The Love You Crave (A Donovan Creed Novel) Page 3

  Why do I need freezers in the spa?

  That’s another story for another time.

  In a month I intend to re-open the surgical center and spa, under the direction of Dr. Eamon Petrovsky, who headed the team of surgeons that reconstructed my face a couple years ago. I plan to call it Vegas Moon, if that meets with Gwen’s approval.

  How did I get the board members to agree to a secret meeting at PhySpa? I told them Gwen Peters was ready to discuss her role with the company, now that her husband was dead. I told them she was considering two possibilities: accepting a cheap buyout for her controlling interest, or using her inheritance to make a major investment in Ropic Industries. Knowing either event would stimulate their greed glands, I explained the meeting should be held in secret, away from their headquarters. I told them my driver, Jeff Tuck, would pick them up in a nearby restaurant parking lot and bring them here.

  Of course, they probably felt funny ducking under the crime scene tape and entering the back door, just as Gwen and I are doing now.

  Jeff Tuck holds the door for us, and we enter. I nod at Joe Penny, who’s standing just inside. Jeff’s my eccentric L.A. operative, and Joe Penny’s the young bomb-builder and computer whiz I hired to upgrade the surveillance system and wire the building. Thanks to Joe Penny and my unlimited budget, PhySpa is a veritable fortress. I know, because I’ve been living here quietly since two days after I killed Dr. Phyllis Willis.

  “Is Dr. P. here?” I say.

  Jeff’s eyes start to tear up. “You’re so beautiful!” he says.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Her,” he says.

  “Thank you,” Gwen says. Then smiles and adds, “I’m Gwen.”

  Jeff looks her up and down. “You certainly are.” He looks at me. “How do you do it?”

  “Let’s move along.”

  Young Joe Penny is so stupefied by Gwen’s legs I leave him there to recover.

  I don’t blame the guys. Gwen is spectacular. Still…

  “Jeff,” I say.

  “Yeah?”

  “Try to be professional.”

  Jeff nods, and escorts Gwen and me down a short hallway.

  “That wasn’t here before,” Gwen says, indicating the small glass-walled cubicle that’s blocking our way.

  “It’s for security,” I say. “Watch what I do, then do the same.”

  I enter the cubicle, and Jeff closes the door behind me. I place my feet on the two small dots on the concrete floor, put my hands on the glass walls on either side of the cubicle, and close my eyes. Five seconds later a beep sounds, and I exit through the opposite door, close it, and wait for Gwen to enter the cubicle. She does, but turns sideways while looking for the dot upon which to place her right foot. Without meaning to, she strikes one of the sexiest poses I’ve ever seen! Her hip is practically touching one side of the cubicle, and her left foot, the other. She’s wearing five-inch black stilettos with a single black ankle strap. Of course, at this angle, the front of her dress is almost completely open.

  Just as I’m wishing I had a picture of her in this pose, Jeff snaps one with his cell phone. I’ll confiscate it later. Eventually Gwen gets her feet situated properly, waits for the beep, then joins me on the other side of the cubicle, and together we wait for Jeff.

  He joins us and we continue down the hall to the surgery center, where Gwen and I visit with the brilliant Dr. P. for a few minutes. I own the building, but I’m giving Dr. P. eighty percent of the actual business to run the place. He’ll bring class and credibility to the plastic surgery center, and will soon conduct interviews to hire a manager to run the spa.

  We can’t use the former spa manager because I killed him the morning I shot Phyllis.

  As we head to the spa’s consultation room, Gwen says, “You bought this place?”

  “I did.”

  “I had no idea you were rich.”

  What she means is she assumed I took the job as Lucky’s bodyguard because I needed the cash. Being obscenely wealthy would normally be enough to win Gwen. In fact, the only thing Lucky had going for him when he met her was his fifty million dollar financial statement. By the time I met him, six months later, Lucky was flat broke. Even his controlling interest in Ropic Industries was worthless, since the company’s stock had been de-listed.

