Love Found Me (A City Love Novel, Book 1) (6 page)

Knowing he'd made valid observations, all that was looming in her mind was the craziness and fool-hearted attempts at justifying a life she'd grown entrapped in. Sucked into a life she definitely wasn't intent on giving up anytime soon.

She pointed her finger at her chest. "Believe it or not, I've had classes. I've been practicing," she hedged, as she swept her hair over her shoulder. "When I make the time. Whenever I find my nerve within all the chaos, which doesn't come often enough."

Danielle quickly swept her sleeve over her wrist. "I'm sorry to be abrupt, but I've got a meeting in 5 minutes." She gestured at the immense entry partitioning valuable office floor.

Instantly, Danielle walked toward the double doors as Roman followed.  Just as she grasped the doorknob, she'd noticed he'd paused at the threshold to the executive conference room right behind her.

"Roman, you mean... you're here for the meeting, but how--" Roman poised and drew a wry smile, as his expression turned serious in response to her inquiry.

The door was ajar, and he pushed it open, "Ladies first," he said more softly this time. Roman raised his hand high above her head, sprawling his palm against the door as his eyes gestured her onward. She started, just when he ducked his head, barely smacking the metal framing. But then, she realized he hadn't answered her question. "So you never said, why you're here?"

But, whatever Roman could've said was interrupted by a preppy gentleman, "I asked Mr. Jules to be here," the man said. "Both of you. Have a seat." His voice held a strong brusque command, but that certainly didn't matter to Danielle who was used to playing it tough in the world of a financial powerhouse.

The next minute, the man raised his voice as he asked, "Espresso anyone?" gesturing toward the niche doubling as a coffee-espresso bar.

"Thanks. I'm good," Roman replied. And then there was a pause, a heavy silence as Danielle turned and looked Roman straight in the eyes.

"
You know my
business partner, Finch?" She gave Roman a blank stare as she moved toward the huge boardroom table from the coffee-espresso bar, mocha latte in hand. Overhead light blazed down, flooding the room. Danielle flung her toffee suede hobo bag on the slick mahogany, "Finch, what's this about--" She took a sip of sizzling java as she turned and sashayed toward him.

"Listen up Danielle," Finch said, in his garishly graveled voice. His eyes narrowed on hers. "You'll find out all you need to know in a few minutes."

Finch Young the lurid outspoken managing partner had always held rank and power that had seldom been challenged, not even by Finchley senior. No one dare tried, but Danielle Prentiss wasn't a feeble gullible woman without the backbone to surge her opinion. As for Finch Young, he made no mistake in jeopardizing his or the firm's credulous forty-year reputation.

Danielle roved her hand over the Harris Tweed pencil skirt tightly hugging her hips and thighs as she strutted over to the massive wall of floor-to-ceiling glass, "Well, Finch..." she said in between sips, as her raspberry-crimson shaded lipstick wedged smears between the creases of styrofoam. "We're waiting." She ogled his silence in tolerance.

From the forty-first floor, urban valleys shrunk into tiny ants through vaporous fog and stormy drizzle. She stopped in her tracks, admiring the vapid sky, as she knocked back a sixteen-ounce java in a matter of seconds.

Roman cleared his throat, and drew a long breath of growing impatience, just as Danielle gulped her last sip. She brushed aside the colossal antique mahogany table to grab a seat. It started to creak as she groped the ornate carvings with her ruby nails, and submersed the deep swivel chair.

She cocked her four-inch pink suede around her spiny ankles, as she focused on Finch's rousing seriousness. His russet hair feathered silvery flecks at the temples and his eyelids folded stress in its creases. He was a man who'd struggled with the infinitely familiar comparison to his father, when despite it all he'd rather breeze the exclusive meadows of green with rich billionaires.

Seated in a deep armchair across from her, Roman swiveled and looked down at his expensive watch glimmering
10:15 a.m.
against its rose gold casing. Clenching his palm against the beautiful fusion of function and fashion, his hand navigated the armrests, pricking huge dimples into it.

After a moment, he released his grip, weaving his fingers in a stiff massage. Gentle pops sifted his knuckles and cracked his bones, as Finch writhed the hollow in the chair anchoring the table.

Beads of sweat glittered Finch's forehead under the incandescent lights, popping like pimples as he vented his jacket. Roman's sudden impulse to speak was tamed the moment Finch started the meeting.

"You may have wondered why I've called the both of you here this morning." Danielle rose in her chair as she turned her attention to the business at hand, as Finch dotted his forehead with a pocket-handkerchief. "Frankly, Danielle, this concerns you...and your employment with the firm."

"Well, then why is he here?" She paused, and then nodded at Roman.

