Wronged Desires Read online

  Wronged Desires

  Lillian

  MacKenzie Rhine

  Wronged Desires

  Copyright © January 2014, Lillian MacKenzie Rhine

  Cover art by For The Muse Designs © January 2014

  Formatting by Bob Houston eBook Formatting

  Amira Press

  Charlotte, NC 28227

  www.amirapress.com

  ISBN: 978-1-627620-40-6

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-mail, without prior written permission from Amira Press.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this piece to my children and all the divorcees who have had second thoughts on their decisions.

  I also dedicate this book to my fellow Amira Press author LeTeisha Newton. I would have never written this book if it was not for her. Thank you.

  Chapter One

  I slammed on the brakes, pulling into my cordoned spot in the parking garage. The morning’s terrible traffic seemed to foreshadow how the day would equate. I sighed, releasing my locked seat belt. I stepped out onto the pavement in the most insanely expensive pair of heels that I have ever had the mind to wear. I had spent nearly an hour making the bottom skid-resistant. Ready to get the day started, I yanked my pencil skirt into place, sliding my arms into my new slate-colored blazer—another spoil of the “guilt-free” shopping trip I had with my bestie this weekend.

  “I hope Sandra has what my body needs this morning,” my utterance escaped my lips, causing the other passenger in the elevator to gawk in my direction. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Coffee is what I need. Nosy.” The elevator chimed on my floor and I rolled my eyes, exiting the enclosure.

  Just as I anticipated, the office was inundated with upper-level executives from headquarters running around like ants at a picnic on a hot summer day. If I could just get to the liquid heaven that was sure to meet and greet me at my desk, then I would be able to handle the endless meetings scheduled for the day from hell that blocked out everyone’s calendars each fiscal quarter. Why did I make the terrible decision of having a corner-office suite in the rear of the damn office? Smile and nod is all they’re getting before I have my coffee.

  Briskly walking down the straightaway to my office, I successfully ignored the calling of my name when I saw the object of my affection sitting in Sandra’s hands, with plumes of steam escaping. My assistant, Sandra, leaned against her desk, holding a recyclable white paper cup with that damn green emblem. I swear that coffee chain had me deep in a deadly addiction. She brushed her thick chocolate curls behind her ear, following as I blazed a trail toward my office. “I told you that suit was going to look awesome on you, Victoria,” announced Sandra. “Especially since you’ve been hitting the gym for the past few months. Oh, and the shoe—” I snatched the cup from her and grunted in response. Flinging my purse and briefcase on the Italian leather butternut-colored couch and slinging my heels in separate directions, I tossed back the fiery liquid that curled my toes. “Yes, this suit looks awesome, but my back is starting to sweat considering it’s a thousand degrees outside,” I fired back in her direction while sitting at my desk.

  “Hey, no pain, no gain is what I say,” Sandra tutted.

  Closing my eyes, I wrapped both palms around the cup, wanting the caramel-flavored latte to make love to every inch of my mouth considering it was the closest thing to a hot touch I had received in almost a year. I moaned at each drop of the delectable treat, then I cracked my eyes open to see Sandra standing with shoes, purse, and briefcase tucked under one arm and her hand on her hip. “What? Why are you standing over there with all that Dominican flair, mamasita?”

  “You have a meeting in fifteen and another an hour after that.” Sandra always had a bad habit of notifying me of scheduled meetings on my calendar like it was her job…Oh yeah, it is her job. I grabbed a pen and legal pad, standing to go to yet another dry Worshaw and Baines meeting when Sandra glimpsed the bottom of my shoes and scowled. “Don’t tell me you cut up the bottom of those flawless, extremely expensive pair of intricately cobbled Christian Louboutin red bottoms that I had to break your arm for you to purchase.” Her mouth looked like it was salivating as she related her over-the-top description. I bit the bottom corner of my lip, shrugging in response.

