Power Play Page 2

  Victoria shut down her computer and put several inches of paper into her Louis Vuitton briefcase. She had practically ordered Albert to leave at seven, and as she walked silently to the bank of elevators three hours later, she noticed that all the lights were off on the floor except hers. The scene was all too familiar. An early riser, she was often the first one in the office in the morning. But with Drake’s recent difficulties she was now always the last to leave.

  The elevator doors opened a few seconds after she pressed the Down button. She stepped inside, looking at herself in the mirrored doors as the elevator whisked her five floors to the lobby. Did she need a haircut or maybe even a new style? Her blond hair was still as full and shiny as it was twenty years ago, but maybe she was too old to be wearing it down, gathered in the back with a clasp. She had always heard that older women should have shorter hair. The style accentuated her high cheekbones and, other than the dark circles under her eyes, her perfect complexion. At forty-four she felt great and, judging by the second looks she got from men and women, she looked it as well.

  Her house was not far from the office and the night was warm, so she put the top down on her convertible and drove home. Her heels clacked on the cement garage floor and, balancing her briefcase, purse, and a pile of mail, she unlocked her door that led from the garage into the house. After dropping the contents of her hands on the side table, Victoria kicked off her shoes and tossed her suit jacket on the chair. She didn’t glance at it when it slid off the leather material and into a heap on the wood floor. It would be going to the dry cleaners with the clothes already piled in the seat of the chair.

  Opening the refrigerator door, Victoria peered at the almost-bare shelves. Grocery shopping was one of her least favorite things, and it was obvious she had not forced herself to do the important yet mundane task. A carton of eggs sat alone on the second shelf, along with a block of cheese, a container of yogurt, and three apples on the third. Victoria reached for one of the beers that filled the top shelf, the eggs, cheese, and some ham from the crisper, and set to work whipping up an omelet.

  Stomach full and finally relaxed she grabbed the phone and dropped into the sister chair of the one that was her temporary laundry basket. She pulled the lever, kicking up the footrest, and scrolled through the numbers programmed in her phone. She passed her mother, brother, two sisters, and Albert’s home number, as well as the home numbers of everyone on her staff, finally stopping and pushing the dial button.

  As the ringing sounded in her ear, Victoria looked at her feet and frowned. She desperately needed a pedicure and pulled her BlackBerry from her briefcase to make a note before she forgot. She had just finished keying in the reminder when a breathless voice on the other end of the phone answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Carole? Are you all right?” It wasn’t too late to call Carole. She was a night owl who rarely went to bed before midnight.

  “I’m fine. I couldn’t find the damn phone. The kids were over this evening, and when I heard the couch ringing I realized they obviously were playing with something they shouldn’t have.”

  “How are they doing?” Carole’s sister had died suddenly three years ago and she had stepped in to help her brother-in-law raise their three kids.

  “They’re great. Their dad is finally dating again, which is why I had the little cherubs tonight. Now I know why I became a lesbian. No way could I handle three kids twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I mean, I love these kids, but I am absolutely exhausted.”

  Victoria laughed. Carole often had the kids over to her house and always said the same thing after they left. “Makes my day sound like a walk in the park.”

  “You sound tired. What’s up?” Carole was good at reading Victoria’s moods and knew when to shut up and listen and when to probe.

  “Remember a few months ago I told you we might have to acquire a company named Braxton Products?” Victoria continued after Carole replied yes. “Well, it’s definite. I met with my staff today and we spent all afternoon working on it.”

  “Wow, Victoria. Should I offer my sympathies or congratulations? I know you viewed it as a blessing and a curse if you had to go down this path.”

  Victoria often talked to Carole about a problem or issue at Drake. A successful businesswoman herself, Carole knew enough to offer sound advice or no advice if Victoria simply needed to talk something through.

  “Well, it’s me who has to apologize. I can’t make it Tuesday night. Our investment banker is coming to town and—”

  “Don’t worry about it, Victoria. I understand.”

