Buch lesen: «Heart's Secret»
Heart’s Secret
Heart’s Secret
Adrianne Byrd
MILLS & BOON
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Dear Reader,
We hope you enjoy Heart’s Secret, the first book in Arabesque’s MATCH MADE series. Over the next three months we will introduce you to The Platinum Society, an exclusive matchmaking service run by Melanie Harte—a third-generation matchmaker—for wealthy, high-profile clients.
Discretion is the better part of romance, or so Melanie Harte believes when she sets up the rich and handsome banker Jaxon Landon with Zora Campbell, a former model who runs a successful company. Melanie has promised Jaxon’s grandmother that she will never reveal that she had a hand in getting Jaxon and Zora together. But can love last when it’s based on a little white lie? Let’s hope so.
In the months to come, look for Heart’s Choice by Celeste O. Norfleet and Heart’s Reward by Donna Hill to find out if The Platinum Society can help lovers find their soul mates and create matches made in heaven.
Evette Porter
Editor
Arabesque
Acknowledgments
To my dear and patient editor, Evette Porter. Your encouragement and support are never ending.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Prologue
Sag Harbor, New York
“We’re a love matchmaking service, not a sex matchmaking service, Mr. McElroy,” Melanie Harte said testily into the phone. “I don’t care if you have the fifty-thousand-dollar fee. I run a respectable and lawful business here. I’m not interested in becoming your pimp.”
Click.
Melanie jerked the phone from her ear. “How do you like that? Bastard hung up on me.” She placed the handset back into the cradle only to have it to immediately start ringing again. Exasperated, she glanced around the office. “Where in the hell is everybody?”
Riiingg.
“Good morning. Thank you for calling the Platinum Society. How can I help you?” Melanie Harte reached across her desk and picked up a gold pen, ready to jot down a message when she recognized the voice on the other end of the phone. “Ah, Mrs. Landon. How are you today?”
Outside Melanie’s home office, a low buzz of chattering voices pulled her attention away from the caller. She looked up, just in time to see her two beautiful nieces, Jessica and Veronica, laughing as they strolled into the office. Five minutes late.
“Morning,” they singsonged with bright smiles.
Melanie tapped her watch, but then her gaze shifted to the tall Starbucks coffees nestled in a cup holder. She started salivating as the coffee’s distinct heady aroma kicked her caffeine addiction into gear. Melanie smiled.
“Here. Before you start drooling.” Veronica chuckled, handing over one of the cups.
Melanie mouthed the words thank you and then accepted the warm cup of coffee. Not until after she’d taken the first sip did she remember that she still had Sylvia Landon chatting away in her right ear. “Uh, yes. Yes. I did receive your letter,” she informed the spirited eighty-two-year-old. “I had planned on calling you later today since I was just about to go into a morning meeting with the staff. Can I call you in—say, one hour?” She took another sip of coffee and sighed at how quickly her foggy brain was clearing up. “Let me just get your number.” She set the coffee down and quickly jotted Sylvia’s number on a pink pad. “Great. I’ll talk to you in an hour, Mrs. Landon.”
“Now, you know better than that,” the older woman reprimanded gently. “Call me Sylvia.”
“Sylvia it is,” Melanie agreed. “Call you back in an hour.” She ended the call, and then hit a button to forward all incoming calls to voice mail.
“Sylvia Landon?” Jessica asked, surprised. “Not the one that’s married to Carlton Landon?” she asked, ruffling through her tote bag.
“The one and only,” Melanie affirmed and took another long satisfying gulp of her coffee. “God, I wish I could pipe this stuff through an IV.”
“Who’s Carlton Landon?” Veronica asked, her gaze bouncing between her cousin and aunt.
Jessica retrieved the latest copy of Forbes magazine and thrust it toward her cousin. On the cover, a picture of a stern-faced Carlton Landon stood with his arms crossed and the cover line The New King of the Mountain.
Veronica whistled. “Now that’s an attractive older man.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Jessica said. “He’s also loaded.”
“Oh?”
“He’s so rich he could buy five Oprahs, three Will Smiths and still have money left over for a couple of Shaquille O’Neals.”
“Well, I ain’t mad at him.” Veronica laughed, still taking in the man’s perfectly groomed silver hair, intense dark eyes and stone-chiseled features. “I ain’t playin’. I’m really feeling this dude.”
