Knights of the Boardroom Read online

  Knights of the Boardroom

  Book One

  by Avery Gale

  © Copyright July 2015 JK Publishing, Inc.

  ISBN# 978-1-310-52247-5

  All cover art and logo © Copyright July 2015 by JK Publishing, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by Jess Buffett

  Published by JK Publishing, Inc.

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  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to those courageous souls who are brave enough to take that first leap of faith…you’ll never know unless you try!

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Missionary Position

  Excerpt from Tempted by Darkness

  Excerpt from Casius & Macon

  JK Publishing, Inc.

  “Steel wins battles, but gold wins wars.”

  Prologue

  Cressi Walker stepped into the opulent executive suite of Templar Enterprises Group and battled her almost overwhelming urge to turn right around and dash back out the door. The place oozed elegance and wealth, neither of those were things she was particularly comfortable with. It wasn’t that she’d been raised in poverty, but over the years she’d discovered one of the trappings of wealth was pretentiousness—a trait she’d never developed an appreciation for because she knew too well the secrets it could hold.

  Letting her gaze move slowly around the room, Cressi wondered if their decorator had a serious case of Camalot-itis, because the large reception area looked more like a movie set than ground zero for one of the most diverse corporate conglomerates in the country. She’d done her homework and knew there were four owners of the company who apparently shared in the decision-making, despite the fact their financial shares weren’t equal—a detail that intrigued her. Lawton Hill, Brodie Walsh, Parker Daniels, and Tristan Harris met while they’d all been undergrads at Harvard, and from all accounts, they’d bonded quickly despite diverse backgrounds. The one thing they had in common was money—lots of money.

  The media had given each of the owners their own unique label and Cressi had laughed when she’d read the nicknames. Lawton Hill was the Digital Knight—a nod to his work developing a profusion of computer software programs and games that had launched him into the spotlight before he’d even entered high school. Lawton’s parents were well-known and respected in the city as well, his father an investment banker who was regularly lauded for his efforts to hold others accountable when their practices crossed the line. Lawton’s mother was one of the city’s best-known cardiologists, but the interviews Cressi skimmed during her research spoke of a humble woman with a great sense of humor.

  Brodie Walsh, Templar’s business strategist and legal eagle had been dubbed the Dark Knight—in recognition of his ability to negotiate contracts and broker deals others had sworn would never see the light of day. There wasn’t as much information available about Brodie’s background and somehow that made him even more interesting in Cressi’s view. She knew his father was a very successful attorney who had lost his wife while their only son was in college, but there wasn’t much else available, which intrigued her more than it probably should have.

  Parker Daniels, the acting head of Templar’s Security Division was known as the Avenging Angel, journalists marveled at Daniels’ ability to fix threats to the company or its employees. According to recent gossip columns, Daniels was quietly expanding the security arm of the company to include private protection to high profile clients. Parker’s family had been involved in the Texas oil business from its beginning and the estimates of their personal wealth were staggering. Cressi had wondered as she’d read his bio what made Parker Daniels choose a career so divergent from his family business.

  Tristan Harris was well known by all the various media outlets in the United States and the United Kingdom—reporters on both continents affectionately referred to him as Sir Lancelot. Harris’s American mother had traveled to England on a college trip to the UK, then met and married the wealthy Duke of Meerwood. Their love story was the stuff of romance novels and everything she’d read indicated their only son was their pride and joy despite his chosen profession. As the manager of The Knight’s Club he was also their Dom in Residence, Cressi didn’t have any idea what that meant, but if he was anything like the Doms in her romance novels he would probably have a stroke if he saw her plain white cotton panties. When I get a good job, I swear Victoria isn’t going to keep a darned thing secret from me anymore.

  Thinking about her buy six, get one free undergarments remin
ded Cressi how out of place she was standing in the elegant executive offices of the Templar Enterprises Group. Sighing to herself, she’d just turned to leave when the rich tones of a man’s voice froze her in her tracks. She hadn’t even heard the door open when he’d asked, “Miss Walker? Going somewhere?” She knew he’d probably intended his words to sound teasing, but the underlying steel in them hadn’t been lost on her. The smooth texture of his voice, its resonate bass vibrating all the way to her core and sending flutters of awareness skittering over the back of her neck, making the tiny hairs stand on end.

