Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. I am kind to everyone, but when someone is unkind to me, weak is not what you are going to remember about me.
—Al Capone
CHAPTER TWENTY
SHANE
A full minute after leaving Emily in the garage, I can still smell the floral sweetness of her perfume, every muscle in my body tense with the effort it had taken to keep my hands off her. I reach the elevator, and step into a car, the steel doors sealing me inside, and I feel more caged animal than man right now. I need a release. A run. My fist in my brother’s face. Emily naked. Seconds and floors tick by like hours, until finally I exit on the higher level, my gaze landing on the Brandon Enterprises logo, honing in on the lion. It’s becoming clear that sharp leadership might not be enough to save this company. I might have to rip a few throats out to get the job done. And at this point, a few throats versus total annihilation of the brand, and my family, seems a fair trade-off.
Entering the reception area, I quickly make my way toward the end of the hallway that forks to my office and my brother’s, noting his door is still shut, before traveling to my own. Jessica stands on my approach.
“Not now,” I say before she starts explaining herself. I’m really not in the mood. I walk straight into my office and resolutely shut the door.
I’ve barely sat down when she buzzes in on the intercom, proving she is forever dogmatic about just about everything. “I’ll defend myself when you’re a little less intense. But since ‘intense’ only makes you a better negotiator, the bank is on the phone about the Cherry Creek apartment and there’s an attorney for a class-action lawsuit on the phone.”
“What class-action?”
“It’s related to BP Pharmaceuticals.”
I scrub my jaw. “Of course it is.” And while this kind of thing is common with drug companies, it hits one of about ten raw nerves. “Put the attorney through.”
From there, my work snowballs and it’s nearly six when Seth calls to report in. “Tell me something good,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
“If you define ‘good’ as me having no bad news, then I can. My news amounts to not much. For now, all is quiet, and Nick’s team has widespread eyes on our watch targets.”
“What I want is conclusive evidence that Sub-Zero is not in my manufacturing facility.”
“Nick’s men entered BP on the pretense of a conveyor belt repair, and managed to install a few added camera angles we didn’t have on the security feed. I’ll be watching real-time surveillance tonight to see if we triggered any unusual activity when we spooked William.”
“Sounds like titillating viewing. Is it mobile?”
“On my laptop. Why?”
“I need out of this place almost as much as I need a drink. If you meet me at my place and supply the movie entertainment, I’ll provide the expensive booze.”
“Sold at expensive booze. I’ll see you then.”
Happily ending the call to get the hell out of here, I buzz Jessica. “I’m headed out,” I say, already stuffing files in my briefcase. “You do the same.”
Almost instantly, there’s a knock on the door that’s clearly more of a formality than a request, since Jessica immediately enters and shuts the door. “You can’t leave without telling me what’s going on.”
I drape my briefcase strap over my shoulder, ignoring the question for what’s really on my mind. “I hope like hell you didn’t encourage Emily to pull that stunt.”
“How can you even think that? She was just telling me what happened when you showed up in the garage. But she had to have been sideswiped by being pushed away and told to quit when you’d decided she could stay. What changed?”
“Nothing you need to know,” I say, rounding the desk and crossing to stand in front of her. “Is she still here?”
“Your dad sent her on some errands and then I think she was headed home.” Her lips tighten. “Shane—”
“Nothing you need to know,” I repeat.
She inhales and lets it out. “This is one of those times I need to know my boundaries, right?”
“You always know your boundaries. You simply choose to ignore them and that would not be a good decision right now.”
“Shit,” she says. “You don’t shut me out, so whatever happened must be bad.”
“It is,” I confirm, “which is why I need you to color in the lines I give you, for once.”
“Not my greatest skill, but I’ll manage.”
I give a quick nod and take a step toward the door.
“Wait,” she says, surprising me by grabbing my arm. “Sorry,” she says, releasing me, “but I just needed to say this. Emily really cares about you. And that isn’t based on what she’s said. It’s in her eyes.”
I feel that bittersweet observation like a punch in the gut, and my response is low, vehement. “And I’m doing my damnedest to make sure she doesn’t regret that,” I say, stepping around her to exit the office and I don’t stop until I’m at my car, about to climb inside, pausing at the sight of a note on my windshield. Brows furrowing, I snatch it, recognizing Emily’s handwriting even before I read: Confucius says—A tie can speak a million words. I laugh, the tension in my spine sliding away, and once again, Emily has made me smile without even being present. I slide into the car and turn on the engine, more determined than ever to do whatever it takes to win this war. Or rather, end this war.
Three hours later, Seth and I are sitting in my living room, our ties and jackets gone, along with several pizzas, and a fair share of cognac. “I have to tell you, man,” I say, indicating one of several laptops we have open on the coffee table, “the movie entertainment you provided just plain sucks.”
“Welcome to my life,” he says, lifting his glass and downing the contents. “I spend way too much time watching, and waiting, for assholes to become idiots.” He refills his glass and mine. “And unfortunately the smart ones, like Adrian Martina, aren’t easily spooked. They’re smart and calculated, but that makes catching them all the sweeter.”
