A Lover's Dream (2 page)

“I sent the proposal on Wednesday, got a response the following Tuesday,” she boasted, her rich brown gaze pride-filled. “I spoke with the admin director at the headquarters personally,” she added.

“Now I'm suspicious,” Mick muttered, hooking a thumb through one of the belt loops on the hip-hugging black shorts she sported. “How could a simple proposal generate such an interest?”

County gasped. “I do believe I'm offended,” she said, pouting.

Mick rolled her eyes. “This is a powerful family, Count. They've remained out of the spotlight way too long to be taken in by a proposal from a Midwest publishing firm. No matter how impressive it is,” she added quickly for County's benefit.

“You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Mick.”

“Huh?”

“
You
were the proposal.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Mick demanded. Now both thumbs were hooked in the belt loops.

County shrugged. “I based the proposal only on you and your work.”

“You what?”

“Oh, come on, Mick,” County snapped, fixing her friend with a weary glare. “The modesty is wearing thin right about now. Your reputation precedes you. Businesspeople love stories about other businesspeople. The rags-to-riches story will always be popular. You should toot your own horn a lot more, damn it. But if you won't, then I guess I have to.”

Mick folded her arms across her chest and decided it would be pointless to argue. County had always been her biggest fan, ever since she'd read Mick's first short story. County, a business major in college, always aspired to become an entrepreneur. Still, an actual business venture had eluded her. That all changed when she discovered Mick's talents. She decided to become a publisher, and a fine one at that.

“Just accept the fact that my long shot paid off. The gods want to meet you.”

Mick scratched her head. “Uh, don't you mean the gods are smiling on me?”

“Uh-uh,” County retorted, with a wave of her bejeweled right hand, “it was no slip of the tongue. Ramsey Group's admin director is a woman. When I asked who from the family we'd be speaking with, she said we'd be speaking with the gods themselves. Of course, I was stunned, but she assured me it was no exaggeration. The brothers were aware of the name and didn't mind hearing it used.”

“The brothers?” Mick asked.

County stopped just short of the patio. “Quest and Quaysar Ramsey run the whole shebang. Jasmine Hughes, the admin director, swears the whole family is filled with incredible-looking men, but those two head the real estate company. They rarely meet with
anyone
outside the business. I guess they save all that for their executive staff.”

“And they're called
gods
because of all this power
they've acquired?” Mick asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

“They're called gods because that's what they look like. Two chocolate-dipped, sexy twins.”

Suddenly, Mick burst into a fit of laughter. “You are not tellin' me this admin director was that candid with a total stranger regarding her employers?”

County shrugged. “From what she says, the vast majority of the employees would love to see a book done on their bosses. They believe the guys should be recognized for all they've done. Especially when most people believe Ramsey is run by white folks.”

“Mmm, and how do the twins feel about that?”

County gave a quick toss of her heavy ponytail. “From what I gather, they don't mind it so long as
they
rake in the cash.”

Mick was still eyeing her publisher with unmasked suspicion. “I don't know, County. What—”

“Wait. Just wait a minute,” County urged, taking the first brick step up the patio. “Just save your questions for the meeting.”

“Meeting?”

“Mmm-hmm, day after tomorrow in Seattle. It's all set.”

Mick tilted her head to one side. “You accepted a meeting without knowing if I'd go along or not?”

“Oh, please, you can't possibly pass up this chance,” County decided, rolling her eyes toward the blue sky above before bringing them back to Mick's face. “Besides.” She sighed, leaning close. “Don't you want to see what they look like?” she taunted, then turned and continued on toward the house.

 

That evening, Mick settled down with the file County left on the Ramseys.
No pictures
, she noted. Clearly, the entire family was camera shy—at least to the public. Of
course, Mick could very well understand. Instead, the file was packed with several news articles and other material on the family. The Ramseys were the cream of the crop in Seattle, not only within the black community, but in Seattle as a whole. Mick studied the folder intently, never realizing how intrigued she was becoming. As she scowled at the clips, however, a frown began to mar her soft brow. Every article shed a favorable light on the clan. There was abundant coverage of charity events, school programs, hospital dedications, and other choice bits of information.

“Where's the dirt?” Mick whispered, leafing through the clips, certain there had to be more.

