Ruthless In A Suit (Ruthless In A Suit, Book One) Read online

  Ruthless In A Suit (Book One)

  Ivy Carter

  Favor Ford Publishing

  Contents

  Want To Be In The Know?

  Ruthless in A Suit by Ivy Carter

  Book One

  Copyright © 2016 by Favor Ford Publishing

  All rights reserved.

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  Ruthless in A Suit by Ivy Carter

  Book One

  LEVI

  I’ll marry her.

  It’s the first thing I think when my father’s attorney tells me some random woman is set to inherit what should rightfully be mine.

  I’ll marry this girl… “What did you say her name was? Candace?” I ask.

  Al Whitestone, my father’s attorney, grimaces. “Cadence. Cadence Fallon.”

  I shake my head. “Al, come on. There’s got to be something you can do about this. Maxon Law is a multi-billion dollar company, and it can’t be handed over to some random person. I’m the only one fit to take over if my father’s unable to continue.”

  “It’s not my decision, Levi.” This is about the tenth time he’s said that line.

  I glare at him. “We have to make this right.”

  “I’m not even supposed to be telling you this, frankly. I could be disbarred,” the older attorney whines, sounding nervous.

  Tough shit.

  He should have thought of that before he told me that some random named Cadence Fallon is set to get my company, my money, everything.

  I wave him off. “It’s just me and you, Al. I’m not ratting you out to the state bar, for God’s sake.”

  “Your father isn’t even dead yet—“

  “Technically, no,” I agree. “But he’s as good as dead. No brain function—a coma.”

  “And based on your father’s living will, he wants four weeks for the medical team to try and save his life. If he becomes conscious within that time, then all of this is moot.”

  “That’s true,” I say, nodding. “But I already met with his medical team. They were not hopeful. So in four weeks, when they pull the plug, we are going to be up shit’s creek unless we figure out a new plan.”

  “There is no new plan, Levi. These were your father’s wishes.”

  But I’m not even paying attention to him anymore. Instead, I’m googling this Cadence Fallon chick.

  Within fifteen seconds I’m scrolling her Facebook, Instagram, and LinkedIn page.

  Early twenties, just graduated from the Rhode Island School of Design with a BFA in studio art. Pretty, if her selfies are to be believed, with a long mane of wavy blond hair, porcelain skin, and pale blue eyes.

  Something about those eyes sends a shock up the length of my spine. It’s like she’s in the room, looking at me. Those eyes are longing, waiting, pining for something or someone.

  And those fucking voluptuous lips--

  I feel my dick start to stiffen and I try to will it away. Now is not the time to be getting horny—now is the time to focus.

  According to her LinkedIn page, she’s looking for a job, her only real work experience being four years in her college admissions office filing and answering phones to go along with her art degree.

  Interesting. If you’re into that arts and crafts shit—which I’m most definitely not.

  She seems like the kind of girl with a mountain of school loans and no direction. No ambition.

  This is who my father determined deserves his billions? This is the girl who is going to inherit the Commonwealth Avenue brownstone I grew up in?

  The more I think about it, the more incensed I become. All those years doing everything my father wanted, working my ass off to impress him, all so he could give it all away to some flighty artist with no direction?

  No, I can’t let that happen. I have to stop it. I have to take from her the way she took from me, and in the process thwart my father’s final wishes. I deserve it. I earned it. It’s mine.

  “Who is she really?” I demand to know. “Why her?”

  Al frowns more deeply now. “Cadence is the daughter of your father’s first love,” he replies, his voice quiet. “I never knew the woman in question, and he never talked much about her, but your father was adamant his estate go to Beatrice Fallon. And when she died, he directed it all to her daughter. Cadence.”

  I blink at him several times and my stomach gives a sick lurch. “Are you telling me that I have a half-sister?”

  My perfect plan starts to go up in smoke.

  “No,” Al says firmly. “You and Cadence Fallon are completely unrelated. Your father was clear on that.”

  Suddenly the day seems like too much, too overwhelming. I can feel my face getting hot, and pricks of sweat are forming across my forehead.

  This twenty-two year old girl is getting my business handed to her.

  I spent my entire life dealing with my father, surviving him, proving myself to the bastard—all in hopes that one day it would all be worth it.

  Now that day has finally come—and everything crumbles into dust.

  It was all just a mirage, a cosmic joke played on me by the man I hate more than anyone else on this earth.

  And this stranger, Cadence, goes walking away with the life that should have been mine, leaving me only the family photos and my father’s suits to show for my troubles.

  “Thank you, Al,” I say, getting up to usher him out the door. “That will be all.”

  I’m alone in my office for less than two minutes before I’ve instructed my secretary set up a meeting with Cadence Fallon.

  I’ll have to bring her in to meet her. And more than that, I’ll have to get her to fall for me.

  And I don’t have any time to spare.

