His Corporate Claim Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by J.S. Fox

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  Chapter One

  Talia

  Monday

  My three-inch heels clicked on the hardwood floor. The buzz of conversation into headsets and the whine of copier filled the air as I walked into the workroom of the Palmer Media Agency. The buttery scent of popcorn wafted from the break room in the right-hand corner. Really? Popcorn at nine in the morning?

  Then I spotted a salesman, Tom, about to keep me waiting for our meeting, and that popcorn addict and my roommate, Eva, in the break room laughing. Not that I begrudged Eva her popcorn or her flirting with raven-haired Tom. He wasn’t bad-looking. But this was a workplace, and it was Tom’s work that I supervised. The lax behavior of most of the sales staff had resulted from the sudden exit of our Sales Director, who’d found greener pastures. In the meantime, I’d shouldered the acting Sales Director role until Lucius could find a replacement. I was making a note on my phone to chat with the salesman about making meetings on time when my phone chimed with a text.

  Lucius: I need to discuss something with you.

  I glanced up to the second floor of our office through the square cut-out in the ceiling. From here I examined the steel railing that ringed the cutout and the glass walls of the offices on the second floor. But I did not spot our boss, Lucius Palmer, at the usual perch outside his office when he watched his workers.

  Me: I’ll be right up.

  Lucius: No. I’ve meetings and calls through the day. Meet me for dinner at Milio’s. Seven.

  Damn. That shoots my plans for the evening into the ether.

  Me: Will do.

  Now to tell Eva I had to ditch our plans for the evening in favor of work—again.

  Eva slid into her seat as she shoved popcorn into her mouth. She stared at her computer screen displaying the last ad she’d designed while munching on her snack. Tom passed behind me heading toward the exit, and I turned, smiled and said, “Tom, I have a busy day. Please wait for me in my office and we’ll go over your goals for the week.”

  “I, um, have a client appointment.”

  I examined the updates to the appointment logs of the salesmen on my phone.

  “Gee, Tom, I don’t see it on the list.”

  “I just got it this morning.”

  “Since they scheduled it on short notice, I’m sure they can wait fifteen minutes.”

  “But—”

  “See you in a minute, Tom.” I turned back to Eva, who kept her expression neutral until Tom had drifted into my office.

  “You are some nutcracker,” she said with a wicked smile.

  “I am the princess of nutcrackers,” I said haughtily. For effect, I straightened my spine. “Though I don’t have the talent of your boss, the duly appointed queen of same.”

  Eva wrinkled her nose. “Thank goodness the Dark Lady of the Creative Department is still out.”

  “Still?”

  “Yeah. I’d like to know what ‘personal business’ can keep you out of the office for over a week and counting.”

  “Why ask for trouble? You’re great at covering for her. You’re even doing the deposits for the business, though I don’t understand why Lucius doesn’t just hire an office manager. ”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said dismissively. “It’s your spreadsheets that keeps the work organized; thanks for those. And it’s Jessica that puts the deposits together and you help me by driving me to the bank, so it’s cool.”

  “I’m happy to help. However, I’ll thank you not to lure my employees to sin while on company time.”

  “Pfftt,” she opined with a toss of her blonde hair. “Please. No one wants a plus size woman in the land of the skinny people.”

  “Don’t say that. You’re cute.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said as she pushed her black-rimmed glasses up her nose. “Why don’t you say ‘she’s fun and has a great personality’ too. We all know that’s social code for ugly.”

  “Stop that, Eva Roman. I won’t have anyone talk trash about my best friend, and that includes you.”

  “There you go, ordering me around again,” she said with a mock huff. Then she snorted and grinned. “Lucius better hurry up and give you that promotion. That way you’ll officially have more people to boss around and won’t have time to manage my life.”

  “Ssh,” I said. “Don’t jinx my chances with the promotion gods.”

  “Well, I hope that Lucius gets on the stick and puts she-who-shall-not-be-named in the Sales Director position.”

  “He might. Lucius asked me to dinner.”

  “Dinner?” said Eva raising her eyebrows. “Or his latest try to get you into the sack?”

  Oh hell. My mouth went dry, and I glanced around the open space hoping that no one heard Eva’s indiscrete comment.

  “Keep it down,” I hissed. “People titter enough when I walk to his office. And I straightened that out with him months ago.”

  “Sure,” mumbled Eva around another mouthful of popcorn.

  “Lucius full well knows “player” isn’t on tonight’s entertainment schedule. He’ll go home as lonely as when he arrived.”

  “Wait... tonight?”

  “Um, sorry. Yeah.”

  Eva shrugged. “I’m not feeling yoga tonight anyway. I guess it’s binge-watching Game of Thrones night.”

  “How many times will you binge watch that show?”

  “As many times as it takes.”

  “To do what?”

  “Only a true devotee of the show knows. You better get to your office; Tom’s stress lines have markedly deepened while waiting for you.”

  “Do you spy on my office often?”

  “Not usually. Nothing interesting happens there.”

  “Brat! See you later.”