  “Please don’t tell me you dragged them on a rough sidewalk. I mean, look at the scarred finish. I’m absolutely nauseous thinking about it,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes at her ludicrous statement and snatched my shoes from her hands. “Of course not. I used a razor blade like my grandma showed me. Now vamonos, Dominican princess, I have a meeting,” I shouted, pushing out my office door, leaving Sandra to pick her jaw off the ground as I stepped into conference room one.

  The meeting was not as bad as I anticipated and lasted only an hour, but it was exhausting to start the day off with numbers and budget talk. Given that I had a little over an hour before the next snoozefest, I headed to Sandra’s desk for a bit of juicy gossip. She was dressed in one of her many expensive, tailored Nordstrom’s business suits that being married to a high-income-producing husband awarded. Sandra was steadily typing away on her computer while I sat in the visitor’s chair that was placed in front of her desk.

  “Finished already?” she mumbled in a trance, engrossed in her spreadsheet.

  My nails are in desperate need of a manicure. I ignored her question. “So, one of the execs, who shall remain nameless, was giving me the stare-down during the meeting. He couldn’t keep his eyes off me. What do you think that was about?”

  “Uh-huh,” she responded.

  “Funny thing is, this man is severely married with children, the white-picket fence, and the consolation crossover vehicle. He has some nerve to be burning holes into this sixteen-hundred-dollar business suit with his nasty eyes, right?” I glared at her while she continued to click on the keys. “Sandra!” My shouting made her jump in her seat.

  “What, Victoria?” she asked, her tone riddled with irritation.

  “I was trying to tell you about—you know what, never mind. Why are you so distracted today?” I asked, leaving my seat and walking toward my office to check my e-mail before the next meeting.

  “Nothing, Victoria, nothing at all. I just want to finish this Peterson report that’s got me all stressed out. If it’s okay with you, may I take an early lunch after I send this?”

  “Of course. You know I don’t have any restrictions on your lunchtimes. Are you feeling okay?” Before she could answer, I placed my palm to her forehead, testing her temperature. “You don’t feel warm, but you definitely look pale.” She fanned my hand away from her face. Uh, rude. “I mean is everything all right at home?” Sandra’s husband, Carlos Santiago, tended to be a very intense personality. Due to his ownership of a trucking company as well as being a part-time driver, he wasn’t home much, which both relieved Sandra and stressed her at the same time.

  “I’m okay. I just need some fresh air.” She batted her lashes, assuring me that there was nothing to worry about.

  “Since you’re giving me the puppy-dog face, I’ll leave you alone, but I hope you’re not ditching me for our weekly talk at the Queendom tonight.” We scheduled biweekly “girl chats” at my house, which I called the Queendom.

  “You know I wouldn’t miss that for the world.” Her light laughter warmed my heart. It was not common for a boss to have such a great relationship with her secretary, but we were going on five years strong. As an only child on a childless street I grew up without a huge circle of friends, but Sandra provided me with that female, social companionship that I needed over the past few years.

  I stepped into my
office and closed the door, then turned on my radio to the local hits station while I waited for the next meeting. My shoes hit the floor, and I leaned back in my leather office chair with my skirt hiked up to my thighs. There was no way in hell Worshaw and Baines, an advertising and marketing firm, was soliciting any real work out of me on the days the suits visited.

  The day was filled with charts, graphs, and stapled packets as we discussed going into the next quarter. New companies were contracting with Worshaw and Baines, so the work was sure to be a handful for the next few months, but once the lunch hour elapsed my mind centered around the bottle of wine I had chilling at home.

  I pulled into my driveway, running late from an overextended meeting that occurred at the end of the day. Sandra would arrive soon for some much needed wine, brie, and the continuation of our juicy gossip from earlier. She was so distracted that morning that it concerned me, but I was determined to get to the bottom of the issue. I sighed audibly for no one in particular to notice, then entered the foyer of my gargantuan estate. Oh how I wish a powerful sultan would break in and steal this horrible rendition of a home for one of his seven daughters. The monstrosity, located in the affluent town of Southlake, Texas, was an eyesore that made the homes surrounding it look like matchboxes in comparison.

