BLACKMAIL_A billionaire blackmail romance Page 2

Ryland licked his lips, his dark eyes fixated on his step-sister.

  “Oh, I always have time for my family,” he replied, his voice oozing with causticness. Ayla grimaced.

  “I was hoping it would just be you and me, Mom,” she started to say, but Beth Ann was hurrying into the back to ready herself for the outing.

  “What are you doing here, Ryland?” Ayla asked, trying to keep the nervousness from her voice. “I find it difficult to believe that your untimely arrival is a coincidence.”

  A leer formed on his lips and he loomed above her, his shaved head almost touching the roof of the camper.

  “A little birdy told me you were coming for a visit. You know how I love to catch up with my righteous little sister,” he purred, lowering his head.

  His face was inches from hers and Ayla felt a stab of dread course through her.

  How, after all these years, does he still manage to terrorize me with just one look?

  There were many obvious answers for the feelings Ayla had toward Ryland. He had been her childhood bully, after all, the cause of nightmares which still plagued her.

  But they both knew there was much more than that, things which Ayla tried to push far from her mind.

  “Ryland, I don’t get to see Mom alone very often,” she said, suddenly trying to change her approach. “Just let us have our dinner and – “

  “What’s the matter, Ayl? You don’t have enough money to pay for your big brother too? I thought I heard you say you got a promotion to under the CEO,” he asked her jeeringly. The innuendo was not lost on Ayla, but she chose to ignore it, knowing that he was only trying to make her feel unsettled.

  Even though he was succeeding.

  “If you don’t have enough money for Ryland to go, then I don’t want to go either!” Beth Ann cried from the doorway and this time Ayla did not supress the moan of anger.

  “No! It’s fine. We’ll all go. Let’s just go then.”

  Beth Ann and Ryland exchanged happy smiles as Ayla stormed from the trailer. As she unlocked the Subaru with her fob, she stopped to look up at the people she had been forced to call family and wondered how God could be so cruel.

  Chapter Two

  “Mr. Benning, George and Vanessa Stanhope are here.”

  Diren peered up at the receptionist, his mind needing a moment to reconcile what she had said.

  “Sir?”

  “Where’s Delia?” he asked.

  Catrina shook her blonde bob in confusion.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied. “I can have her paged.”

  “Never mind,” he told her. “Send the Stanhopes in – in twenty-five minutes.”

  Catrina eyed him, biting on her lower lip, trying to stop herself from contradicting his order.

  “Yes sir,” she murmured, stepping back.

  As the door closed, Diren rose from his desk and wandered toward the window overlooking the New York skyline.

  It was a gloomy day, even for late October. The clouds were threatening their tears, but nothing had manifested but a dark mass of billowing clouds.

  There was a dull pounding in the back of his head, one which seemed to increase as the morning wore on.

  “Diren, were you looking for me?”

  Delia appeared in the back entrance which led directly to the private elevator.

  “I wouldn’t have to look for you if you were where you were supposed to be,” he told his executive assistant flatly.

  Delia pouted flirtatiously, drawing closer to him with angled sashaying hips.

  “I had to use the little girl’s room,” she protested, her rosebud lips drawing closer to his. “You can’t blame me for that.”

  She ran her lips over his teasingly, her hazel eyes locking onto his grey gaze.

  “Are you mad?” she whispered. “Are you going to spank me?”

  Diren grinned mirthlessly as her lips met his.

  He leaned back against the window pane, allowing her to lower his trousers as her mouth continued to explore the path along his chin and down his chest.

  He stopped her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and scowled slightly as his Armani pants fell to the floor.

  “Don’t make a mess now, darling,” he warned, and she nodded, her eyes dilated.

  “I’ll be careful,” she whispered. He released the pressure on her red tresses but guided her toward his centre where she eagerly took him in her mouth.

  Diren leaned back again, pushing himself inside her hot mouth fully. She choked slightly but he barely noticed.

