Bastard In A Sut (Book Three) (Bastard In A Suit 3) Read online

  Bastard In A Suit (Book Three)

  Ivy Carter

  Favor Ford Publishing

  Contents

  NOTE

  Want To Be In The Know?

  Bastard In A Suit (Book Three) By Ivy Carter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Bonus Content: Boss Me Good (Boss Me, Book One)

  1. Emme

  2. Dane

  3. Emme

  4. Dane

  5. Emme

  6. Emme

  7. Dane

  Boss Me Hard (Boss Me, Book Two)

  1. Emme

  2. Dane

  3. Emme

  4. Emme

  5. Dane

  6. Emme

  7. Dane

  Boss Me Forever (Boss Me, Book Three) by Eva Grayson

  1. Emme

  2. Dane

  3. Emme

  4. Emme

  5. Dane

  6. Dane

  7. Emme

  Copyright © 2017 by Favor Ford Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Sara Eirew

  Created with Vellum

  NOTE

  This edition of Bastard In A Suit (Book Three) contains the following bonus content: Boss Me (The Complete Series, books 1-3) by Eva Grayson.

  Want To Be In The Know?

  If you want to know the moment the next Ivy Carter book is released, and get alerted to more of the hottest deals in romance—sign up now to the Favor Ford Romance newsletter!

  Bastard In A Suit (Book Three) By Ivy Carter

  Chapter 1

  I turn slowly, Duke’s voice raising the hair on the back of my neck. Guilt and fear thread through me. I’m ashamed for hacking into his computer, but more than that, I’m scared. Terrified of what I’ve found, and what it could mean for Jake.

  “I’m sor—”

  Duke cuts me off with an angry bark. “Answer me. What the hell were you doing on my computer?”

  I swallow the half-assed excuses and lies, prepared to cop to everything. But before I can respond, Duke cuts in again, the edge in his tone sharp enough to slice through steel. “Who do you work for?”

  My eyebrows knit. “You, of course.”

  He advances on me with a stormy expression that makes my legs tremble. The urge to break into tears lodges in my throat. Everything is happening so fast, all at once.

  Duke balls his hands into fists at his sides. “What company, Hailey?” He blows out a breath through his nose so hard I expect there to be flames. “Which of my competitors do you work for?” His gaze rakes up and down me from head to toe with total disgust. “I didn’t peg you for a fucking spy.”

  The weight of his accusation takes me aback. “Are you crazy? I’m not a spy.” I almost laugh, but the look on his face stops my hysterical giggles in their tracks.

  Duke glares at me, every ounce of tenderness stripped bare. He stalks to the laptop and jabs at the space button with his index finger, squints at the screen. The tips of his ears go red. Jesus, he’s mad.

  “I can explain…” I stutter.

  Duke whirls on me. “I could sue you for this,” he says, snarling. “You’re lucky I don’t have you arrested.”

  I recoil. “For what?”

  “Corporate espionage,” he spits.

  “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “Do I fucking look amused?”

  No, he looks pissed. Stark raving mad. And why shouldn’t he be? I know Duke is private, protective. I’m an employee—maybe a little bit more—but I’m not his business partner, and I’m sure as hell not his wife. I had absolutely no right to access these files.

  My throat swells up as shame inches up my esophagus. I blow out a deep breath. “I’m not a spy, Duke…”

  He opens his mouth to say something and this time I cut in, staving off another outburst, more accusations. “But I admit, what I did was wrong. Very wrong.”

  He shakes his head slowly. “You betrayed my trust, Hailey.”

  My heart is thumping rapidly as I shake my head with sharp denial. “That wasn’t my intent. Please, believe me. It’s just everything with this stupid MicroTracker…” I try to smile a little. “I guess it’s making me crazy. I just wanted to see what you were doing with it. It’s been like my baby for so long…” I trail off, noticing how insane I sound even to my own ears.

  He nods curtly, which I take as a signal to continue.

  “I found something, though.” My throat clogs up again, and I swallow hard to loosen the ball of fear crawling toward my chest. “Something about Jake. He was…” It takes great effort to speak the words that are clogging up my throat. “He was using the MicroTracker the night of Marissa’s murder.” My voice trembles. “He was tracking her—and the last log in from his account showed her location at Navy Pier…the site of the murder.”

  Duke’s eyes grow wide, his skin pales. “Are you certain?”

  I nod, gesturing toward the computer. He re-logs into the network and quickly accesses the files for the MicroTracker. I take a step back, giving his anger a wide berth. “What am I looking at here?” he says.

  I tentatively move closer to him, breathing in his just-showered scent. Leaning over the laptop, our shoulders touching, I walk him through the series of folders and spreadsheets automatically generated by the tracking program. Duke rests his hand on the small of my back, steadying.

  My pulse picks up speed.

  He curses under his breath, looks away, and then back. “Shit,” he says, louder. He brackets his hands on his hips and huffs. “For fuck’s sake, this is exactly what I was afraid of.”

