Asher Barrington pushed a small package off to one side of his Boston office desk and stood. Distant relatives had recently become persistently, tediously interested in opening a dialogue. The package was their latest attempt and would hit the trash unopened. Asher had little time and even less patience for “family” who had done nothing when his parents had needed their support.

His mother’s side, the Stanfields, and the Andrade family his Aunt Patrice had married into, were both extremely wealthy. Either of them could have come to the aid of his father and stopped him from losing his career, but they hadn’t. Why? Because no one respects a weak man.

 

Asher had been old enough to be shamed by his father’s scandal. When his classmates had heartlessly taunted him, Asher had discovered how very different he was from his father. He hadn’t retreated from confrontation. He’d gone after those who’d found enjoyment in his pain and had taken them down with whatever means was at his disposal. He’d been smart enough to keep the evidence of his retaliation off the radar of the school and his parents. Except for the time he’d taken on a bully. He’d made sure that fight was both public and final. No one had laughed at him after that day, and that win helped shape the man he’d become.

He’d taken his trust fund from his grandfather and built a financial empire with it. Regardless of how successful he became, he had yet to hear his father say he was proud of him. When they did speak of his business his father would only caution him to soften his approach, tread more carefully, risk less. That wasn’t how Asher operated nor was it how he wanted to. He had goals for himself and his company, and if that meant crushing his opposition, it was nothing more than the way of the world. Eat or be eaten. Expand or perish. Asher’s father had been a great man, but he should have fought harder for what he had. Asher was determined to not make the same mistake.

Nothing and no one stood between him and a goal. When Asher had first started his biochemical company and then expanded it by undercutting the prices of the competition, his father had said, “Be careful. When you’re a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”

Asher had given up trying to explain how the world worked to his father. His parents were perfectly happy in their middle-class home, driving their ten-year-old cars. They certainly weren’t poor, but they considered themselves better off for not having fought his mother’s family for anything other than their children’s trust funds. How a man who had once been one of the most influential US senators and a woman who’d been born into the top of the privileged one percent could be satisfied with obscurity was a constant mystery Asher had given up trying to solve. One of Asher’s brothers, Lance, believed their mother had been afraid of her father as well as her sister. Both were dead now so that was another topic that held little interest for Asher. Had his mother ever appealed to him for help, Asher would have dealt with both of them for her. He feared no one.

There was a light knock on the door and Ryan Corson, Asher’s personal assistant, entered. He was a reliable, unflappable, problem solver and that had made him an indispensible member of Asher’s team. He was paid well above his job description because he had proven himself in a variety of ethically complex situations. Asher didn’t need a conscience; he needed a team that would follow his orders without hesitation, so those were the people he’d surrounded himself with.

“Mr. Corisi is quickly becoming impatient,” Ryan said. “Shall I send him in?”

Asher sat on the edge of his desk and checked his watch. “Tell him I’m on a conference call for five more minutes.”

Ryan grimaced. “He may not wait.”

“He will. He’s curious.”

“I’ll tell him, but I’m guessing not too many people make Mr. Corisi wait for anything.”

“Exactly,” Asher said with a flash of teeth. Dominic was known for losing his temper easily. “Always play to your opponent’s weaknesses.”

Ryan gave Asher a curious look. “Is he our competition? He’s in an entirely different industry.”

Asher pushed off the desk. “Every person who is not on my team is against it. Remember that. Dominic is getting impatient. Good. Keep your opponent off balance and it’s easier to get information from them.”

Ryan neither agreed nor disagreed. He retreated to his office and to the likely unpleasant task of informing one of the most powerful people in the country that he needed to cool his heels for a few more minutes.

Asher slowly checked the messages on his phone, straightened the already straight papers on his desk, and finally opened the door of his office. “Dominic, thank you for coming.”

Dominic turned and gave him a dark look Asher pretended not to see. Dominic growled, “When you said it was a matter that couldn’t be spoken about on the phone, you piqued my interest.” Although Dominic didn’t mention it, his irritation at being kept waiting was obvious. “This had better be important.”

Asher smiled smoothly, deliberately ignoring that as well. “Come in. Ryan, hold my calls.” He waited until he knew Dominic was paying attention and added, “Unless it’s Freethy. Then put him through.” He heard Dominic’s impatient huff and hid his satisfaction at how easy it was to use a man’s pride against him. After closing his office door, he said, “Have a seat, Dominic.”

Dominic folded his arms across his chest and kept standing. “I don’t have time for whatever game you’re playing, Asher. What do you want to discuss?”

