THE MITUS TOUCH: Book One of The Touch Series Read online

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  The Mitus Touch

  Book One of The Touch Series

  Stoni Alexander

  SilverStone Publishing

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Coming Fall 2017

  A Note From the Author

  About the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, brands, media and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Copyright © 2017 by Stoni Alexander

  Edited by Julia Ganis, JuliaEdits.com

  Cover Design by Tricia Schmitt, PickyMe.com

  All rights reserved.

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or reproduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright owner of this book.

  Published in the U.S. by SilverStone Publishing, 2017

  ISBN: 978-1-946534-01-9

  To my husband, Johnny.

  The best man I have ever known in this lifetime or in any other.

  Acknowledgments

  Embarking on a lifelong dream takes courage and a swift kick in the pants. I owe an eternity of gratitude to my husband, Johnny, who knew the exact words to motivate me to take that first step.

  Along the way I’ve been fortunate to receive the guidance and tutelage of many talented and generous people.

  Thank you to my family for encouraging me and supporting me as I ventured into unchartered waters.

  Thank you to my beta readers Amy, Dianne and Cheryl for reading an early and not-ready-for-prime-time version. Your constructive feedback helped a million-fold.

  My critique group rocks! Many thanks to authors Magda Alexander, M.C. Vaughan and Andy Palmer.

  My heartfelt gratitude to Laura Kaye for making such a positive difference.

  My appreciation to John Clark for his law enforcement insight.

  A special shout-out to pilot A.P. for navigating the air traffic control lingo.

  I had a zillion questions for wealth manager Daniel Fischler. Thank you for sharing your knowledge and for cheering me on.

  Thank you to proofreader Carole Davis for catching things no one saw and for your unbridled enthusiasm.

  To Merriam-Webster: I would be lost without you.

  Thank you to authors Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi for The Emotion Thesaurus. An invaluable resource.

  And to my lovely muse: Thanks for working overtime, especially while I sleep. About all that dark chocolate I consume, that’s for you, babe.

  1

  Propositioned

  Brigit Farnay yanked open the heavy glass door to the prestigious Porter, Gabriel and Sethfield wealth management firm and beelined toward the corner office. Newbies spun in their chairs, shouting friendly greetings, but Brigit didn’t acknowledge them. As she passed the open door to her office, she slowed. Forget about it. She shook her head and forged on. Seth needs to know.

  “He’s on the phone,” blurted Kaleb, Robert Sethfield’s longtime assistant.

  She waved him off and barged into her boss’s office.

  Leaning back in his worn leather chair Seth spouted off about market trends. When he saw Brigit standing there his eyebrows shot up. After holding up two fingers, he pointed to one of his guest seats.

  She offered a grateful smile, slung her black handbag onto a chair, and headed to the window. Traffic clogged the maze of D.C. streets while pedestrians skimmed the sidewalks with purpose. The plastic card she’d been clutching had warmed in her grip. Did I encourage his behavior in any way? Did I lead him on? No, never.

  Her blood had simmered as lunch had drawn to a close, but by the time the taxi dropped her back at work, she’d reached boiling point. Shrugging off her fall coat, she folded it over her arm.

  Seth hung up and swiveled toward Brigit. “Did hell freeze over?”

  “Sorry I barged in.”

  “It’s okay.” Seth furrowed his brow. “But you’re not. What’s wrong?”

  In the five years Brigit had worked there, she’d never stormed into he
r boss’s office. Robert Sethfield expected his wealth managers to do their jobs and let him know when they needed an assist or an intervention.

  “A client propositioned me.” She tossed the hotel keycard onto his desk and dropped into a guest chair.

  “Aw, crap.” He stroked his silver goatee. “Who was it?”

  She tucked a long blonde strand behind her ear and sucked down a lungful of air. “George Internado.”

  “Shit.”

  “We met at a restaurant on the Hill. Today was the first time he didn’t tell me a cute story about a grandchild or pontificate about a bill he was trying to get passed. What he did talk about was his wild weekend with his staff assistant that left him so exhausted he’d needed the week to recover.”

  He shook his head. “Jesus, that’s out of line.”