  The day sped by and I only knew the end of the day came when the whine of a vacuum told me the cleaning crew moved through the workroom. Oh hell. My computer clock told me I only had fifteen minutes to spend with Mom before I make to my dinner with Lucius. Damn. I hate when that happens.

  The smells and sounds of the extended-care facility (because they don’t call them nursing homes anymore) always jarred me. It didn’t matter how many times I came here. The place reeked of ammonia, antiseptic and resigned desperation. I decided weeks ago to put Mom in a better place and had found one, but it was more expensive and insurance did not cover the cost.

  I plastered a cheery smile on my face, because I never let Mom know my distress, and entered her room. She sat in her recliner by the window staring at a skyline filled with the not-so-distant Rocky Mountains. A tear traced a wet streak on her face.

  “Mom! What’s wrong?”

  She sighed, the only response I could get from her since the stroke, but she did not glance at me. Sometimes I don’t even know if she recognized me, and the doctors suspected early-onset dementia. But I refuse to believe that. She had a severe stroke, yes. But with rest, care and physical therapy she will get better.

  I took her hand and squeezed it hoping to reassure her. The stroke had ravaged her body and left a once proud woman fragile and folded in on herself.

  “Home,” she croaked.

  Good lord, they let her get dehydrated again. I fumbled for the cup on her bedside hospital table. How did the nurses expect her to reach for her water cup on her own? Now I’m angry and upset. After filling the cup, I stuck a new straw in it and held it to her lips.

  “Have a drink, mom,” I said. “I know you’re thirsty.”


  “Home,” she rasped again.

  “I know you want to go home,” I said. “We talked about this. When you get well, you’ll come to stay with me.”

  “No,” she said as petulantly as a toddler.

  “Drink, mom.” I hadn’t had the heart to tell her I’d cleaned out her house and put it on the market. I had to, to get aid from the state for her care, but the profit had landed straight to the State of Colorado coffers. It was her only asset, and she hadn’t planned for the time when she couldn’t care for herself. Since then I had learned the things you should do to prepare for this contingency, but it was too late for my mom. The house that she’d poured love and care into now belonged to the state.

  Another tear dropped and I wiped it with my sleeve.

  “Hey, you will get better,” I said. “The doctors said it takes time. Did you go to physical therapy today?”

  She sniffed.

  “Okay, what about speech therapy?”

  A knock on the door brought Cherie, Mom’s favorite nurses’ aid.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Winston. It’s time for your medicine, and I have your dinner too. Oh, good to see you, Miss Winston.” Cherie’s voice rolled with the cajun cadence she hadn’t lost since she’d transplanted to Denver a decade ago.

  “Cherie, I’ve told you a million times to call me Talia.”

  She smiled, “Right, Miss Winston.”

  My phone chimed giving me the fifteen-minute warning to my appointment with Lucius.

  “Mom, I’ve got to go. Sorry my visit is so short, but I’m meeting with my boss. Here’s praying good news will come out of it. I’ll spend more time with you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t you worry, Miss Winston. I’ll take good care of your mama.”

  “I’m sure you will,” I said. “See you tomorrow, Mom.”

  I kissed her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears and my eyes misted. Her crying resulted from her stroke. The doctors called it pseudobulbar affect, but the moisture in my eyes expressed pure frustration. When the outside air hit me as I hit the street, a sense of relief washed over me, right before the guilt crashed in on me for feeling that way. My mom didn’t do a thing to deserve that stroke, but we were both caught up in its effects. If I didn’t get that promotion, then I’d have to find another job no matter how much I loved my position at Palmer and Associates. Mom depended on me.

  Milio’s was one of Denver’s best Italian restaurants. Inside the usual bare red brick walls and wood beams in the ceiling, a long counter took up one side of the space. On this wall stretched a thick rope of faux greenery twined with fairy lights. The center of the restaurant featured leather-clad booths surrounded by highly polished wood. It was Lucius’ favorite eatery, though it was a step down from the brighter lights of Denver’s culinary culture. Apparently, Lucius had gotten there earlier than me, because two tumblers sat empty on the table while he clutched another in his hand.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said as I slid into the booth.

  “You’re not,” he said. “I came early. I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered for both of us.”

  “That’s okay as long as you got me a salad.”

  “It’s called antipasto,” he said sharply, which alarmed me. Why was he acting so off?

  “Want a drink?” he said in a conciliatory tone.

  “Sorry, no. Driving.”

  “You’re looking beautiful, as always.”

  “Lucius, please.”

  He held up his hand. “Sorry. I know we’ve had this discussion. You don’t swim in the company pool, and I respect that. And you are an asset to our organization that I don’t want to lose.”

  My heart sank. This conversation was appearing to skid into unwelcome territory.

  “Talia, you’re responsible and hardworking. Your sales crew consistently outperforms the others, and you’ve made no bones about wanting the Sales Director job. I’m sorry though; I got news today, and it throws my plans in the dumpster.”

  Lucius ran his hand through his hair and appeared sincerely distressed.

  “Want to talk about it?” I asked. I needed to find out what this news was and how it affected my status at Palmer Media.

  He shook his head. “No, but we’ll have to.” Lucius sucked in a deep breath and leaned forward over his drink enough that his blond curls fell over his forehead.