  I crane my neck to look at him, surprised to see fresh anger on his face. My own frustration begins to build, until it inches up my throat and oozes between my lips in accusation. “You lied to me too.”

  The veins in his neck tighten into thick cords.

  Undeterred, I jab at the screen. “If you’d shut the MicroTracker down and taken it off line like you said you were going to, Jake wouldn’t have been able to use the device to track Marissa’s movements. She could still be alive right now.”

  I expect Duke to fire back at me—my tone is accusatory and harsh, and what I’m saying isn’t the whole story. The MicroTracker may have provided opportunity, but it wasn’t the means—Marissa’s killer would have eventually found her, with or without the device.

  Duke’s eyes cloud with a somber seriousness that I haven’t seen before. He rubs his hand over his chin. “We have to call the police, Hailey. This is evidence of a crime.”

  I bite my lower lip, and nod. Giving the authorities this information will further mark Jake as a prime suspect, but ignoring it would be much worse. My stomach twists into knots. I fish out my cell and start to dial 9-1-1. Duke grabs the phone.

  “Kingston Industries owns the software,” he says. “I should make the call. I’ll just grab my phone.”

  I stare at the computer monitor waiting for him to return, willing the damning information to disappear. My body feels numb, hollow. Stretched thin. I go back in time to when I first met Jake—a college freshman with b
ig dreams and a giant crush on a pretty girl he met in the cafeteria, and a plan to make her like him. Did he force Marissa into loving him? No. It doesn’t make sense.

  Jake is the kind of guy that grins a lot, jokes too much, can be a little bitter and off-putting at times, and sometimes…gets a little mad.

  But shit. Who doesn’t?

  I kick the base of the sofa in frustration and tuck my hands behind my head, stare up at the ceiling. Could I have missed this? Somehow not seen a side of Jake that could lead him to murder? Am I that naïve? I begin to pace back and forth in front of the window. Far in the distance, the Ferris Wheel at Navy Pier turns as though to say, Life goes on. But not for Marissa.

  A strangled cry trickles from my throat, the sound so foreign, I barely recognize it as my own. What else have I been blind to?

  Duke emerges from the bedroom with his cell pressed to his ear. “Yes, officer.” A pause. “Certainly. Meet me at my office in thirty minutes and I will deliver all of the files for the device.” Another pause as Duke’s eyes flicker to me. “Yes, sir, the software belongs to Kingston Industries.”

  My stomach clenches.

  If it turns out the MicroTracker played a vital role in Marissa’s murder, Jake’s actions will not only turn the attention on himself, but likely everyone involved in the product—Forrest, Duke…me.

  As though reading my mind, Duke drapes his arm around my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. I lap it up, grateful whatever anger Duke harbors for me hacking into his computer is shelved—for now. He disconnects the call, sets his phone on the table, and gathers me into his arms.

  I melt in his warm, soothing embrace.

  “Of course you’re not a spy,” Duke whispers.

  My eyes fill with tears. “I guess we both could have handled that better.”

  His face buries deeper into my shoulder and he sighs. Not quite an admittance of guilt, but I’ll take it. Because while Duke’s reaction was explosive, it was also justified—breaking into his computer was a profound display of distrust, regardless of the information it revealed.

  He kisses my forehead. “I need to get going,” he says. “The police are coming to the office to pick up the software, and I’m afraid I have some important meetings this morning that can’t be put off.” He traces my jaw line with his thumb, and cups my chin between his fingers. “What would you like to do?”

  Energy buzzes through me. I know I told Duke I’d never set foot in his office again, but the thought of being away from him needles at my heart. I crave closeness, even if it means simply being in the same building.

  “I could maybe put in a few hours at the office,” I say, shyly.

  He raises an eyebrow.

  “I’ll call Forrest and have him meet me there instead of the police station,” I say. “I don’t think I can handle seeing Jake…not right now. And Forrest deserves to know what we found.”

  “Good point.” He kisses the tip of my nose and my belly flutters. “No sense in taking two vehicles then.” He peers over my shoulder at the Chicago horizon and winks. “It’s a beautiful day. How about we take the Lamborghini?”

  Chapter 2

  An entire floor of the parking garage at Duke’s apartment complex is devoted to his extensive collection of fast cars. Among the Porsches and Ferraris, I spot a couple of fancy sportsters that are either foreign or bizarre concept models.

  My eyes land on the cherry red Lamborghini taking up two stalls. It commands the space, powerful, just like Duke. My stomach flips end over end. I’m mesmerized by its sleek lines, the slope of the windows that ride low on the hood.

  Duke pushes a button on his keychain and the winged doors rise in a steady whoosh that makes my knees knock together. My first vehicle was an old Ford Escort that barely hit sixty miles per hour without rattling. I traded that for a Smart Car that drove slow enough for people to point and laugh. I sold that to secure the damage deposit on my first apartment and have been public transporting it ever since.

  “Buckle in,” Duke says.

