Knights of the Boardroom (2 page)

Thinking about her
buy six, get one free
undergarments reminded Cressi how out of place she was standing in the elegant executive offices of the Templar Enterprises Group. Sighing to herself, she’d just turned to leave when the rich tones of a man’s voice froze her in her tracks. She hadn’t even heard the door open when he’d asked, “Miss Walker? Going somewhere?” She knew he’d probably intended his words to sound teasing, but the underlying steel in them hadn’t been lost on her. The smooth texture of his voice, its resonate bass vibrating all the way to her core and sending flutters of awareness skittering over the back of her neck, making the tiny hairs stand on end.

Feeling like a cornered mouse, Cressi turned slowly, coming face to face with Brodie Walsh. When she’d been called for this interview, she’d Googled each of T.E.G.’s owners. There had been plenty of pictures of all four men—shirtless running through Central Park, playing basketball with friends, and dressed in tuxes escorting New York’s richest and most beautiful women to social functions she could only dream of attending. “You
are
Cressida Walker, aren’t you?”

“Damn it, Brodie, you’re scaring her.” A second deep voice from behind the
Dark Knight
blocked the door—somehow Cressi guessed that moniker was the tip of the iceberg required to describe a man like Brodie Walsh. She knew she must look like a deer caught in the headlights, but her gaze seemed locked to his. Her entire body was responding but she barely managed to nod.
Who took my damned brain out of gear?
Before she’d managed to recover, the second Templar Knight stepped around the first and smiled down at her. Her first impression of Lawton Hill was that he looked younger than she knew him to be, but his grin was so infectious she couldn’t help but return it. Lawton Hill was like a cool breeze that skimmed over her skin heated by the burning rays of Brodie Walsh. He was equally intense, but in a way that seemed much lighter—almost comforting in that it would be easy to lose herself in his presence.

Cressi’s interview went by in a blur of fast-paced questions so random, at times her head spun just trying to keep up. It was like the two men had each scripted their parts to be as divergent as possible—more than once she’d wondered if they’d been deliberately trying to keep her off-base? By the time she stepped out of the T.E.G. building, Cressi was convinced of two things; first, she now
wanted
the job more than she had when she’d simply
needed it
; and second, she had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting it.

Two years later
…

Cressi shifted again trying unsuccessfully to sit perfectly still, even with the certainty she was being surreptitiously watched by the enormous man seated behind the reception area’s ornately carved walnut counter. Knowing he probably hoped she’d tire of waiting and leave wasn’t enough to prevent her from fidgeting restlessly on the black leather bench he’d pointed her to after he’d placed a call to his boss announcing her arrival. She’d had to fight back the urge to look around for a line of men with long trumpets waiting to sound a fanfare when the giant had said, “Announce her arrival.” Good Lord, he’d practically sounded medieval, but maybe she shouldn’t be surprised considering everything about the place appeared to be paying homage to the days of Camelot.

She’d eavesdropped on her bosses every chance she’d gotten when they talked about “the club” since her first day on the job as their personal assistant two years ago. The fact they stopped talking the minute they knew she was listening had only made her more curious, and since she’d already scoured the internet—devouring every morsel of information she could find, Cressi had finally resorted to asking her friends and colleagues what they knew about
The Knight’s Club
.

It hadn’t taken long to discover the city’s most exclusive kink club was
exclusive
in more ways than one—the
hush-hush
cloak of silence shrouding the club rivaled Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility in magical powers. During her research, Cressi found very few references to the club in the social sections and the only common thread she’d noticed among the articles was the fact each of the reporters had been fired almost immediately after the stories were published. As a legal aide, Cressi was accustomed to ferreting out information, but she’d hit brick wall after brick wall while trying to find out who belonged to the club, and she’d actually gotten a stern lecture from the head of IT, warning her to stop searching the company databases for anything related to the elusive
The Knight’s Club
. His admonishment and the fact she worked for two of the club’s owners had finally cooled her interest until—as usual—chaos in the form of her older sister erupted and now…here she sat.

This is all Carli’s fault. You’d think after all these years I’d learn to ignore her taunting.
Crap, crap, crapity-crap—she’d known Carli was deliberately pushing her buttons, but she’d walked straight into the trap anyway. Why did she always feel like she was ten years old again when her big sister was around? Cressi wanted to press her hands over her ears as if the childish gesture would still the not-so-subtle voice of her inner prima donna currently gasping in shock—completely indignant at her blatant stupidity. Yes, Carli Walker was an international super model whose sultry smiles graced magazine covers the world over, but she was still Cressi’s sister and a royal pain in the ass—just in case anyone was interested.

Playing into Carli’s hands never ended well for her when they were kids, and Cressi didn’t hold out much hope today was going to be any different. Why-oh-why had she confessed her deepest secret to her sister? Damn if that wasn’t another mystery for the ages—hell, it was probably going to rank right up there with the whereabouts of the Arc of the Covenant and the Holy Grail. Sighing to herself, she shook her head. It was foolish to even ask how she’d gotten herself into this particular pickle.
Fuck me, I know better than to drink margaritas with Miss Demon Detective.
In Cressi’s opinion, if her sister ever decided to give up modeling, she’d make a great interrogator, the damned CIA was probably already trying to recruit her. The woman was relentless when she put her nose to the ground pursuing information.
She always seems to know exactly when to prance back in the door with all my favorites indulgences. And in the end I have a hangover from hell and she’s loaded with information to use against me until my next shimmy and shout with Jose Cuervo.

