous attack that stole my breath and made my knees go wobbly. His mouth was hard and unyielding, demanding my capitulation.

  I smacked his bicep hard. I wasn’t playing this game with him. If I surrendered, let him plunder my mouth like some savage marauder, we’d end up having sex on my couch. I’d worked too hard to garner the respect of my girls to dash it all for one angry fuck.

  “Get out,” I hissed, pushing away from him.

  Logan’s expression cleared, the anger draining away. Regret flashed in his those deep, mesmerizing eyes for a moment. “Mina—”

  “No,�
� I said, wrenching myself from his arms and getting to my feet. His touch was a heady, addictive thing. If I let him keep touching me, I’d throw sense out the window and do something that I’d regret. “Get out, Logan. I’m serious. Get the fuck out of my office and don’t come back here. Nobody marches into my place of business and accuses me of being a whore.”

  Logan stood to face me. “You know I didn’t mean it that way—”

  A bitter laugh escaped me. “Oh, yes you did. Thank you for letting me know just how highly you think of me, Logan. It really warms my heart to know you hold me in such regard.” Sarcasm dripped like acid from my tongue, and I couldn’t bring myself to care that he was upset. If he wanted to own someone, he could content himself with the persistent little blonde waiting for him at home.

  “Mina—”

  I shoved him hard. He was a mountainous wall of muscle, and my attempt barely had any affect. He regarded me in silence for a long moment, before turning away, cold fury trailing him like a shadow. That anger was going to seriously screw up someone’s day. Heaven help the poor bastard who cut him off in traffic or got his coffee order wrong.

  Logan slammed the door so violently the pictures on my wall shuddered. The sound rang with finality and echoed in my ears long after he’d gone.

  Friday. I just had to make it to Friday and things would resolve themselves. And if Logan still hadn’t made his decision?

  Well...I did owe a handsome executive a date.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Logan

  I tried to reign in my anger as I stalked through the lobby of Mason’s downtown office.

  A bald security guard attempted to pull me to a stop before I got to the elevators. He was a corpulent man, already out of breath from doing a light jog behind me across the lobby. If we came to blows, I was sure I could knock his ass flat.

  “I’m going to need to see some form of ID, sir,” he said brusquely. Like he didn’t know damn well who I was. I’d have bet the substantial amount in my wallet that Mason’s security had been specifically ordered to keep me out. My headshot would have circulated the building so that no one, from powerhouse executive to peon, would overlook my presence.

  “Cut the bullshit and radio up to your boss,” I growled. “Tell him that his daughter’s fiancé is here and wants to speak to him about a matter of import.”

  The guard’s expression flickered before he paced away toward the elevator, lifting his radio to his mouth to relay my request.

  I considered heading for the stairs while the guard was otherwise occupied. I had the advantage of speed and I doubted security was going to start popping off bullets in an office building. But I’d give peace a go, just this once. It lessened the chance I’d land my ass in a jail cell.

  The guard gave me a curt nod. “Alright. Mr. Mason’s personal assistant is going to permit you to pass, so long as you accept an escort to the office. If you don’t comply, I have been authorized to toss you out.” His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously as he took stock of me, probably imagining just how much punishment I could take before going down.

  “Fine,” I snapped. “Just take me to Mason.”

  The guard jabbed the up button for the elevator and ushered me inside once the doors had dinged open.

  The ride up took an infuriatingly length of time, and my hands spasmed convulsively, itching to wrap around Owen Mason’s scrawny neck. This reckoning had been a long time coming.

  Mason’s office suite was situated at the end of a long hallway. Done up in silver and blue, it reminded me unpleasantly of his home and the many uncomfortable dinners I’d been dragged to by Phoebe.

  A petite woman sidestepped out from behind her desk and came to greet us. “Mr. Mason has cleared his schedule to meet with you, Mr. Farraday,” she informed me primly.

  “About damn time,” I muttered. It seemed like the coward was finally through avoiding this confrontation. Good.

  The PA bobbed at my elbow, offering me a selection of refreshments, which I refused. If I had scalding coffee in my hand, the temptation to throw it in Mason’s face would be overwhelming. My eyes were heavy with fatigue, the aches from sleeping on a bed that wasn’t my own were making themselves known, and there was a festering sense of shame that rested in my gut for the way I’d treated Mina. All of it faded nearly into insignificance now that I finally had the chance to squeeze Owen Mason for the truth about my father.

  I was ushered into an office that was a stark contrast to the one I’d inherited. My father had attempted to cultivate the erudite atmosphere of a dean’s office. Owen Mason had gone for a more spartan aesthetic, with ivory carpet, a large executive desk near a wide window, and very little else. A cluster of small chairs faced Owen’s desk, and it was to one of the spindly, expensive seats that I was escorted by the unnamed PA.