“Wait ’til you see his grandson,” Melanie quipped and fanned herself with one hand. “Tall, caramel and handsome should be his first, second and last name.”
Veronica’s brows quirked up. “Caramel?”
“What can I say? Once they go black they don’t go back.”
“Hey!” Jessica held up her hand and gave her aunt a quick high five on that one.
Melanie added, “Sylvia Landon was also one of Grandma Harte’s first love matches.”
Jessica and Veronica’s eyes widened with that information. “Really?” As usual the cousins gobbled up any and all news about their legendary matchmaking grandma.
“That couldn’t have been an easy hook up back in those days,” Veronica concluded.
“Yeah. It’s been what—almost sixty years?” Melanie calculated in her head. “She was the best. Of course, I’m sure Grandma Harte never thought that she would be launching a business.”
“Business? You mean a family industry, don’t you?” Jessica said. “Considering that we’re the third-and fourth-generation millionaire matchmakers.”
Melanie conceded the point. The first Melanie Harte, a beautiful and unconventional woman of her time, played Cupid for the rich and lonely long before it was considered cool…and certainly before anyone realized it was a lucrative endeavor. Plus, she did it all without today’s modern technology and pricey Manhattan PR firms, Internet ads or an over-the-top reality show. Melanie Harte’s success came simply by word of mouth. Not to mention she held an astonishing marriage rate of 97 percent.
The current Melanie Harte was hot on her trail with 95 percent.
“Let’s have the meeting outside,” Melanie said, gathering up her folders and notepad. “It’s a beautiful morning.”
“Sounds good,” her nieces agreed.
The women moved through the immaculate and extravagant office to access the mansion’s wrap-around porch through the French doors. The salty air put an instant smile on Melanie’s face. She loved being out here, drinking in the picture-perfect post card view of pristine waters and sailboats moored in the harbor.
The generations-owned, three-storied mansion sat on two acres high on the harbor’s bluff. It had been photographed and serialized in numerous magazines and often hailed as an architectural and landscaping marvel with eye-popping gables, fifteen-foot ceilings, sunlit rooms, a conservatory, dock and boat slips, manicured lawns and a path leading to the beach and dock.
Quite simply, it was a dream house.
Once they were settled into the patio chairs, Melanie took another glance at her watch. “It’s past nine o’clock. Where’s Vincent?”
“Here I am,” Vincent announced, stepping out on the porch, coffee in hand. “Sorry I’m a little late. My wife was looking particularly sexy this morning so…well, you know how it is.” He hit them with a wink and a cheesy grin.
“TMI.” Veronica rolled her eyes and then shivered as if the thought of her brother having sex gave her the heebie jeebies.
“Amen,” Melanie and Jessica said.
Unfazed, Vincent chuckled his way over to one of the vacant whitewashed wicker chairs and plopped down. “So what have I missed?” Even though his official title was office manager, Vincent dabbled into other areas of the business’s operations. He kept the company’s books in tip-top shape and he was even known to make a couple of love matches himself—probably just to prove that he had the touch, too.
Young Jessica acted as the company’s concierge and Veronica showed a real knack for the business as an expert profiler. Melanie suspected that it was just a matter of time before Jessica started hounding her for the title of vice president—if such a title existed.
“All right. Let’s get started,” Melanie said, taking another sip of her coffee and then setting it aside.
“Melanie wheeled in a big one,” Jessica in formed Vincent.
“Oh?” Vincent’s brows jumped. “Anyone I might know?”
“Actually, yes,” Melanie informed him with a cocky smile. “Jaxon Landon.”
Vincent whistled low. “You’re kidding me.” He glanced toward Veronica and Jessica as if suspecting they were all playing a joke on him. “Midas Touch Jaxon is looking to settle down?”
“Apparently.” Melanie shook her head, hardly believing the news herself. “Unfortunately, Jaxon’s grandparents aren’t too thrilled about his choice.”
On cue her small staff blinked at her in confusion.
Melanie opened the folder on her lap and pulled out a lavender envelope and removed the matching stationery. “Let me read you the letter I received from Jaxon’s grandmother. It should explain everything.” She coughed and cleared her throat.