  I only have four weeks to marry this girl and take back what’s mine.

  CADENCE

  I’m standing in front of an impossibly tall building, trying to psych myself up to go in.

  Maxon Law is the largest private law firm in the city of Boston, with outposts in New York, Los Angeles, and London.

  They specialize in corporate mergers, though from what I’ve read, they sound more like corporate takeovers. Maxon Law represents investment banks, advertising firms, import/export businesses, auction houses, and some even say they’re involved in shady international work with Saudi sheiks and the like.

  I have no idea what I did to get this lucky. After all, someone in the HR department apparently happened upon my LinkedIn account and saw I was looking for an admin position.

  And they called me!

  It’s like I won the lottery for the newly graduated.

  As I watch men and women in crisp, expensive suits clutching buttery leather briefcases streaming in and out of the building, I can’t help but wonder.

  What in the hell do they want with me?

  I imagine a place like Maxon Law has no problem finding employees. I have a feeling they turn down far more than they interview. And yet here I am, heading in after getting a call out of the clear blue sky.

  But I can’t allow myself to doubt this stroke of good fortune.

  I have tens of thousands of dollars of student loans about to come due, I’m back living in my childho
od bedroom in our dusty apartment in Southie, and I have no job.

  I need this.

  I smooth out my skirt, a black vintage dirndl skirt that I found in a thrift shop in Providence my senior year.

  I paired it with a white, short-sleeved button up, a pair of black tights, and my black paddock boots. The result is a little more hostess at Oktoberfest than I was hoping for, but the truth is I’ve never had very many fancy clothes, and nothing that screams corporate.

  I spent most of college in paint-splattered jeans or peasant skirts, my mermaid hair secured to the top of my head with a stray paintbrush.

  No time to worry about wardrobe now, though. I glance at my phone and see that I have less than ten minutes until my interview.

  I make it through security and a maze of escalators and elevators and arrive at the human resources department of Maxon Law wearing a VISITOR sticker with just two minutes to spare. The woman sitting at the reception desk, who is wearing a charcoal gray skirt suit, her shiny brown hair pulled up in an elegant French twist, eyes me from her seat.

  “Hi, I’m Cadence Fallon. I have a ten o’clock interview with Ms. Ross?” I feel myself cringing at the way my voice rises at the end.

  Sound sure, Cady, I tell myself. No one likes indecision.

  The girl’s eyes flick to her computer screen, then back to me. “You’ll actually be meeting with Mr. Maxon,” she says, then rises from her seat. “Follow me.”

  Mr. Maxon? As in, the guy in charge of Maxon Law?

  Holy shit.

  I’ve done a little research, figuring it might be good to have some facts on the big boss, but I never imagined I’d be meeting with him. Suddenly my jitters became straight-up nerves.

  In his photo on the website, Walden Maxon looked terrifying, his silver hair cut and styled into exacting angles, his mouth set in a grim line. Everything about him screamed I hate you, you disappoint me.

  Now my wardrobe didn’t seem so much a hurdle as a roadblock. No way was that man going to take me seriously while wearing this.

  I spend the elevator ride trying to control my breathing and my heart rate with little success. The doors slide open to reveal an office bullpen bustling with activity. People in suits are bustling about, talking on cell phones in hushed, clipped tones, their arms weighted down with files and legal pads. I follow the receptionist through the tangle of activity to a corner office in the back, the blinds drawn over the glass walls. She knocks on the door.

  “Come in,” I hear a firm voice reply, and she opens it.

  “Mr. Maxon, Ms. Fallon is here for your meeting,” she says, stepping aside so I can enter in front of her. And that’s when I see that the Mr. Maxon I’m meeting with isn’t the silver-haired, grim-faced patriarch of Maxon Law.

  This must be his son, and holy crap, he’s hot.

  True movie star good looks are rare to come across in person, and this guy has them.

  As I enter, he rises from his desk, his tall, muscular frame unfolding with panther-like movements, the expensive fabric of his well-tailored black suit hugging every inch of him. His skin is tan and his dark, curly hair is just barely contained in a business-like style. His jaw is razor-sharp, and his green eyes sparkle beneath his dark, heavy brows. Everything about him screams I always get what I want.

  He sticks his hand out across the desk.

  “Ms. Fallon,” he says, his voice gravelly, yet smooth. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Levi Maxon.”

  Dear god, I hope I didn’t blush when he said pleasure.

  “Uh, yes, it’s, uh, nice to meet you?” My heart is pounding, my voice catches, and I swear to god my knees are knocking together. Suddenly I wish it was the elder Maxon and his elegant scowl greeting me for this interview. I prepared myself for arch and judgmental.

  I’m not ready for cool and sexy.

  Mr. Maxon gestures to a leather chair sitting opposite his desk. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Water?”

