Page 1 of Caged in Desire
Chapter one
Light filters into my study as dawn breaks, and a soft breeze flows through an open window. The crisp autumn air filling the room is a balm to my soul. Being back home for two weeks has reminded me of how much I miss the lush greenery of the estate, a far cry from the sleek, steel high-rises I inhabit when based elsewhere in the country. Perhaps I was wrong to think being here would be tedious. I've been gone so frequently that I’ve forgotten what I was missing.
As always when I'm in town, the morning paper has already been placed next to my chair, crisply folded in half. After glancing at my watch to confirm I have precisely ten minutes before seven o’clock, I take a seat, light my pipe, and flip open the paper, reading the usual mundane headlines as I wait for Mrs. Potts to bring in my morning coffee and eggs.
“Good morning, Mr. Sinclair! Don’t you look dashing today? You must have had a good swim this morning,” Mrs. Potts says with a smile as she sets the breakfast tray down on the stand next to my chair. “I know the lap pool is smaller than some of your other residences.”
“Good morning to you as well, Potts, and thank you. If only I could look half as lovely as you. But yes, it has been an exemplary morning so far,” I say, causing her smile to grow even wider.
Mrs. Potts was hired by my father when I was a young child as our main housekeeper, but he decided to send her to England with me when I went off to boarding school. She wasn’t allowed to live on the campus, but she was a source of matronly comfort in times of distress when I couldn’t reach Mother. In fact, she’s more like a grandmother to me than anything else, and despite my efforts for her to retire and enjoy herself at the property of her choice, she insists on continuing her role at the Sinclair estate. Her stubbornness extends to never calling me Henry, resulting in me having to hear “Mr. Sinclair” even at home.
“Oh, how I hate to see a suicide. Mr. Burnam. That name sounds familiar. Do we know a Mr. Burnam?”
I look behind me to see her standing over my shoulder, slightly bent down to read the paper I’m holding.
“Shall we get you a paper of your own, or would that betooeasy?” I ask, causing her to level me with a withering expression that reminds me of my teenage days.
Hiding my smile, I look back at the paper, scanning until I find the article in question.
Mr. Frank A. Burnam found dead at 68 years old. Suspected suicide.
“Hmm…ah, yes, I believe he worked alongside the family lawyer writing contracts for either Father or Grandfather years ago. I don’t recall ever meeting him, but his name has certainly shown up in a document from time to time.”
“That makes sense. I don’t remember seeing him around either, but I must have heard your father talk about him at some point because his name stood out to me. Either way, please let me know if he did work for the company, and I’ll have some flowers sent to his family.” Potts turns to leave the room but catches herself at the door. “Oh, I almost forgot, should I expect you home for dinner? It’s pork chop night.”
I close my eyes, massaging my temples as I walk through the day’s schedule in my head. Tuesday means a brisk morning swim, breakfast and coffee while reading the paper, work at nine o’clock, dinner at six, and my weight-lifting regimen to burn off any excess energy before bed. An added wrinkle is a meeting this afternoon with my little brother, Ledger, as he has some sort of pressing news with which to regale me.
“Yes, I’ll be home for dinner tonight. It’s Tuesday, Potts. You know I wouldn't miss your pork chops for the world. With the weather this nice, I might dine outside.”
“Well, it's been so long since you've spent this much time at home,” Potts teases, “I had to be sure. In that case, I’ll see you tonight. Have a lovely day, Mr. Sinclair.”
“You as well, Potts. I’ll see you at six o’clock sharp.”
“Move the two o’clock back if you must, Linda, but I will certainly not be rushed out of my lunch meeting with the Hart Corporation. After their last delivery fell through, I’m not willing to let them off easily.” I sigh, feeling a tension headache creeping on. It’s only Tuesday, and my schedule isn’t any lighter for the rest of the week. It might be time to move my massages up to twice weekly…or plan for another night at the club this weekend with Lori.
“Very well, sir, and I also received your next contract for review from Mr. Gregory. I left it on your desk.” My secretary hovers, and given that sheneverhovers, I sense my day is about to become even more vexing.
“Whatever else it is, you may as well get it over with and tell me.” Linda has been my right-hand woman for almost a decade, helping my work life run smoothly. She’s also a discreet courier and fixer for my more…personal contracts and correspondence, and it’s unlike her to beat around the bush.
She grimaces, and I flinch internally. “Well, unfortunately, sir, a late meeting has popped up on your calendar this afternoon at four o’clock. The Taranov family requested it, and I’m not sure who accepted the time while I was away last week. I know it will affect…”
“Thank you, Linda. That will be all.”
Recognizing my dismissal for what it is, she leaves with a sympathetic smile, and I’m finally left in peace again. A four o’clock meeting on a Tuesday threatens to undermine my entireschedule for the evening. The Taranovs are longtime allies of my company, dating back to before my father, Henry Sinclair Jr., even trademarked a logo. More recently, they’ve been managing assets overseas, with less involvement Stateside, which makes me suspicious as to why they’ve shown back up with a meeting request on short notice.
Icantake the meeting at four, and potentially be late to my evening appointment, just like Icando any number of things. The fact that the Taranovs scheduled a late meeting with me shows just how little involvement they’ve had with the business in the four years since I’ve taken over from my father.
This does unfortunately impact my plans to meet Ledger for an after-work drink at his club Rendezvousto “catch up on things.”
I’ve always felt responsible for my family, especially my little brother. At first, it was the natural role of an older brother, but as time passed, it became necessary. He clashed with my father about almost everything, and I could see the damage it was causing not only to them but to Mother as well.
There was a time when I wouldn’t even consider canceling on him, out of fear of how he might react, but he’s straightened up over the years. Deciding to see if Ledger would mind moving our catch-up session before completely dismissing the Taranovs, I dial my brother.
Ledger answers almost immediately. “Henry! What can I do for you, Bro?”
“Good morning, Little Brother. Unfortunately, I’m calling to see if you mind moving our drinks to later this week. It appears a meeting made it past my secretary, and I have to admit, I’m curious about the reason for their urgency. If we can’t reschedule, I can cancel on the…”
“No, no!” Ledger practically screams. “Don’t worry about that. Just come over tomorrow. I promised Sloane a full day at home, so just swing by whenever you can.”