  “We’ve met every six months for the past four years. He’s always taken an avid interest in his wealth. But not today. He had zero interest in his investments and kept checking his phone. After the waiter cleared our plates he told me there were much more interesting things to discuss besides his money.” Brigit shifted in the chair. “I should never have taken the bait. I asked him what could be more important than his financial security.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “His exact words were, ‘You and me in a hotel room. Fifteen minutes.’” She shuddered, then hugged herself to quell the shaking. “He slid that card toward me and whispered how our afternoon could be as explosive as the Fourth of July.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “He left before I had a chance. I’m pretty sure my face turned as green as the pesto salad I’d just eaten.”

  “The good senator has been your client for years. What prompted this?” Seth removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes and slipped the wire frames back on.

  She shrugged. “You’d have to ask him. Six months ago, he mentioned having marital issues and how a staffer had offered him a welcome ear. Shortly after that, I heard a rumor his wife left him. Sounds like that assistant offered more than her advice.”

  “I’d heard those rumors, too.”

  “I listen to my clients chat about their families, their vacations, their goals, even their fears. I don’t care how much he’s worth or how this affects my paycheck. I can’t work with him anymore.”

  “That’s understandable. I’m sorry this happened, Brigit. You want to take the rest of the day off?”

  “No can do. My afternoon is packed, but thanks.” She stroked her silver corded bracelet. “He’s going to tell you I came on to him.”

  “Well, did you?”

  She hiked her eyebrows. “Seriously? You have to ask me that?”

  “Sorry, yes, I do.” He leaned back in his chair.

  “For the record, I don’t do that—nor do I give off the vibe of being the least bit interested in doing that—with any of my clients or my coworkers.” I’m not doing that with anyone.

  “I’ll handle it. Thanks for telling me.”

  “Thank you for listening.” She exhaled a relieved breath, collected her belongings and headed for the door.

  “By the way—” he said. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned. “You’ve not been yourself lately. Something on your mind?”

  Oh, no. Swallowing, she shook her head. “Not a thing. Why?”

  “At last week’s staff meeting I overheard you tell Kat you were feeling restless. Stop by around four. I might have a new client opportunity that could remedy your situation.”

  You weren’t supposed to hear that. “How’s four fifteen?”

  “That’s fine.” His phone rang.

  “Thanks for your help. I debated whether I should say anything.”

  “You did the right thing.” He gave her a reassuring smile, then snatched the receiver. “Robert Sethfield.”

  Since Senator Internado’s inappropriate behavior was no longer her problem, her spiked heart rate slowed as she set off toward her office. But Seth had heard her off-the-cuff remark and was concerned enough to offer a solution. Way to go, dummy.

  Brigit was days from becoming the single biggest shareholder of the Francesco Company, with twenty-two percent. But at this rate, it would be years before Francesco was back where it belonged. With family.

  Until I’m running Francesco, it’s business as usual, don’t count your chickens, and stop acting like a six-year-old at a moon bounce party.

  She entered her shoebox-sized office, dropped her items on her chair, collected her laptop, and tapped on the office doorframe next to hers. “Ready?”

  Phone to ear, Kathryn Langston hunched over the console, dark, wavy hair hiding her pretty face. “Yes, it’s my pleasure.” Kat flipped her hair away and mouthed Help me.

  Brigit smiled. She needed this innocuous distraction.

  “How ‘bout we save the Euro-Asian approach to solar energy for our next conversation?” Silence. “No, thank you and I look forward to it, too.” Kat married phone to cradle, pushed her black frames against the bridge of her nose, and walked around her desk.

  Brigit eyed her friend’s bare feet. “You’re casual.”

  Kat tucked her chin. “Oops.” Groaning, she squeezed into her heels and the two women headed for the conference room.

  Tasked by Seth with familiarizing Matthew Rossmann, the firm’s newest agent, with the brokerage’s internal systems, the women had concluded within minutes of meeting him that his priorities revolved around their internal systems. He’d been trying to poke his nose, or any other body part, into their personal business. Brigit had zero intention of playing dip-the-stick with a coworker.

  “Hello, ladies,” Matthew posed in the doorway, his palms pressing each side of the frame. “Where do you want me?”

