At His Beck and Call

By Alex Berry

Mason Stratton was well known in his circles as a risk taker, with his devil may care attitude. Kenneth Moretti just lost his father and his family counted on him to save the family business. But he has to deal with the cavalier Stratton. Stratton has an idea to remove the family burden. It was a simple plan, Kenneth could work it off, in bed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sitting Bull Publishing
• Release date: Mar 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9780983228776

Book preview

At His Beck and Call

Copyright © February 2011 by Alex Berry

Smashwords Edition

Published by Sitting Bull Publishing

Raeford, NC

www.wix.com/SittingBullPub/sittingbull

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY.

No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed without prior written

permission from Alex Berry or Sitting Bull Publishing.

ISBN 978-09832287-7-6

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

It shouldn’t be this hot any time of year, Kenneth Moretti thought as he watched the casket lower into the ground. He waved his hand in front of his face, clearing his view from flying bugs. What kind of bug hung around in a cemetery? His inner dialog kept him from screaming the unfairness of it all. A shovel load of dirt echoed into the air, sounds of muted weeping, sobbing punctuated the air. Vincent Moretti, his hero, his father, and his friend buried at the tender age of fifty-two. Colon cancer. Who has cancer nowadays without a heads up? His hardheaded Italian father. Most people had regular checkups. His father fell far from that category. The man didn’t trust doctors, would rather be set on fire than willingly pay one a visit. After he fell while walking to the mailbox, his mama took matters into her hands. Shocked at what her partner had hidden from her for years, she rushed him to the best doctors. By then there wasn’t much anyone could do.

Unfair, such a waste.

Placing one arm around his mother and the other around his sister, he moved them deliberately toward the waiting limo, nodding in acknowledgment the words of sympathy or comfort thrown their way. Once inside, he held his mom close, allowing her to lean on him for the first time in his life. Damn, daddy’s gone. What were they going to do?

###

Philadelphia in late spring sent many people running outside. Mason Stratton glanced out the window of his high-rise office overlooking a barrage of other buildings. He squinted at the patch of greenery below with benches thrown between the concrete and steel monsters. He snorted at the attempt to humanize the concrete jungle. Taking his time, he tried to identify the small clusters of people congregated today. It had become an interesting past time of his, most days he remained clueless, but he enjoyed picking apart and storing small tidbits of information about strangers. As an amateur voyeur, he enjoyed the view.

Lord, he was bored.

It wasn’t that his office wasn’t humming with activity, or that he lacked work. No, as the head of a successful venture capitalist firm, there was always something needing his attention. Normally, that’d be enough to keep him engaged. For some reason, he was antsy, couldn’t settle down. His thoughts jumped around like beans. In a few days, he’d be taking a month’s vacation, and he was past ready to go. Every year he and his CFO took a different month’s break. As long as one of them was in-house it worked fine.

Looking up at the clear sky, a longing for wide spaces grabbed hold. Maybe the outdoor bug bit him. The Rocky Mountains called, maybe he’d go skiing, he had a condo in Vail in the foothills.

He tapped the calendar on his desk, staring at the dates. Then again, the cool balmy Aruba beaches would be a nice change of pace. Interesting scenery down there. Would he go alone? Eric, his ex, hinted he’d be available, but the emotional payload was too high. He scoffed; glad he escaped the worrisome nagging for more of his time, more affection, more demands, more, more, more. As great as he was in bed, the man wore him out when they weren’t in the bedroom.

What he needed was a playmate. Someone who wanted good sex in exchange for good sex. After the disastrous escapade with a former lover, he didn’t want or need any emotional attachments. He sighed, looking at the file on his desk. Everything had become so routine. He craved a challenge, something to shake things up.

Mr. Stratton, your one o’clock appointment, Mr. Kenneth Moretti, is here to see you, his secretary buzzed, interrupting his morose thoughts. He sighed, not understanding why he bothered to talk to another representative of the company. Legal already had the file, within six weeks the company would be separated into smaller components and put up for sale. He’d given them five extensions in the past two years; in his opinion, his company had been more than fair to the small winery. Family-owned businesses, he had a soft spot for them, but he had a responsibility to his shareholders.

One minute, Grace. Pulling some files in front of him, he prepared to break the news that the family owned winery was on the chopping block. He could only hope the emotional outbursts would be minimal. Send him in. He straightened his tie and glanced at the open file.

The twitter from his staid assistant was his first clue that the specimen walking through his door would be trouble.

She never giggled.

Thanks for the coffee, Moretti said, nodding at Grace. The woman’s face reddened. Now that was interesting, although not as interesting as the back view in front of him. It was the first thing he noticed. His brow rose in appreciation of the fitted navy blue Dockers with a black leather belt and fitted light blue cotton shirt. Nice.

His long denied libido took notice. Unbelievably, the front view was better. Never had he been more grateful that his desk sat further back in his office as he watched the mocha complexioned man stroll toward him. Obviously, Moretti was mixed race like Obama. His light brown eyes and thick dark wavy shoulder length hair reminded him of Tubbs from the old Miami Vice television series. Mason pointed to a chair in front of his desk. The young god sat, returning his stare. For a minute, neither spoke, taking one another’s measure.

You wanted to talk with me? Mason asked, he wasn’t that bored, someone needed to start the conversation.

Mr. Stratton, I’m Kenneth or Kenny Moretti. I believe you worked with my father and uncle regarding the financing of our vineyards - Moretti Wines - in California.

Mason nodded, watching the man carefully, only half listening. High cheekbones on a sculpted face, with light brown eyes and straight