Death by Romance, page 1
Death by Romance
by Anne Kennison
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
DEATH BY ROMANCE, Copyright© 2014 by Anne Kennison
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced in any manner whatsoever, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.
This book is dedicated to Dale, my #1 cheerleader, best buddy, and the most wonderful husband ever. It is also dedicated to my daughter Lisa who has brought me more joy than I ever imagined, and to my adorable to the tenth power granddaughters Addison and Kennedy.
Table of Contents
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Part 2
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part 3
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Acknowledgmemnts
PART I
Chapter 1
December 10, 5:30 p.m.
Richmond, Virginia
The grim reaper is a capricious son-of-a-bitch who’ll let an undeserving miscreant go with nothing more than a renewed faith in God, then throw a surprise party for a guy like Gordon Taylor. A decent guy who was about to go from merely to hugely rich. With good business sense, ambition, and a few lucky breaks, Gordon had parlayed a small inheritance from his grandfather into Taylor Industries, a multimillion dollar conglomerate with fingers in everything from manufacturing to banking, and he was at the endgame for the IPO. He had worked hard and it was all about to pay off.
None of it mattered. Gordon Taylor would die within the hour.
Gordon’s work day had ended. He was lounging in his leather executive chair, feet crossed and propped up on the desk, hands behind his head, strong fingers intertwined. He was enjoying a moment of solitude after another grueling day dealing with overly cautious attorneys more interested in racking up legal fees by creating obstacles than finding solutions, and greedy investment bankers wanting more than their fair share of Gordon’s empire. He’d spent the day wrapping up details for the IPO which, when done, would tack three beautiful zeroes on the end of his already substantial net worth. The thought didn’t leave him as elated as he had thought it would, and he wondered if trading control for dollars was worth it. He already had more money than he and his wife Jessica could spend in three lavish lifetimes and, when all was said and done, it wasn’t about the money. It never had been.
Gordon had been a chess and math club kid with a bullseye stuck to his back. Skinny, bookish, and awkward, he was the go-to target of every schoolyard punk in the mood to make some kid’s life miserable. Years of being bullied, beaten up, and ostracized had made Gordon mentally tough. That toughness, better than average smarts and a burning desire to never again feel as impotent as he had then were the fuel that propelled Gordon to phenomenal success.
He appreciated the power that his bank balance bestowed, but nothing compared to the head rush of omnipotence that came with being lord of the empire he’d built. His status as god of the Taylor Industries universe was about to end and he was feeling a bit disoriented and unsure of himself for the first time in years. Although the IPO was the culmination of everything he had worked for, letting go was proving to be surprisingly gut-wrenching. Thank God, he thought, he had Jessica as his emotional rock and foundation on which to build his post-IPO life.
He glanced at his watch. Time to go. He would’ve preferred a workout in the gym and a relaxing steam bath, but his time was not his own. Gordon’s appearance at the staff holiday party was a must before he rushed home to co-host the opera fundraiser Jessica had worked on for months. He dropped his feet to the floor, rose, stretched, twisted his back and shoulders to remove the kinks, and took a moment longer to appreciate the view of the city that sat on the James River. The corporate headquarters of Taylor Industries were designed around this view and he never tired of it. In the fading, tarnished-silver light, it was a study in gray. The buildings of downtown ranged from pale ash to deep pewter, the light in their windows dim against the gathering snowstorm. Wet streets glistened a dark charcoal, highlighted by the twinkling yellow, green and red of stoplights and evening traffic.
Gordon rolled down his sleeves and affixed the gold cuff links he had worn for years. His thoughts rolled back from the impending IPO to the day he’d bought them. It was the day before a meeting with an angel investor who held the fledgling Taylor Industries’ fate in his hand. Gordon had taken a leap of faith and negotiated a manufacturing contract that would take his company to the next level. He had desperately needed an infusion of capital to deliver on that contract and, without it, the company was at risk of folding. After several banks had rejected his loan request, Gordon’s options had dwindled. With each rejection his confidence had flagged to the point where he’d had no real hope that the angel would stroke a check. He seemed to be the only one who believed in the viability of Taylor Industries but after hearing “no” time and again, even he had had his doubts.
The meeting had been less than twenty-four hours away and Gordon was walking the several blocks from his office to where he had parked his car. Preoccupied with thoughts of the meeting and, in his mind, already hearing another no, he had barely been aware of his surroundings. Maybe it was divine intervention, or maybe it was nothing more than chance. Whatever the reason, Gordon had glanced in the window of a jewelry shop. There, nestled in the window, the gold cuff links gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Gordon had stopped and stared at the cuff links. Like the bullies in his past, their shiny new brightness mocked him. He could hear the taunts of those who had called him a shit-for-brains loser, a guy who would never be successful enough to own gold cuff links or, for that matter, much of anything.