She reached for the white cordless phone on her nightstand, prepared to dial County's number. But she hesitated just as her fingers brushed the receiver. Maybe there wasn't more, she considered. Perhaps County was right, she thought. Perhaps she
was
too cynical—too suspicious of people and their motives. Maybe her upbringing had jaded her. The possibility was something she'd always tried to deny, but as she grew older, especially lately, it had begun to nag at her more and more. Mick dismissed the notion with a quick shake of her head. Her grip tightened on the receiver and she proceeded to dial County's number.

Seattle, Washington

Quaysar Ramsey's long brows drew close as the easy expression he usually wore grew fierce with frustration. “Damn it, Q, the author is coming from halfway across the country.”

Quest Ramsey didn't bother to make eye contact with his brother. “Do I need to tell you how little I care or can you sense it?” he inquired calmly, while casually thumbing through the report he studied.

“Don't you even care a little that someone actually finds our family interesting enough that we merit a book?” Quaysar asked, bracing both hands against the round conference table with blatant challenge in his dark eyes.

Quest's blank look spoke volumes to Quaysar, who muttered a curse and turned away.

“Well, what are we gonna tell 'em when they get here?” Quaysar asked, suddenly remembering the author would be there at ten o'clock the next morning.

Again, Quest was enthralled by the report he read. “We…we won't tell 'em a thing. You were the one who couldn't wait to get them here, so you'll be the one to tell them they came here for nothing.”

“You're full of crap, you know that, right?” Quaysar raged, slipping both hands inside the deep pockets of his hunter-green trousers. “This could be good for us, you know that?”

Quest sighed, dropping the report to the table. Quaysar was still spouting arguments while his brother literally walked out on their conversation.

 

County mimicked the impatient tapping of one sandal-shod foot by rapping her fingers along the glossy finish of the cherry-wood front desk. “Will you stop nagging me about this?” she practically growled, flashing a stern glare to her right.

Mick, the recipient of that look, reacted with a stern glare of her own. “Hmm… I'm nagging
you
for information on a book that
you
want
me
to write? Do you see any logic in that, Count?”

County rolled her eyes to study the line of chandeliers gracing the hotel's high ceiling. “Why do I even try with you?” She sighed while signing for the room keys.

Mick rolled her eyes and took a minute to study her
surroundings as well. The hotel was to die for, elegantly yet comfortably furnished. The cherry-wood paneling of the lobby simply emphasized the rich color and craftsmanship of the butter-soft leather sofas and armchairs. The establishment shrieked of exquisite tastes and accommodations. Mick silently toyed with the notion of tacking on a few more days to her stay. She deserved to treat herself to a more lengthy getaway in such a fabulous place.

“There,” County announced, accepting the room keys from the desk attendant. “Now.” She sighed again and turned to drop the card in Mick's palm. “What?” she groaned, when she saw the pointed look on Mick's face.

“The file.”

“Damn it, Mick,” County whispered, her lashes fluttering as she bowed her head, “I swear you are the most—”

“Hold it. Just stop a minute,” Mick urged, raising her hand for emphasis. “Now, even you have to admit that no family is as syrupy sweet as that file made the Ramseys out to be. Hell, even the Shelanons had skeletons in their closets.”

“Boy, did they!” County acknowledged, tapping one long spice-polished nail on her cheek as she recalled the family. “But in defense of that file, Mick, it was a
promotional
packet. I mean, you really didn't expect them to place all their dirty little secrets in there all nice and neat, did you?”

Mick folded her arms across the yellow lace-neck T-shirt she sported. “Now who's being sarcastic?”

County patted Mick's cheek. “You're growing on me.”

Still, Mick was determined to hear County admit that she wasn't being suspicious or overly cynical. “Families like this always have something to hide,” she insisted, as they took the elevator to their respective rooms.

“Well, that's why you're the journalist, girl. Dig, dig, dig,” County advised in a merry tone. “Besides, you'll have plenty of time to grill your sources tomorrow and I won't even be there to kick you under the table when you ask how many people they've murdered.”

Mick stood still before the elevator as the doors closed softly behind her. “What do you mean, you won't be there?”

County was already unlocking her door. “They want to meet you alone.”

“Why?”

County shrugged, heading inside the room to check that her bags had been correctly delivered. “That photo I sent must have done the job,” she surmised absently.

