Lisa found out and had begged for forgiveness. But she couldn’t, and
ended up having an affair as well. After an ugly divorce battle, it all escalated
until their Romeo and Juliet finale.
The autopsies had revealed Carlton died before Lisa. It could have been a murder-suicide,
or a double suicide. Whatever it was, it had rocked the city.
It especially rocked Monica.
He zoomed in on another picture of her at the funeral. In this image, she stared straight
at the camera, her dark sable hair contained, but not too tightly, her ice blue eyes
tired and vacant, her lips closed and almost turned downward at the corners. God,
she was so beautiful his heart ached. She looked like her mother, some said. Lisa
had been smart, like Monica, alive and passionate, but Monica had tried to kill every
bit of passion inside of her since the whole debacle of the divorce began.
But Daniel had awakened her passions tonight. He knew it. He’d seen it, was still,
hours later, burning to ashes from the flames they’d created.
And if Monica was lying awake tonight, feeling the same starving need for him as he
was, then she was going to run again.
He stroked a finger down her face on the floating screen, knowing he couldn’t let
her. Wouldn’t.
Not anymore, Monica. Not this time.
Chapter Three
Monica awoke thinking of a particular set of eyes. Green eyes. Like forests, emeralds,
clovers. She showered to that same pair of eyes, drank coffee to that same pair of
eyes. On her way to Davenport’s, they were there, in the back of every thought. Sexy
and knowing, dark with arousal, watching her as he brought her to orgasm.
Scowling at herself, she pushed the thought aside as her driver pulled over right
in front of Davenport’s glass doors. The store was half a block in size and swept
six stories high, and the sight of the elegant store windows filled her with an almost
overwhelming sense of pride.
She’d loved her family’s store since she was a little girl and came to “work” with
her father on Saturdays, the clerks spoiling her by allowing her to ring up a couple
of amused customers. This Davenport’s location on the Magnificent Mile was the first
store among forty-eight across the country, and it had been in business for over sixty
years. Monica knew every doorman, every security guard, every attendant.
Her heart warmed in satisfaction as she went straight through the shopping area, aware
of dozens of shoppers already milling about. Two teenage girls started pointing in
her direction, as though they recognized her from a magazine or newspaper article,
and Monica gave them a smile as she headed to the elevators for the upstairs offices.
Manufacturing had always been taken care of overseas, in Scotland, where the best
cashmere was woven and washed, and the business side of the product was handled in
the floors above. Security, merchandising, conference rooms, and executive offices
were all spread from the second floor upward. Ever since Monica had taken over five
years ago, she’d slept and dreamed about cashmere and merchandising, worker’s compensation,
product liabilities, profit margins.…
When her parents had died, Monica had decided that she’d marry nobody but Davenport’s.
The store always gave her back exactly what she put in. And Monica had put in everything to this store.
She’d inherited a rapidly dwindling business and had taken control at twenty-four,
when the shares hit rock bottom and nobody wanted “in” except Monica. She’d removed
the old management and brought in new people, took out a bank loan to start expanding,
and as the share price rose, she’d sold a large percentage of Davenport’s to her board
members to keep financing its growth. She’d still managed to remain holding the majority
of shares along with keeping an amazingly successful board, and now the company showed
solid growth and impressive profit margins.
Today,
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