  Owen Mason barely glanced up from his computer, squinting at the information on his screen. His soft, doughy face scrunched up in distaste as he moved a file to the trash.

  “I do so hate spam,” he said in an offhanded tone. “You’d think people would have better things to do than waste the time of others.”

  “Speaking of which,” I ground out, forcing myself to keep my temper in check. There was a phalanx of guards in the building and I couldn’t lay all of them out.

  Owen’s lips twitched up into a small smile. “What is it you wanted to speak to me about, dear boy? I hope it’s an apology I can pass on to Phoebe. She called me last night, very upset with you. Why would you go and upset my little girl like that, Farraday? It makes a man wonder if his girl is choosing the right man.”

  “Fuck off with the innocent act, Mason,” I hissed. “You know damn well I’ve chosen nothing for months now. I want the information you have on my father. Tell me what the hell I’m dealing with. This cat and mouse game is over.”

  Owen’s grin slid seamlessly into a smirk and he finally turned his full attention to me, closing out of his inbox. “I was wondering when you’d stop pussyfooting around, Farraday. I’m actually surprised it took you so long. You always had a reputation as a direct businessman.”

  “Information. Now.”

  Owen steepled his fingers and examined me from behind a pair of reading glasses. “Are you sure you want to know? It’s pretty damning stuff, and I doubt you’ll ever look at him the same way. There are some things that a man should never have to know about his father.”

  Unease rippled through me for an instant, but I quashed it. Living in fear of what my father might have done was only going to bring more pain in the long run, as I scrabbled to defend him from an unseen threat. Better I take the bandage off quickly, to minimize the agony.

  “Tell me, Mason.”

  With a gusty sigh, Owen reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a flash drive. He fiddled with his computer, bringing up files on the screen before turning it to face me.

  A woman stared back at me, smiling brightly at a camera. There was no denying she was beautiful. She was probably in her late thirties or early forties, with sleek dark hair slung over one shoulder. The faintest beginnings of crow’s feet fanned around her dark, almond-shaped eyes.

  “This is Angela Greer. Your father’s wife.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Owen? My father hasn’t remarried since my mom passed.”

  Owen smiled tightly. “Oh, my dear boy. How naive.”

  He flicked to the next picture. This one depicted a serious blonde, with a small toddler hoisted up on one shoulder. The kid was attempting to eat one of her springy curls. She looked familiar. Aunt Fran? What was she doing in this file? Concern shot through me. I hadn’t visited her or my cousins since enlisting.

  The following picture depicted a woman I was almost certain was a secretary in one of my father’s New York offices.

  Owen clicked through a reel of attractive middle-aged women and then began reading off their names, kids, and home states.

  My stomach began to roll around wife number four. I had a sick feelin
g I knew where he was going with this.

  “I have thirteen marriage certificates,” Owen said as he finished with the pictures. “All of them with your father’s name or assumed name on them. An account has been set up for each of these women and their children. Congratulations on the twenty half-siblings, by the way. Your father appears to have been a very busy man.”

  I bent double in my chair, holding my head in my hands, fighting the urge to be sick all over the ivory carpet. My God. I’d wondered if my father had been hiding a mistress somewhere. Even the thought of a half-sibling had crossed my mind at some point. But twenty?

  If this was true, had my mother been the first? Or had there been another stashed in the shadowy wings, even as he walked her down the aisle?

  This had to be a lie. There was no way my father had been foolish enough to marry thirteen different women. Bigamy was illegal in every single state. California charged a fine of ten thousand dollars and the bigamist could serve time in jail for the act. It was the latter that really concerned me. The fines would be easy. I cut one check, and the fines would be a distant memory. But the jail time?

  I’d received word from Doctor Watts that my father had suffered another ischemic attack the night before. He’d warned me it was a sign of worse things to come. My father was unlikely to survive long in the subpar conditions of the state penitentiary.

  And then there were the ramifications if this ever got out. Owen would not be the only manufacturer to pull out of Farraday Industries if the scandal went public. The stock would tank overnight.

  Owen clucked disapprovingly. “I did warn you that this news would be distressing.”

  “It’s a lie,” I croaked. It had to be. Owen Mason had resources. He could have fabricated this whole thing. The alternative, that this was all the truth, was too horrible to consider.

  If this was true, there was no easy way out. There was no amount of spin that could make bigamy acceptable in the eyes of the American public. If I flouted Owen’s wishes and this went public, my father would die not only alone, but in shame. The company would inevitably go belly-up without backers.