“I don't like it,” Mick decided, pushing the room door closed.

County tossed her card key to the message desk. “Neither do I,” she complained, perching her curvy frame against the edge of the sofa. “From what I hear, those two are a sight to behold. I hate like hell that I can't be there to see for myself.”

“How you ever managed to get this far ahead in business with such a one-track mind still amazes me.”

County took no offense. “Me too,” she admitted slyly. “Still, I can easily get over it in a place like this. Really classy of the Ramseys to put us up in one of Seattle's finest hotels, and I'm damn well gonna enjoy.”

Mick, however, wasn't so in awe, as her suspicions still ran high. “Why didn't they tell us beforehand that they only wanted to meet with me?” she questioned.

“Ugggh!” County bellowed, slapping both hands to her navy blue crop pants as she stood. “That's it,” she said in a defeated tone and took Mick by the elbow. Promptly escorting her best friend from the room, County dismissed Mick by slamming the door in her face.

Mick was awakened by the ringing phone on her nightstand some fifteen minutes before her alarm was set to go off. With a grunt, she pushed a hoard of curls from her face and figured she had County to thank for the wake-up call. When she pressed the phone to her ear, she realized it was a bit more than an average wake-up call.

“Ms. Sellars?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Ms. Sellars, this is the front desk letting you know that the car has arrived and is waiting to carry you to Ramsey Group headquarters.”

Mick rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “The—the car?” she stammered.

“That's correct, ma'am.”

Grimacing at the concierge's polite, matter-of-fact tone, Mick sat up in bed. “I'm just waking up. The car may be waiting awhile.”

“That's quite all right, ma'am. It will be here when you're ready.”

Mick only nodded.

“Will there be anything else, ma'am?”

“No, no, thank you,” Mick said and set the receiver
back in its cradle. She flopped back to the luxurious bed and took a moment to get her bearings. A wicked smile curved her lips as she imagined how peeved County would be when she discovered “a car” had been sent for her. “Tee-hee.” She sighed, before rolling her eyes and leaving the bed.

 

Later that morning, Mick stood with her head back and her eyes wide. Her mouth formed a perfect O as she studied the unbelievable complex of Ramsey Group.

“This is the private entrance. Past those double glass doors, you'll find someone waiting to carry you up.”

Mick barely nodded in response to the driver's instructions. Her hand rested limp in his palm. “Oh boy,” she breathed.

Gerald, the driver, nodded in understanding. “Yes, it's quite a place,” he agreed, smiling as he too surveyed the impressive outlay of the corporation.

Instead of one stark high-rise, the Ramsey Group offices were situated in separate buildings that spanned the landscape. Each building housed a different area for every sort of project. The structures covered a vast expanse of the 120-acre site. Due to the hilliness of the area, the buildings were constructed at an angle. Steel beams covered the roofing of dark brick buildings that had an unexpected airiness due mainly to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a prime view of the architects, designers, and other staff who worked diligently on the next Ramsey project. Mick could imagine the golden light from the interior cascading on the green surroundings during the evening hours. Her attention was drawn to the one skyscraper that towered above the other buildings. Windows were abundant on the lower floors, but tapered off and became virtually nonexistent near the
top levels. Something told her the Ramseys' offices would be there—clearly they adored their privacy.

“This is some place,” Gerald was saying as he guided Mick away from the Mercedes limo and shut the door behind her. “But these people really know how to make a person feel cared for.”

“Thanks, Gerald,” Mick said, taking a deep breath while fixing him with a sweet smile. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before heading toward the double doors.

Gerald's stare was lingering as he admired Mick's unconsciously provocative stride.

Mick smoothed her hands across the lilac silk suit she wore and focused on the double glass doors in front of her. Her suit, with its plunging V-neckline and row of tiny buttons along the front, was coordinated with a matching above-the-knee flippy skirt that emphasized the shapeliness of her legs. The outfit was both alluring and businesslike. She looked great, but prayed she wouldn't fall flat on her face. Literally.

Past the double doors stood a tall young woman with a café au lait complexion and huge dark eyes. She would have looked severe had it not been for the warmth in her gaze and smile.

“Ms. Sellars,” she greeted, stepping forward with an outstretched hand, “so glad you could make it.”

