“What in the world have you gotten us into, Dad?” Jarred muttered, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. He’d been scrutinizing legal documents for what felt like hours and still didn’t have any answers to his many questions about one of their newer acquisitions, Tempest Mortgage.

Jarred Manning had always thought he had it all: a comfortable, enviable career as lead attorney for Manning Enterprises, a multimillion-dollar banking corporation, wealth and a beautiful brownstone in the Park Slope neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York. Until the Tempest Mortgage deal.

Just before his scheduled retirement, Jarred’s father, William Manning, the founder of the family corporation, had purchased Tempest, a failing mortgage company, from his close friend Josiah Tempest—and promptly turned Jarred’s comfortable life into a constant treadmill of work. Instead of spending his nights in the arms of a beautiful woman, he now spent them at his Manhattan office.

William Manning had started the company slowly. An investment banker, he’d purchased one bank and then another. When Jarred and his two brothers had come into the company they’d added two more banks, just within the last five years, and as recently as a year ago the corporation had acquired a small chain of banks that specialized in mortgages for low-income families. All sound business decisions. But Jarred could not understand the last takeover his father had spearheaded, a few months ago—the in-the-red Tempest Mortgage Company.

Nor could he understand how his father had promptly retired as CEO of Manning Enterprises right after that and moved with their mom back to his birthplace of Paris, Texas, where they owned a farmhouse. William had handed the reins of Manning Enterprises to Jarred and his younger brothers, Langston and Brice. An attorney himself, Langston often worked closely with Jarred, while Brice, the financial wiz of the family, preferred to operate on the business services side.

Only their sister, Katherine, the youngest of the four siblings, didn’t enter the family business. Though she held a degree in political science, the free-spirited Kat was pursuing a degree in interior design at FIT, the Fashion Institute of Technology.

Once again Jarred scanned the numbers and sighed. “I’m convinced that I’m being punished for something,” he groaned. Yes, that had to be it. Why else would he be stuck in the office well past business hours, working on this nightmare of a venture called Tempest? He grumbled, frustrated with everything about his new duties.

There were a rapid three knocks on Jarred’s office door before it pushed open and his brother, Langston, walked in. What now? Jarred took a deep breath, sat up in his chair and ran his hand across his bearded face. He could tell from the stiff way that Langston moved, his appearance harried, not to mention the ferocious scowl on his face, that something or someone had him pissed.

At six feet, Langston was an inch shorter than Jarred, and he was two years younger than his own thirty-four years of age. They shared the same strong jawline and thick brows that accentuated hazel eyes, but Langston kept his wavy hair close-cropped to his head, and sported little more than a five o’clock shadow, with a mustache he kept neatly trimmed.

Jarred watched as his brother stormed across the plush carpet to one of the leather wingback chairs, then plopped down with a heavy sigh.

“What’s wrong now?” Jarred asked, eyeing him closely. Langston was a rather easygoing guy, but it looked as if he hadn’t slept in a few days.

“The question should be what is not wrong?” he responded sourly. “This acquisition is going to be the death of us all. Maybe we should have listened to Brice on this one. This is a huge headache times three.”

Jarred knew exactly what headache his brother was referring to. Tempest.

Josiah Tempest was a longtime friend of their father’s and had taught William Manning most of what he knew about the banking industry. Unfortunately, years later, Josiah’s failing health and poor management decisions had caught up with him, which now left the Manning brothers with a mess to clean up.

“Where’s Brice?” Jarred asked, his voice sounding as tired as he was.

“I haven’t a clue. Probably between the thighs of a beautiful woman, which is where we all should be, instead of in the office at nine o’clock on a Friday evening.”

Jarred

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