Title: The Carmichaels Series
Author: Charlotte Penn Clark
Genre: Contemporary Romance/New Adult
(Interconnected Standalones)
The Carmichaels series follows the lives and loves of five privileged sisters, daughters of a Colorado senator considering a presidential campaign. In the first book we meet the eldest CORINNE, who at 20 is trying to declare her independence from her famous family. Modeling at a photo shoot, she falls in love with Paul, a French fashion photographer, and the story follows their first year together as they manage a long-distance relationship, her father’s presidential campaign, and then [spoiler!] her parents’ tragic deaths in a helicopter accident. The second book, DAISY, begins five years later: Paul and Corinne are still stuck in their long-distance relationship and now the focus turns to the second daughter, who is returning from a post-graduate year in London and determined to pursue a career in financial media in New York. When the brilliant financial tycoon Ben Kingston offers her a business deal she converts it into a personal relationship. This book follows their first few turbulent months together as they figure out how to balance power between them and how to support each other through family problems. The third book, VALERIE, takes up the story of the next sister, a successful fashion model, who was recently slashed by a stalker. The attack left her with physical and psychological scars and she leans on her E.R. doctor, Adam Talbot, for support. As that friendship slowly becomes romantic new crises develop between Paul and Corinne, and the youngest sister Samantha suffers a critical injury during an Olympic ski race. This book ends with Paul and Corinne’s marriage in May and Valerie and Adam’s full commitment to each other. The fourth book, MARIE, turns to the next sister, a tennis player who has just graduated from Stanford and wants to begin a career as a sportswriter. She pulls some strings to land a profile of Jared Mackinnon, a star quarterback from UCLA now starting an NFL career with the Denver Pioneers. During the long summer of their interviews they struggle to keep their relationship professional and to help Marie get over her panic attacks over flying. This book ends after her article is published and they are able to go public as a couple. The final book of the series, SAMANTHA, starts with the youngest daughter coming back from rehab all spring and summer to finish her last semester of college at UC Boulder. Over the past year Sam had been in lust with her college adviser, Liam Ramsey, but he had vetoed any romantic relationship between them on ethical grounds. During the difficult months in rehab, though, they grew close and by the fall they are both struggling to keep their relationship platonic. This book ends with their long-delayed relationship starting when she finishes her finals. The series ends with a family reunion in Boulder for Ben and Daisy’s wedding over Christmas and New Year’s.
Corinne Carmichael is fighting for her independence. Her powerful political family insists she abandon her modeling career but she plans to enjoy her last photo shoot in Hawaii before returning to college in the fall. Meeting a hot young French photographer is icing on the cake. But when her life starts to get complicated she finds she relies on her long-distance boyfriend more and more. Paul knows this girl is special, but he finds out she comes with strings attached. When tragedy strikes can what started out as a light-hearted summer romance turn into something more serious?
This is Book 1 (the prequel) of a series on the five Carmichael sisters. It is a standalone novella but the series is best read in order to avoid spoilers. It contains sex scenes only intended for readers over 18.
CHAPTER ONE
“Are you kidding me?” Corinne Carmichael put down her coffee mug to stare at her father. He returned her gaze without saying a word. She tried again. “You’re saying you want me to stop taking modeling jobs? As of now?”
Her father still said nothing; he merely leaned back in his chair and looked at her steadily, as if waiting for her to give in. Well, she was done giving in. She pushed away from the breakfast table and stood. This showdown was at the breakfast table of their family estate in Boulder. Sunlight streamed in the windows and French doors revealed a backdrop of fir trees and mountain vistas. At least it looked peaceful.
“No.” So there. She put her mug in the sink and turned to leave the room, aware of her four younger sisters still at the table, gaping.
“Corinne.” Her father’s voice was quiet but stopped her in her tracks. She gritted her teeth. When would he stop treating her like a child? When would she stop letting him? She wanted to flounce from the room, but she couldn’t make her feet cooperate. Roger Carmichael was a force to be reckoned with — at home and in the nation’s halls of power.
“I’m asking you to do this for the family.”
Corinne turned to face him. “You’re not asking, you’re demanding. Asking is when you use words like ‘would you mind?’ or ‘how would you feel about?’ Asking includes question marks. I didn’t hear any question in your voice when you told me to clear my schedule.”