“Quite a place you have here,” Mick noted, as she surveyed her surroundings with an unabashed eye.

“Indeed,” the woman agreed with a chuckle. “I'm Jasmine Hughes, administrative director for the Ramsey Group.”

Mick nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“I apologize for the cloak-and-dagger feel to the meeting, but the guys want to keep the staff and the rest of the family out of this for the time being.”

“I understand,” Mick assured her, then fixed Jasmine with a sly smile. “The
guys,
don't you mean, the
gods
?”

Jasmine laughed then, her cheeks darkening a bit as she grew flushed. “I see you've been talking to your publisher.”

“Mmm, and she really enjoyed your conversation.”

Jasmine was shaking her head. “She really has a way of coaxing information out of people.”

Mick leaned close. “Don't tell her I said so, but she's even better at it than I am.”

“Well, nothing I said was an exaggeration, I promise you,” Jasmine said, while pushing her hands into the pockets of her lime-green pantsuit. “The guys are cool, but you'll see that for yourself.”

Mick's smile disappeared to a halt. “Uh, Jasmine?”

She turned. “Yes?”

Mick saw the expectant look in the woman's eyes and prayed she wouldn't offend her. “I don't know how much Contessa told you about my work, but I don't write entertainment pieces. I dig deep for my stories, and if the
gods
believe the other is the sort of work I do, I'm afraid they'll be very disappointed.”

Jasmine didn't appear the least bit offended as she nodded in understanding. “Quiet as kept, but I'm very familiar with your work, Ms. Sellars. It's one of the reasons I was so excited about the guys speaking with you. Many are eager for the story and many are against it, and unless one person in particular changes his mind, this book may never be written.”

Before Mick could question the foreboding statement, Jasmine was waving her hands in the air.

“Here we are,” she announced when they approached a lone elevator. “This will take you straight up to the office,” she said as Mick stepped inside the car. “Good luck,” she added just before the doors closed.

Inside the walnut-paneled car, Mick closed her eyes. She was unused to feeling on edge about anything or
anyone
.

“Calm down, Mick,” she told herself, “you're about to meet with the gods.”

 

The elevator's dark pine doors opened with a quiet
swoosh
and Mick took a moment to step out. Her stylish open-toed wedge heels sank into a thick black carpet. The area was bathed in dim lighting and was only partially illuminated by the calming glow that radiated from at least four gargantuan aquariums spaced throughout the room.

The sound of the central air-conditioning combined with the aquarium's ventilators provided a soothing hum that enhanced the mellow ambience of the office.

“Hello?” she called out, her voice sounding soft and melodic in the quiet atmosphere.

There was no answer, but Mick barely noticed as she was already strolling toward the bay of miniature landscapes in one corner. There were at least four of the shellacked oak boxes that reached her waist. The models were obvious replicas of Ramsey Group constructions. Mick studied each one, growing entranced by the detail put into each display.

A gasp slipped past her mouth when she discovered a massive world map that partially filled the opposite wall. It too was lit by dim spotlights and seemed to notate every location of a Ramsey Group office, residential or commercial development, or work in progress.

Mick felt that overwhelming feeling fill her chest again. “Oh boy,” she breathed.

“Ms. Sellars?”

Michaela whirled around when the canyon-deep voice reached her ears. She blinked, her amber stare narrowing.

“Yes?” she inquired softly, though she found no one in the vicinity.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the voice said, though it seemed to be gaining volume as if its owner was drawing near.

“No, it—it's quite all right,” Mick whispered, the natural arch of her brows lifting a bit as she waited. At last, she was able to just make out a figure in the distance. The more the form grew defined, the wider her eyes became.

The man who came into view then forced a soft sound from her throat. Her lips parted, giving her an expression of complete amazement.

“Quaysar Ramsey,” he introduced while extending his hand to shake.

Mick's reaction was delayed as she was struck by the man who stood before her. She remembered rolling her eyes and regarding all the accolades about the Ramsey men as fantastic musings by sex-crazed women. Now she could see that the label “gods” fit this man, and quite probably his brother, to a tee.