  “Albert’s sending the tickets to your office tomorrow. No reason you can’t go and enjoy yourself.”

  “I said don’t worry about it. I completely understand that business takes priority over your personal life in this case. I’ll ask my mom to go with me. She’ll love it.”

  The ease with which Carole accepted their canceled date troubled Victoria. Yes, there were those times when business did trump something personal, but lately they were becoming more the norm than the exception, and even though that didn’t seem to bother Carole, it bothered her.

  Her last relationship had ended two years ago when she walked out of a different house, tired of her partner Melissa’s constant one-upmanship.

  Melissa Vaughn’s parents had spoiled her from the minute she exited the womb and were probably still doing so. Victoria had not seen or spoken to Melissa since she tossed her out of her office that ugly day seven months ago.

  Melissa had marched into her office without warning when Albert was at lunch. She had been there frequently during the time they were together, often making derogatory comments about Victoria’s furniture, paintings, or even the rain spots on the windows. By the look on her face, this time, Victoria knew, would be uglier than the last.

  “How dare you treat me this way?” Melissa said.

  Victoria put the cap on her Montblanc pen and looked across her wide mahogany desk, giving herself a moment to gather her thoughts. She was angry that she still allowed Melissa to rattle her. “What do you want, Melissa?” Victoria made a mental note to speak to the head of Drake security. She had warned him several times that Melissa might try to enter the facility and make a scene. She had been too quiet over the past few months, and Victoria knew her all too well.

  “What do I want? What do I want?” Melissa paced in front of her desk like a Ping-Pong ball crossing back and forth over the net. “What I want is for you to show me some respect. That’s what I want.”

  Victoria was not surprised when Melissa repeated herself. When she didn’t have anything to say, she said the same thing over and over. At first Victoria found it charming. Now it simply annoyed her. “Melissa, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I treated you with the utmost respect the entire time we were together, and that has not changed since we broke up.”

  “We didn’t break up, Victoria. You did.”

  Two years ago, Victoria had simply told Melissa she was not happy with their relationship and planned to move out the next day. She had rented an apartment near Drake and signed a twelve-month lease, figuring that would give her and Melissa enough time to untangle their finances and property. Eight months ago she bought and moved into the house she called her own.

  Victoria had met Melissa at a pickup basketball game. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was fiercely competitive. A win-at-all-cost woman. If she wanted something she had to have it and would not let anything stand in her way. She was successful in her own right, owning several high-end boutique shops that catered to the rich and famous in Lake Forrest. She was charming, persuasive, and had swept Victoria off her feet and into her arms in two dates.

  It took Victoria almost two years for her head to clear from the mind-blowing, everyday sex. Then she began to see who Melissa really was. Being hyper-competitive, Melissa regarded everything as a challenge to her, and she had to win, whether it was who had the fastest car, the newest electronic gadge
t, or the biggest paycheck. In their personal life Melissa always had to have the first and last orgasm of the night and was never satisfied until Victoria had come at least twice. She seemingly had to prove to herself that she could get a woman off multiple times. In the beginning, Victoria had absolutely no complaints, but after she took the job at Drake, all she wanted to do most nights was go to bed and sleep.

  Melissa had practically begged Victoria to take the job, and when Victoria figured out why, she was heartbroken. Melissa didn’t want her to accept the position at Drake because Victoria wanted it or because it was the right move for her career. Melissa wanted a girlfriend who was a CEO of a major corporation. She wanted to parade Victoria in front of her friends and business associates, and more often than not, she did. One evening after attending yet another party she didn’t want to go to, Victoria realized she was not happy in such a competitive relationship. It took many more months before she finally had the guts to end it. She hated her cowardice and vowed never to be that spineless again.

  Victoria refused to argue semantics with Melissa. “I’m busy right now. What do you want?” Not that Victoria planned to give her whatever it was. She had already given her enough.