“Dear Melanie,
“I desperately need your help. My grandson has finally lost his mind. Yesterday, he had the nerve to inform the family that he was getting married. MARRIED! Now I know that you’re thinking that this should be exciting news, but let me tell you, dear, that it certainly is NOT! The young hussy that he wants to give our last name to is, of all things, a stripper! A STRIPPER! Trust me—my mother is rolling around, keening in her grave.
“You have to help me, Melanie. You’re my last hope in setting this boy straight. After all, it was your grandmother who was responsible for helping me find the love of my life and I’ve heard through the grapevine that your company, the Platinum Society, is doing a phenomenal job in continuing your family business of professional matchmaking. That is why I’m turning to you now. I know that you can help me. I don’t care how much it costs as long as the result is a nice, beautiful young lady with the proper upbringing and education. Someone who can calm my grandson’s rebellious side. I won’t lie to you. It won’t be easy. Jaxon likes to do things the hard way or no way at all. Simply put, he’s as stubborn as a mule—just like my husband.
“I sincerely hope that you will accept my solicitation. Again, I must stress that I am a desperate woman.
“P.S. If you do choose to help me, I must insist that you do so with discretion. Jaxon will absolutely hit the ceiling if he finds out that I’m sticking my nose into his business. But I trust that you’ll keep my secret.
“With much love, Sylvia Landon.”
Melanie Harte lifted her large brown eyes and smiled. “So what do you think?”
Jessica blew out a long steady breath. “Wow.”
After that, the continuing silence had Melanie wrinkling her button nose. “Is there a problem?”
Veronica drew a deep breath and brushed small strands of her long black hair from her angular face. Part of being the company’s expert profiler was vetting and screening the varied mix of millionaires who so often solicited their services. Veronica didn’t like third-party matchmaking—hell, none of them did.
“Well?” Melanie pushed.
Veronica glanced over at her brother as if mentally asking him to jump in—and he obliged.
Vincent cleared his throat. “It’s just that the man is already engaged. It doesn’t seem right that his grandmother is asking us to help break up a relationship in order to manipulate him into another one.”
Melanie inhaled a startled breath. “It’s not manipulating.”
His brows rose, while his full lips quirked up in amusement. “Oh? And what do you call it?”
Cornered, Melanie shrugged. “I’d say that we were simply presenting him with a few more options.” She smiled at her own quick thinking.
“You’re reaching, don’t you think?” Veronica chuckled.
Instead of answering, Melanie glanced back down at the letter.
Jessica waded in. “Is it just because of Sylvia Landon’s history with our company? Is that why you want to take this on?”
Melanie responded with sincere honesty. “Yes. Besides, I already talked to Grandma Melanie about this. She thinks it’s a good idea. Not only did she introduce Sylvia to Carlton, but they are also lifelong friends.”
“Humph!” Vincent shook his head. “I still don’t like the idea of us breaking up a relationship.”
“We’re not going to hold a gun to the man’s head.” Melanie laughed. “If he’s truly in love then he wouldn’t be tempted by the woman we select for him.”
“If?” Veronica asked. “You doubt he’s in love, too?”
Melanie chewed on her bottom lip as she mulled the question. The truth of the matter was that she knew and adored Sylvia Landon and the charity work she had done for the city of New York. She also knew her rebellious grandson Jaxon Landon and she, along with probably half the female population of New York, found it hard to believe the philandering playboy was turning over a new leaf for blissful matrimony—with, of all things, a stripper.
“Let’s just say that the jury is still out.” Her gaze darted back around the table where doubt and skepticism were clearly reflected on the faces of her small crew. “C’mon. You know the rules. I won’t do this unless we’re all in agreement.”
“But how are you going to set him up with someone without his knowledge—and keep his grandmother’s secret?”
“I won’t lie, it will be a challenge.” Melanie’s smile widened. “But you all know how I like a challenge—and a good secret.”
Chapter 1
“Zora, when are you gonna stop teasin’ and go out with a brotha?”
Zora Campbell looked up from her script and flashed Todd Brady a smile. Though her supermodel days were behind her, it was still a boost to her ego that men continued to go out of their way to try and impress her. “C’mon, Todd. You know the rules. I don’t date men I work with.”