“Corinne—“ Now her mother would try to reason with her, coaxing and cajoling until Roger got his way. How predictable. Corinne felt her temper rising to a boil. She heard her father mutter something to his wife, who nodded. They always agreed about everything. They always presented a united front to the world. It was infuriating.
“We let you model. Despite our misgivings,” Claire Carmichael pointed out. Her accent always got a little more pronounced when she was stressed. Corinne snorted. “Only because you couldn’t stop me when I turned eighteen.” “We let you attend UCLA even though we wanted you closer to home.”
“It’s normal to leave home for college! And you’ve still got three kids at home. Why would you need me here?” Her parents didn’t take that bait, but Corinne saw her next younger sister, Daisy, grinning.
“Good point!” Daisy said. “And college showed me how overprotective you guys are.”
Daisy was just back from finishing her first year at Princeton, which was even further from their Colorado home than L.A. Corinne scanned her sisters’ faces as they watched this drama unfold. They each had a role to play in the family. Daisy always did her own thing and never seemed to get in trouble for it, perhaps because their parents understood her ambitions in business and finance better than Corinne’s interest in art. Valerie was quiet and observant, preferring books to people. The youngest sisters, on the other hand, were both athletes who were fiercely competitive. At fifteen, Marie was already winning junior tennis tournaments. Samantha, a year younger, was bringing home trophies as a downhill skier. With five girls in the family, they each had to carve out a niche of their own. And Corinne’s niche baffled her parents: she loved film and fashion, but to them she just seemed frivolous. And that hurt.
“This summer is very important for all of us.” Roger reminded them with a meaningful look. Corinne battled more annoyance. Of course this was about the Big Decision. They were all going to be held in limbo until her father decided whether to run for president. As a member of a famous political family she had had plenty of experience with the compromises required of public life. Her father already spent most of his time in D.C. as a senator for Colorado; he worked long hours when home too. And his daughters had been trained to be image-conscious from an early age. Perhaps that’s why modeling felt so comfortable to Corinne.
“I’ve already signed a contract for a shoot in Hawaii in June,” she announced. “You wouldn’t want me to break my word, would you?”
Her father narrowed his sharp gaze on her and steepled his fingers. “You’re supposed to let me vet your jobs. My staff should check all the personnel, review the contract, evaluate the security on the premises— like we’ve always done. I could have every person at the shoot sign nondisclosures so they can’t talk to the media.” He frowned. “Maybe I still can.”
“No!” Corinne flung up her hands. Then she leaned toward him for emphasis. “No, Dad.”
Roger stood up too, towering over his daughter, though Corinne was tall herself. He pointed a finger at her and opened his mouth.
“Enough,” Claire said firmly. Everyone at the table turned to look at her in surprise. “That job is a fait accompli now, but you must not take on any new ones, Corinne. We’re in a delicate position right now. We’ve tried to keep you all out of the media as much as possible with your father’s career. Maybe we shouldn’t be surprised that now you want some attention for yourselves—but famous people attract undesirable attention.“
Corinne started to protest. She didn’t want attention, as her mother put it so patronizingly. She wanted independence and control over her own life. She was an adult, damn it! “I’m not famous,” she complained.
“I’m just your daughter. I’m so tired of being the eldest daughter of the rising star, Senator Carmichael.”
“Try being the youngest daughter of blah blah blah,” Samantha said with a huff.
“Or any of us in the middle,” Marie added, making a face.
Claire laughed and even Roger cracked a reluctant smile. Corinne ground her teeth. This was serious!
“Your time will come, like mine before. My father was governor of the state, remember?” Roger said, picking up a newspaper. He probably thought he had “handled” this domestic inconvenience and could go back to running the federal government. Corinne wanted to roll her eyes.
The conversation at the table slowly returned to normal: the logistics of getting Valerie to her volunteer job at the pet shelter, Marie to Nicky’s party, Samantha to her sleepover. Roger was due back in Washington, D.C. later that day and soon Daisy would be accompanying him there for her summer internship. Corinne tossed her long hair over one shoulder and left the room feeling frustrated. She may have won a small battle, but she was still losing the war.
