So Much More

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Manhattan, Fifth Avenue

The Blackthorn Corporation headquarters

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

12:30 p.m.

No one would think there was anything missing in Markus Blackthorn’s perfect life.

At thirty-four years old, he was a successful businessman. Tall, broad-shouldered, more fit than many men younger than him, and handsome as few could ever be; revered—and equally envied and hated—by many, not only because of his success, fortune, and good looks, but also because of his cold and successful business ways.

Only-child to parents who had already given up hope of ever having kids, Judith and Senator Elijah Blackthorn loved him—in their own way.

In high-school he had been the popular linebacker every girl desired and the student all the teachers praised. He went on to Harvard Law School, graduating summa c*m laude, finishing his student life with an MBA from NYU.

With a loan from his mother and big dreams to push him on, Markus started Blackthorn Corporation with two of his university best friends as small partners and never stopped expanding it. Now, eleven years later, he had only to sign the deed in front of him to become one of the most powerful men in the United States.

Unscrewing his Cartier fountain pen, Markus suppressed a smile as he signed his name on the deed, passing control of Haskell & Sons, the most coveted pharmaceutical company on the market, to his corporation.

Acquiring a new company always gave him a sense of pride and satisfaction. He’d studied Haskell & Sons for a long time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, when they were at their weakest. All he had to do was wield his power dispassionately and make an offer they couldn’t refuse, even if it was much lower than they would’ve preferred. Not that he cared, really. It was the way of the business world, and it was not him who was going to change it.

Later, he’d feel some measure of regret regarding the changes he’d inevitably make to the company. A great number of people would lose their jobs as he replaced them with his own trusted people.

Putting the pen back in the inner pocket of his suit, he passed the stack of papers along for the others to sign and leaned back in his chair.

After all the contracts had been signed and handed over to the lawyers, he rose and greeted everyone in the room with a smile on his face, accompanying them to the door and to the private elevator which served only his floor.

The steel door reflected the image he projected to the world, yet despite all his successful appearance, there was a black hole in Markus’s chest.

It had started as a dull pain about three years ago when he had discovered the ex-miss Venezuela Nicola Gonzalez, whom he married five years ago on a stupid impulse, in his bed with another man.

His heart and his life had fundamentally changed. No one saw it. And he had not even allowed himself to acknowledge it.

He had filed for divorce and custody of their daughter, now four-year-old Victoria, whom he loved to distraction. Nicola was awarded custody, and left the marriage with a luxury apartment and a fat monthly allowance. Markus petitioned for a change in custody and Nicola was currently fighting him tooth-and-nail. Not that she was desperate to be with the girl. She just wanted a way to manipulate his money.

There had been no shortage of beautiful women to warm his bed since the divorce but none had thawed his heart. Not that he was interested in love. He had sworn that off as the stuff of romances. The women were for nothing more than s*x, a way to de-stress.

And the pain had been consuming him whole since Nicola questioned his ability to be a good parent and began violating the terms of his visitation, after Victoria’s nanny bailed from her position alleging his never-ending stream of women was not a good example for a young child.

Still no one saw that.

Markus was linked with opulent wealth, power, and success, and those assumptions were the way everyone perceived him. And he liked that.

Before he re-entered his office, his secretary, Thomas Deacon, said, “Mr. Blackthorn, Ms. Kristensen will be arriving momentarily.”

“Ms. Kristensen?” he asked, not recognizing the name.

Thomas looked at his notes. “One of the candidates for the new position for Victoria’s tutor.”

“This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes,” he replied distractedly.

It wasn’t exactly a tutor that he needed despite the ad he had taken out saying such. Yes, he needed someone with enough class and education to accompany him as Victoria’s nanny, but after his father’s proposition of finding a fake fiancée—and his high-priced lawyer agreeing with the idea and furthering it to a fake wife—he thought there were some benefits to the idea. He had personally interviewed five candidates who had passed a vigorous screening by his attorney, but so far none had struck him as the one he would like to share his home with for at least a whole year. And he was still not completely convinced of the brilliance of the idea. Intelligent men did not go around hiring fake wives without sounding like bastards.

Although he was a cold businessman and an unrepentant ladies man, he had enough woman problems in his life.

2:50 p.m.

As Hannah Kristensen crossed the air-conditioned lobby, men turned their heads in her direction. Once, she would have been flattered by such attention, but not anymore.

At only twenty-six years old, she had no time for men—and not much interest in relationships. Her life was a total mess and she blamed all the men who had crossed her and her mother’s paths for it.

“Hannah Kristensen for Mr. Blackthorn,” she said, handing her ID to the receptionist.

Returning the ID after consulting with Thomas and taking Hannah’s photo, the woman instructed, “Last elevator, to the right. It will take you directly to the top floor.”

As the steel doors shut and the elevator began to rise in a smooth movement that shrieked big money, Hannah gathered her thoughts around what was about to happen and resisted the urge to check her reflection in the mirror. Whatever Markus Blackthorn thinks of my appearance doesn’t matter. But she knew that wasn’t true and the cast on her left arm reminded her of the fact. She needed him to like her.

The small ad she had answered a few weeks ago was oddly concise: Family seeking full-time young female applicants for long-term position as a child home-educator. 1 year minimum contract with possibility of renewal. Must be willing to work seven days a week, long hours, and travel abroad. Must have no other commitments. Age between 25 and 30. Salary 500k per year, plus expenses.