  His mind was on other things.

  So the Stanhopes are finally coming around, he thought, closing his eyes as Delia’s licks grew longer as she lapped at him hungrily. If they agreed to come in on a Saturday, I’ve got them by the balls.

  He felt a slight flush of excitement building in him, escalated by the feel of his assistant’s warm hands on his sack, massaging him closer to climax.

  They are sitting fifteen feet away, biting their nails in nervousness as I get blown. Life is good.

  Delia almost had him, her mouth sucking with vigor and he felt a swell inside him. His body jerked once as Delia’s soft palms squeezed at him and he allowed himself to release down her throat fluidly, his hands holding her firmly in place.

  She gasped, choking slightly but he did not release her immediately, relishing the minor struggle she put up to unhinge herself from him.

  Without warning, he dropped his hands, allowing her to fall backward off balance.

  She seemed surprised, which was mildly amusing to him as it was nothing he hadn’t done before.

  She’s becoming boring, he thought, looking down at her through his dark lashed eyes. Oh how I loathe predictability. How long has it been since anyone has surprised me?

  Delia smiled up at him tentatively, but he could see she was irritated at being tossed aside.

  If she doesn’t like this, imagine how she’s going to feel on Monday.

  Slowly, she rose, straightening her pencil skirt as he yanked his pants up to his taut waist, buckling his belt.

  “Are we meeting for dinner tonight?” she asked. “I found this great Ethiopian place on Madison – “

  “No,” he interjected. “No dinner tonight.”

  He turned back to his desk, tapping on his keyboard mouse to reactivate his screen as Delia appeared behind him.

  Diren jerked his head up and glared at her.

  “What are you doing standing behind me?” he barked. Delia paled.

  “Diren, I’ve been your assistant and lover for – “

  He scoffed and set her back away from his high backed chair.

  “You’re not my lover, Delia, and calling you my assistant is pushing the definition of the word to extremes.”

  She immediately lost the coy expression on her face and scowled.

  “Why are you always so mean?” she whined. “I just gave you a blow job and you treat me like trash!”

  “Well, my dear, if it quacks like a duck…” he trailed off, returning to his screen. “Now get out. I have work to do.”

  She opened her pink, still wet mouth as if to protest and for a moment, Diren thought she might scream.

  Instead, she whirled on her burgundy stilettos and stormed off into the outer office, slamming the inner door in anger.

  I hope the next one isn’t such a drama queen.

  He hit the intercom.

  “Catrina, ensure that Delia receives her termination papers via email this afternoon,” he called. He muted the speaker, momentarily envisioning the look of indignant fury in Delia’s face when she realized she was being replaced.

  He unmuted the call.

  “And ensure you CC me all the correspondences.”

  He sat back in the chair, swiveling slightly like a small boy with excitement.

  Glancing at the time on his computer, he waited, knowing that Catrina was about to show the Stanhopes into his office.

  As if reading his mind, Catrina knocked and opened the door
.

  “Mr. Benning? May I show the Stanhopes in now?”

  He nodded shortly and watched as George and Vanessa Stanhope ventured into the huge, tastefully done workspace.

  Instantly, he honed in on Vanessa, George’s granddaughter, who stood no more than five foot two yet seemed to tower over her enfeebled elder.

  She’s trying not to look impressed, Diren noted as she surreptitiously glanced around the luxurious room with its marble and wood finishes.

  Diren rose and smiled graciously, hurrying to assist George into a comfortable spot on the settee.

  “No need to sit at the desk for this,” he told Vanessa, who shot him a puzzled look. “It’s very formal for such a meeting.”

  He studied her pale face, gauging her reaction.

  Interested but suspicious, he observed. She was going to need a little bit of sweet talking, it was clear.

  “I am glad you think so, Mr. Benning,” she replied as her grandfather got settled. “You have us here on a Saturday after all.”

  “I am thrilled you could accommodate my odd request, Ms. Stanhope,” he told her earnestly. “And do call me Diren.”