A few weeks later Corinne unlocked the door of her hotel room in Maui and surveyed her home for the duration of the photo shoot. There were no surprises. How many rooms just like this one had she stayed in since she started modeling two years ago? They all looked exactly the same: drab brown carpets, patterned curtains, generic abstract art on the walls. She dumped her luggage on the floor and moved to the window. This, at least, was different. The room was on the ground floor overlooking Wailea beach on the south shore of the island. She slid open a glass door to a paved patio and stepped outside, taking a deep breath of the moist and fragrant air. The sky looked bluer here, the flowers smelled sweeter, the air felt softer. Waves crashed onto the beach and spit out foam and spray. She felt her senses coming alive. She had never been to Hawaii , which was why she had impulsively accepted this job. Despite what her father thought, she did choose her work carefully. As a sophomore at college she had little free time during the year and she didn’t need the money so she could pick and choose the jobs that took her somewhere interesting. Like this.
As she surveyed the long stretch of white sand, Corinne noticed one figure standing apart from the children and sunbathers. A man stood down the beach with his back to her, contemplating the water. Corinne bit her lip. He had a long, lean frame, which was exposed by his swim shorts. His hair and skin looked dark gold in the slanting sunlight, and she let her eyes drift over his smooth back and muscled legs. His hands were at his hips, emphasizing their narrow span, and he gave the impression of grace that was now on hold. He seemed young, perhaps not much older than she was. As if sensing her watching him, he turned his head suddenly and looked behind him. Corinne got a glimpse of an angular face before she sighed and returned to her room. It was getting cooler and she wasn’t needed until 6 a.m. the next morning…. Perhaps she’d go for a run on the beach. She glanced back at the man at the shore, thinking. If this was going to be her last modeling job she should enjoy it, right? But by the time she changed clothes and got to the beach for her run, he was gone.
When Corinne showed up to work the next morning the hotel suite was a hive of activity. There must have been twenty people talking on cell phones, checking equipment, going over clipboards, organizing boxes of clothes, props, and makeup. When she entered the room everyone turned to look at her. She had put on a simple tank top and shorts knowing that she would soon be changing. Her face was bare of make-up and her hair was pulled into a ponytail. Squaring her shoulders, she stood still for their scrutiny. She was used to this.
A smartly-dressed woman detached herself from a group. “Corinne, my dear, lovely to meet you. I’m Susanne Midgely, the editor for this shoot. I’ll introduce you, and then we’ll get you working with makeup and wardrobe. We’re going to do some swimsuits on the beach today, then resort wear around the pool tomorrow. We’ll reshoot whatever we need to after that.” Her high heels clicked on the tile floor as she led Corinne around.
“This is Bob, our prop editor, Renata from fashion. Stacy and Carlos do makeup. Liza, my assistant. Gary and Scott are part of the crew. Jade is a stylist. These folks over here are from the magazine and the fashion companies….”
Corinne tried to keep up with the blur of names, faces, air kisses, and handshakes. The suite had a similar layout to her room, but was much larger, with interconnected rooms. Like hers, it also faced the ocean. Susanne took her through sliding glass doors to the patio outside and Corinne found herself face to face with the man on the beach. Today he was casually dressed in cotton pants and a tee shirt. She froze for a moment, looking up into his clear blue eyes. He stared back at her frankly too, his wide mouth curved in a grin. His dark blond hair fell over his forehead.
“Paul Drouet,” he said before Susanne could introduce him. He stuck out his hand to her. “Enchanté.”
Corinne took his hand automatically. She was right: he was close to her own age. And clearly French. No one she knew would ever say “enchanté” with a straight face.
“Paul is the assistant photographer,” Susanne explained. “That’s Bernard over there. He’s the head photographer on the shoot.”
A stocky, grey-haired man grunted at Corinne without raising his head from the camera he was adjusting.
Corinne realized she was still holding Paul’s hand and quickly let go. She drew a deep breath and turned to Susanne. “So where do you want me?”
Over the next few hours strangers pulled and teased her hair, worked on her face, and ordered her in and out of outfits. Usually she could zone out during the long boring stretches when she wasn’t in front of the camera. But today she was having trouble concentrating. When she first started modeling she had been proud of her beauty and enjoyed being fawned over. She had made small talk with everyone, chatted and laughed. Then it got old. The friendships didn’t last and she no long felt so special. Everyone in the fashion world looked equally glamorous and much of it was faked. In fact, she wondered why she even minded giving this up. If she were honest with herself her career had become just another power struggle with her father. Modeling gave her something of her own, separate from her political family. If her parents were a little shocked or disappointed by her choices, at least they were her choices.