She received a call few days after filling out the online form and sending the required documents to a P.O. box. They wanted face and full-body photographs, ID and passport copies, recent and through exams, and her résumé—which only included two years as a kindergarten school teacher, besides one year as a private teacher for a disabled child, and a twice-a-week babysitting job, both for wealthy New York families.

Appointment set, with a confidence she was far from feeling, Hannah went to Manhattan and found the address—with a long line of women already waiting. All of them looking much more qualified than her, and what struck her as weird, they were all beautiful and elegantly dressed, but she didn’t think much of it. One by one, the women were ushered into a room, and after about half an hour, they walked back out. Some had bemused expressions, others were clearly confident, and a few had eyed the remaining applicants as if they had no chance at all.

Mr. Jones, a middle-aged well-groomed man wearing a sharp business suit and no hint of a smile on his face, called her into his expensively decorated office. He asked her a thousand and one questions but didn’t elaborate at all on the job.

Her desperate need for the position made her ask, “What exactly is the job about?”

“If you make it to the next level, you’ll be given more details.”

The interviews had gone from odd to bizarre, and had brought her to this place.

The elevator doors opened, cutting off her reminiscences. Her instincts screamed for her to run but she didn’t give herself any chance to hesitate. She headed straight out across the impressively long reception area.

“Good morning. I’m Hannah Kristensen,” she said to Markus’s assistant.

“Mr. Blackthorn is waiting for you.” Thomas consulted his watch. “He has another meeting in less than thirty minutes, Ms. Kristensen, so please make this brief.”

She felt her blood begin to simmer. The Blackthorn family had always treated others as if they were annoying flies. Her mother—and she—had once suffered from their lack of concern for their fellow humans.

I will take however long I need. Pushing away the painful memories, she slowly turned and pinned the short man with the full force of her stare. “What did you say?”

“I…” Thomas’s voice waned. “Nothing, miss.”

“I thought so,” she muttered, and not waiting for him to help her, she knocked and turned the knob, pushing open the door to Markus’s office.

Thoughts about how to deal with Haskell & Sons flew out of Markus’s head when the door was firmly pushed open and a young vision let herself in.

Exquisite and lush, so unequivocally feminine and yet aloof, even in the classical serious-cut dark-gray suit, she called to his every masculine instinct, making him want to strip her of the stern clothes, undo the perfectly coiled French twist to shake loose the flaming-red hair, and lay her down on the sofa to discover if she tasted as good as she looked.

It’s unfair. He’s become even more… Hannah couldn’t find the term she needed. Handsome was too calm a word to define him. He was intensely masculine. He was s****l.

Her steps faltered for a second as Markus’s mouth opened in the slow, seductive grin that was so his, exuding confidence and animal magnetism. He stretched his hand in her direction. “Ms. Kristensen.”

Not knowing if she should be disappointed by him not recognizing her, Hannah took off her dark glasses. “Hello,”—she stopped herself from calling him by his first name. He is going to be your employer.—“Mr. Blackthorn.”

Markus halted mid-stride, did a double take, and his arm fell to his side as her heavily-lashed emerald-green eyes bore into his. He frowned. What the f**k?

He was aware of his own eyes widening and that he was staring. He was equally aware of the way her shoulders squared back.

The movement drew his attention downward to a figure with the elegant curves of what he could only qualify as a contemporary, tall, and slim statue of Venus, just to snap back to her face in something akin to shock.

Markus hadn’t recognized her at first and that was not a surprise in itself. The last time he had seen her she hadn’t been more than a bookish, shy, and pretty nineteen-year-old. She was also the daughter of his father’s housekeeper, and someone with whom he’d once considered having an affair.

“Hannah.”

Markus low, smooth voice slid over her and got under her skin to curl low in her belly.

As he contemplated her, he pushed his fingers through the strands, mussing the mane of chopped black hair which would appear too long if he wasn’t so tall and large.

But whatever softness the disarray might have imparted to his appearance was countered by his eyes. They were sharp and dark, a piercing ebony, like the night with no stars, nor moon; a pitch-black well she once thought she wouldn’t mind falling into.

Those eyes landed on her beautiful heart-shaped face and wandered over those full, soft, plum-rich lips.

Fuck! Recomposing himself from the most powerful reaction his body ever had to a woman, he held his hand out to her once more. “It’s been a while.”

His tenor voice conjured a number of disturbing images in Hannah’s mind: heavy velvet pulled over naked skin; steel sheathed in satin. Definitely a mass of contradictions she wanted nothing to do with coupled with a bedroom voice and a commanding tone. Hannah found herself wanting to lean closer, shock him into kissing her, just to slap that handsome face, hard. But the kisses would come and she would not slap him.

Not a while, but seven years. To Hannah it felt like a lifetime. Since Senator Blackthorn had dismissed her mother from his household, her life had turned upside down. It was ironic she was going to be working for—and helping—the son of the man who had fired her mother.

She looked at his hand as if it were a snake and involuntarily, her tongue moistened her lips.

His gaze zeroed in on her mouth, but nothing else gave away the vulnerability he had briefly glimpsed.

Stop. You are here for the money. She pulled herself back from the torrent of sensual feelings. Under her steel will, her face went blank and her fingers curled around his hand, firmly and detached. In an even voice, she said, “Yes, it has been a while. How are you, Mr. Blackthorn?”