Feeling defeated, Gordon had walked another block but couldn’t stop the voices from his past. With each step, his dejection had turned to red-hot anger that fueled his resolve. He would not—simply would not—let the bullies from his past be right. Gordon had turned on his heel back to the store, bought the cuff links and then invested in a well-tailored suit, tie and shirt worthy of them.
He got the money he had needed and Gordon swore it was because of those gold cuff links. He’d say they were his lucky charms, but, truth be told, they were the embodiment of his self-confidence and a constant reminder of why he was so driven.
Gordon slipped his arms into the grey jacket that hung casually on the back of his chair, tugged his sleeves, and gave the cuff links a last caressing touch. He turned his back to the view and gazed across his office while tightening the knot of his tie, readying himself for the office party. The IPO was all but done, and he was proud of how far he’d come since the day he bought the cuff links. He smiled at the thought that there wasn’t a banker on the planet who wouldn’t now kiss Gordon’s ass to do business with Taylor Industries, including those who years ago wouldn’t give him the time of day, let alone cash. Yes, he felt pride in what he’d accomplished, but he was also weary and wanted to enjoy life with Jessica. Despite his ambivalence about leaving Taylor Industries, he planned to resign as soon after the IPO as allowed by good business and his commitment to the board.
Jessica had sacrificed many nights, put up with canceled vacations and taken second place in his life without complaint. It was her turn, he thought, to have his undivided attention. Still, he’d miss his office and was already feeling nostalgia for the place where he’d spent the vast majority of his waking hours and, until marrying Jessica, most nights.
It had been twenty-seven years since he rented his first office on the third floor of a shabby walk-up and, at the young age of fifty-eight, he was at the pinnacle of his success, ready to hand the reins to those who worshiped at the altar of profits and whose only goal would be making shareholders rich and happy, whatever it took. It would no longer be his concern—or his baby.
Gordon’s office suite, including the private apartment hidden behind double doors, had been—until he married Jessica—more home than the River Road mansion he shared with his wife, and it was still more familiar to him than any other place. It was where he thrived, where he was in his element and felt most comfortable, where he loved to be. Maybe he should, therefore, have sensed an unwelcome presence in a dark corner. Maybe he should have had a slight premonition that his life was about to suddenly and violently end. But, no, instead of contemplating eternity and where he might spend it, Gordon left his office without a backward glance. The private elevator, an accouterment of his position as founder and CEO of Taylor Industries, took him from his penthouse suite down to the floor where the party was in full swing.
Gordon liked to mingle with the staff. He came from humble beginnings; these were his people and he never forgot that he didn’t succeed in a vacuum. He knew that those who worked for him, from the mail room to t
That night, however, his thoughts were on Jessica and keeping his promise to be home early. After a short mix and mingle with the troops, Gordon stepped to the microphone as the band wound down its rendition of White Christmas. He tapped the microphone to capture the attention of the partiers and, after appropriate job-well-done comments, he wished everyone a happy holiday and waved good-bye. He hurried back to his office to gather his things and head home. The band struck up, providing the back beat to laughter and tinkling ice. Many would revel on, a few creating embarrassing regrets by staying too long. For others, his departure was like the cake-cutting at a wedding—the point at which it was okay to split—and they were already preparing to head out. Gordon went straight to his desk where he punched the first button on the phone’s speed dial.
Jessica was wrapped in a pale blue silk robe, the color chosen to enhance her best feature—violet blue eyes. She was bending into the bathroom mirror. Her trim, 5’ 8” body formed a gentle arch over the sink carved from creamy white marble as she applied a second coat of mascara to her thick lashes. Her mouth was slightly open as she concentrated on getting her eye makeup just right, avoiding clumps, and keeping each lash separate from the others. Her eyes elevated her face from pretty to exquisite—and she knew it. Large, almond shaped, slightly slanted, and framed by thick lashes, her eyes gave her Scandinavian wholesome beauty an exotic flare. Thanks to a talented hairdresser, her unremarkable mousy brown hair had been darkened to a rich chestnut and highlighted with touches of honey gold. Although forty-eight years old, she looked ten years younger. Reporters and photographers would be there. She wanted to look her best.
When the phone rang, she was startled by the unexpected break in silence. Her hand jerked and the wand brushed against the side of her nose, leaving a black streak. She cursed under her breath and grabbed a tissue to wipe away the mascara as she strode to answer on the third ring. Her hello was more an irritable growl than a cheerful greeting, but she was relieved to hear Gordon’s voice. “Hi, sweetheart, I’m just leaving the office.”