  Gwen puts her hand on my arm to stop me. Jeff Tuck tenses up, just like I taught him, ready to strike, should there be a problem. I nod to let him know I’m okay.

  “I like a man with money!” Gwen coos.

  Of course she does. But Callie’s wealthy too, weighing in with a billion dollar net worth statement. The fact I’m six times wealthier than Callie merely keeps me in the game.

  Gwen stands on her tiptoes and kisses my earlobe.

  “Have you missed me?” she says.

  “I have.”

  “Why?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, why did you buy PhySpa?”

  The way she changes subjects reminds me of my girlfriend, Rachel, who I’m allowed to call once a week. Thinking about it now, I realize it’s been a week since my last call.

  “I didn’t care about the spa part,” I say. “But a plastic surgery center in Vegas? Where every woman wants boobs and the best plastic surgeon in the world is available to run the place? It’s a no-brainer!”

  She purses her lips and says, “I think about you all the time.”

  I suspect she’s only thought about me since discovering I might be wealthy a moment ago. But no matter. Gwen’s desire to be around rich, powerful people notwithstanding, it dawns on me she’s as easy-going as any woman could be. She was glad to sit in Callie’s kitchen munching dry cereal, being left out of my conversation with Callie, and just as happy to attend a board meeting she knows nothing about. She didn’t ask why I brought her to PhySpa instead of Ropic Industries, and I doubt she cares. She didn’t complain about entering the security cubicle, nor when we took time to visit Dr. P.

  8.

  THERE ARE SIX people in the consultation room of PhySpa when Gwen and I enter, all of whom are giving off a bored, who-gives-a-shit attitude. A middle-aged guy with thick glasses and no eyebrows sits at the head of the long table. He’s William Wadsworth, the CEO. I know, because I’ve done my homework. I spent the past week reading everything about Ropic Industries my facilitator, Lou Kelly, has dug up on the company since the day I met Lucky Peters. Plus, I have insider information I gleaned from Lucky prior to his death.

  William clears his throat to speak, but I put a stop to that by slamming my fist on the table and shouting, “Get your ass out of the chair, William, ’cause there’s a new sheriff in town!”

  He grimaces at my lack of couth, but remains where he’s sitting. I grab my gun from my ankle holster and point it at him.

  He tries to lower his head into his suit coat, turtle-like, while raising his hands. I notice the others have snapped to attention.

  “Put your hands down,” I say. “This isn’t a robbery, it’s a hostile takeover.”

  He scrambles out of the chair, and Gwen sits in it, smiles brightly, and says, “Why, thank you, William!” Then she points at my gun and says, “I thought we just went through security.”

  “We did,” I say, “but I own the joint.”

  “Ah,” she says.

  I say, “Put your cell phones on the table, everyone.”

  Tony Spumoni, Ropic’s president, says, “Cell phones aren’t allowed at board meetings.”

  I point my gun at his face. “Cell phones on the table.”

  Everyone places their cell phones in the center of the table.

  I retrieve mine from my jacket, and press a button. When Joe Penny answers, I ask him to join us.

  Seconds later, Joe enters. I tell him to collect the phones. While we’re in the meeting, he’ll download their recent calls and text messages so I can see what they’ve been up to. He gathers the phones and leaves, as I announce, “I’m Donovan Creed, Mrs. Peters’s advisor. Anyone
have a problem with my being here?”

  No one says anything.

  “Good.” I holster my weapon. “Which of you ladies is Mary?”

  Mary tentatively raises her hand a few inches.

  “You’re the corporate secretary?”

  She nods.

  “What have you written down so far?”

  “N-nothing.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way. I’ll provide the minutes later, and you can sign them.”

  “Th-that’s not normally how it’s d-done,” she says.

  “Right. And the way you people run a company isn’t the way it’s normally done, either.”