A message pops up on the computer screen from Nick, as it has many times tonight, and we both lean in closer to read it: Derek just arrived at Martina’s restaurant.
“Houston, we have contact,” Seth murmurs, cutting me a look. “Looks like your brother decided he needs to consult the real boss. Let’s hope this is a prelude to some sort of action at the pharmaceutical branch.”
“Let’s hope it’s not, because that would mean Sub-Zero really is inside our facility.” The house phone for the hotel rings from inside the kitchen and my brow furrows. “That’s odd,” I say, already moving in that direction. “You didn’t order room service, did you?”
“Hell no,” he calls out. “I just ate two pizzas.”
I walk to the wall by the fridge and grab the handset. “Mr. Brandon,” the front desk clerk says. “I have a Lana Smith here to see you.”
“Here? As in, she’s in the hotel?”
“Yes sir. She’s standing right here.” And then she must grab the line because I hear, “Shane. It’s Lana. Or I guess he told you that.”
“How the hell do you know where I live?”
“I know the receptionist at your office and she let it slip at a happy hour months ago.”
And Lana is nothing if not an opportunist. “Why are you here?”
“There are some things going on at BP and I didn’t think I should go to the office to tell you and alert anyone.”
“That’s why they make telephones.”
“I didn’t think that was smart either. Please, can I come upstairs?”
I generally believe most things Lana does are rooted in manipulation, but she works with William, and I need information. “Wait there,” I order, ending the call and turning to find Seth has joined me.
“Problem?” he asks.
“That’s one way to describe her. Lana Smith from BP is downstairs, insisting she has information we need to know. I told her we’d come and get her.”
“On my way,” he says, already on the move, while I round the bar to the kitchen and decide a pot of coffee, not a bottle of booze, is now in order. That, and about ten grains of salt, might get me through another encounter with Lana. The pot has just finished brewing when the door opens, and I forget the coffee, and claim a spot at the end of the island. Seth and Lana enter the kitchen, and as usual, Lana’s dressed to seduce in skintight black jeans with a T-shirt that scoops low to expose her cleavage. She’s a five-alarm fire, burning hot, and ironically, that very quality drew me to her in the past but does nothing but scream trouble to me now.
She approaches the island, but instead of stopping on the other side, she rounds the counter to stand by the sink a few steps from me. “Sorry about dropping in on you,” she says, hugging herself and actually seeming a bit awkward.
“If there’s a problem, I need to know,” I say, offering her cautious encouragement. “What information do you have for us?”
“Us?” she asks, glancing up at Seth and back at me. “You. I’m not telling anyone but you.”
“Anything you can say to me, you can say to Seth.”
“I’m sorry,” she replies. “But I don’t know him and I need to talk to you alone.”
I clench my teeth, but she has access to BP in a high-profile position, and if she knows something about illegal activity, I can’t blame her for being guarded. I eye Seth, giving him a silent command. He nods and without a word, heads for the door.
“All right, Lana,” I say as the door opens and shuts. “We’re alone.”
To my surprise, she wastes no time proving she’s here for a real reason. “A man visits William every Monday and he always has a large envelope in his hand when he enters William’s office, but not when he leaves.”
“He could be a supplier.”
“He could, yes,” she agrees, “but I don’t think he is.”
“And you base this on what?”
“For one thing,” she says, “he’s very secretive and nervous, often going outside to make calls.”
“That could be personal.”
“No. Something isn’t right with him, Shane. Look. I’m smart and observant and this man is my boss. I wouldn’t make an accusation if I wasn’t truly concerned.”
“I need more than you being smart and observant to believe he’s guilty of some unknown misstep.”
“I know.” She reaches into her purse where it hangs at her hip, and removes a piece of paper. “That’s why I brought this.” She steps closer and flattens it on the counter. “I made copies of two versions of the same inventory report, side by side.”
“Two versions?”
“Right,” she confirms. “The left is the one I found on his desk. The right is the one that got uploaded into our database. They don’t match.”
“Maybe the first wasn’t final?” I ask, digging for an answer that doesn’t end with the Martina cartel.
“He doesn’t handle inventory,” she says.
“That doesn’t mean it didn’t change from the time it was on his desk and the time it was entered,” I argue.
She points to a particular line. “Right here. This indicates the sales for Ridel, an anti-inflammatory drug that’s in low demand because of side effects and better patient options. I know this because I spent some time working on a new version and it got sidelined for more urgent projects. Column one indicates that low demand, but in the second version of the report, twenty times as many units have been sold.”
“Has sales done a push on Ridel?”
“I can’t say for sure. That’s done through outside reps I have no exposure to, but considering the drug’s history, I find that hard to believe.” She hesitates and abandons the paper to focus on me. “That night—”
“Don’t do this. Not now. Not when you’ve just dropped a bombshell on me. Fuck.” I turn away and run my hand over my face, the magnitude of what she’s just told me starting to hit. Could Sub-Zero be packaged and labeled as this anti-inflammatory drug?