  My ex-husband made out like a fat rat in the divorce settlement, gaining the beachfront property, the yacht, the jet, and the Bentley. I received the big-ass house and all the hired help with an added bonus of their salaries to pay. I was exhausted thinking of my daily mental rant. Barely nine months has passed since the divorce, and I have no idea what my plans are for the home. We put so much into having the house built from the ground up, and the employees that maintain the estate are like family. I can’t see myself terminating them just because I hate living in a large, dark, and lonely house.

  I flicked off the shoes that had caused my feet to ache by lunch, tossed them into the living room, peeled off my blazer to unlatch my bra underneath my silk camisole, and pitched everything in the doorway of the kitchen.

  After placing the cheese, grapes, crackers, and berries on a tray for my “girls’ night,” I looked over my shoulder for any invisible spies as I pressed my lips to the mouth of the Pinot bottle. During midswig, a light chuckle startled me into a choking fit. Sandra stood in the doorway with my heels, blazer, and bra in hand. The releasing of my tongue in the hole of the bottle created a popping sound that made Sandra laugh even more. She shook her head, deposited my discarded items on a nearby counter, and retrieved a cloth napkin. “I see old habits will never be broken,” she taunted, handing me the napkin.

  Playfully clutching the napkin to wipe my mouth, I asked, “What old habits? I don’t see anything wrong with enjoying a nice bottle of wine in my own home.”

  “That’s the problem. You’re living in this gorgeous estate that you got from that cheating-ass husband of yours and you’re literally drinking straight from the bottle. Victoria, I’m sure there are enough wine glasses in your kitchen to serve most of Fort Worth and Dallas combined.” Her constant, gross over-estimation was becoming a new pet peeve.

  “With that being said, this is my house that I have to pay for, so I should be able to do what I want in here. Now let’s sit, wine, and dine my friend.” I grabbed the tray of hors d’oeuvres and headed into the living room, which was another part of the house that made my skin crawl. “You know, I had a rough day, especially breaking in those damn shoes you talked me into buying. Sitting on non-plush Italian leather just doesn’t speak to me right now, so let’s relax in my room. You know, like a good, old-fashioned slumber party.”

  We walked a short distance down the hallway to the master suite, my haven. I crawled onto my high-standing queen-size bed, which was covered in taupe bedding and as many pillows as were able to sit against the iron rod headboard without falling off the mattress. I sat the tray off to the side, patting the bed for Sandra to sit. She laid my things inside of my closet, carefully removing her shoes and setting them next to the bed. When she sat down I saw her blushed cheeks and the puffiness around her eyes.

  “Have you been crying, Sandra?” Her eyes slowly met mine as she painfully shifted her face into as pitiful a portrayal of a smile that I’d ever seen. “Sandra?” Watching her try to hold up a firm front was weakening my heartstrings.

  “Don’t worry about it, Victoria. All is well, so pour me some wine.” Her glance turned away from me and I reached out, placing my hand on her shoulder, inviting her to reveal her emotions. “Carlos was supposed to be back today, but like always he extended his load. I’m so fed up with this bullshit,” she said atop the flood of tears that escaped her eyes. Scooping her into my arms, brushing my hands against her mass of waves and curls, I gave as much physical support as I could.

  In all the years that I had known Sandra, she would get pissed or heated, but she had never broken-down. I was ruined seeing her like that, but in the true show of Sandra’s strength, the finish came as fast as the start. We were the same age, but I cradled her in my arms, laying my cheek to her brow, rocking her like a newborn babe. I wanted to do something to vanquish her hurt and pain. My silence was all I could do at that moment. Then a sudden sound made us both look up at the door in surprise. I heard the familiar drop of car keys on the counter.

  I froze. “What the hell was that?” Then he appeared in my bedroom doorway taking in the scene of Sandra shoeless, hair a fright, situated almost in my lap.