  “What are you insinuating?” William says.

  “Ropic Industries is under federal investigation for accounting irregularities.”

  “Thanks to her husband!” Tony says, with contempt.

  “That’s a rather nasty tone to take, under the circumstances,” I say. “Can’t you see Mrs. Peters is grieving over the loss of her husband?”

  Everyone takes a minute to look at Gwen, but no, they can’t detect any sadness in her face. I ask, “Which of you is Stevie, the accountant?”

  “Stephen Derrier is no longer with us,” William says.

  “He’s dead?”

  “He’s been relieved of his duties, awaiting federal investigation for misappropriation of corporate funds.”

  “Why’s that a federal offense?”

  “He and Lucky Peters conspired to fund a casino wagering scheme.”

  I arch an eyebrow.

  “That’s right, Mr. Creed,” William says, smugly. “We turned ourselves in to the authorities, pled our case, and they’re giving us an opportunity to stay in business.”

  “Only in Vegas,” I say.

  “That’s right. And you should know that since Mrs. Peters’s husband was directly involved in the embezzlement of more than $12 million of corporate assets, our attorneys are working to divest her of his shares and redistribute them to the shareholders.”

  I look around the table and see they’re all wearing smug smiles. They think I’m losing control of the meeting.

  They’re wrong.

  I say, “Since Ropic has no in-house attorneys, you must have hired outside counsel.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How much was their retainer?”

  William smiles. “That’s really none of your business.”

  “Is it safe to say you paid more than fifty thousand dollars?”

  “We’re a public company. You can learn those specifics at the next shareholder meeting, should you care to attend.”

  “Assuming you’re a registered stock holder,” Toni Spumoni adds, with a sneer.

  I walk to the door, open it, and Jeff Tuck enters, closes the door behind him, and plants himself in front of it. I remove my jacket, then grab the neck of the board member sitting closest to the door, and lift him out of his chair while applying enough pressure to make him wet his pants, violently.

  “Now, see here!” William says, rising to his feet.

  “I don’t feel like waiting till the next shareholder meeting,” I say. “Who’s this guy with the weak bladder?”

  “Mr. Shay.”

  “And he’s?”

  “Our new accountant.”

  I notice Gwen’s face getting flushed, which doesn’t mean she’s embarrassed. Quite the contrary, it means she’s getting turned on by my display of power.

  I look at the lady sitting beside Mr. Shay. She’s cowering, trying to avoid eye contact. “And who’s this?” I say.

  No one speaks, but I already know she’s Tootie Greene, Ropic’s executive vice president.

  I drop the urine-soaked accountant back in his chair and say, “Mrs. Greene? You can either tell me how much the company paid for outside legal counsel, or I can squeeze some piss out of you, too.”

  “Too late,” she says.

  A quick glance at the crotch of her tan slacks confirms she’s telling the truth. From her place at the head of the table, Gwen exclaims, “Oh! Oh, my!”

  Everyone looks at her, and she says, “Sorry.”

  But I can see she’s positively smoldering. I wink at her, and she swallows hard. She fixes her gaze on me, waiting to see what I’m going to do next, clearly hoping I’ll put on a show of power.

  Tony says, “Fuck this. We paid ’em two hundred fifty grand. What’re you gonna do about it?”

  I smile and say, “The payment of funds in excess of fifty thousand dollars to any outside legal counsel requires a majority vote of the stockholders.”

  “Who says?”

  I point to the stack of corporate documents by the house phone on the table hugging the far wall. “It’s all in there. You should read your own rules sometime, Spumoni. At any rate, since Gwen’s the majority stockholder of the company, your actions in hiring the outside firm constitute a breach of corporate policy. Mrs. Peters could fire you right now, if she cares to. Mrs. Peters?”

  “Yes, Mr. Creed?”

  “Do you approve spending two hundred fifty thousand dollars of corporate money to divest you of your shares?”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Do you want to let them take your company away from you?”