  “I want you to quit this stupid job and come back to me.”

  Victoria looked at the woman she had been with for seven years, feeling as if she had never seen her before. “What are you talking about? I’m not quitting and I’m certainly not coming back to you.”

  Melissa slowed her pacing. “Look, Vic. I admit things got a little strained between us when you took this job.”

  “A little strained?” Victoria shot back. “You call telling everyone you had hit the trifecta with your CEO wife, your third million dollars in the bank, and a new Bentley a little strained? You don’t care about me, Melissa. I doubt if you ever did. I was just another notch in your belt. You have to be in competition with everyone for everything, and I was the grand trophy. I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in being a symbol on your mantle.” Victoria’s face burned with anger and embarrassment for not ending their relationship sooner.

  “It wasn’t like that, Vic.”

  Victoria hated that nickname. She calmly stood and circled to the front of her desk, stopping mere inches from the much-shorter Melissa. “That’s exactly how it was, Melissa, and if you had any self-respect you wouldn’t be in here begging me to come back. I don’t want you or the life we had. Or the life you think we could have,” Victoria added quickly, wanting to make it clear that they had no future. “Melissa, we are through, over, ended, whatever word you want to use to describe it. You have been less than civil to me through this entire breakup, and I suggest you leave before you make me really angry and I throw you out.”

  Victoria watched as Melissa tried to decide if she wanted to stay and fight or do as Victoria demanded. Finally, after what felt like several minutes, Melissa spun around so fast Victoria could almost feel the air around her move. She stormed out of the office, slamming the solid oak door behind her.

  “Victoria, are you there?”

  Carole’s voice brought her back to the present. “Yeah, sorry, what did you say?”

  “It wasn’t important. I’ll let you go. Give me a call next week and we’ll touch base and grab a bite or something.”

  Victoria didn’t know if she felt relieved that she didn’t have to maintain a conversation or disappointed that she didn’t care enough to. Carole was a comfort. No pressure, no commitment, just whenever and whatever. Suddenly, in the midst of the most critical point in her professional life, Victoria realized she wanted more.

  *

  The music was loud the way Tate liked it and her body pulsed to the beat of the bass as she walked through the crowded bar. The adrenaline from the afternoon still pounded through her veins and she felt invincible. At five foot six inches tall Tate realized she wasn’t easily visible in the throng of women at the Left Seat, Atlanta’s most fashionable lesbian bar. It was the place to be seen, and judging by the women practically standing shoulder to shoulder, every lesbian in town thought so as well. But the way Tate carried herself drew more than a few eyes her way. Some described it as a cocky swagger, others as confidence, and some simply called it “on the prowl.” Either way, eyes and interest followed her and Tate noticed almost every one of them.

  Tate was a regular at the Left Seat, preferring to meet women where she didn’t need to spend much time or effort on small talk and the get-to-know-you conversations required in the other places she could meet lesbians. She didn’t go in for the Sunday-morning breakfast clubs or the book-of-the-month gathering at the Book Binder or the numerous other social groups that filled Atlanta’s gay-and-lesbian calendar. She was rarely in town. And when she was, the last thing she wanted was a connection any deeper than her fingers could go inside an equally willing partner.

  She found an empty corner where by some miracle she squeezed into a space large enough to stand and watch the crowd without having her neighbors jostle her. Tate sipped her beer and lazily scanned the women on the dance floor, zeroing in on the uninhibited ones and those who appeared to be unattached. Women who were outgoing and unreserved on the dance floor were almost always equally unrestrained in the bedroom. She made eye contact with a slim redhead in jeans that were just tight enough to show off her ass and a green blouse cut low enough to display her other equally impressive assets. She smiled when the woman didn’t look away.