“Oh, good! But please be careful driving. The weather report says it’s going to be a blizzard.” Jessica looked out the French doors and watched the fluffy snowflakes fall, her brow knitted in worry lines, the corners of her mouth lowered into a frown. “This damned storm! I can’t believe Mother Nature picked now to treat us to a freak blizzard. At least the caterer and the musicians made it okay. I just hope they have someone to entertain and feed besides me.”
“Do you have Gus on stand-by with the snow plow?”
“Ye-e-e-s.” She deliberately dragged the word out to convey her annoyance. “I do have the common sense to make sure the driveway is clear.” She rubbed the side of her nose to remove the smear of mascara and hoped she didn’t have to reapply her base foundation.
To hook Gordon into marriage, Jessica had to morph into someone who’d fit into his who’s who social circle. She had no proof, yet she was certain the flossed and glossed females of the world she’d come to inhabit were forever looking down their perfectly sculpted noses at her. She hadn’t been born into and certainly didn’t grow up in wealth, let alone the inherited old money in which the people with whom she exchanged air kisses at the club enjoyed with comfort and a sense of unquestioned entitlement. Jessica would have been surprised to know that she was well-liked and thought of as poised, competent and gracious. Of course, only she knew how she got to be Mrs. Gordon Taylor. She would never stop feeling slightly out of place despite all the training she had had. She felt like the fraud she was, and there were times, like that night, when the effort of being the new her was exhausting. All she wanted at that moment was to successfully get through the evening. For that, she needed Gordon by her side.
“Jessica,” he chastised. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I know,” she sighed. “I’m sorry.”
He was mollified. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Everyone will get there just fine. You know this crowd. The only thing you have to worry about is getting between them and the photographer for the social pages. Now, that could be dangerous.”
“So true, so true,” she laughed, embarrassed by her own efforts at the bathroom mirror. She dropped the mascara-stained tissue into the wastebasket. “By the way, Spencer Baxter called to say they’d be attending tonight. Did you invite them?”
“Didn’t I mention it?” he asked with mock innocence and a small laugh, hoping that if he was charming enough, he’d be let off the hook.
Jessica was not in the mood to be generous. She was peeved and she hated Spencer Baxter with a passion fueled by a guilty conscience. “Frankly, Gordon, I’m surprised. You know I loathe that self-satisfied little man.” Spencer Baxter, Gordon’s attorney, had negotiated Gordon’s side of their premarital agreement. Had Gordon followed Baxter’s advice and made the prenup indefinite, everything would have been lost. Baxter had ultimately been no match for Jessica’s charm and Gordon’s inherent generosity, but he’d pushed hard enough that until she and Gordon were married seven years, she would get only a small settlement if they divorced and a modest trust fund if Gordon died.
Jessica had never forgotten the way the man looked at her with squinty-eyed suspicion, as if he were able to read her mind and see things she preferred to remain unseen. Even though he was nice enough to her, even friendly, Jessica hated him and hated being in his presence even more. The mere thought of the man was a reminder of things Jessica preferred not to think about.
“I know, Sweetie. I just thought it might help smooth things over a bit.”
“Why do you care about him?” She twirled a loose strand of hair around her finger.
Gordon fought a familiar twinge of annoyance at Jessica’s intransigence on the subject of Spencer Baxter. “Come on, Jessica. We’ve been through all this before. He’s been my lawyer and my friend for a long time. He was with me at the beginning. I feel bad that he won’t be the one to make the IPO happen.”
Jessica saw no reason to be fair when it came to Spencer Baxter. “I’m glad you took your business away from him.”
“Well, I didn’t take all my business away. He’s still my personal lawyer.” Gordon paused to reflect on how unexpectedly upset Spencer had seemed when Gordon moved the corporate business to a Wall Street firm specializing in initial stock offerings. “I had hoped he would understand,” Gordon mused, his voice pensive. “After all, it’s not as if he could handle an IPO, and he knows that.” After a silent beat, he shrugged off his concern. “Oh, well, can’t worry about that now. Look, I thought it would be a nice gesture to invite them. There’ll be so many people, you won’t have to do anything more than say hello.”
“Hmmmm. Well, like it or not, he and that blue-haired wife of his are coming and probably on their way as we speak. All the more reason, my love, for you to hurry up. So you can greet your guests.”
Her chuckle gave him hope that by the time he pulled into their driveway her mood would have improved. It wasn’t like her to be temperamental.
“Drive safely, okay?” she said, as she walked to the window and looked out at the puffy snowflakes.
“Okay. I’m on my way.” He paused a moment. “Jessica?”
“Hmmm?”
“You know I love you, and I’m very proud of you. I’m sure the party will be a big success. Everyone will get there. All will be well. So don’t worry, okay?”
