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  Dreamspinner Press

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  Suite 2, PMB# 279

  Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

  USA

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Dangerous Seduction

  © 2014 A N Bond.

  Cover Art

  © 2014 Maria Fanning.

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.

  ISBN: 978-1-20386-656-4

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-62798-657-1

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  February 2014

  Chapter 1

  A GROUP of fifty-two former employees of McNeil Industries today announced their intention to pursue a civil lawsuit against their former CEO and President, Jack McNeil. A government case against Mr. McNeil for insider trading and fraud was recently dropped due to lack of evidence. However, the former employees are undeterred and are determined to pursue the controversial Texas businessman into the civil courts. Joseph Van Aardt, the attorney responsible for winning the widely publicized Herrera vs. City of Rochester case on behalf of a city sanitation worker, is representing the McNeil Industries Group. He made the following statement on their behalf….

  “So that’s him, huh?”

  Ryan looks up to see his fiancée, Daisy, leaning over him and peering down at the article.

  “Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to read over people’s shoulders?” he says.

  She makes a face at him and looks back down at the paper. “He’s hot. You didn’t mention he was hot.”

  His eyes track back to the photograph of his soon-to-be-boss, Joseph Van Aardt. He’s standing on the steps of the New York City courthouse, flanked by several former employees of McNeil Industries.

  “You think he’s hot?”

  “Well duh, Ryan. I might be taken, but I’m not blind. And I’m still allowed to look! That’s not, like, suddenly illegal now you finally put this on my finger.” She dangles her hand in front of his face, fluttering her fingers so the diamond engagement ring catches the beams of sunlight flooding through the kitchen window. “Ooh, look at it, baby,” she sighs. “I’m never going to get tired of looking at it.”

  He chuckles and grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together. He doesn’t get the diamond thing, but it’s what she wanted, and even with the crazy price tag, it’s a poor exchange for everything the two of them have been through over the years. She’s watched so many of her friends get married or start a family, while she’s had to put all those dreams on hold so he can chase down his dream of a big law career. He knows he can never pay her back for all that, but at least he can put a giant sparkler on her finger.

  She tugs her hand from his and heaves a sigh. “I got to go. Call me when you’re done with your meeting with Elaine. Tell me how it goes.” He nods, watching her snatch up her purse and coat. “See you later, baby!”

  He turns his attention back to the newspaper after she’s gone. Joseph Van Aardt’s face looks up at him from the smeared print; he’s holding his hands out to emphasize his point, eyebrows drawn together in righteous indignation. The plaintiffs gaze up at him, their eyes shining in almost supplication. Ryan swallows his mouthful of toast and thinks back to the strange meeting five days ago.

  THE INTERVIEW process had been rigorous and strange. He’d met with two of Van Aardt’s senior associates, and then a Harvard Law professor had called him on the phone and grilled him for forty-five minutes straight on random points of litigation law.

  “Joseph always gets me to talk to the good ones. He trusts my judgment,” the professor told Ryan after the grilling had finished. “You should be proud, son. I’m not going to keep you guessing. Joseph’s instinct was right about you. I’m going to recommend that he meet you in person.”

  Naturally, Ryan had been overjoyed, but his happiness was short-lived. Van Aardt’s assistant called the next day with the date and time for him to meet with the man himself—his brother’s wedding day.

  He’d been forced to turn down the interview. He and Duane had never really gotten along and they weren’t that close, but it didn’t matter. His family would never forgive him if he skipped out on such an important family occasion to attend a job interview. So he explained to Van Aardt’s incredulous assistant that he would be in Houston for a family wedding on that date and that any other day—seriously, any other day at all—would be fine, but just… not that day.

  He attended the wedding and tried to be enthusiastic and happy for his brother on his big day, but he knew he was poor company. He couldn’t stop thinking about what a huge opportunity he was missing out on—the chance to meet Joseph Van Aardt and maybe to even work for him. His friend Tim had been trying to get an interview with Van Aardt for months; he’d seethed with jealousy when Ryan told him that he’d been shortlisted for a position. But the joke was on him now.

  He’d sighed irritably as he stood by the bar watching Daisy dance with the bride and his mom, aware the entire time of Duke Grayson, Duane’s high-school best friend and one of his fellow groomsmen, staring at him from the other side of the room. He dropped his beer onto the bar and went to the men’s room. When he came out of the bathroom, Duke was waiting for him. He grabbed at his sleeve and pulled him into a deserted corner.

  “You grew up real fine, little Ryan, real fine,” Duke slurred, leaning in to paw at Ryan’s collar and brush grasping, needy fingers across his dress shirt. “You remember? Remember the things we used to do?” His voice poured into Ryan’s ear, his sour drunken breath wafting over Ryan’s face. Duke’s wife and three kids were out on the dance floor, but Duke was here, touching him and forcing him to remember things he never wanted to think of again, things that made his stomach cramp with self-loathing and dread.