Strange hands rubbed self-tanning lotion onto her limbs to cover her pale skin. By noon she was famished, but food seemed out of the question. She had already overheard one stylist complaining that she was bustier than they had expected. They always complained about something — and she usually tuned those comments out too. She shrugged into a terry cloth bathrobe while she waited for her next change. Her stomach rumbled embarrassingly and someone whose name she had forgotten smirked. She was surprised when a few minutes later Paul appeared and handed her a yogurt without a word. They exchanged a brief smile and Corinne followed him with her eyes as he melted back into the crowd. She ate standing up as more people fussed over her appearance, snapping Polaroids of each look. Finally, the whispering executives had decided on something.
“Let’s get her on set!”
Paul studied the square of white beach they had set up with brightly colored towels. It was a perfect day. Mild breeze, bright sun, balmy. He scouted for the best angles, ignoring the gawking tourists who were watching the shoot. He had done this a thousand times under much worse conditions, but he felt oddly tense. He never second-guessed himself. He knew that working for Bernard these past three years had given him the experience he needed to go out on his own. When he started at eighteen he had been entirely self-taught as a photographer, but Bernard had seen some talent and agreed to mentor him. Still, something was missing.
He turned as a small troop of people hustled the next model in front of Bernard’s waiting camera. This new girl, Corinne, puzzled him. She didn’t seem to fit in, except for her extraordinary beauty. He watched her as she approached, her movements graceful. What was it about her? She was taller than the people around her, and golden all over, from her perfectly straightened long hair to her newly-bronzed skin. Her floral bikini hid little. She was lean, but voluptuous for a model, with rounded breasts almost spilling out of a triangle of fabric and smooth curves leading his eyes down long, long legs. As she walked toward him, her body toned like a volleyball or tennis player, he couldn’t stop staring.
His eyes met hers, which were almost turquoise in this bright light. She watched him back, her gaze wide and alert. He gave her a thumbs up, which earned him a tiny smile. Paul felt the force of that smile almost like a blow. As he turned away, feeling warm, he heard the others barking commands. She was to lie here, look this way, put her arm like this.
“Please don’t touch!” someone scolded her.
Bernard was hunched over a tripod a few feet from her. “These girls are all the same.” He sounded impatient already.
Pas de tout. Not at all, Paul thought, still watching her closely. This one is different. He picked up his camera to try out other angles. He could tell at a glance that she was as tense as he was. The others peppered her with comments and suggestions, but now she just looked uncomfortable. He frowned as she struggled to look serene and mysterious while fussing strangers crowded around her.
“A senator’s daughter,” he heard one of the makeup artists say under his breath. “This isn’t going to work.”
Paul thought he saw her flinch a little. Her mouth tightened. And then she again tried to give the camera the sexy look Bernard kept demanding. All her trying wasn’t helping. Before the head photographer started barking orders, she had sparkled with life and energy. Now she had stiffened into a mannequin.
“They need to give her more space,” Paul muttered to himself in French. “Assholes.”
Corinne threw him a sudden sidelong glance. He froze when she smiled, her face lighting up with mischief. He hoped Bernard had caught it on film. Bernard must have noticed because he stopped barking and grew quiet. “
“Much better! Ça va mieux!” Paul said, meeting her gaze. Another small smile played on her face now as she looked at him.
In surprise, he continued in French. “You understand me?”
She nodded slightly as she turned to look over one shoulder, as directed. He admired the long line of her neck and the graceful chin tilted up. God, he could look at her all day and his eyes would never fill up. He moved closer and saw a light sheen of sweat on her sunlit skin.
“Are you too hot?” Stupid question! But he couldn’t seem to stop talking to her now that she had relaxed. She shook her head lightly, her silky hair lifting a little.
“You are doing beautifully, Corinne. You are like a mermaid lying here, under a spell.” Everyone else had fallen silent as Paul kept up a running commentary in French. “Yes, close your eyes a little more and look up like that, with your mouth so soft.”
