You Called Me-ARE and Apple epub (7 page)

She poured a cup of tea then sank onto the sofa across from Sophia. “Business has tripled in the last two months with many of the fisheries expanding so he is busy with the firm. Their accounts needed reassessing. The sheep farmers require your attention on this, Jonathan.” Fiona ran a hand through her thick hair and looked from Sophie to Jonathan. “With Blakemore Inc. steadily growing, people are focusing on the castle. They feel Blakemore is just a name with no true family behind the walls. If you're not going to take care of it, Jonathan, sign it over to Uncle Brian.”

“Fiona, have ye lost yer head, lass? Brian will destroy everything our families worked hard to create. That's McGhee land the castle sits on, and I will not give-away my family land. Both families were strong upstanding families until the fire destroyed it and we live the legacy of that horrible night. My mother can't even step foot on Irish soil because of the trickery of the Blakemore family.”

“Aunt Sophie, I want what's best for our family and if Jonathan won't step in...” she trailed off seeing Jonathan's cold stare.

They would have lost the estate including the land belonging to his mother had she not married Brian. McGhee’s, his mother’s family name, had owned that land for hundreds of years. But the Blakemore’s built the castle on the four hundred fifty acres of land after the fire.    

“No one's taking the family estate, Mother, I'll see to that.” He set a cold stare on his cousin. Fiona never sided with Brian. Jonathan had to contact Jamie to find out what's happening. He walked deeper into the room, keeping his attention on Fiona. “Can you prove Graham is stealing?”

“The folder is on the table. The surrounding fish farms are paying twice what they were last year to lease the land, but I can only account for three quarters of the money coming in.”

“What did Graham say when you confronted him?”

“Haven’t been able to catch him…he’s never in his office. I went down to a number of the farms and no one’s seen him. He changed the bank they used for monthly deposits from the farmers. He said a permanent public market was being built for their harvests and changing to the new bank would cut down on the overhead of working with more than one bank.” Authority to change banks rested on his signature. Not even Graham had that power.

Scooping up the folder, he thumbed through the linen stationary with the Blakemore seal embossed in the center. Angling a stare up through lowered lashes, he could see Fiona’s concern. He flipped through the folder. Money had been moved in strategic accounts to disguise the gradual deposit increase from farmer to farmer. Funding a remodel on the falconry site, he’d never approve made his blood boil. That land houses one building, no reason to improve a shed that stores leather caps for the birds and leather gloves for the handlers. That could be housed with the horses or the hiking equipment.

He eased onto the tan upholstered sofa his mother prized being it was shipped from her father’s home before it burned down with him in it. Jonathan had very little memory of his mother’s father only pictures on the wall and a few visits before they moved to the states. There was a room at the inn furnished with her parent’s furniture that survived the fire. He could see the pictures on the wall of the old gardens that were a charred ruin once the fire department finally had the inferno under control. It’s always been said that the fire hadn’t been an accident. Stone house fires don’t burn that completely or fast. 

Even after an investigation, the report never showed any tampering, but he knew something wasn’t right. That would have stayed McGhee property if the Blakemore’s hadn’t blackmailed the McGhee’s into building on their land. In exchange for them paying off their debt, the McGhee’s agreed to have Sophie marry Brian and give the family an heir. Saying the insurance ran out on the estate and nothing had been left to pay to have the home rebuilt. The only thing the fire hadn’t destroyed was a stone exterior, the whiskey room in the basement incased in steel, and twelve of the eighteen bedrooms overlooking the river where salmon swam in thick clusters.

He returned his attention to the contents of the folder. Paying for Twelve Bens Mountain Range to be patrolled for tourists while zoned as private land made no sense. Only the guests of the inn had access to the mountains. There was mounted patrol over all four hundred fifty acres. He needed to get in touch with this bank and find out who authorized this changing of funds deposit.

“Jonathan,” Sophie said, getting his attention. “Son, I’m certain your father has something to do with this. The sod rubs me the wrong way.”