  “The board of Palmer and Associates voted on the replacement for the Sales Director job.”

  “The board?”

  “I know. It’s unusual, but my father pushed for it. He wants to give my brother Sam, who just graduated Wharton, exposure to the business. It should be a temporary thing before Dad ships him off to one of our other holdings, but it did put a chink in my plans to promote you.”

  My mouth fell open as my breathing stuttered. It wasn’t Lucius’s plan to promote me that surprised me, but that he appeared so wrecked about the situation. This was not the usual cool, collected, and charming Lucius I worked with in the office each day.

  He slid his hand across the table and took mine. “The thing is, I know how much you hate it when a player like me hits on you. I remember how you almost left the company before we had our little talk.”

  I frowned. Why was he bringing this up now?

  “And my brother... well, he’s worse than me. I won’t tell you stories, but he is. And I don’t want him to run you off. So I have a proposal.”

  “What?” I asked with suspicion. Walking the fine line between genius and madness the way he did, Lucius was always coming up with dubious schemes, some of which I’d had to talk him away from.

  “Marry me.”

  “What?” I shrieked. My voice cut through the usual din of dinner conversation and all heads turned toward me. I ducked my head.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “It’s not a real proposal. We’ll just pretend to be engaged, at least until he leaves. Then we’ll break it off and I can give you the Sales Director job.”

  “Lucius, this is the craziest scheme you’ve ever concocted. What made you think I’d go for it?”

  “I know you’re looking for another job. Waters called me the other day and said a headhunter floated your name.”

  I shrunk further into my booth. That headhunter had promised his discretion, and to offer me up to Palmer’s biggest competitor was not kosher.

  “Look, I’m not mad,” said Lucius. “I intended to give you the job, but Father insisted I make a good faith effort to interview outside the company. He thought... well, I won’t tell you what he thought. Then he went over my head. So, I’m prepared to offer you a generous bonus, equal to your salary raise if you stay on through Sam’s tenancy in the Sales Director position. I’ll even pay it up front if you sign an employment contract.”

  Up front? With that much money, I could afford to send my mom to that better facility. I thought of that as I stared at the blue-eyed devil before me.

  “If I agree to this, you understand that there are no ‘benefits’ to this arrangement,” I said.

  Lucius held up his hands in surrender. “I expect nothing, I swear. In fact, a little ‘cheating’ will give you ample excuse to dump my ass at the right time. I’m just looking out for the company interests, and losing you is not in the company interests.”

  “Well,” I said.

  “Great,” said Lucius. “Here, wear this.” My boss dumped a blue velvet box on the table. I took it cautiously and popped open the ring box and my heart stopped. Inside was a two-carat rock, surrounded by smaller diamonds.

  “Lucius, this is too much.”

  “Trust me, my brother will not believe this is true love if it was any smaller. And here’s the contract.” He pulled a set of folded papers and his pen from his inside suit jacket pocket.

  “Sign here, and here,” he said pointing to spots on different pages.

  “Don’t I get to read it?”

  “I have another appointment. It’s just standard legalese and there is an escape clause. I’ll give y
ou copies tomorrow.” He looked at his watch. “Tick-tock, Talia.”

  This felt wrong, but all signals turned green when I spotted the amount of the “sign-on” bonus on the front page. When had Lucius thrown me a curve ball? Me? Never. I signed my name in the places he’d pointed to, and he smiled in relief.

  “This will work out great. I’ve got to jet, and I paid for dinner, so enjoy it. I’ll see you in the morning, eh?”

  “Sure.”

  He gracefully slid out of the booth.

  “And wear that ring. I want to see it on your finger tomorrow. Sam’s due to show up anytime.”

  Without another word, Lucius bounced out the restaurant leaving me with a ten thousand dollar ring and a ton of questions.

  Chapter Two

  Sam

  Tuesday afternoon, Mountain Standard Time

  I pinched my nose as the shuttle pulled up to the tall glass building spearing the Denver skyline. I’d forgotten how dry this town was, and a sinus headache threatened to blossom to monstrous proportions. The driver pulled my luggage from the back and I handed him a twenty for a tip. It was probably too much, but it was the smallest bill I had.

  The driver cast a dubious glance at the front doors of the office building. “If you need a hotel, I have a line on some good ones.”

  I grabbed the handle of my luggage. “That’s okay. I’m bunking with my brother. He works here.”

  “Your first visit to Denver?”

  “No. I go through when I ski Aspen.”

  “Okay, then. Well, enjoy the city. Wait.” He leaned inside the front cab of the shuttle and pulled out a bottle of water and offered it to me. “Stay hydrated. Altitude sickness is no joke.”

  “Thanks.” Colorado’s obsession with hydration has grown since the last time I came to visit. I pulled my luggage into the building and rode the elevator to Palmer Media’s floor. The steel doors opened to a wide and empty reception area. Long white sofas faced each other on the right leaving a clear path to the front desk, a neo-modern barn board plank on black painted triangular legs. Behind it, a silk watercolor in purple and blues stretched behind along the plain white wall. The office was sleek, modern, devoid of tradition, and reflected my brother’s personality.