Corinne looked dazed. She shifted on the towel to throw her head back to the sun and her legs parted a little. Paul paused, then began again, his voice a little lower.
“Imagine you are waiting for your lover out here on the sand….”
Her eyes shot open to meet his, and he felt the shock of her response. Everything he said seemed visible on her face and in her sensual pose.
“He will come to you and touch your skin with his fingertips and his mouth.” He had to stop this.
“He will murmur in your ear and kiss the softness of your neck.” Paul knew it was not a good idea to play at seduction like this in front of everyone. His pulse was racing.
Idiot. He was the one who felt seduced. He was stunned, in fact, by how fast this little game had gotten serious. They seemed alone out here on the sand.
Suddenly Bernard shouted, “Done! I got the shot.”
People descended on Corinne again. She seemed a little unsteady as she stood, and someone grabbed her elbow. She leaned over to dust sand off her butt, and Paul followed the motion of her fingers, his gaze lingering. He was impossibly, shockingly turned on.
He counted to ten and slowed his breathing before moving back to Bernard to assist. Without a word, Bernard clicked through several of his shots: Corinne, flushed head to toe with innocence and desire; Corinne, her eyes startled and sultry; Corinne, her limbs stretching lazily.
Paul tried hard to control his reaction.
“I don’t know what you said to that girl.” Bernard shrugged. “But it worked.”
When Daisy Carmichael moves to New York to develop her online financial media site she knows Ben Kingston, the brilliant CEO of Boston Financial, could be an asset to her career. But can she get him to accept the intense connection they have to each other? When one of her sisters is threatened, Daisy realizes that her relationship with Ben has grown deeper and more complicated than she could ever have predicted.
For Ben, Daisy threatens his self control, his privacy, his sense of himself… Is jumping off a cliff with her going to be worth it?
This is Book 2 of a series on the five Carmichael sisters. It is a standalone novella that takes place five years after Book 1 so there will be spoilers! It contains sex scenes only intended for readers over 18.
CHAPTER ONE
The wind was blowing, but the sun was still bright. Daisy Carmichael scanned the people at the outdoor café, relieved when she saw a familiar face. She dropped into a seat at a small table and tried to ignore the looks she had drawn. She had dressed with care today in a stylish navy suit, and carried a briefcase stuffed with notes from her earlier meetings. This was New York City and she needed to make a good first impression. Her future depended on it.
“So good to see you, Paul!” She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, then wrinkled her nose. “Smoking? Does Corinne know?”
Paul raised his eyebrows and stubbed out the cigarette. “Please don’t tell her!”
Daisy laughed. It was good to hear his French accent again too.
“She’s on some new super-healthy regime. It’s impossible to eat out with her.” He shrugged and met her eyes. “She’s been too long in L.A.”
Daisy understood the subtle comment. Her older sister Corinne had been having a long distance romance with Paul for six years. Daisy wasn’t sure what kept them from moving to the same city, but she sensed there was tension about it.
Paul stretched his long legs gracefully out in front of him and surveyed her, tapping his fingers on the table. “You look well! How was London? Are you just arrived?”
She nodded. “Yesterday. Still jet-lagged but very glad to be back in the U.S.” A waiter came over and she ordered a coffee.
“Yeah. Home.” He sighed.
Daisy tilted her head to study him. He was like a brother to her but she realized there was much she didn’t know about him. “Where do you feel at home?”
Paul shoved his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched forward. He was silent for a moment, looking off in space. “I don’t know,” he said finally.
Daisy knew he was from Paris but he had been based in New York for years now. It was convenient for his freelance photography work and closer to Corinne, but maybe that didn’t make it home. He had met Corinne in Hawaii when he was an assistant photographer for one of her modeling assignments and she was still a student at UCLA. Over the years Paul’s path had crisscrossed with each of Corinne’s four younger sisters. Daisy had seen him regularly when she was nearby at Princeton, then occasionally during her time at the London School of Economics.
“What’s your plan now?” he asked. He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table, then thrust it away, fidgeting. When the waiter brought Daisy her coffee he ordered another espresso.
She leaned forward, brushing back the blond curls that fell out of her hair clip. “I’m going to run my online financial news channel here in New York. This is the obvious place to work in financial media and I’ve already got a good subscriber base. I’ve got it all figured out.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said with a half smile.