  Brigit’s stomach churned at his cocky smile, puffed chest and slicked-down hair. The overpowering stench of cologne blew into the room. She rubbed her nose, thwarting the urge to sneeze.

  “We don’t.” Kat pointed to the chair between them. “Sit here.”

  Over an hour later, Brigit’s phone buzzed with a text from receptionist, Shaniqua Hall. OMG. An Adonis walked in. You have got to see this one.

  Fighting a smile, Brigit pursed her lips as she peered through the wall of glass spanning the conference room. Adonis was causing quite the fuss. Several female brokers huddled together like starstruck teens at a rock concert. Brigit’s heart had been broken one too many times to let some hunk affect her. Plus, her priorities were focused on getting her company back.

  Her phone buzzed with another text from Shaniqua. He smiled. I melted.

  Seth—not his assistant, Kaleb—escorted the man toward his corner office. The stranger glanced into the conference room, then did a double take when his penetrating gaze met hers.

  An unexpected frisson ripped through her, shooting her into the stratosphere. A raw, ripe sexual need flooded her body. Her cheeks flushed with heat. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. She just soaked up his beauty. Tall and broad, with a black wool coat—no, that coat was cashmere—draping his strapping physique. His midnight eyes flashed power and lust. She imagined nibbling his chiseled cheekbones and jutting jawline until her lips brushed his sensual mouth. Her fingers twitched, eager to fist handfuls of his dark chocolate hair resting softly on his cashmere collar.

  And then, like a mirage, he was gone.

  Oh. My. God.

  His face seemed familiar. Was he a client? Unable to make the connection, she shook her head. And then a stinging reality smacked her cheek as if she’d been attacked by a swarm of killer bees. The endorphins stopped firing and she plummeted toward earth with no safety net to break her fall.

  No, no, no, no, no! It can’t be! It just can’t. Jumping out of the chair and away from prying eyes, she Googled a man’s name. His image exploded onto her screen. As high as she had been a moment ago, with Cupid’s cherubs dancing in her head, she crash-landed with an unceremonious thud.

  Oh, dear God, it’s Colton Mitus.

  2

>   Drop-Dead Gorgeous

  Nothing pissed off Colton Mitus more than failing. This meeting with Robert Sethfield meant he had, or damn near had. His portfolio resembled a medieval bloodletting, with pools of money draining from his accounts. Something had to be done, so he’d made the call.

  But the moment—no the second—he’d laid eyes on that blonde in the conference room, his visit had been worth his swallowed pride. Hot and sexy was easy to find in the nation’s capital, but something about her compelled him to take that second look. Her vibrant eyes were laced with innocence and mystery. A deliciously dangerous combination.

  But this meeting was strictly professional. He needed to keep his thoughts on his financial affairs, which, last he’d checked, were one hot mess.

  “Coffee, water?” Seth’s voice jerked him away from much more appealing thoughts. As they entered his office, he tapped a guest chair before easing into his leather seat.

  “No, thanks.” Colton unbuttoned his coat and sat.

  “Hit a round since the Lansdowne tournament in July?” Seth asked.

  “A few.” Small talk bored him. “You?”

  “Same.” Seth leaned back. “All right, Colton, what’s going on? You said you could use my help.”

  “I need your best wealth manager.”

  “You’ve always used private wealth managers. Planning to steal one away from me?”

  “No. My previous wealth manager left the area last year and I’ve been challenged to find the right fit. I’m considering moving my investments under the Porter, Gabriel and Sethfield umbrella.”

  Seth grinned like he’d won the fucking lottery.

  Colton couldn’t help but crack a smile. “We should play poker. I’d make a damn killing.”

  Chuckling, Seth crossed his legs.

  “You know Mitus Mansion is my home and my office.” Colton strummed the armrest. “My staff also resides there. My wealth manager needs to be available beyond market hours.”

  “I see.”

  “There are overseas calls in the middle of the night, dinner meetings, Sunday strategy sessions for the coming week. I’m always working.” Colton raked his hair out of his eyes. “He’d move into the mansion. I’d be his only client. Your firm would make a bundle, as would the appointed advisor. I could sleep at night knowing that I no longer have to play nursemaid to my shrinking portfolio.”