Asher rocked back on his heels and pocketed his hands in his trousers. “I need the name of your contact in

Trundaie.”

Dominic studied him for a long moment, then said, “I don’t deal with unstable governments anymore.”

Asher smiled knowingly. “I understand. You have a family to think about now.”

“I do.”

“How is your wife? And your daughter—Judy, isn’t it?”

Dominic relaxed his stance. “Both are well. Judy just started kindergarten.”

“Wow, that happened fast.”

“It did. It feels like only yesterday I was learning to change a diaper. In a blink of an eye, she’s reading to me at bedtime instead of the other way around.”

Asher leaned back against his desk. “Tell me, how long do I have to pretend to give a shit about your family before you cough up your old contact in Trundaie?”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed, then he barked out a laugh. “You remind me of myself, Asher, and that’s not a compliment.”

Asher picked up a folder, took out a photo of an outbuilding that had been destroyed, and threw it on the table near Dominic. “I’m having issues with the rebels in Trundaie. We both know they don’t care why I’m there. This is extortion, plain and simple. I know they went against you when you were there, and you paid someone in the military to get them to back off. All I need is a name, and I’ll handle the rest.”

Dominic shook his head. “I told you, I’ve distanced myself from those contacts. Trundaie’s instability has increased since I was last there. I understand the temptation of fast money that can be made in places no one else will go, but don’t underestimate the price you pay for making those kinds of enemies.”

With a sarcastic chuckle, Asher straightened. “How does it feel to be a lion on a leash? We’ve worked the same international circuit for too long for me to believe you don’t still have your hand in it. The contract we have with Trundaie will open up the whole Asia continent to using our product. They pride themselves on their low prices, and using our synthetic material instead of oil will cut their production prices in half. We don’t have to stay in Trundaie. The government will purchase our facility once we’ve proven to them that it can be lucrative. Once we have them, the Western markets will cave because they’ll have no other choice. They’ll need either a facility or product from us. Maybe you can’t play in the big sandbox anymore, Dominic, but don’t begrudge me the pleasure. All I need is a name.”

Dominic shook his head, but said, “I’ll make a call.”

Asher crossed the room and held out his hand. “I’ll send you a postcard from Trundaie.”

Dominic shook his hand. He didn’t look the least bit bothered by Asher’s baiting. “You’re wrong about one thing, Asher. I don’t miss my old life. It was exciting, but it was empty. Life is about more than that.”

Asher walked him to the door. “I’ll take your word for that. Thanks for coming by.”

Dominic nodded and added, “Coming by was never in question. Some of your family has become like my own.”

“If you mean the Andrades, you can have them,” Asher said.

Dominic gave him an odd look but didn’t say more before leaving.

After he was gone, Asher called his business partner, Brice Henderson. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “I need you to move the deadline up.”

“The compound needs an additional round of testing.”

Brice was a genius, but he didn’t understand the complexities of the volatile international market. “The sooner we have the facility up and running, the sooner we can hand it off to the government and get the hell out of there. Get me the product ahead of schedule.”

“Nothing will happen if I can’t get this compound right.”

“‘Nothing’ is not an option. We’re delivering something to them. We have too much riding on this not to. Do whatever it takes.”

“Asher, unlike your Neanderthal negotiations, science cannot be rushed.”

“Things are heating up in Trundaie. We need the standing government to back us, but they won’t do that until we show them how profitable it will be for them. We need to get our facility up and running . . . now.”

“It’ll be ready by the date we agreed to.”

Asher hung up the phone and retuned to his seat behind his desk. Arguing with Brice would be a waste of time. He rubbed a hand roughly over his face and typed in the password on his computer. His cell phone beeped, announcing a text. It was an encrypted message from Dominic. A name. Perfect.

The phone on his desk buzzed. “Mr. Barrington, there is a Ms. Emily Harris here to see you. She said she has an appointment, but it’s not on my calendar.”

“I don’t know the name. Tell her I’m in a meeting, and she’ll have to come back, but don’t schedule her.”

Ryan lowered his voice. “I tried that, Mr. Barrington, but she said your mother made the appointment.”

“Shit.” He vaguely remembered agreeing to speak to someone. It was probably one of his mother’s friends, older than sin, possibly senile, and most likely there to ask for a donation to some charity his mother thought he should care about. The quicker he met with her, the sooner she’d be out of his hair. “Send her in.”