“Certain. There are bogus accounts and purchases in these files. Why are farmers, living close to the thirty mile border from the markets, paying more for their booths?” Jonathan had his suspicions on what his father was doing at the estate. The whiskey stock in the vault he’s wanted to outfit as an underground pub for private guests. They would need a liquor license and drunks would be stumbling through his family estate all times of the night harassing the other guests. No, he needed to get down there before the month was out. The estate was so close to the Atlantic and with all the lakes and waterways dotting the area, he could have patrons slipping in and out for miles bringing in illegal contraband onto the family estate.   

“I have somewhere to be, but I’ll come back this evening,” Jonathan informed his family. “I have to get someone to cover for me with the kids.” And cancel with Kenya
,
he thought. He would have to make it up to her somehow or never see those beautiful eyes again.

“Son, are you okay?” Sophie asked. The clank of the teacup brought his attention around to see her sitting forward red hair spilling over her shoulders. “What’s got you so distracted? A woman, Jonathan?”

“Mother, there’s always a woman in my life. I’m doing this for two very important women in my life, you and gran,” he said, indicating the room beyond the solarium. “Your legacy didn’t die with Gran Da in the fire. I will take care of our family.”

He watched his mother’s eyes glaze over at the mention of her father dying in the fire. He’d meant what he said, he would save his family. He crossed the room, pressed a kiss to his mother’s face, and felt his life changing. Sophie’s voice brought him back in the room.   

“Oh no you don’t. You have that look on your face. No American wife in the estates...Jonathan, please,” Fiona cried. “And isn’t that one of the girls you grew up with here in the states, Jonathan, no?”

“Son, I’ve lived an unhappy marriage. If you’ve found someone that makes you think about them for no apparent reason…”

“Aunt Sophie, don’t give him ideas. This family needs an Irish woman in the castle. The estate deserves our legacy to remain Irish.”

Sophie twisted her watch eyeing Jonathan with an expectant grin. She'd hounded him about finding someone to share his life with and he could see her excitement beaming from her beautiful face.

“Fiona, when and who will become my wife is my decision—end of discussion.”

Running a hand through his hair, he set his gaze on both women. Jonathan knew Fiona would never understand the pain his mother had gone through at the hands of Brian. And he didn’t have time nor the will try to make her. He had another woman to call and that would pain him.

Jonathan went over to the bar outside of the room. Pouring a shot of the clear liquid, he pulled out his cell and scanned down to that now familiar number. Listening to the phone on the other end ringing, he tossed back the liquid to burn down his throat. Why was this happening now? Just when he’d found someone he could stomach more than a day he’d have to cancel spending the weekend with her and handle family business. The machine picked-up.

“Kenya, it’s Jonathan Blakemore…a change in plans for the weekend. Give me a call.”

Windy and cold, the air temperature dropped ten degrees in the last few hours. Kenya shoved the sleeves of her coat off and hurriedly slipped off her boots. After all his begging, Jonathan cancelled the trip. Said he had some family business to attend.  Her employers were making a decision on the position in less than two weeks, requiring her to find thirty volunteer hours before next weekend.

Slipping on the four-inch heels, she ran on her balls of her feet down the marbled hallway past the conference room and to the elevators at the front of the building while trying not to break her neck.

Chill, chill, chill, she repeated in her head. Being asked to work a few days on the day shift in a walk-a-mile-in-my-shoes program, Kenya felt that promotion in her greedy little hands.

The bank started the program to give employees a taste of what a day in the life in another department entailed, hoping this instilled a deeper respect among employees for one another and a chance to explore bidding on positions in other departments.

Smoothing her navy blue dress down, Kenya took a few cleansing breaths before the elevator doors slid apart to expose the fifth floor of the bank. Even the carpet appeared more expensive up here. NASDAQ screens lined the hallway. A coffee bar snaked down the center of the room. A small counter and upholstered stools slid beneath the stone counter ledge. A coffee pot and tea carafe sat back against the wall. It was as if she was in a different building all together.