"Frankly Danielle, Mr. Jules presence doesn't really concern you." Finch muffled a sound of irritation, as his dominance wrestled Danielle's dogged tenacity. "Well, what I mean is, that it
won't
concern you." His eyes narrowed as his expression turned a deeper layer of serious.

"So what is it? Is this about the work, cause you know these last three weeks have had me running around frantic, but I'm up for the challenge," Danielle contested.

It wasn't until Roman heard her say the words,
running around
, that he'd jiggled a sudden illusion of her pink suede stiletto boot fused to his frontal. She was the image of fashionista in her peony tweed skirt and cropped jacket. Roman was still tingling from the impulse to taste her opalescence. He'd almost completely lost track of where he was, just when he fought the all out urge to spring towards her.

"Make no mistake Finch; you'd chosen the best to be your right-hand, and I'll continue to live up to that."

Finch crossed his legs. His argyle socks peeked beneath his tan trousers, as his hand smoothed angora herringbone tucked under his dark jacket. "Yes-- about that. Danielle I--" There was a growing annoyance in her eyes that he'd been stalling. Danielle shifted defensively in her chair. Drumming her fingers against the table, she saw the way Finch kept looking at the door, as if he'd expected someone.

"If this is about Peterson-Macgregor, I've got the files handy and I'll send them over a.s.a.p." She said promptly. "Oh, and the Strayhan matter is coming to a close...and I'm following up with the departments, we're on track to close out this quarter by--" Danielle barely caught a breath when Finch cut her words sharp.

Not wanting to spend all day going back and forth about it, Finch frowned a second before he shrieked her name so loud that his coffee sprinted out of his cup from the table's vibration.

"Danielle!" Finch said, as he raised his hands, yielding her to stop her endless yakking. His tone instantly neared a normal pitch. "This has nothing to do with--" Finch stalled when his eyes darted from the swelling gloom as he continued. "Well, it shouldn't have anything to do with--"

"Finch, what in the world are you trying to say. It's so unlike you to stall like this." Danielle drew a sharp breath. "Alright," she said irritably.
Just cut to the chase
.

Finch straightened. "Okay. You want it flat out then, I'll tell you." After a short pause, he continued callously. "We're going to have to let you go."

A small army of brooding uniformed men roared past the ceaseless strip of private offices toward the boardroom sounding like a militia.

"I can't say anything further," Finch clamped the sturdy armrests, pushing back his chair. "Your work here is terminated."

Chapter Four

There was a long pause. In her silence, she'd stared at him. In this boardroom where she and Finch met for countless private meetings, discussing key strategy, behind the scenes tactics that she'd most always discovered solutions to the often strange and hidden cover-ups. Her entire career had suddenly seemed so false.

Her body still hadn't quite caught up with the rude awakening, despite the obvious tailspin he'd plunged on her without warning.

Finch hadn't bothered to face Danielle, bolting his eyes toward the entry, he'd instantly pressed up out of his seat and strolled toward the expanse of double doors.

In her defense she said, "Who's this
we
--We're partners. What's the meaning of this?" She choked on a breath. Watching him head for the door, she said, "Why wasn't I given notice?"
Some nerve
, she murmured.

Danielle choked on her breath again, when all of a sudden the air felt suffocating, mangling her nerves into collapse. Her eyes were wide in a blank stare when her mouth rolled to silence. But then, in those few seconds of silence, when her eyebrows rose, she felt throes hit her like a hurricane quaking every bone in her body and searing every cell with a hunger for revenge.

Suddenly, her palms tightened. Her veins poked through her flesh, strangling the armrests until her knuckles turned crimson. Her viscous hands were a damp sponge suckled by the coarse tweed of her skirt. And then a vision leapt to memory of years spent behind a desk in an office peering down on a city's carousing, while she'd jammed herself in a revolving pit of ceaseless deadline after deadline.

Years of investigating fraud and recovering funds from covert operations ... months of time consuming strategic analysis... The very thought had her chiseling deep veins in the sinewy leather, as her ruby nails pricked the cushion like supple cookie dough.

Staring so intensely at the rear of his scalp, her brows snapped together as she found her annoyance searing beyond nightmarish embarrassment. His russet hair was shellacking little wet hairs like he'd combed it with black shoe polish. And in that moment, she felt her fury begin a blaze, as her brooding sharp eyes skewered Finch's sweat into a sizzling valley of steamed vapor.

For a woman who prided herself on being gutsy and defiant, she wasn't in the habit of collapsing under pressure or risking complacency by anyone's demand. Despite everything she'd devoted to work. Danielle wasn't idealistic in thinking Finch had the nerve and audacity to plunge her into insidious entrapment without some strange hoax up his sleeve.