  “No, thank you,” I say, though as soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize water could really help. My tongue suddenly feels like it’s covered in a fine layer of cotton, but I feel like too much of an idiot at this point to contradict myself. I give a hard swallow and will saliva into my mouth and coherent thoughts into my brain.

  Levi Maxon takes his seat behind his elegant wooden desk and folds his hands across the leather desktop.

  “So, Ms. Fallon, my HR director tells me you’re looking for employment after finishing your degree.”

  “That’s correct,” I say, sounding like a robot. Ugh.

  I see the slightest twitch in his jaw, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused by me.

  “We just so happen to have an opening for an assistant. My personal executive assistant, in fact. It’s a full-time position that requires long hours and full dedication. You’ll be handling my desk, which includes keeping my calendar, booking travel, answering phones, and performing other supporting tasks. You may even be traveling with me from time to time when I need the support, and as you prove yourself and I begin to see where your skills lie, you may fall into some,” he pauses, as if considering his words carefully, “other tasks.”

  I feel an involuntary shiver course up my spine.

  He’s talking about filing or copywriting or something, you twit, I tell myself, but there’s a warm feeling inside me, deep in my center.

  Maybe this job is a bad idea. There’s no way I can keep my head in a situation like this. He’ll have fired me before the end of the week.

  Levi continues his explanation. “You will, of course, be compensated generously for the hours. The salary starts at seventy-five thousand, with full benefits.”

  I swear I hear a record scratch. Seventy-five thousand dollars? Good lord, I could actually have my loans paid off in a couple years if I can suck it up and keep living with Dad and Brenda. And even if I do get my own place, I’d still have no trouble handling rent and student loan payments with that salary.

  I don’t care how sexy this man is or how hard I’ll have to work to keep from getting distracted, for $75,000 I’ll do the job wearing a rhinestone bikini and standing on my head.

  “I’ll take it,” I sputter, before I can stop myself.

  Levi Maxon’s eyes widen, and he chuckles. “Well, there’s the little matter of the interview first,” he says, and now I know I’m blushing for sure.

  “Of course,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. I hope I haven’t ruined it before it’s even begun.

  “Well then, let’s get started.”

  I nod.

  “So tell me about yourself. I see you were an art major?”

  I nod again, then realize he’s waiting for me to, you know, say something. Double ugh.

  “I earned a bachelor of fine arts from the Rhode Island School of Design. In Providence,” I add, as if he doesn’t already know where one of the most famous art schools in the country is located. “I focused mostly on painting, though I did some sculpture and drawing. I also minored in graphic design, so I could definitely apply those skills to this position as needed.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “And why do you think we might use an assistant for graphic design when we subcontract with one of the largest advertising firms in the world?”

  I don’t quite know how to answer the question, because of course he’s right, but it also seemed a little rude of him to speak to me that way. Any footing I felt like I was gaining in the moment is gone, and I’m back to being a stuttering, blushing little girl.

  And then he moves on. He asks me about my time management strategies and my experience with administrative work. I’m able to talk about juggling my academic schedule at RISD with my part time position in admissions and my various other part-time, cobbled together gigs at various restaurants and shops around Providence.

  I wasn’t a party girl in college, I was too busy trying to earn enough tuition money to stay enrolled. We never had much when I was grow
ing up, and after my father married Brenda, it became clear that I wouldn’t be getting any college help from them.

  But I don’t say any of that to brooding Levi Maxon.

  Through it all, he nods, his eyes narrowed like he’s trying to solve a mystery.

  And somehow I keep talking, even though I find myself constantly distracted by his perfect, flawless skin, the broadness of his chest beneath his perfectly tailored suit, how large his hands are and what they might feel like touching me…

  “…very good,” Levi Maxon says.

  I swallow, realizing that I was in fact drifting off into a fantasy about him running one of those perfect hands up my thigh.

  And now I’m sweating and red-faced and humiliated. “Excuse me?” I say. “I didn’t catch your last question.”

  Levi arches an eyebrow and his lips twitches into something resembling a smile.

  I hope it’s a promising look, because at this point I can’t imagine getting this close to solving my financial problems and then having to walk out without this job. I want it. I need it.

  “There was no question,” he says. “But since we’ll be working so closely, why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself on a personal level?”

  I blink, my mind suddenly blank. What am I supposed to say to that?

  He can apparently read the confusion on my face, because he leans back in his chair, adopting a more relaxed facade. “Do you live in Boston?”

  “Southie,” I reply. “It’s where I grew up. I mean, I actually still live in the house I grew up in. With my parents.”

  “Both your parents?”

  “Well, my father and my step mother. My mom died when I was five.”

  “And you’re hoping to move out? Move on up, as the saying goes?”

  The room feels slightly chilly now, and his relaxed posture feels a bit more like a leopard prepared to pounce. I’m not sure I like it.