Daisy took that as a compliment. “How long are you in town?”
“Another week. Then I’m leaving for Vancouver.”
“You’ll see Corinne in L.A.?”
Paul shook his head. “She’s in Mexico at a preview for her documentary. Maybe on the way back.” He sounded weary and his mouth twisted a little.
She patted his hand. “You two must rack up the frequent flier miles.” The wind scattered some yellow leaves onto the table and she brushed them off.
“It’s getting chilly,” she said, studying him over the rim of her coffee cup. The breeze rustled his hair and his eyes shifted away. He seemed tense.
“Do you want to move inside?”
She shook her head. There was an awkward silence.
“Tell me more about your life.”
Daisy took the bait and started filling him in, eager to discuss her project. “I love my work. It’s my site so I get to do everything—write, research, and deliver the news. It’s my social life that’s less great, though I’m lucky Val’s here for now at least. And I need more friends. And a boyfriend,” she sighed.
“Were you seeing someone in London?”
“No. No one special.” Daisy frowned. “I don’t seem to meet anyone special. I wonder if I’m gay,” she mused.
Paul tilted his head in curiosity. “Are you attracted to women?”
Daisy shook her head. “I’m not really attracted to anyone.”
“Then you haven’t met the right person yet,” he said confidently, then looked away again.
“You miss Corinne,” Daisy said quietly.
“I always miss Corinne,” he admitted. He smiled, but it seemed forced. Paul had been their rock when their parents had died suddenly six years ago, becoming Corinne’s main support and an older brother to her younger sisters. He kept an eye on all of them and made sure they kept their French fluent, as their quebeçoise mother would have wanted. She hated to see him like this.
“He seems sad, Val,” Daisy said to her younger sister when she got back to the apartment they would be sharing. It was really their great aunt’s apartment, but since Aunt Delia rarely used it Valerie had been living there since she had started at New York University five years ago. It was a classic prewar on a top floor of an elegant Fifth Avenue building overlooking Central Park. Valerie pointed to a bottle of wine on the table so Daisy could help herself.
“You should have invited him back here for dinner. I think he gets lonely without Corinne.”
“I didn’t think. Have you talked to Corinne recently? What’s she doing in Mexico?”
Daisy poured herself a little wine while Valerie moved around the kitchen, sautéeing chicken and steaming vegetables for dinner. She started setting the table, falling back into old routines.
Valerie tucked a stray curl behind her ear and looked thoughtful. With her auburn hair, hazel eyes, pale skin, and tall willowy figure she had become a very successful print model.
“She’s at a film festival for her documentary about the idea of home. Here, this is done. Eat.”
They sat and caught up over dinner, though they had seen more of each other than either had seen of their three sisters on the West Coast—Corinne, Marie, and Sam. Marie was finishing up at Stanford and a nationally-ranked tennis player. Their youngest sister Sam had thrown herself into skiing after the tragedy of their parents’ death and was now balancing competitive racing with her studies at the University of Colorado. They all had plans to return to the family home in Boulder for Thanksgiving though, where Sam still lived.
“Are you staying in town for awhile?” Daisy asked.
Valerie nodded. “I have a few jobs here this fall, and one trip to London. I turn down a lot of jobs.” She toyed with her food. “I don’t really need the money.”
“Don’t you like modeling? You’ve got your college degree now. And you even took all those grad school admissions tests last year. You could do something else.” Daisy realized she wasn’t sure what Valerie wanted to do. Maybe Valerie didn’t either. She was always pretty quiet.
“Modeling is okay. It’s easy.” She grimaced. “I sound arrogant, but it’s true. I stay in shape. I show up when and where I’m told. I deposit the checks.” She sighed. “There’s a party scene, but I avoid it.” A slight frown interrupted the classic symmetry of her features.
Daisy smiled. “No, I can’t picture you dancing the night away.”
Valerie gave her the tiniest of smiles. “I dance!”
Daisy snorted. “Ballet!” They both laughed and Daisy stood up to clear the table.
“Seriously, though.” She paused at the kitchen counter, watching Valerie move around. “You don’t mind that I’m invading your privacy?”