And she wasn't about to retreat as a vulnerable, gullible fool of a woman. No, she was not going to give him the benefit--gambling her life like a crazed roulette wheel. Make no mistake, she wasn't stupid to risk sucking into his trap to embarrassment, and destroying the one thing she'd struggled for.

Her fury was teetering on the edge of a volcanic uprising. Just before all hell broke loose, a surge of wind blew the door open the moment Finch turned the knob. Her brows arched in surprise when she'd heard, "Security will escort you out. Leave your--"

Finch still evaded her as he stood near the door continuing the protocol as if she were some inept fraud or zany probationary employee.

Amazingly, after moments of silence on Finch's part, his response was callous and absurd.

And then suddenly, Danielle noticed two uniformed men standing in the doorway. She looked at Roman with alarm, as his eyes were just as wide-eyed in shock as hers.

The termination hadn't technically been made official, when Finch turned to two of the men soldiering each side of the double door threshold. He'd donned a quick nod to their woodenly stature, gesturing the termination protocol onward.

The men came at Danielle instantly, halting just a few steps from her. They stared at her with an equal expression of suspicion that changed to growing impatience.

Despite the small militia shading her vision, she all but yelled at Finch, "Is this some kind of sick joke... Who are you trying to fool?" Danielle looked across at the flurry of papers in front of him, a pang of worry rifling through her.

Danielle continued with a defensive, "We'd just reorg'd and surged profits up after the recession." She pushed back from the table, "You know our latest research and reports suggests we're on target to increase last year's profits by a remarkable--"

Before she'd even mentioned the startling figures, she'd looked straight at Finch calculating... as her nails serrated the mahogany in pace with her rising heartbeat.

Finch's defiant expression was duly noted to her memory, as he sat in silent answer to her statement. Danielle daggered her eyes to his languid profile, his sigh wafted, long and theatrical, across the distance between them. But, when she glanced behind her, she saw enough to cause her to realize he was serious. The uniforms weren't going anywhere--with a job to do.

She'd silently swore that she'd keep her cool and control regardless of the situation boiling her insides to a heat beyond volcanic uprising. No, she couldn't blow her top, not now. In her mind she was still that consummate professional that would have no man get the best of her.

Then suddenly, she'd leapt from her seat and bolted for the door, as her pencil tip dug spikes into the carpet with fierceness. The sudden squall burst a flurry of papers behind her, as the soldiered men followed. One by one, every sheet floated in mid-air like a rhythmic dance. Layers of papers scattered the floor in a wave of directions, as silence deepened the moment the last paper drizzled a small mountain.

Nearing the small militia, a whirlwind made the atmosphere clearer. Danielle was aware that the craziness wasn't yet over, as Finch drew his attention to the chaos underfoot, he still didn't look up at her.  

After salvaging the papers with his viscous palms yielding sweat like a faucet, Finch swabbed the tabletop less what had already been saturated by the spilled coffee. What was left of his files became a succulent sponge, and sticky smeared reports.

Finch took a sharp breath as he swiveled idly in his chair. His focus darted toward the bare wall simply draped with a modestly framed sunflower meadow oil painting that anchored the opposite end of the table. As he'd rolled back in his chair she'd already rounded the double doors shouldering past a row of staunchly bureaucrats hovering the entry.

Four inches of pencil tip wobbled in fury, as she paced the corridor soldiered by security.

Frustration with embarrassment and for being made a fool only quickened her motivation to uncover the slew of secrets and ruthless cover-up plaguing her world.

Her focus narrowly quickened the pace of her step, searing the financial haven of what was her career. A career she risked everything meaningful in her life for--and her livelihood that had suddenly become a disaster.

Silence set ablaze the ethereal calm unfamiliar to the office. Danielle continued to march confidently even as the two security men escorted her down the maze of corridor to her office. Roman gave Finch an ethereal stare as he bolted down the hall after her.

The slender clean-shaven man shadowed in front of her, as his husky counterpart rocked her nerves in pursuit. The latter trailed his commando arrogance, along with the scent of menthol and eucalyptus doused in nicotine. Danielle bottled her breath as its pungency snaked around her hair to her throat.

Roman shadowed them through the hallway as he sprung toward her a few seconds later.

"This is ridiculous," Roman muttered, as their shoulders fused the narrow corridor together.

As he straddled her side, their silent screams and whispers bottled their insides as they pounded each step toward the end of her journey--to a career in meltdown.

The two men pointed at her office door as they flanked soldiering positions, followed by a quick nod. As Danielle pushed open the door, Roman's eyes widened at the mahogany behemoth birthing a decade's worth of files, reports, and research. Not to mention her scholarly collection of academia sprawling the floor-to-ceiling bookcases. 