  Feeling like a cornered mouse, Cressi turned slowly, coming face to face with Brodie Walsh. When she’d been called for this interview, she’d Googled each of T.E.G.’s owners. There had been plenty of pictures of all four men—shirtless running through Central Park, playing basketball with friends, and dressed in tuxes escorting New York’s richest and most beautiful women to social functions she could only dream of attending. “You are Cressida Walker, aren’t you?”

  “Damn it, Brodie, you’re scaring her.” A second deep voice from behind the Dark Knight blocked the door—somehow Cressi guessed that moniker was the tip of the iceberg required to describe a man like Brodie Walsh. She knew she must look like a deer caught in the headlights, but her gaze seemed locked to his. Her entire body was responding but she barely managed to nod. Who took my damned brain out of gear? Before she’d managed to recover, the second Templar Knight stepped around the first and smiled down at her. Her first impression of Lawton Hill was that he looked younger than she knew him to be, but his grin was so infectious she couldn’t help but return it. Lawton Hill was like a cool breeze that skimmed over her skin heated by the burning rays of Brodie Walsh. He was equally intense, but in a way that seemed much lighter—almost comforting in that it would be easy to lose herself in his presence.

  Cressi’s interview went by in a blur of fast-paced questions so random, at times her head spun just trying to keep up. It was like the two men had each scripted their parts to be as divergent as possible—more than once she’d wondered if they’d been deliberately trying to keep her off-base? By the time she stepped out of the T.E.G. building, Cressi was convinced of two things; first, she now wanted the job more than she had when she’d simply needed it; and second, she had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting it.

  Chapter One

  Two years later…

  Cressi shifted again trying unsuccessfully to sit perfectly still, even with the certainty she was being surreptitiously watched by the enormous man seated behind the reception area’s ornately carved walnut counter. Knowing he probably hoped she’d tire of waiting and leave wasn’t enough to prevent her from fidgeting restlessly on the black leather bench he’d pointed her to after he’d placed a call to his boss announcing her arrival. She’d had to fight back the urge to look around for a line of men with long trumpets waiting to sound a fanfare when the giant had said, “Announce her arrival.” Good Lord, he’d practically sounded medieval, but maybe she shouldn’t be surprised considering everything about the place appeared to be paying homage to the days of Camelot.

  She’d eavesdropped on her bosses every chance she’d gotten when they talked about “the club” since her first day on the job as their personal assistant two years ago. The fact they stopped talking the minute they knew she was listening had only made her more curious, and since she’d already scoured the internet—devouring every morsel of information she could find, Cressi had finally resorted to asking her friends and colleagues what they knew about The Knight’s Club.

  It hadn’t taken long to discover the city’s most exclusive kink club was exclusive in more ways than one—the hush-hush cloak of silence shrouding the club rivaled Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility in magical powers. During her research, Cressi found very few references to the club in the social sections and the only common thread she’d noticed among the articles was the fact each of the reporters had been fired almost immediately after the stories were published. As a legal aide, Cressi was accustomed to ferreting out information, but she’d hit brick wall after brick wall while trying to find out who belonged to the club, and she’d actually gotten a stern lecture from the head of IT, warning her to stop searching the company databases for anything related to the elusive The Knight’s Club. His admonishment and the fact she worked for two of the club’s owners had finally cooled her interest until—as usual—chaos in the form of her older sister erupted and now…here she sat.

  This is all Carli’s fault. You’d think after all these years I’d learn to ignore her taunting. Crap, crap, crapity-crap—she’d known Carli was deliberately pushing her buttons, but she’d walked straight into the trap anyway. Why did she always feel like she was ten years old again when her big sister was around? Cressi wanted to press her hands over her ears as if the childish gesture would still the not-so-subtle voice of her inner prima donna currently gasping in shock—completely indignant at her blatant stupidity. Yes, Carli Walker was an international super model whose sultry smiles graced magazine covers the world over, but she was still Cressi’s sister and a royal pain in the ass—just in case anyone was interested.