  I settle into the seat and the doors lower, cocooning us in. A computerized dashboard glows with soft blue lights. I run my hands along the sides of the scooped seat, curling my fingers into the leather. Duke turns the ignition key and the car thrums to life.

  My thighs vibrate under its awesome power.

  “Ready?”

  I nod with too much enthusiasm, sure my eyes are wide and round.

  Duke puts the car in gear and its throaty growl pulses through me as it crawls out of the parking garage and onto the busy street. People stop to gawk at the Lamborghini and I shrink deeper into the seat, away from their incredulous stares.

  “The windows are tinted,” Duke drawls. “No need to be embarrassed to be seen with me.”

  I gulp aloud. “That’s not at all what I thought. I didn’t think you’d want to be seen with me…”

  He slowly shakes his head. “You underestimate yourself, Hailey.”

  I latch on to the words, cling to them for dear life as he steps on the gas and the car lurches forward with a guttural roar. My adrenaline jacks.

  I study Duke’s profile in my peripheral, the easy set of his jaw. Sunglasses ride high on the bridge of his nose, dark like his hair. A strand curls on his forehead. I tuck my hands under my butt to stop from reaching over and threading it through my fingertips. The gesture is far too intimate.

  We turn onto Michigan Avenue and Duke idles down, merging into the flow of traffic. I’ve never driven along this busy street, and it amazes me how as a passenger in Duke’s sports car, I’m more aware of my surroundings. Taking it all in—the stores, the characters, the street corners where people wait for the light to change—instead of burying my head in a textbook or playing a new game on my phone. Everything looks different, more alive.

  “First time in a Lambo?”

  I blink, then laugh. “That obvious, huh?”

  He grins. “You appear to be lock-jawed with awe.”

  He’s not far from the truth. Riding shotgun with Duke Kingston is as far-fetched as joining a space mission to the moon. My observations are keener, my senses on high alert. My eyes flit to my skirt—the same one I wore yesterday—and even my sub-par state of dress doesn’t unnerve me. In this moment, I am invincible.

  My fingers inch toward the gearshift, close enough that the energy between us crackles.

  His pinky thrums against the shaft as if playing the accompanying drums to the rhythm of my pulse. At a stop light, he leans forward and turns up the volume on the stereo. A familiar pop song pulses through the speakers and I expect him to switch the station—it’s so opposite to the music in his penthouse. Instead, he starts to sing.

  He’s badly out of tune, and he skips over half the words, but it doesn’t matter because my heart races so fast it drowns out everything but his voice.

  “Come on doll, I know you know the words,” he says, bobbing his head in time with the beat.

  I shake my head. “I couldn’t…”

  He cuts me off with a high-pitched wail I think is supposed to mimic the vocalist’s. He drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. “Sing it, sister.”

  I start to sing, soft at first, and then louder as the moment wraps around us, allowing myself to cast aside reservations and doubts. I lean my head toward him as we belt out the chorus in unison. It’s bad, so bad, but a smile is stretched so wide across my face it hurts my cheeks. When I risk a glance at Duke, I see he’s grinning too.

  At the stoplight, he threads his fingers through mine.

  My knees go weak and I’m grateful to be seated. His pinky lightly sweeps across my bare knee, causing me to gasp.

  “Ticklish?”

  I feel my cheeks go warm. “A little.”

  He lets go of my hand and grips just above my knee, giving it a light squeeze. My reflexes jerk and he laughs. “More than a little,” he says.

  Too soon, the light changes, and we continue along Michigan Ave. In the distance, the glass
front of the Kingston Industries building shimmers under the bright sun. Surrounding towers reflect in the mirrored windows, looking small and insignificant by contrast. Its impressive façade is a heady reminder that this moment with Duke is almost over. A cloud of disappointment casts shade over my happiness.

  Duke clears his throat. “To access the top floor from the parking garage, you’ll need a special access code,” he says. “I’ll punch in the code and then meet you upstairs if you’d rather no one know we arrived together.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I say quickly, and then, after a second of thought, add, “Unless that’s what you want.”

  “It’s not at all what I want.”

  My relief comes out in a slow breath. It’s going to be okay. I repeat the mantra over and over until I allow myself to believe that everything will work out. Duke, the MicroTracker, this business with Jake. “Good,” I say.

  At the entrance to the garage, Duke enters a series of numbers into the security box, and the door slides open. I anticipate an empty garage, but it’s filled with dozens of normal vehicles.

  “Your employees park here?”

  Duke eases the car around a corner. “Of course.”

  I don’t know why it surprises me. “With your Lamborghini?”

  He chuckles. “Are you concerned someone will steal it?”

  “Mar it, take it, stare at it too long.”

  “I trust my employees implicitly, Hailey,” he says, and there’s no mistaking the underlying meaning behind his words. I’m reminded of this morning’s actions and lingering shame pricks at the back of my neck.

  Duke parks the car in a private stall marked clearly with his name, and raises the doors. It’s like stepping out of a space ship. My heels tap against the asphalt, bringing me fully out of the moment and into reality. I square my shoulders, and prepare myself for walking into the building.