  Ryan’s phone went off in his pocket and he shoved Duke away roughly, hissing, “Go back to your wife!” He lifted the handset to his ear and was utterly sucker-punched when the voice on the other end of the line answered with “Ryan Paullson? This is Joseph Van Aardt.”

  He pushed through the nearest exit into the blissfully quiet parking lot, his heart hammering in his chest and the hand that gripped the phone gone clammy with sweat.

  “Mr. Van Aardt?”

  “Yes, that’s me,” the voice answered.

  He bit his lip, swallowing hard. “Um, hi. I—look, I just want to say that I’m so sorry about today—about not being able to make our meeting. It was just, with my brother’s wedding—”

  “Are you in Texas?” Van Aardt interrupted.

  “Yes, I’m in Houston.”

  “If you can get to the Ritz-Carlton in Dallas before midnight, then
there’s a drink waiting for you at the bar.”

  He hesitated, not quite taking in the words.

  “Ryan, are you there?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am. And yes, I’ll be there. Sir.”

  There was a pause, a flurry of noise from the other end, Van Aardt covering the phone momentarily to speak to someone before he spoke again. “Glad to hear it, I’ve been wanting to meet with you.”

  “I, yeah, likewise. It’d be a great honor to meet with you too.” He bit his lip as the words came out, a great honor. Christ, he was such a dork.

  “Okay, then. And, Ryan?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you get pulled over don’t call me in to defend you. I don’t approve of drunk-driving.”

  Ryan mentally totted up how much he’d had to drink since that morning—champagne, white wine, and a couple of beers after the dancing started. It wasn’t that much and he didn’t feel drunk. In fact, the run-in with Duke Grayson on top of this conversation was fast making him stone-cold sober. He ended the call and went to find Daisy.

  It was two minutes to midnight when he pulled up outside the Ritz Carlton. He threw the car keys for his rental to the parking attendant and jogged into the hotel. He immediately spotted Joseph Van Aardt sitting at the bar, immaculately dressed in a suit and tie, and talking to the lone bartender. The bar was otherwise empty, save for one couple sitting in a corner booth, engrossed in conversation. Ryan smoothed down his shirt and attempted to smooth down his hair, willing his stupid heart to calm down and the snakes to quit slithering around in his belly.

  The sound of Ryan’s shoes on the marble floor made Van Aardt turn around in his seat and look at him. His gaze was inscrutable and unapologetic as it ran over Ryan, and Ryan froze, waiting for his cue to approach.

  In the flesh, Van Aardt was younger than Ryan had anticipated. Sure, he knew the guy was only thirty-four, just two years older than he was, but considering all of Van Aardt’s achievements, he was still expecting someone much older. He knew the bare facts about the man: born in Dallas, studied at Harvard, graduated top of his class at Harvard Law School. He joined Miller and Sachs straight out of law school and rose in the ranks to become the youngest junior partner in the firm’s history. He then surprised everybody by joining the much less prestigious firm of Chase Mackey at the age of thirty. It proved to be a good move. After only three years, he made senior partner and got his name in the lobby, and Chase Mackey (now Chase Mackey Van Aardt) had grown from a middling firm dealing with middling cases to one of the top, if not the top, law firms in New York City.

  He took a deep breath, set his shoulders, and approached the bar. “Hello, I’m Ryan Paullson. It’s really good to finally meet you, Mr. Van Aardt.”

  Van Aardt raised his eyebrows. “Whose idea were the lilac ruffles?”

  Ryan blushed, bowing his head to look down at the ridiculous lilac-ruffled shirt that all Duane’s groomsmen had been forced to wear. “That would be my sister-in-law. Her taste is kinda unique.”

  “So I see.” Van Aardt smirked and said, “It suits you.”

  “Thank you,” he said, ducking his head to hide the flush of color to his cheeks.

  Van Aardt tapped a spot on the polished wood bar beside him. “Take a seat. Have a drink.” He pushed a hi-ball glass of what looked like whisky or bourbon along the bar toward him. “You look like you need it.”

  “Thanks.” Ryan pulled up one of the tall barstools, slid onto it, and picked up the glass gratefully. Whatever the drink was, it was nice—a smooth, honeyed slide down his throat.

  “What did your family say when you took off?” Van Aardt asked after Ryan had gotten comfortable.

  “I didn’t tell them exactly,” he admitted. “But they know how much this job means to me. They know how disappointed I was about not being able to meet with you. They’ll probably come round. I mean, I was there for the important parts—for the I do’s and the vows and the pictures.”

  Van Aardt took a long sip of his drink, throat rippling as he swallowed. His mouth was plush, pink, and inviting, and Ryan couldn’t help watching as his tongue came out to lick his lips, gathering up any stray drops. Ryan swallowed and forced himself to look down at his own glass where it sat on the square black napkin.

  “I grew up in Dallas,” Van Aardt said, breaking the silence. His tone was conversational, musing. “But I guess you knew that already.”

  Ryan nodded, feeling wary, unsure whether it was the kind of thing he should be admitting. “Yeah, I did read that somewhere.”