  Playing into Carli’s hands never ended well for her when they were kids, and Cressi didn’t hold out much hope today was going to be any different. Why-oh-why had she confessed her deepest secret to her sister? Damn if that wasn’t another mystery for the ages—hell, it was probably going to rank right up there with the whereabouts of the Arc of the Covenant and the Holy Grail. Sighing to herself, she shook her head. It was foolish to even ask how she’d gotten herself into this particular pickle. Fuck me, I know better than to drink margaritas with Miss Demon Detective. In Cressi’s opinion, if her sister ever decided to give up modeling, she’d make a great interrogator, the damned CIA was probably already trying to recruit her. The woman was relentless when she put her nose to the ground pursuing information. She always seems to know exactly when to prance back in the door with all my favorites indulgences. And in the end I have a hangover from hell and she’s loaded with information to use against me until my next shimmy and shout with Jose Cuervo.

  Letting out an audible sigh, Cressi couldn’t help but smile wryly to herself. And where is my loving sister now that my ass is—probably quite literally—on the line? As usual she is off to some far-flung gorgeous, romantic locale with a bevy of men too good-looking to be real hanging on her every word while a cast of crazies snaps pictures of her for the next round of Carli’s the-best-thing-since-sliced-bread media madness. Oh yeah, telling Carli she was still a virgin had certainly been a monumental mistake. Fucking Jose and his truth serum ought to be outlawed.

  “Excuse me, ma’am?” Cressi looked up, startled out of her musings to see the man at the desk looking at her. The puzzled look on his face fogged over her brain and for a few seconds she actually forgot to breathe. “You said something about someone named Jose and you’ll probably want to clean up your language—a lot. Master T is quite strict when it comes to that sort of thing.” The hulking man who’d been sitting behind the tall counter was now standing and Cressi was changing her description of him to gargantuan. Holy shit, Sherlock, what was your first clue? The fact he’s at least seven feet tall? Or perhaps it’s because his shoulders can’t possibly fit through doorways. Why on earth is he working here? How has he managed to elude the NFL?

  “Are you alright, Miss?” This time the hulk’s voice was laced with concern and his green eyes were sparkling with something teetering between concern and amusement, but Cressi was going with concern because the idea she might be amusing this man scared her more than it probably should. She was already skating so close to a full-blown panic attack a strong breeze would probably send her over the edge and Meryl Davis she was not—which meant Cressi was about a heartbeat away from crashing and burning.

  “Did you just say skating? Miss Walker, are you sure you’re in the right place?”

  Just shoot me now.

  ***** />
  Tristan Harris watched the monitor, fighting the urge to laugh out loud and wondering if he hadn’t made a mistake alerting his business partners about the interview he’d scheduled with the spirited beauty sitting in the lobby. She was lovely for sure, and it even crossed his mind that maybe he should mentor her himself? Mentally reprimanding himself for even considering betraying his friends, he returned his focus to Cressida Walker.

  He’d been shocked when she’d called the club this morning requesting information about membership. Well—he hadn’t been shocked by the question itself, but the fact she’d called the club’s private line—a number that was only given to the club’s members had certainly given him reason to sit up and take notice. It was the only line he answered, and as the manager of The Knight’s Club, Tristan’s job was to deal with their clientele, not screen phone calls from the general public. Since the only way to even be considered for membership was to have your name submitted by a current member in good standing, cold calls to the phone number listed on their website were usually dispatched quickly by Dozer at the front desk or Trudy, Tristan’s personal assistant.

  He’d soon learned the woman who called gave her name as Cressi Walker wasn’t just some random woman off the street who’d heard about the club from her friends while sipping those fruity concoctions with colorful paper umbrellas he despised so much. Damn it, if you can’t drink without props then you just really shouldn’t bother.

  Something about her name had sounded familiar and by the time he’d asked her a couple of general questions, he’d pieced it together. Cressi, AKA Cressida, was the young woman who worked for two of his best friends and business partners. He’d met her a handful of times, but both Law and Brodie had always referred to her by her full name, so it had taken longer than it should have for him to realize he was speaking with the woman his friends had been lusting after for the past two years.