“All right then. I quit,” he said, shrugging his mountainous shoulders and then spreading his LL Cool J–looking luscious lips into a wide smile. “There. That solves everything.”
“You can’t quit. I need you.” She poked out her bottom lip and fluttered her long lashes up at him.
Todd clutched a hand over his heart and sighed. “Ahhh. If only that was true.”
Zora laughed at his silly antics. “It is true. You’re the best PR man in the business. Without you I would’ve just been another washed-up supermodel being a guest judge on a reality show.”
Todd’s chest expanded with pride as he strolled confidently over to the vacant director’s chair. “Don’t be silly, Zora. You have the face of an angel and a body designed for sin. You will never be washed-up because you’ll never go out of style.”
She laughed and shook her head. “With you around, my ego will never be deflated.” She returned her attention to the thin script.
“Surely you know that thing backward and forward by now. It’s our tenth infomercial.”
“I do. I just get nervous before going on,” she admitted. “I’m always afraid that I’m going to forget something.”
“Relax. The Zora skin-care line is flying off the shelves. As well as the hair care line, perfume and jewelry line. America can’t get enough of you.”
“We both know this industry is fickle. There’s a thin line between can’t get enough and ‘Damn, girl. We’re starting to get sick of you.’ If you don’t believe me then go ask J. Lo and Beyoncé.”
“I would rather we ask Oprah and Tyra.”
“They have their fair share of haters, too,” Zora reminded him.
“Of course they do. You’re nobody until somebody hates you.”
“That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”
“In this biz, it’s the only way to look at it.” The familiar ring of his BlackBerry interrupted the conversation. “Excuse me for a moment.” He held up a finger and then reached inside his tailored Armani jacket and pulled out his phone. “Talk to me.”
Zora returned her attention to the ten-page script and didn’t look up until Todd was gone and the makeup artist was rushing over.
“You’re here early this morning, Ms. Campbell.”
“I’m always early, Beatrice. Force of habit.”
Beatrice beamed. “I didn’t think that you’d remember my name. This is only my second time working with you.”
“I also never forget a name.” Zora’s smile widened. She had impressed the young lady. Even that feat she counted as an accomplishment because she knew that most people expected her to be a certain way. Pretty but not too bright. It was far from the truth.
Zora came from a long line of accomplished academics. Her mother, Billie Campbell, was a Pulitzer prize–winning author and economist, and her father, Elliott, had been a Rhodes scholar. Zora was well on her way to following in their footsteps when she was discovered studying at an off-campus coffee shop. Deciding to sign with the Ford modeling agency had upset the family. Her parents didn’t approve of the lifestyle associated with modeling. Admittedly at that time, Zora had been seduced by all the trappings of fame. Easy money, VIP treatment and the possibility of the world knowing her name.
Upon signing, Zora had experienced a meteoric rise to the top six months after her first magazine spread. She made outrageous money for just smiling and playing dress up. It was fun while it lasted. But like all things, there was some bitter with the sweet.
For all of Zora’s book smarts, she wasn’t and probably could never have been prepared for fame’s dark side. There was the endless supply of drugs and alcohol at photo shoots and wild, over-the-top parties. She had seen other girls become addicts and fall victim to abusive relationships. Some managed to pull themselves together, some died and some were just plain lost.
After ten years in the biz, Zora took her bow and allowed the next generation of beauties to take the stage. She returned to college, collected her business degree and then readied herself for the next chapter in her life. Not until Todd Brady came along did she think that stage would still include her selling her face and name. Turns out there were millions of women who were dying to know her beauty secrets. So she packaged them into a jar, slapped her name on it and set it at a price point that even Walmart-going moms could afford, and the rest was multimillionaire history.
The assistant director popped his head into the room. “We’re taping in ten minutes, Ms. Campbell.”
“Thank you, Henry.” Zora drew a deep breath and steadied her nerves. It didn’t matter how many times she’d done this, she still got a little nervous being in front of a camera.
Beatrice finished working her makeup magic and gave Zora the last five minutes alone before she went out on set. However, thirty seconds in, there was a knock on the open door.
Zora glanced over her left shoulder and then laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Melanie Harte beamed from the doorway. “I want to go on record that you have to be the hardest chick to find in Manhattan.”
“Apparently not too hard.” Zora stood up from her chair and met Melanie halfway across the small room for a tight, heartfelt hug. “How have you been doing, girl?”
