forenamed husband storming up the stairs toward the bedroom.
Alberto absently rubbed his puffy cheek. Good, he thought, the swelling was finally going down. Lifting his lightweight tunic he checked the red, sore patches covering his flat midsection. They, too, were starting to heal.
He shivered, remembering the beating he’d received at the hands of Max Gonzales. Each punch had felt like a stone being pounded against his body. But the beating had not been enough.
Just as Carlotta had predicted, Max Gonzalez had dedicated himself to making sure Alberto could not find a job at any decent bakery or restaurant in the tristate area. Alberto had been seriously considering packing up his house and moving to Europe when his agent, Tom, had told him about a little bakery in Tennessee.
Tom suggested he take the job, lay low and allow Max Gonzalez to cool off. Perhaps if he waited six months or so, then he could return to his beloved Texas. It was a good idea. But, the closer it came to the time to commit, the more he began to reconsider his options.
Just then his cell phone rang and he answered. “Hello?”
“Alberto, my love. I have left Max.”
Alberto sat up in his chair. It was difficult to hear over the noise in the background. “Carlotta?! Is that you, my angel?”
“Yes, I’m at the airport in Houston. My flight to New York leaves soon. Can you meet me there? At our special place?”
Despite pain in all parts of his body Alberto shot to his feet. “I’ll be there by midnight, sweet darling.”
“I’ll be waiting,” she said, her sultry voice sending an erotic thrill throughout his whole body. “And, Alberto, be careful.”
Chapter 1
Memphis, TN
Carlton Fulton stormed down the long, plush-carpeted corridor leading to the office of the chief financial officer of Fulton Foods. It was midafternoon on an unusually hot May day and the roll of documents twisted in his tight, knuckled fist was moist with the sweat of his hand. His full lips were stretched taut against his somber brown face. Seeing the vein throbbing at his temple, his employees hurried in every direction away from him.
Without knocking he threw open the double doors to the executive suite that matched his in size and comfort. The startled secretary inside bounded to her feet.
“Good morning, Mr. Fulton.” She forced a smile, but he could see the fear in her eyes.
“Is he in there?” he practically growled, nodding toward the closed oak-paneled door behind her desk.
“Um, yes, sir. Should I let him know—”
Before she could finish, Carl stormed by her desk and slammed open the door. He walked to the edge of the desk, behind which a young man sat, distracted by a phone call.
The young man on the phone was his nephew, Eliot Wright. Eliot bore such a striking resemblance to a younger version of Carl that many people assumed he was Carl’s son and not that of his only sister.
The younger man glanced up with a puzzled expression. In answer to his unspoken question Carl held up the crumpled papers in his hand. Eliot slightly lifted an arched black eyebrow, his expressive brown eyes showing nothing more than mild curiosity.
Even in his fury, Carl found he was impressed by his nephew’s unflappability. Eliot had changed a great deal over the years, Carl thought with pride. He was a strong, forceful man who got the job done no matter what it took, no longer the timid little boy who almost wet himself when asked his name. Carl took full credit for the transformation.
“Look, Steve,” Eliot said into the receiver. “Something has come up. Just let me know when you get the meeting set up.”
Carl tapped his foot rapidly, depleting what little patience he had as he waited for the call to end.
“All right, try to make it sometime this week. Talk to you later.” Eliot returned the phone to the cradle and sat back in his high-back leather chair. “Morning, Uncle Carl. I would say good morning, but it’s obviously not.”
“It certainly is not!” Carl tossed the balled-up papers on the desk. “This is the third major account we’ve lost to that little hole in the wall. The third, Eliot! What are you doing about this?!”
Eliot picked up the papers and attempted to unmangle them as much as possible.
His eyes glanced over the pages and a low “Hmm” was his only answer as he read through the discharge letter from one of their major accounts. “When did you receive this?”
“This morning—by e-mail, no less! They didn’t even have the decency to call and tell us they were canceling the contract.” He leaned across the desk to point out something in the e-mail. “See that?”
Eliot’s brows crinkled in confusion. “That can’t be right.”
“You better believe it is! Morningside, those smug bastards, wanted us to know just how much they were sticking it to us.”
“No wonder Mayfield Bakery got the contract. That’s an excellent bid.” Eliot muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Carl only glared at him in response.
Realizing his mistake, Eliot flipped through the few pages. “I mean, Morningside is a four-hundred-bed nursing home.”
“I think you’re missing the point,” Carl hissed through his teeth, trying not to reach across the desk and strangle his nephew.
Eliot continued to read, seeming to have forgotten Carl’s presence, but Carl knew despite his nonchalance his nephew didn’t miss anything. And he had the uncanny ability to comprehend a complicated situation in a matter of minutes.
“This is the third large contract we’ve lost to this bakery. What are you doing about them?”
“I’ve got Steve looking into our options.” He shook his head in confusion. “I just don’t understand how they can afford to run their operation when they’re offering up bids like this.”
Carl’s eyes narrowed on his nephew. “Hell if I know. That’s what I pay you for.”
He turned and headed back out of the office but paused at the door and looked back. “Eliot, I do not want to get another e-mail like that one.”
Eliot tossed the papers down on the desk and sat back in his chair. “Don’t worry, Uncle Carl, everything’s under control.”
“It better be. Do whatever you have to do, but I will not be undercut by some rinky-dink operation. Do we understand each other?”
Eliot nodded slowly, and Carl knew they were in complete agreement. For all his surface calm, Carl knew that his nephew was a win-at-all-costs individual. Eliot would be as ruthless as necessary to achieve his goals. He knew this, because that was how he’d raised him.
Eliot waited until his uncle left the office before picking up the crumpled letter and rereading the rejection of their bid and contract cancellation