Emily Harris crossed and uncrossed her legs nervously, then tucked a defiant curl back behind her ear. She looked down at her French manicure and took a deep, calming breath. The life expectancy of acrylic nails on her was less than a day. She’d purchased a beige dress suit for the trip, but it was her only business attire, so she hoped Mr. Barrington could be persuaded to change his mind in one meeting.

Emily wasn’t normally a confrontational person. She was a self-professed people pleaser. To her, there was nothing wrong with wanting those around her to be happy. Both her grandfather and her mother had done everything they could to give her a good life. She was grateful, and that gratitude was the fuel that fed her determination to take her fight directly to the CEO of B&H Advanced Engineering. If anyone had told her six months ago she’d be in Boston taking on one of the nation’s richest men, she wouldn’t have believed herself capable.

But here I am. It’s amazing how motivating a dose of desperation can be.

When B&H first began their attempts to purchase properties in her town, she hadn’t worried. Her land was nearly dead center on the proposed plans for demolition and development, but she’d been confident her neighbors would never sell. One by one, though, they’d accepted offers and moved away.

At first, Emily had tried to reason with the company representatives who relentlessly offered to buy her land. When that didn’t work, she stopped answering their phone calls. Their unopened letters were piled on her kitchen table. She hoped if she blocked all communication with them they would see how serious she was.

Their response had been a summons to court. It wasn’t until she’d taken the letter to a lawyer and been advised to sell that she understood how dire her situation was.

“I won’t sell,” she’d told the lawyer.

“You won’t have a choice,” he’d answered sadly, removing his glasses and placing them on his desk. “I could cite countless similar cases where the plaintiff lost or took a payout in arbitration. Why put yourself through that? Make them an offer you can live with and move. You don’t have the resources to win against a company like B&H.”

“I won’t sell,” she growled before she gathered her papers and left the office of the only lawyer within fifty miles of her home.

I won’t.

It didn’t help her confidence when she heard Mr. Barrington’s secretary admit he’d tried to get rid of her and failed.

After weeks of trying to contact Mr. Barrington and being given the runaround, Emily wasn’t going anywhere until she was given a chance to speak to him in person. I don’t care how long I have to sit here. I didn’t come this far to give up now.

An office door opened. Emily stood quickly, dropping her small purse on the floor in front of her. Because the universe had a mischievous sense of humor, most of the contents spilled out onto the rug at her feet. She scrambled to pick everything up and groaned when she saw her wallet had bounced beneath the chair she’d been sitting on. She bent but couldn’t reach it, so she went down onto her knees and grabbed it, stuffing it back into her bag before standing.

As she straightened she noted the polished pair of shoes standing less than a foot away. Her eyes scanned their way up a pair of charcoal trousers, a stark white shirt, and an expensive looking tie before landing on the face of the man the suit had obviously been tailored to fit. Her artistic eye missed nothing. Not the breadth of his chest, the strong lines of his jaw, nor the boldness of his hazel eyes. Mr. Barrington was not the soft suit she’d expected to meet after speaking to his mother. As much as the artist in her appreciated his symmetry, the woman in her was rocked back by the power emanating from him. Although they had yet to exchange a single word, Emily knew she was in the presence of a man who demanded instead of asked. She didn’t want to be, but for just a second or two she basked in the desire that kind of masculinity sent tingling through her. She knew she should say something, but the exact reason for her meeting with him temporarily eluded her. One of her curls sprang free and fell across her face. She swayed and continued to take in the perfection of the man before her.

His smile was cold and that helped remind Emily why she was there. He held out a hand toward her as he gave her another head-to-toe evaluation. “Emily Harris. It’s always a pleasure to meet one of my mother’s friends.”

Emily hesitated before placing her hand in his. Lying didn’t come easily to her. “I’m not actually—” Emily started to admit then stopped herself. She could only imagine what he’d say if she said the truth. I needed to talk to you, and you wouldn’t see me, so I asked my hair stylist if she could help. She knew someone who knew the nanny of a woman who plays bridge with your mother. A few phone calls. More than a little begging and explaining why I had to speak with you, and here I am. Right here. Holding on to your hand and wondering what the hell I can say to make you care about my plight. Emily pulled her hand free, squared her shoulders, and said, “Thank you for seeing me.”

Emily spent a good deal of time studying the faces of strangers and honing her skill when it came to capturing their essence in the clay sculptures she created for a living. Although she was far from famous, her work brought her a steady income, and that was more than many artists could say. She searched the expression on the man before her. His face was carefully devoid of emotion. He was a man in control, even of himself.