  “It’s alright. You did your research, as you should. Interviews are a two-way process, Ryan. This is your chance to figure out if I’m the sort of boss you’d want to work for.”

  “You are,” Ryan said quickly, “I mean—you’re the best. I want to work for the best, Mr. Van Aardt. I’m serious about this job. I skipped out of my brother’s wedding because I’m serious about this job.”

  Slowly Van Aardt smiled, his mouth stretching, tugging upward, the movement completely transforming his face. He raised his glass, took a sip, and uncurled one of his fingers from around the glass to point it at Ryan.

  “When Estelle told me you couldn’t make the interview, I wanted to meet you. People don’t say no to me very often, particularly when they want to work for me.” He paused, replaced the glass on the bar, and ran his finger around the brim in a thoughtful sort of way. “People always used to say to me that you can take the boy out of Texas, but you can’t take Texas out of the boy. Do you think that’s true?”

  Ryan blinked, unnerved for a second by the abrupt change of subject. “I never gave it much thought. I mean, you are what you are. And where you come from—that’s part of what you are, no matter how much you might try to change or hide it.”

  “Is that what you’ve found to be true?”

  “I guess. Personally, I don’t hide where I come from. Why should I? I’m not ashamed of it. My family raised me right. I’m proud of that.”

  Van Aardt nodded thoughtfully and turned his head, fixing Ryan with a look. “In my experience, everybody’s got something to hide. Sometimes it’s something as unimportant as the town you grew up in, and sometimes it’s something else. So, if you’re not hiding that, then what are you hiding, Ryan?”

  Ryan stared back at him, genuinely confused. “I don’t know.”

  They held each other’s gazes for what felt like a long time, then Van Aardt exhaled, his mouth twitching a little at the corner. “Relax,” he said. “Most people don’t know how to answer that question.” He drained his glass, set it back down onto the bar, and got off his stool. “You should go; it’s a long trip back to Houston.”

  Ryan blinked in confusion. “So, is this it? Are we finished?”

  “We are.”

  “And the job—”

  “You’re hired.” Van Aardt held out his hand. Wide-eyed, Ryan slid clumsily off his stool, reaching to take it. The handshake was firm, his grip hard and dry. “Welcome to the team, Ryan.”

  RYAN LEAVES the apartment fifteen minutes after Daisy, deliberately not rushing to work as he usually does. He’s not looking forward to today. As much as he’s excited about joining a new firm, especially one as prestigious as Chase Mackey Van Aardt, he doesn’t like letting people down, and resigning is definitely letting people down.

  Then again, he thinks, as he crowds his way onto the Manhattan-bound subway train, he’s stifled in his current job. The cases are all the same; there’s no excitement there, no real drive or desire for change. His current firm is well-respected and solid, but they’re not the kind of firm that takes on risky cases. He wants to work on the kind of cases that Van Aardt gets, the ones that make the news.

  Elaine sits through his resignation speech with an impassive expression on her face. Once he’s done, trailing off and offering her his best (and phoniest) apologetic smile, she presses her lips together and says, “So you’re leaving us?”

  “Yes. I’m giving my two weeks’ notice today,” he
answers. “I’m going to send the e-mail to HR later, but I just wanted to tell you personally, and to, well, thank you for everything you’ve done for me over the past two years. I’m really going to miss working here.”

  It’s a rehearsed speech and it’s not entirely true, but it’s important to be gracious and to not create any bad feelings. Reputations can be destroyed by malicious gossip much faster than they can be built up again.

  “Well, we’re going to be sad to lose you, Ryan. I hope you know that. You’ve done some good work here,” she says.

  “It’s been a fantastic opportunity,” he says, words slipping fluidly off his tongue. “Thank you so much for taking me on in the first place.”

  She nods again, the corners of her mouth crinkling upward into a thin smile. “So tell me, who’s managed to lure you away from us?”

  “I’m joining Chase Mackey Van Aardt,” he says.

  She doesn’t say anything at first, just sits back in her chair and looks at him, her eyes boring into him with her unnerving stare. He licks his lips, tries to think of something—anything—to break the awkward silence.

  Finally, she seems to take pity on him. “You’re going to be working with Joseph Van Aardt.”

  It’s not a question but he answers her anyway. “Yes.”

  “I guess this means there’s a snowball’s chance of me making an offer that will keep you here. I can’t imagine us ever being able to match whatever he’s offering?”

  “It’s extremely generous,” he admits.

  “I bet it is.”

  “But that’s not why I’m joining them,” he adds. “It’s not about the money. It’s—”

  “It’s Joseph Van Aardt,” she finishes. “It’s okay, Ryan, I can understand. You’re an ambitious boy, you would be a fool to turn down such an opportunity.”

  Her tone is matter-of-fact, but it’s not hiding the glimmer of contempt behind the words. He finds himself bristling and wanting to defend the decision. They’re both lawyers and they both know that any lawyer without ambition or drive shouldn’t even be in the profession. But he does the wise thing and keeps quiet, waiting for her to speak again.