Danielle inhaled as she stepped into what was her office, savoring the caffeine-induced air and the pungent aroma of spiced cinnamon and dark espresso, which always spirited her focus into overdrive.

Roman doubled back toward the men saying, "Don't you think you're overdoing it--there's no need for all this," he insisted, as the soft hairs on the top of his head glided along the top of the door framing.

The men stood woodenly in silent answer, shouldering dark insignia encrusted uniforms touting, official--public servant.

Feeling incredibly protective, Roman narrowed his eyes and parted between them, saying, "Just give her some space, she isn't--"

Danielle flashed Roman a look that said it was pointless.

"Thanks Roman, but I don't think they care to hear it." Suddenly, reality enfolded her into its web, as the veracity of it all overcame her. She'd become edgy and upset. After all, she was an emotional being with feeling.

"I have to grab my--" A sob swelled from her chest, as her lashes laced a tear. "M-My belongings." She moved across the room. "What am I gonna do Roman?" she asked softly, and then he was brushing his fingertips against her cheek as he stood with his other arm cupped around her next to the behemoth of a desk.

She felt his strong broad shoulder pillow her head, when something told her to savor the moment.

Her eyes began to form another tear between lashes, plaguing his violet silk tie, when he'd said, "I'm here Danielle. Don't worry. It'll be fine." Roman's voice held a strong note of protection. But, it certainly didn't preclude her from enjoying the way he'd made her feel safe in his arms.

Danielle hardly noticed the skies no longer appeared threatening outside, as he'd pulled her closer to his chest. She'd craned toward his eyes and reached out her finger, pressing her heat into his clean-shaven pores down his chin that still scented morning's aftershave and spicy cologne.

She let herself look at him for a long moment. The way the gentle stream of light rayed his eyes like glimmering marbles of hazel, in what ordinarily would have been a sun-blazed haven of light. And, at that moment she'd recalled the vision of his gaze fusing her viridian stare across a rain swept window.

He lowered his head to hers. The soft hairs on the top of his head feathered out over his forehead and brushed against her skin. His touch felt so sensual and kindled a sultry desire to kiss every hollow of his spicy redolence. It was so delicate. His hair tickled her lashes, from his touch that was so smooth and gentle.

His strong hands glided up and down her back as he stroked her textured tweed, mowing the coarseness between his fingers. Danielle creased a smile when she'd felt his hand moved toward the nape of her neck, massaging her little hairs that perfumed a floral bouquet.

The pulsing of his fingers melted her tension and threaded an impulse to lose all sense of time and place.

Her long dark curls shifted wherever his hands sought to caress her neck and shoulders. Swaying breezy waterfalls, Roman rolled his eyes closed for a moment when he'd felt a silky strand brush across his mouth. He could've taken hold of her with a passion right then and there. But, his brain clicked on the gravity of the situation.

Just then, he whispered, "Tonight. Part two to yesterday?" The kindness in his voice smoothed over the ache in her heart. She sighed, and then she instinctively arched into his hand and nodded. "Yes."

Somewhere in her mind, everything seemed all right in his arms, and her qualms were put to rest. But in her gut, something cautioned her not to trust anyone. Although with caution, she could assume that tantalizing lust wouldn't suck her into its sensual trap, prickling her flesh inside a mired mushy mess.

He brushed his palm against her cheek, drawing his fingers slowly around her lips, as he smiled and said, "Okay. Tonight then." She creased a smile, when suddenly the warmth left her flesh sooner than she was ready, with only the chill in the air and a hint of leftover arousal.

She could have sworn there was something else on his mind, smoldering in those marbling eyes that suddenly drew away from hers.

As Roman walked toward the door, Danielle stood in awe wondering what would come next. She'd had her share of surprises and the looming militia outside would take no chances on her avenging the wrongdoing.

Danielle spun the desk chair and pricked her nails into the leather, arching toward the lower drawer as Roman guarded the doorway.

She flung open every drawer and cabinet from floor to ceiling in a feisty frantic. Every corner nook was swiped clear. She could hardly believe any of it. How it all happened so fast. Danielle darted her eyes to every niche covered in a piece of history--from her industry plaques, to cubbyholes of research, to bookshelves full of archival statistics.

A flurry of boxes spilled onto the carpet. Stacks of active case files towered one end of the L-shaped desk.

Danielle's office held over ten years worth of her life she'd had to cram in a small box with a few minutes time. She'd watched from her desk, both of the uniforms squirming impatience by the second. She'd known it was only a matter of when--and not how long, as the task seemed nothing short of monumentous.

Everything was carefully organized in her own manner of speaking. It would take a team, weeks, if not months to sort through it all.