Letting out an audible sigh, Cressi couldn’t help but smile wryly to herself.
And where is my loving sister now that my ass is—probably quite literally—on the line
? As usual she is off to some far-flung gorgeous, romantic locale with a bevy of men too good-looking to be real hanging on her every word while a cast of crazies snaps pictures of her for the next round of Carli’s the-best-thing-since-sliced-bread media madness. Oh yeah, telling Carli she was still a virgin had certainly been a monumental mistake.
Fucking Jose and his truth serum ought to be outlawed.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Cressi looked up, startled out of her musings to see the man at the desk looking at her. The puzzled look on his face fogged over her brain and for a few seconds she actually forgot to breathe. “You said something about someone named Jose and you’ll probably want to clean up your language—a
lot
. Master T is quite strict when it comes to that sort of thing.” The hulking man who’d been sitting behind the tall counter was now standing and Cressi was changing her description of him to gargantuan.
Holy shit, Sherlock, what was your first clue? The fact he’s at least seven feet tall? Or perhaps it’s because his shoulders can’t possibly fit through doorways. Why on earth is he working here? How has he managed to elude the NFL?

“Are you alright, Miss?” This time the hulk’s voice was laced with concern and his green eyes were sparkling with something teetering between concern and amusement, but Cressi was going with concern because the idea she might be amusing
this
man scared her more than it probably should. She was already skating so close to a full-blown panic attack a strong breeze would probably send her over the edge and Meryl Davis she was not—which meant Cressi was about a heartbeat away from crashing and burning.

“Did you just say skating? Miss Walker, are you sure you’re in the right place?”

Just shoot me now.

*****

Tristan Harris watched the monitor, fighting the urge to laugh out loud and wondering if he hadn’t made a mistake alerting his business partners about the interview he’d scheduled with the spirited beauty sitting in the lobby. She was lovely for sure, and it even crossed his mind that maybe he should mentor her himself? Mentally reprimanding himself for even considering betraying his friends, he returned his focus to Cressida Walker.

He’d been shocked when she’d called the club this morning requesting information about membership. Well—he hadn’t been shocked by the question itself, but the fact she’d called the club’s private line—a number that was only given to the club’s members had certainly given him reason to sit up and take notice. It was the only line he answered, and as the manager of The Knight’s Club, Tristan’s job was to deal with their clientele, not screen phone calls from the general public. Since the only way to even be
considered
for membership was to have your name submitted by a current member in good standing, cold calls to the phone number listed on their website were usually dispatched quickly by Dozer at the front desk or Trudy, Tristan’s personal assistant.

He’d soon learned the woman who called gave her name as Cressi Walker wasn’t just some random woman off the street who’d heard about the club from her friends while sipping those fruity concoctions with colorful paper umbrellas he despised so much.
Damn it, if you can’t drink without props then you just really shouldn’t bother.

Something about her name had sounded familiar and by the time he’d asked her a couple of general questions, he’d pieced it together. Cressi, AKA Cressida, was the young woman who worked for two of his best friends and business partners. He’d met her a handful of times, but both Law and Brodie had always referred to her by her full name, so it had taken longer than it should have for him to realize he was speaking with the woman his friends had been lusting after for the past two years.

Seeing Lawton Hill and Brodie Walsh approach the back entrance of the club, Tristan pressed the button hidden under his desk unlocking the door knowing his friends would be slamming into his office in less than a minute. Law might be one of the richest men in the country and would top the list by the time he was forty at his current rate, but he was also one of Tristan’s closest friends. Despite his aristocratic background, Tristan quite enjoyed Lawton’s balls-to-the-wall ambition—the man was one of the most professionally focused men he’d ever met, but his Achilles heel was currently squirming in the lobby like a child caught with her pretty little hand in the kinky cookie jar. Tristan particularly enjoyed the way she kept glancing at her watch, as if that might hurry up the man who’d kept her waiting far longer than she’d expected.
Patience, poppet, your future Masters have finally arrived.

Brodie Walsh was following Law as the two men stomped down the hall toward Tristan’s office. Brodie was as intense in his private life as he was professionally, which seemed to intimidate those who weren’t in the young legal shark’s inner circle. Tristan had seen Brodie reduce subs in the club to tears with just a look—on several occasions.

Just as his friends stalked through the door, Cressi Walker stood and Tristan knew she was about to bolt. Directing Lawton’s and Brodie’s attention to the bank of monitors, Tristan grabbed the small radio on his desk. The handheld device connected directly to the earbud Dozer wore and he needed the man to stop their beautiful visitor before her impatience and fear won the battle over her curiosity. Even though he wasn’t sure how it would all play out, Tristan was certain it had taken an enormous amount of courage for Cressida Walker to call the club, and if she walked out the door now she might never find it within herself to try again.

Tristan had talked to far too many women over the years who regretted they hadn’t had the courage to question why they had always felt as if they were missing some large piece of themselves. Some had made an attempt or two, but being shut down or told what they were looking for “didn’t exist” had caused them to cede defeat before they’d ever had a chance to really fight for what they needed. Most of the ones he’d met had waited years before trying again and some had simply settled into mundane vanilla lives that bored them to distraction. “Stop her. Give me five, then escort her back.” Anyone who didn’t know Reis Stratham, AKA Dozer, might have missed his subtle nod of acknowledgment, but Tristan knew his second-in-command had heard him and would follow suit. Dozer had earned his nickname not only because of his intimidating size, but he was also as tenacious as anyone Tristan had ever met.

Turning to the men standing beside him, Tristan smiled, “We don’t have long, here’s the plan.” He proceeded to outline his strategy, noting his friends eyes darkened with both concern and lust. Tristan knew it was an all or nothing proposal—not something he usually considered a blueprint for success, but there wasn’t enough time to debate the details—it was show time.