  For the first time since they had entered, she offered him a cautious smile.

  “Vanessa,” she replied.

  “My name is George if anyone is interested!” George Stanhope squawked, leaning forward to peer at him with myopic and runny blue eyes. “I don’t give a damn what you call me. And you may be able to charm my granddaughter with your good looks, Mr. Benning, but I assure you, you do not fool me!”

  Diren had been expecting the words and he sat back.

  “Mr. Stanhope – George,” he started, losing the smile. “This is not a friendly tea. We’re both in the business of making money.”

  He paused for a moment as if something had occurred to him.

  “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Scotch?”

  “No thank you!” George barked. “We are here to discuss the future of Windchime Publications, nothing more!”

  “Fine,” Diren conceded, waving his hand in dismissal of Catrina who stood in the doorway. Diren could feel her reproving eyes watching him, judging him.

  As if she knows anything about me, he thought, coldly.

  It may be time to replace Catrina also.

  Her predictability was growing as equally annoying as Delia’s with her holier-than-thou gazes through her wire-rim glasses.

  They all think they are better people, more moral, more compassionate but they’ll learn sooner or later that the world is a hard, cruel place and no one can rely on anyone but themselves.

  Idly, his mind flittered to a time when he had been idealistic. It almost seemed like he was looking at himself in a past life.

  That man is long gone, he thought wryly, turning his attention back to the Stanhopes and the matter at hand.

  “I think that Windchime Publications would make a charming addition to our growing network,” Diren started, but George cut him off.

  “I know how you work, Mr. Benning,” he snapped. “You buy out struggling outfits like mine and strip them down to turn them into one of your fear mongering, hate spewing Republican agencies. I won’t have it! Not with a company my grandfather built.”

  Diren felt his jaw tighten at the assessment but he did not betray his emotions. He glanced at Vanessa who seemed embarrassed by her grandfather’s outburst.

  “I see,” Diren said slowly. “And who have you consulted to make such a statement?”

  George snorted.

  “I know your reputation, Benning. Everyone knows who you are, a greedy, soulless monster who will buy and sell people’s lives at the drop of a hat. I don’t need to hire a consultant for that information – I can use Google just like everyone else.”

  “Grandad!” Vanessa hissed, her face apologetic.

  “And another thing, Joe, my tree is not your problem!” George continued. Diren paused, his brow furrowing in confusion.

  “Diren, George, my first name is Diren. And I’m afraid I don’t understand – “

  “The hell you don’t, you’re a meddling bastard! You go ahead and call the city! I will take the entire damned neighborhood to court if I have to!”

  He rose unsteadily and Diren glanced at Vanessa.

  Her face had gone almost opaque.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “We have to go.”

  She grabbed hold of her grandfather’s arm as he shuffled toward the doorway, continuing to mutter about the tree.

  “Damned busybodies, can never keep their eyes on their own backyards,” George grumbled. “Always nosing around my lawn.”

  “It’s okay, Grandad,” Vanessa murmured soothingly. She looked at Diren with heartbroken eyes.

  “It’s Sundowner’s,” she whispered, pulling him away.

  Diren watched them disappear without so much as a goodbye and he realized that George Stanhope was in the midstages of dementia.

  “I’ll call you, Mr. Benning,” Vanessa called from the elevators, trying to placate George. “We will reschedule the meeting for a better time.”

  “Don’t you call him, Nancy! He’s going to make us sell our house and move! Where will we raise the children if we don’t have a home? And all because of a damned tree!”

  “Shh,” Vanessa told him soothingly, shooting Diren and Catrina a last desperate look as she ushered him onto the elevator. “No one is going to make you sell the house, Granddad.”

  “Oh that poor man,” Catrina whispered. “He’s got Alzheimers!”

  “I see that,” Diren remarked, turning away.