“Fine. Fine. Like you. Busy as ever.” Melanie, a fashionista herself, rocked a cute off-white pantsuit and a sharp pixie cut. In the fifteen years Zora had known Melanie, the woman didn’t look like she had aged a day. Zora had the stray thought that maybe Melanie should get into the business of selling her beauty secrets.
“I dropped by hoping I could take you to lunch.”
“Today?” Zora blinked, trying to think what she had on her schedule. Most likely she was loaded down with meetings and appointments. Mainly because that was how it was every day.
“C’mon. Say yes. It’s been months since we’ve gotten together and just girl-talked.”
Henry reappeared in the doorway. “Two minutes, Ms. Campbell.”
“I’ll be right there.” Zora glanced back down at her friend and felt the tug of playing hooky.
“Don’t front. You know you want to,” Melanie pressed.
“All right. All right.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s going to take about two hours to film this twenty-minute infomercial. I can call—”
“How about I wait here on the set?”
Zora blinked. “You want to wait?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Zora’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you up to?”
“Huh? What? Nothing.” She tried to cover with a bright smile, but it only made her look guilty.
“Ms. Campbell, we need you on set.”
“I’m coming.” She moved toward the door, but then stopped. “I’ll go to lunch with you, Mel, but don’t think I don’t know you’re up to something.”
“Who? Me?” Melanie batted her long lashes at her friend.
“Please. You ought to know better. That’s my signature move.” She wagged her finger. “You’re definitely up to something.”
Melanie pressed her lips together in order to remain mum.
Zora laughed. “All right. I’ll go to lunch with you but whatever else you have in mind, my answer is no.” Zora winked at her friend and rushed to the set.
Melanie stayed behind with a huge smile on her face. “We’ll just see about that.”
“You know you’re going to hell for lying to that sweet old man,” Kitty Ervin warned with a wave of her finger. She softened the admonishment with a smile. In the three years she had known Jaxon Landon she couldn’t remember a time she could ever stay mad at the sexy multimillionaire. In fact, it was hard enough just to be in the same room without having the impulse to rip off his clothes and try to screw his brains out.
“Sweet old man?” Jaxon Landon chuckled as he sat down behind his office desk and pulled out his checkbook. “You can’t possibly be talking about my grandfather.”
“Of course I am,” Kitty insisted, leaning a hip against his sturdy mahogany desk. “Despite your efforts to inform your family of my lucrative career choice, every five minutes, your grandmother was nothing but kind to me the entire time I was there.”
“My grandmother, yes. Carlton—that’s a horse of another color.” Jaxon’s rich laughter filled the large office. At six foot four and caramel candy–coated, Jaxon Landon managed the impossible feat of being both pretty-boy fine and alpha-male rugged at the same time. He was always immaculately groomed from head to toe, and the way he walked exuded a certain wild and dangerous grace. And his voice! His voice alone had the power to weaken the strongest sistah’s knees.
“Besides, old money is nothing if not civil. It’s what is being said behind closed doors that really matters. Trust me. My grandmother is likely crying to everyone who’ll listen that her mother is rolling around in her grave—no—rolling around, keening in her grave at the very thought of me marrying a stripper. I love her dearly, but she does tend to be overly dramatic from time to time.” He laughed, shaking his head.
Kitty’s back stiffened. She wasn’t ashamed of her profession. It was the idea that someone thought it eliminated her from landing someone like Jaxon Landon. Just because he was the new “Prince of Wall Street” and was cloaked in money, power and respect didn’t mean that he was out of her league. It just meant that she would have to step up her game.
Jaxon noticed that Kitty’s playful smile had vanished. He lowered his gold pen and rose from his chair. Jaxon kept forgetting people—mainly women—tended to be thrown off by his bluntness. He smiled as he moved around the desk. When he placed his large hands on her small shoulders and started massaging, he could tell by her twinkling eyes that all had been forgiven. “Sorry, Kitty. But I warned you before you accepted the job not to take anything that happened personally. My family can be closed minded and cruel sometimes.”
She laughed, and then spoke before thinking. “It’s not your family you should be apologizing for.”
Jaxon’s hands stilled on her shoulders. “What do you mean?”