Valerie turned and gave her a quick hug. “I’m delighted you’re invading my privacy, Daisy! We never get enough time together. I hope you’ll stay indefinitely—it’s Aunt Delia’s place for us to share. The apartment has plenty of privacy.”
“No boyfriend?”
Valerie looked as serene as usual when she shook her head, but Daisy thought she sensed tension.
“And you a supermodel! You must have to beat them away with a stick!” Daisy teased, smiling as Valerie flushed a little.
“Maybe I should throw you out after all.“ Valerie looked less anxious and more exasperated now and Daisy was relieved.
After they finished cleaning up Daisy was sorting through a daunting backlog of email and news, skimming through job offers and new contacts, when her attention was snagged by an email from Boston Financial. Intrigued, she read the email and wondered at the vague invitation to come into their offices to discuss a “business opportunity.”
Boston Financial was Ben Kingston’s company, she remembered. It had started in the last century as a prominent bank and financial services company in Boston, but had moved to New York City and into financial news. In the last four years since Kingston had taken it over, the company had expanded even further into online and subscription-based content, becoming one of the biggest financial media companies in the city.
The email from the office of the CEO invited her to come in for a conversation with Kingston. Daisy felt a throb of excitement. She pictured Ben Kingston from the only time she had seen him in person: he gave a talk at Princeton her senior year that was well attended and fascinating. She was impressed by his intelligence and the strategy behind his business plans. And she had admired him as she sat in the back of an auditorium and looked her fill. He was tall and broad-shouldered in his conservative suit, with dark hair and dark eyes in a hawkish face. His manner was reserved, even tense. Daisy had difficulty focusing on his words when her eyes kept wandering over his body. She was reminded of her conversation with Paul about not being attracted to anyone. Ben Kingston had definitely lit something in her. She answered the email immediately: “I’m available any time.”
CHAPTER TWO
Ben drummed his fingers on his desk and reviewed his notes again. He kept careful notes on all of his projects, but this time they didn’t seem to cover everything. Daisy Carmichael would have surprises, he thought. He had all the data he needed about her site, which had snowballed in just two years into one of the most popular financial news sites on the Internet. He had seen her video interviews and she was good—well informed and direct even when she faced major players in the business world. And she didn’t always interview CEOs either. She took interesting angles, approaching London traders and commodity analysts for their opinions about market trends. Ben had learned something from her work, and he couldn’t say that very often.
But how much of her success was based on her looks? She was extraordinarily beautiful, especially in action, as her eyes lit with interest or she leaned forward for some important question. And how much was about her name? There was still a certain amount of public interest in the five daughters of the late Senator from Colorado. Roger Carmichael and his wife had died in a helicopter accident six years before—just as he was on the verge of becoming his party’s candidate for president.
Ben looked down at the file on his desk and studied the iconic photo of the five girls at their parents’ funeral in Boulder. In the photo Daisy’s head was bowed in a graceful sign of grief and a few golden curls blew out behind her in the cold wind that day. Her face was in profile, but he knew from the videos that she had dark blue eyes and the face of an angel—a sensual angel, he thought, his mouth twisting. She had once been known as the “wild” Carmichael, though that adjective seemed to belong to the youngest sister now that she broke speed records in downhill skiing. He wondered how beauty and celebrity and money combined to produce a young woman who wanted to report financial news, of all things. Thinking about it, he realized that she was like a balance sheet that didn’t seem to add up. And that had piqued his interest uncomfortably. He glanced at his watch. Soon he’d be able to judge her for himself.
Daisy Carmichael walked into his office moments later and instantly Ben felt off center. He stood as she approached and his first thought was that neither photos nor videos did justice to her impact in 3D. He had expected her lovely face but her figure was a shock, slender but very curvy even in a tailored skirt and jacket. Her blond curls were pulled back in a clip but not pinned up, which softened the effect of the business suit. In heels she came close to his height so they were almost face to face when he shook her hand. He preferred to look down on people.
“Thank you for coming in, Ms. Carmichael,” he said automatically after a moment when they both seemed to appraise each other in silence.
She smiled widely, which drew his attention to her mouth. “Please call me Daisy.” She waved a hand in the air. “And I shall call you Ben.” She sat down in an armchair and crossed her legs, which drew his attention next. He took a chair facing hers and kept a low table between them.
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