  “I can’t even imagine what that family must be going through. They are very close, from what I’ve read. I had an aunt who suffered from Alzheimer’s and it was awful for my uncle and cousins to watch,” the receptionist continued.

  Diren eyed her coldly.

  He wondered if there was anything showing on his face that would indicate to his assistant that he was interested in her family history.

  “Draw up an offer for Windchime Publications,” he told her brusquely. “And send it to Alvin in legal.”

  She blinked.

  “What? They agreed to sell in that short amount of time?” she asked to his retreating back. “Is that what set him off?”

  “They didn’t agree to sell yet, but something tells me if we add a little bit of pressure to the situation, it won’t take much coaxing,” he replied before closing the door in his wake.

  “Mr. Benning!” she gasped horrified, but he was already in the sanctuary of his inner office, oblivious to her disdain.

  At his desk once more, a beam of contentment lit up Diren’s face and he nodded to himself.

  Windchime Publications will be a nice plum in our portfolio. I’ve been waiting for George Stanhope to kick the bucket for years and Vanessa won’t be a hard sell once he is out of the picture completely. It’s going to be a good week; George Stanhope is almost out of the running and I’m getting a new assistant on Monday. Let the games begin.

  Chapter Three

  Ayla had spent the rest of her last day of freedom before starting her new job by drinking with her best friend.

  On Sunday, she had warned herself mentally about the repercussions of starting her new position with a hangover, but Ryland’s lecherous face loomed too heavily in her mind for her to stop.

  When Sonia had called, citing happy hour at Fraggle’s in the Village, it was all Ayla could do not to trip over her own ankle length boots to meet her best friend.

  “So you’re starting as Benning’s assistant tomorrow, huh?” Sonia asked, her penciled eyebrows raising slightly. “Lucky, lucky girl.”

  “The benefits and pay are definitely better than working reception,” Ayla replied. “But the hours are going to be killer.”

  As the word “killer” escaped her lips, she saw Ryland’s face flash before her eyes and she grabbed for her martini, swishing the potent liquid down quickly.

  “Oh how cute, you’
re playing dumb,” Sonia chuckled, dropping her face into her palms as she rested her elbows on the high bar table between them. “As if you don’t know your boss is the biggest playboy bastard in the history of time. He makes Rasputin look like Prince Charming.”

  Ayla groaned slightly and shook her head.

  “I don’t care who he bangs or what he does. He’s my boss and this is a job,” Ayla retorted.

  The last thing she needed was the thought of more drama in her life. The entire purpose of leaving Tallman for the big city was to fall into a life of anonymity.

  She didn’t want to be seen as the poor little trailer trash girl whose mommy couldn’t get it together and whose daddy left town with a teenager.

  In New York City, she was no one, a girl from upstate who no one really noticed unless they studied her closely. Then they were sure to notice her sparkling blue eyes, her long silky hair, and her model’s bone structure. She tried to dress in androgenous clothing to mask the body that made guys trip over themselves looking back at her. Usually she was successful; she was the exact opposite of most of the female population around her who tried to outshine each other with their designer bags, stiletto heels and flashy fake nails. Not to mention the other fake accoutrements that were easily found in this silicone friendly city.

  Overall though, everyone in the city was in much too big a rush to take the time to really look at Ayla Dumas.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about fucking Diren Benning,” Sonia chortled, her brown eyes narrowing with disbelief. “He’s every woman’s wet dream. Shit, even I think about him when I’m with Angela. If anyone could get me to switch teams, it would be Diren Benning.”

  Ayla smirked.

  “That’s what you said about Channing Tatum and Jason Momoa too. Your standards are lowering, Sonia.”

  “That’s because I actually have a shot with Benning. I mean, if you get me an ‘in’ that is…”

  Ayla snorted, knowing that Sonia was only talking out of her rear end. Ayla wished she could find someone to love her as much as her best friend loved Angela.

  But I bet that Angela doesn’t come with a highly dysfunctional family and a secret which burns a hole in her stomach, Ayla mused.