At The Tycoon's Command. Shawna Delacorte
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at the Stevens family compound. A jitter of anxiety confirmed that she was far from comfortable about what she had agreed to. She slowly shook her head. It was too late to back out, especially with the huge debt looming over her.
She finally chose a casual outfit of slacks, a simple pullover and sandals. She tried to eat some breakfast, but a nervous energy insisted on twisting her stomach into knots. She settled for some coffee, orange juice and an English muffin, then drove the short distance to the Stevens family compound and Jared’s office.
Kim pulled up to the curb across the street from the large estate. She sat in her car staring at the massive two-story house. A compendium of thoughts and emotions swirled inside her, leaving a very uneasy sensation in its wake. This was the land that Jared’s grandfather, Victor Stevens, had cheated her grandfather, George Donaldson, out of in a dishonest poker game. It was the single incident that had set her grandfather against Jared’s grandfather, which had started the Stevens–Donaldson feud. An intense wave of trepidation left her unsettled.
Kim had never been on the property, never passed through the upright bars of the iron gate that led to the large house behind the high brick wall. The one-hundred-acre land parcel, which fronted the ocean, had been the single most prized possession of her grandfather and the central core of his financial worth. The loss of the land broke him both financially and in spirit. He had made so many plans for the land, plans he knew would end up bringing him a fortune. Instead, Victor Stevens used the ill-gotten land to elevate the already significant Stevens family fortune to new heights.
All her life she had heard about the land swindle and how Victor Stevens had ruined her grandfather, how his son, Ron Stevens, had carried on the Stevens family tradition of trying to cheat the Donaldsons. She never understood why her father had continued to do business with Ron Stevens. Her mother had been noncommittal about it, but her father refused to let the subject drop. Kim had lived with all the anger and resentment her father carried around with him, all the stress his attitudes brought into the house. She had been relieved to escape the tension when she went to college and finally moved to San Francisco when she procured her teaching job.
She stared through the open gates at the large house. The estate covered a mere two acres of the original one-hundred-acre property but had its own private beach and boat dock. The rest of the land had been sold to developers for several million dollars, money that should have been in her family, not the already wealthy Stevens family. And now she was in the uncomfortable position of working for Jared Stevens, helping him propel Stevens Enterprises toward even greater financial success.
She set her jaw in determination. She needed to honor the terms of the letter of agreement and satisfy her father’s financial obligation to Stevens Enterprises, but there was nothing that said she needed to be pleasant or amiable around Jared. She put her car in gear, drove through the gate and up the long driveway.
The closer she got to the imposing structure, the more her confidence drained away until it had been replaced by rampaging anxiety. By the time she had parked in front of the large double door, she needed to force herself out of the car. She took a steadying breath and climbed the three steps to the porch. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the doorbell.
A moment later the door swung open and a man in his late fifties dressed in bib overalls and an old plaid shirt, greeted her. “You Miz Donaldson?”
“Yes.”
He stood aside and motioned her in. “I’m Fred Kemper, the estate caretaker. Jared’s expectin’ you.” He started down a long hallway indicating that she should follow him.
She glanced through the archway from the entry foyer into a large, tastefully and expensively decorated living room with a cathedral ceiling, a loft that ran around three sides and a large fireplace. Beyond that was a formal dining room with a crystal chandelier. She quickly counted the chairs around the table—twenty of them. She had never seen a dining table of that size in a private home.
Everything spoke of wealth, elegance and prestige. A jolt of resentment swept through her, followed by a wave of anger. This should have belonged to her family. It should have been her grandfather’s and then her father’s. It would have given her mother an easier life, making the few years she’d had much more comfortable, and would probably have allowed her father to live longer than his fifty-five years. But it had not been so. Victor Stevens had taken that option away from her family when he swindled her grandfather out of the land.
“This way.”
Fred’s voice jerked her out of her thoughts. She followed him down the hallway that ran along the inside of the front wall of the house, then through a door into what was obviously a much newer area than the rest of the house. Suddenly she found herself standing in the middle of an office complex.
“Jared will be right along in a minute.”
Kim watched as Fred headed back the way they had come. As soon as he was out of sight she seated herself on a couch, then took a minute to inspect the office. Everything she saw seemed efficient and streamlined, modern, with all the latest equipment enabling Jared to conduct major business from his house.
His house. She clenched her jaw to ward off the anger that once again threatened to override her attempt at maintaining a calm demeanor. She had never given the land or the Stevens family compound much thought until Jared’s attorney had approached her about the promissory note. Until that moment she had considered the entire land swindle history, something that had a serious impact on her father’s life but did not involve her. Now she found herself reluctantly thrown into the middle of the generations-old feud.
And it all felt very personal.
Her gaze made another sweep of the office area. It was the opinion of most of the people in town that Jared was nothing more than a playboy squandering the fortune he had inherited, that he was merely a figurehead providing a family member as president of the corporation. The real work was undoubtedly done by qualified people who were dedicated to their jobs. So why had he gone to all the trouble and expense of constructing an office wing, and what kind of work could he possibly have for her to do?
A frisson of apprehension darted through her body, an uneasy feeling telling her she might have made a bad bargain for herself in accepting his offer to work off the debt. She closed her eyes, and a mental image of Jared immediately popped into her mind. Once again the intensity of his green eyes and his devilishly sexy smile assailed her senses. A little tremor of excitement told her Jared Stevens was the cause of her apprehension, not the Stevens–Donaldson feud, as she wanted to believe.
“I’m glad to see you’re on time.”
Jared’s smooth voice sliced through her wandering thoughts and startled her to attention. Her eyes snapped open. The sight that greeted her did nothing to dampen her aroused senses or stop her errant musings. He stood framed in the doorway of what appeared to be an inner office beyond the reception area. A shortness of breath caught her by surprise. He might not be the handsomest man in the world, but at that moment she couldn’t imagine who would win out over him. With his head cocked to one side, his arms folded across his chest and his hip leaning against the door jamb, he looked like someone she wanted to get to know much better.
She took a steadying breath, then shoved the disturbing thoughts from her mind. True, she hadn’t been dating anyone lately and had no special person in her life, but Jared Stevens was the last man she needed to be having desirous thoughts about. His family was responsible for the ruination of her grandfather and the bitterness that had controlled her father’s life for as long as she could remember. Jared Stevens was the enemy. She could never let herself forget that.
“I try to always be punctual, Mr. Stevens.” She wanted to kick herself. The words sounded far too strained and definitely way too nervous. That was not the impression she wanted to convey, not the way she wanted to start the first day. She squared her shoulders and stood up. She had to project confidence, an image that said he may have coerced her into this ridiculous situation but he was not going to control her.
He leveled a sharp look at her, briefly making eye contact. “Call me Jared. Mr. Stevens was my father.” He chose