  “Hell, no!”

  “There’s your mandate,” I say, pointing to the house phone. “Tony, call the attorneys and fire them. Tell them to return any unused portion of the retainer.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.”

  I start moving toward him.

  “You can’t intimidate me,” he says, jumping to his feet. He takes up a boxing stance. I let him throw a punch at me. It’s a roundhouse right that takes so long to arrive I almost fall asleep waiting for it. At the last second I duck under his punch, reach up, and tear off one of his ears.

  9.

  MARY SCREEMS. MRS. Greene vomits. Tony shrieks and runs to the corner of the room, and cowers, clutching the side of his head. Gwen’s eyes roll up in her head. She gasps. Then swoons.

  I look at the sixth man in the room. “Who’re you?”

  “George Best.”

  “VP, research and development?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll have some questions for you in a few minutes.”

  I toss Tony his ear and say, “Stop being a baby. Jeff, will you escort Mr. Spumoni to Dr. P.’s office? He’ll have that ear back on by the time we adjourn.”

  Jeff helps Tony to his feet.

  “This isn’t over, Creed!” Tony shouts. “You’re a dead man! Do you hear me? A dead man!”

  “Yeah, I hear you,” I say. “I’ve got two good ears.”

  “Asshole!” he shouts. “I won’t rest till I kill you!”

  “You can show me how tough you are when Gwen takes control of your company and sticks you in the mail room.”

  Gwen gasps, “Oh! Oh! OH!”

  Everyone’s looking at Gwen, including Jeff and Tony. Being a guy who knows an opportunity when he sees one, I spring into action. “Jeff, take Tony to Dr. P.’s office and guard him. Close the door behind you. Tell Joe to stay in his office. Mrs. Peters and I need to confer in the hallway.” To Gwen I say, “Mrs. Peters? Will you join me in the hallway to discuss this recent development?”

  She jumps to her feet.

  I could easily unplug the phone from the wall and take it with me, but where’s the style in that? I grab the phone, rip it out of the wall, and fling it across the room. Gwen gasps, “Oh, Oh, OH!”

  To the board members I say, “Stay put.”

  William says, “And if we don’t?”

  “I’ll kill you.”

  Gwen shouts, “Oh, Oh, OH, OH My God! OH, OH, OH MY GOD!”

  She and I race out of the room. I slam the door behind us and pin her against it, rip her panties off and take her right there in the hallway. Gwen moans and yelps and gasps as I give her all I’ve got. She pulls me into her again and again, and each time she does, her back slams against the door, making a loud banging
sound. But that’s nothing compared to the ear-splitting volume of her demonic shrieks and wolf-like howls.

  The last time we power fucked was the best sex of my life, so I naturally assumed that had been her “A” game. But no. Today she’s elevated her sexual frenzy to a level that transcends space and time! The combination of Gwen realizing I’m rich, and my sudden display of violence, and her growing awareness of her power in the company, and the fact that a roomful of important people are being forced to wait while we have sex right outside the door—has driven her over the edge.

  It doesn’t take me long to hit a nice stopping point, but Gwen’s insatiable. We drop to the floor and I quickly realize this party has barely started.

  I won’t tell you what transpired next, or how long it lasted. As for the commotion we raised, let’s just say it was considerable. When Gwen and I re-enter the urine and vomit-infested room, her face is drained of all color and our knees are shaking. All eyes in the room turn to Gwen as she reclaims her place at the conference table while displaying not the least hint of embarrassment.

  What a woman!

  “Thanks for your patience,” I tell the board members. “Mrs. Peters and I were engaged in a rather heated debate, and had to get something straight between us. I’m happy to report we achieved that goal.”

  “A debate?” Chairman Wadsworth says.

  I give him a stern look and say, “Yes, of course. What did you think was going on?”

  “Honestly? I thought a construction crew was demolishing the building.”

  I look around the table. “Anyone else?”