  *

  A week after her conversation with Clayton, Tate waited impatiently in the hard leather chair outside the office of Peter Braxton, CEO of Braxton Products. A distributor of medical supplies and equipment, Braxton couldn’t compete with the big guys, Fraser Healthcare and Cardinal Health, but preferred to deal with the small clinics and doctors the major players neglected. Braxton prided itself on one-on-one customer service, but it had become increasingly difficult to be competitive with Fraser or Cardinal.

  It had taken almost an act of God for Tate to get this appointment. First she had to get through Braxton’s assistant, then convince the woman that she couldn’t wait until the end of the month when “Mr. Braxton was available.” The woman’s snippy voice sounded again when she walked in the door. To make matters worse, Tate had been sitting in this uncomfortable chair for twenty-five minutes. She was about to say something to the woman, who had practically ignored her since she arrived, when a buzzer sounded and the woman stood.

  “Mr. Braxton will see you now.”

  Tate didn’t bother with a thank you but squared her shoulders and strode through the door.

  The first thing she noticed was the size of the man’s office, the second was the view of the Atlanta skyline, both of which were impressive. Braxton stood as she entered, his arm outstretched for a polite shake, but he didn’t step out from behind the massive oak desk.

  “Ms. Monroe, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Seemingly in his early fifties, he was well over six feet tall with thick gray hair combed straight back. He spoke with the customary Southern drawl and his handshake was firm.

  Tate refused to say the obligatory “That’s all right” or “No problem,” because it wasn’t. Her time was just as valuable as his and she wasn’t about to let him think otherwise. “Mr. Braxton, I’d like to talk to you about a business opportunity.” Tate cut right to the chase and sat down in the leather arm chair in front of the desk without being invited.

  He settled in his chair and Tate said, “Mr. Braxton, I work for—”

  “I know who you work for.”

  Tate wasn’t surprised. Articles and pictures about her had appeared in the business journals frequently over the past few years as she successfully negotiated some of the largest takeovers in the country. “Then you probably know that we’re interested in your company. We’ve studied your balance sheet, your P&L, and your income statement. Braxton is on shaky ground, Mr. Braxton, and we’re in a position to offer you a substantial sum of money to help you out.” Tate spoke c
onfidently, expecting the man to react as all the other CEOs whom she approached with such an offer.

  “Help me out or sell out?” Braxton asked calmly.

  “We can consider this a mutual arrangement. You’re teetering on the edge of a serious financial situation, and we can solve your problem, making you a very rich man as a result.” Tate had a number in mind, a very large number that she would throw out if the discussion began to stall.

  Braxton leaned back in his chair. “Whatever gives you the idea I’m in the market to sell?”

  Tate chuckled. “Mr. Braxton, your business is failing. Your suppliers haven’t been paid in months, the skyrocketing cost of fuel is eating through your dismal profits, and your fleet is growing older by the minute. If it gets any worse your investors will end up with pennies on the dollar, and I don’t think they’d be very happy knowing you passed up a deal with a company as cash-rich as Sumner Enterprises.” Tate kept her tone non-threatening but let her voice convey a knowing edge.

  “And you think selling Braxton to you is what I need to do to—let’s see now, how did you phrase it—help me out?”

  “Yes, Mr. Braxton, that’s exactly right.”

  Why wasn’t he jumping at the deal? The noise on the street said the company’s investors were ready for Braxton’s head. This was a no-brainer. Sumner Enterprises’ portfolio included a beverage company, several radio and television stations, eighteen utility companies scattered across the Midwest, and one of the largest publishing houses in the country. With such an eclectic range of companies Tate had never questioned why Clayton wanted Braxton. To her it was just another acquisition, but this one was her ticket to the top.

  Braxton gazed at her for a moment before he spoke. “You present me with an interesting proposition, Ms. Monroe. I’ll get back with you.”

  Reaching into her left breast pocket Tate withdrew a slip of paper folded in half and slid it across the large desk. The number on the paper in that pocket was substantially lower than the number on a similar piece in her right.