He glanced at the wall behind Emily, then down at her again. “You have ten minutes of my time. Follow me.” He walked back into his office without waiting to see if she would.

She met the eyes of the male assistant briefly. If she was hoping for some encouragement, there was none there. He looked away and started typing. Emily raised her chin and hoped she looked confident as she walked into what represented her first foray into the world of big business.

Mr. Barrington was sitting on the corner of his desk with his arms folded intimidatingly across his chest. “If you’re coming in, close the door behind you.”

“Sorry, of course,” Emily said more apologetically than she meant to. Damn it, I’m not sorry. I’m angry, and I have every right to be. She walked over to the chairs just in front of his desk.

He looked at her for a long moment. “Have a seat.”

Be strong. She swallowed hard and met his eyes again. “I’d rather stand.”

A spark of something lit his eyes briefly before his expression became guarded again. “What are you doing here, Ms. Harris?”

Emily clasped her hands in front of her and said firmly, “I came to give you a warning.”

His eyebrows rose ever so slightly in surprise, and a faint smile pulled at his lips. He lowered his hands to the desk on either side of him and leaned forward. “Really?” He glanced down at his watch. “This should be

interesting.”

What a self-centered bastard. Emily’s back straightened with pride. Laugh now, but you won’t be amused when you realize how serious I am. “You may think you won in Welchton, but you haven’t. You don’t have my land yet, and you won’t get it. If you take me to court, I will win, no matter what your army of lawyers tell you.”

Asher leaned back and pressed a button on the phone on his desk. “Ryan, are we buying property in Welchton?”

The assistant’s voice came across on speakerphone. “Yes, sir. You wanted a northern New England research facility. We chose New Hampshire. You signed the paperwork to move forward with it.”

“I did. How far along is the project?”

“We have all the permits. We’re waiting to resolve one minor issue.”

“Is that issue a reluctant seller?” Asher’s eyes held Emily’s as he spoke.

“Yes, but we don’t foresee it being a problem for long.”

“Nor do I,” Asher said firmly. “Ryan, interesting fact about Ms. Harris. She’s from Welchton.” He hit the button on the phone again, ending the call. He rubbed his chin and studied Emily. “Let me guess: You feel your property is worth more than we offered.”

There it was, the opening for her to explain the reason she refused to sell. She had to believe he was a reasonable man. Once he heard the history of the property and her plans for it, he’d surely change his mind about buying it. “There is no amount that would convince me to sell. My family—”

He straightened to his full height and looked her over again. “No amount? How about double what they offered you?”

Emily clenched her hands at her sides. It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it, that was insulting. “Do you know what their proposal was?”

“No.”

Anger burned and grew within Emily. She took a deep breath, though, and told herself to remain calm. There was a chance he didn’t know what he was about to destroy. “If you’d give me a minute to explain, I think you’d feel—”

Asher stepped closer to her, watching her expression closely. “How I feel is irrelevant when it comes to business.” He stopped less than a foot in front of her, forcing Emily to crane her neck to look up at him. “Why don’t we end this little game now? Tell me what you’re holding out for, and I’ll tell you if you have a chance in hell of getting it.”

“This isn’t a game. The Harris Tactile Museum is six months from completion. Maybe if you came up to see it, you’d understand how important it is.”

He didn’t look the least bit interested. “I’m sure our offer took your relocation cost into account. If not, counter with an amount that would, and my people will crunch the numbers.”

“I’m not selling, Mr. Barrington. Period. I won’t let you steal my land, and that’s what you’d be doing, even if you did it in a court of law. Having enough money to buy the outcome you want doesn’t make it right.”

His smile was indulgent and Emily, who considered herself a non-violent woman, was tempted to smack it off his face. “I like your spirit, Ms. Harris, but that doesn’t change that you’re standing between me and something I want. If I were you, I’d put together a counterproposal you can live with. I’ll give you my email. You can send it to me personally, and I’ll make sure it’s at least considered.”

She leaned toward him and threatened, “I may not have money, but I care about this museum, and other people will, too. I won’t be sending you a counteroffer, because I’m not selling.”

A corner of his mouth curled in a way that sent waves of heat through Emily. “I always get what I want, Ms. Harris.”

Emily stepped back. “Not this time.” She walked out and closed the door firmly behind her, taking a brief moment to lean against it for support before pushing off. She defiantly moved her wayward curl off her face and held her head high as she walked past the desk of Asher Barrington’s snooty assistant.