  “Well, well, well. Didn’t take you long to hop that fence I see,” he blurted in an arrogant manner, turning tail.

  Sandra backed away from me, her face beet red with shame. Waiting to decipher her feelings, I inched off the bed and followed him.

  “Kem, what the hell are you doing in my home?”

  He snickered, heading to the refrigerator and removing two bottles of spring water.

  “Kemington Sutter.” I was fuming mad. “Answer me!” I stamped my foot on the kitchen tile like a child throwing a fit. He popped the cap off one bottle and placed it on the counter in front of me, then opened his own bottle and took a gulp while keeping his visual focus locked in on me. The clacking of heels came down the hallway. Before jetting to catch her, I asked him through gritted teeth, “Kemington Sutter? Again, I demand to know why you are here. And how in the hell did you get through the gate?”

  “Vic, sweetheart, you look absolutely peaked, like you’ve seen a ghost. Drink your water before you collapse. Oh, and you two didn’t need to stop the office sexual harassment on my account. I’ll go to my room and give you both some privacy.” He chortled and walked out of the kitchen.

  My anger was beginning to overtake me but the opening of the front door entrance turned my focus as I caught her before she could shut the door. “Sandra, are you okay? I didn’t know Kem was coming over. I promise I didn’t know.” I placed my hand on her shoulder and whispered in hushed tones, “Sandra, let’s talk about—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “I’m fine, Victoria. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow, okay?” She clutched her things tighter to her side. “Sandra, please wait. Let me get rid of Kem,” I pleaded.

  “No, Victoria. I have to go. I’m sorry for the moment of weakness. Don’t worry about me, everything will work itself out. I’m positive of it.” With that, she stepped out the front door skirting out the gates. What is really happening? I’ve never seen Sandra in that shape before. Kemington! That asshole will answer to me, that I’m sure of. I was so furious that I stormed through every room in the main house, finding Kem sprawled out in one of the guest suites. The visual of his luggage sitting in the corner made me gag.

  “Kemington Sutter, if you don’t start explaining yourself, I’m calling security.”

  “Grounds security?” He leaned up on his elbows looking at me. “Who do you think let me in?” He lay back, laughing.

  “You are not allowed in this house. My house. The guard will be dealt with in the morning, but you need to leave this instant.” />
  “I’m not going anywhere. And what were you doing with your assistant in the master bedroom, Vic? You both looked very cozy.” My level of rage skyrocketed just listening to him questioning my motives.

  I stalked to the bedside, towering over him. “You’ve got your nerve questioning me. Get the hell out of my house!” Kem slitted one eye at me while the other remained closed.

  “Yell at me again, and I’ll be calling security on you.” He grinned, making my body betray me on the spot. His smile was my kryptonite. I crumbled inside, and the protective gates around my heart rose a little, allowing him to grasp my hand. I sat on the bed next to him. “Vic, if you must know, the condo is being fumigated for black mold and all the five stars are booked solid, so I came home to visit my Babygirl.”

  I clenched my jaw. Babygirl. Kem could win any argument by calling me that pet name, the same nickname my grandmother bestowed upon me when I came into her care as an infant. Even though he and I started dating during our undergrad years at Texas A&M, he was able to form an unbreakable bond with my grandmother, who he affectionately referred to as Nan. He loved her as if she was his own blood until she passed away shortly after we received our master’s degrees in Business, and I loved him for that. As for the weekend business trips, thoughts of other women, and frivolous spending, those were all the things that made me loathe him to the core.

  “Fumigation? Black mold? What about four-star hotels, Kem?” Damn why did I say that? I grimaced, knowing an onslaught was coming.

  “Four star? Me, in a four star? Come on, be reasonable, Vic. I have never and will never walk into a four star, let alone sleep in one. I’m not discussing this any further. I will be here for the next month and that’s the end of that.”

  “End of what? Oh, hell no. We’re going to figure this out. And what the hell do you mean a month? No, that’s not going to work.”