Mick had never considered herself to be a short woman. She wasn't some leggy model type, of course, but she did have
some
height on her. Sadly, that height seemed miniscule while she stood before this male who had to be at least six and a half feet tall. His eyes were a bottomless black, set beneath long, straight, sleek brows, close-cut hair, long distinctive nose, and the mouth—

Mick shook her head, commanding her attention to business. “Sorry,” she whispered, accepting his hand to shake. “Michaela Sellars,” she added, then grimaced at remembering he'd already spoken her name.

Quaysar grinned and only grew more gorgeous, if that were possible. His teeth were brilliantly white and even, making the single dimple and cleft in his chin more striking.

“Yes.” He acknowledged her uneasy introduction
as though he was accustomed to such reactions toward him. He covered her hand with his other and gently guided her into the depths of the office. “Have a seat,” he urged softly, when they approached mocha suede furnishings on the other side of the office. “Can I get you anything?” he offered.

Mick waved her hand. “I'm okay,” she said, quickly taking her place on one of the armchairs instead of the extremely long sofa they flanked.

Quaysar's grin widened. His dark eyes narrowed to a playful squint as he unbuttoned his sandstone suit coat and chose the chair opposite Mick. “I suppose you've wondered why we wanted to meet with you alone?” he asked.

Mick's lashes fluttered. She glanced around the dim, majestic, and clearly masculine office for any sign of the “we” he spoke of. Finally, she offered a conceding smile to her host. “I did wonder about that,” she admitted.

Quaysar leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees. For the first time, he seemed to lose a bit of his playfulness. “Ms. Sellars, when the issue of a book being written is presented to a family as reclusive as mine, there're bound to be mixed feelings involved,” he confided, the muscle twitching in his jaw as he focused on his clasped hands. “Unfortunately, that's what we're faced with now.”

Mick smiled. “I see,” she acknowledged with a slow nod.

“Since I was the one who wanted to go full steam with this, I'm the one who has to break the news to you,” he continued. “I'm afraid it's news you won't like.” He raised his ebony gaze to her face. “Call me a coward, but there was no way I could handle disappointing two women at the same time.”

Michaela almost laughed aloud, but restrained
herself. “You have to say no to the book?” she supplied for him.

Quaysar grimaced and leaned back against the armchair. “When you come from a family like mine, you'll find that you have plenty of sticks in the mud. Sadly, my partner is one such stick.”

Mick settled her hands in her lap and stifled the urge to smile. “Your brother,” she guessed.

Quaysar nodded. “He's completely against it, and without his support, this thing is dead in the water.” He shrugged. “Again, I apologize.”

“Please don't,” Mick told him while raising her hands. “I completely understand. Your brother's just very protective of you all. A book could bring unimagined attention to your family—that attention could quickly become unwanted and harassing.”

Quaysar's brows drew close and he appeared a bit taken aback by her outlook. “Shouldn't you be trying to talk me into this or at least helping me to devise a way to persuade my stick-in-the-mud brother?”

Mick was already shaking her head no. “If I had a family, I'd do everything in my power to protect their privacy too.”

“
If
you had a family?” Quaysar probed softly, tilting his head at the sadness that quickly flashed across Mick's pretty brown face.

“I lost my parents at a young age. No brothers or sisters,” she said, her tone of finality a silent message to Quaysar that he not probe any further.

Again, Quaysar leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees. “I am sorry that we wasted your time,” he said in his softest tone.

“Oh, it was no waste. I promise you. I've never visited Seattle, but I love it. Now I'll have a bit more time to explore the city.”

The solemn look vanished from Quaysar's midnight stare, and it was once again playful and sparkling.
Blatantly, he appraised the creamy brown beauty in his presence. Like most men, he grew transfixed on her heart-shaped mouth, complete with a tiny mole in the corner. Images of the delights that mouth could provide made his thoughts run wild.

“I at least have to have you for dinner,” he decided. He sounded as though he were speaking to himself and as if he were referring to dining on something
other
than food. “I'll call your hotel and we'll set it up before you leave,” he added.

Mick laughed. “I'd like that,” she said, nodding as she stood from the oversized chair.

Quaysar's hand settled to the small of her back as they retraced their steps through the office. “I would've enjoyed working with you, Ms. Sellars,” he told her when they stood before the elevator.

“Call me Mick,” she requested, watching as he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “It'll make our dinner conversation less formal,” she figured.