Kitty mentally kicked herself. “Nothing.” She gently shrugged off his hands and moved from the desk. “My check?”
Jaxon couldn’t let such a flippant comment go. “Are you saying you thought I was somehow being unreasonable?”
Kitty really didn’t want to get into it. After all, it was none of her business whatever drama went on between him and his family. Chances were that she would never see them again anyway. Plus, she didn’t want to piss off Jaxon to the point that he would stop coming to the Velvet Rope. The women that competed for his attention grew more fierce every time he showed up. As it was, she was already the envy of every dancer in the place. Mainly because she had the advantage of knowing that it took more than big breasts, a slim waist, onion booty and a pretty face to grab and hold his attention.
Jaxon was an unusual client when it came to his visits to the gentlemen’s clubs. He wasn’t there to zero in on certain body parts. No. He generally enjoyed the art. He was particularly fond of the burlesque style as opposed to straight grinding on a pole and booty poppin’ in a sequined string thong.
Smiling, Kitty leaned forward and let her expensive breasts press against his chest. “I would never suggest that you were ever unreasonable,” she assured, blowing her strawberry scented breath up at him. “You have to be the kindest, most generous man I know.” And she meant it. Jaxon Landon was known for many things: a son of a bitch when it came to business, dangerous when it came to those who crossed him and a heartbreaker when it came to women who had the misfortune of falling in love with him.
But the one thing very few people knew about him was that he genuinely had a heart of gold when it came to people he cared about. It was no accident that she was the one to land the ten-thousand-dollar job to pretend to be his fiancée for the weekend. Kitty knew that word had gotten around the club about her grandmother’s increasing medical bills.
Last week she was sobbing into her pillow, worried about where she was going to come up with an extra ten grand for her grandma’s surgery and then the next thing she knew, Jaxon was on her doorstep with a job for the exact amount of money she needed. That day she swore she could see a halo encircling the man’s head.
And now, she had just insulted him.
“Then what are you saying?” Jaxon asked, standing up straighter.
“Oh, you know,” she said, trying to stall.
Jaxon’s smile flatlined while he waited.
Cornered, Kitty licked her lips and tried to swallow the growing lump in her throat. Whenever Jaxon leveled his intense mahogany eyes on someone, it had all the potency of drinking a bottle of truth serum. “I just meant that you seemed more…tense when you’re around your grandparents,” she confessed. “Once or twice, you may have come off a little short.” She shrugged and then tried laughing. “But, hey, I’m the same way around my folks. I don’t understand them and they certainly don’t understand me.”
The office grew as silent as a tomb for two seconds. The longest two seconds of Kitty’s life. It wasn’t that she feared that Jaxon would suddenly erupt and fly off the handle. He would never do that. It wasn’t his style. It was all about his expressions and body language. A flicker of disappointment from him had the same effect as a parent scolding a child and whenever his beautiful eyes narrowed it was like a dagger piercing a heart. And if his rich baritone dipped to a rumbling bass, you knew your ass was in serious trouble.
Then out of the blue, Jaxon’s smile was back. His perfect pearly white teeth and full, luscious lips had a way of making her feel like Cupid’s bow had pierced her heart. It was crazy how easily Jaxon could turn her on. It was like flicking on a light switch. More than anything, she wished that she meant more to him than just a plaything.
“You’re right,” Jaxon admitted, chuckling. “I do tend to get…worked up around Carlton.” He pivoted and returned to his chair to finish writing her check.
“May I ask you something?” she ventured.
“Of course you can.”
“Why do you call your grandfather Carlton?”
“It’s his name, isn’t it?” He finished his signature with a flurry and then pulled the single check from its leather-bound book. “Here you go, m’dear. Ten thousand dollars. Not bad for two days of putting up with my unreasonable, short temper.” There, he got in his jab.
Just then, Jaxon’s secretary, Janine, buzzed in over the intercom. “Mr. Landon, Richard Myers is here to see you.”
What in hell could he possibly want? Jaxon rolled his eyes. “Send him in.”
Kitty reached over and accepted the check. “Thank you.” She folded it several times and then stuffed it in between her huge tits. “It’s been a pleasure. Call me again whenever you’re in need of a fiancée.” She gave him another quick smile and then headed toward the door. “So when will I see you again?”
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