A warm commanding voice came from around the wall. “Ms. Claiborne, hi I’m Richard Jackson. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the medium build man said. He dripped Ivy League, probably had his socks handmade and face steamed twice a week. She thought Jonathan wore expensive suits and he did, but this advertisement for a lot of hard work and keeping-your-nose-clean man said he only dealt with people he wanted to. And today he chose her—score!  

“Mr. Jackson, thank you for allowing me to shadow you today. Your articles in the company newsletter are informative and acquiring the hospital account, brilliant.”

“Well, pay close attention this week, Ms. Claiborne, and hopefully I won’t bore you to tears.”

“Mr. Jackson, I’m looking to learn, not be entertained. It doesn’t have to be exciting to be interesting.”

His brows rose as he said, “Well, step into my office.” He extended a hand out toward a plush office down from the elevator, awards covering the wall she could see from her vantage point. “I have a client meeting in about twenty minutes. I’ll brief you on his company and we can go from there.”

The client turned out to be chain of supermarkets looking to have all their customer billing moved to Global Funding. That account's promises over a hundred thousand invoices a month coming in from vendors paying the invoices to the grocery store. That’s a huge account for her shift on midnights. 

“Ms. Claiborne, I’ve done my research. You’ve been nominated by other departments for your level of professionalism and PR skills,” he complimented, moving around his office. She sat in front of his desk, watched him work in precise movements throughout the space and knew how this man stayed on top of things. He never touched anything more than once. Pulling out a file, he noted something on one of the pages inside then returned it to its file cabinet. Organized. “I’m always on the lookout for someone to assist me on some of my business meetings. How do you feel about traveling?”

“Traveling’s not a problem, Mr. Jackson. Sometimes you have to go to the client.”

“We have a potential client we’re trying to get on board and their client base is all over the world. I read where you are doing some volunteer time with children. This potential client mentors children around the world, and I think you’d be an asset in acquiring the account.”

“I appreciate you considering me for the opportunity.” Kenya couldn’t believe how well that went, and the fact Mr. Jackson invited her on a breakfast meeting tomorrow.

Eight hours later, Kenya pulled into her parking garage and practically bounced into Randall getting on the elevator.

“I take it your training went well?” he greeted.

“I loved it, Randall. Mr. Jackson liked having me there so much he invited me to a breakfast meeting in the morning,” she told him, stepping out onto their floor. Crossing the hall to her door, she pushed her key into the lock. “How was your day?”

“Good. You want to share a pizza tonight?”

“No, I’m going to do some reading for the client in the morning. Get to know a bit about the company.”

“Has pretty boy stopped calling yet or are you still going skiing?”

“Oh I’m definitely going skiing now. He, on the other hand, had to cancel because of some family business.” Pushing her door open, Kenya set her purse on the counter still talking to Randall out in the hall. “I have to get my volunteer hours to qualify for this position. I’ll find somewhere to volunteer.”

“If it was legit, why not call the friend of the court and see if they still need a volunteer for something else?”

“Not a bad idea,” she said, pulling her boots off, tossing them on the mud tray beside the door. Closing her fingers around the scarf, she tugged it then the hat off and set them on the shelf in the guest closet.   

A young man dressed in all black chauffeur gear stepped from the elevator heading toward her apartment. He carried a thermal square bag and a pink striped shopping bag.

She pierced Randall with squinted eyes. “Did you—”

“Not mine,” he said, hands in the air claiming innocence.

“Ms. Kenya Claiborne?” the young man confirmed. 

“Yes, I’m Ms. Claiborne.” She stepped fully into the hallway on stocking feet, from her threshold following the scent filling the space. The man's appearance screamed employee of Mr. Blakemore. 

The young man said reading a card, “A special delivery from Jonathan Blakemore.” Handing her the card, he held the thermal bag extended away from his body. Kenya shot a glance to Randall before accepting the card. The man handed her the pink striped bag and she about fell over. Jonathan sent her something from Victoria’s Secret. It had better not be a teddy. Why would he send her lingerie? That’s entirely too personal.

Randall followed her into her apartment, dropping his briefcase on the floor and stood as she opened the card.