I face her and all of a sudden, she’s in front of me, one hand on my chest, scorching me through the material. I grab her wrist, and she steps into me, her legs pressed to mine. “I can help if you let me.”
This was always her goal, I realize, and the truth is, she’s exactly the kind of woman I should be fucking. Devious. Calculated. Incapable of being ruined by me and my screwed-up family. She belongs here. Emily does not.
EMILY
My plan to leave Brandon Enterprises with something, anything, to help Shane win this blood war, gets easy when I return from running a million and one errands for his father and find the offices dark. Entering the lobby, I lock myself inside, drop my purse on my desk, and head straight for Brandon Senior’s office. Opening the doors, I flip on the light, and while I really don’t know what I’m looking for, one thing is certain. I promised Shane this would be my last day at Brandon Enterprises and that means this is my last chance to use my role in this company to help Shane in whatever way I can.
With that goal in mind, I cross the office, sit down behind the desk, and since Shane believes the hedge fund is being used to hide a secret that seems like a good place to start my investigation. Reaching for the drawer where I’ve seen him stick the file, I tug, but it doesn’t move. I try another drawer with the same result. Not ready to give up, I search the desk for a tool of some sort, and grab a paperclip, inserting it into the lock with zero success.
Frowning, I scour my brain for a solution, and a crazy idea sends me to my desk, where I snag my own key, and return to Brandon Senior’s desk and the locked drawer. Inhaling, I pray for luck, insert the key into the nemesis lock, and bingo, it turns. Pulling open the drawer, I snatch up the hedge-fund folder and one labeled MIKE ROGERS, who’s both a board member and a key player in the hedge fund. I then spend a few minutes making varied selections of other folders. My prizes in hand, I hurry to the large file room behind the reception desk, flip on the light and power up the copy machine to begin duplicating everything in the files.
I’ve just finished with the final documents, gathering all my paperwork, when I hear, “It’s late to be working alone, isn’t it?”
I jolt at the male voice, whirling around to find a dark-haired security guard I’ve never seen before, standing in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” I demand, his big body, and the empty office, hitting all of my many raw nerves.
“I saw the light on and thought something was amiss.”
“Just catching up on my work.”
“I see that,” he says, eying the stack of files I’ve created, and with what strikes me as more interest than an outsider should have.
“Thanks for checking on me,” I say, shutting the file I have open and scooping up the entire stack of files. “I’m fine. I’m going to leave soon.”
“I know you think you are,” he says, “but that’s when people make mistakes.”
My throat goes dry with what seems to be a hidden meaning. “Mistakes?”
“They let their guard down and forget to stay alert. Case in point, we’ve had a few strange reports in the building this week, which one wouldn’t expect with our level of security. You said you’re leaving soon. Why don’t you let me walk you downstairs?”
“Oh no,” I say, kicking myself for giving him that opening, and growing more uncomfortable by the moment. “Thank you, but ‘soon’ for me translates to the next hour or so.”
He studies me for several more of those creepy moments in which I contemplate the heel of my shoe as a weapon, before he finally gives a quick nod and says, “Be careful on your way down.” He disappears out of the door, and I have no idea what possesses me, considering he freaks me out, but I dart forward, catching him as he’s about to exit the office.
“Excuse me,” I call out.
He faces me, and I ask, “What strange happenings?”
“For tenant privacy reasons, I’m not at liberty to say.”
“I understand. What’s your name?”
“Randy,” he says.
“Randy,” I repeat. “Thank you, again.”
He inclines his head and exits, and I quickly dart forward, locking the door that apparently won’t keep “Randy” out anyway, his name nagging at my gut for some reason. Shaking off the feeling I can’t place, I return to Brandon Senior’s office, and start refiling the folders I’d taken, when I pause with realization. The guard who’d helped me with my lost phone my first night in the building had been Randy. Of course, they could share the name. Obviously, they do share the name, but something, no, everything, about this new “Randy” is bothering me.
Turning off the light and shutting Mr. Brandon’s doors, and, fighting a nagging sense of uneasiness, I sit down at my desk and retrieve a large interoffice envelope from a drawer. I’m about to insert all the documents I’ve copied inside it, when my gaze catches on a list of proposed investments for the hedge fund. “Brandon Transportation,” I murmur, and then, “Rogers Athletics,” a company famously owned by Mike Rogers. Those companies seem like curious choices, considering this particular hedge fund is brokered by Brandon Senior, but I don’t pretend to know if that is a problem or not. This is Shane’s expertise, not mine.
Stuffing all the documents in the folder and stand, one more task to complete before I say adios to this place. Trying not to think about Randy’s potential return, I will away my nerves, and start walking, my path leading me down the dark hallway to Derek’s door. Inhaling for courage, I reach for the knob, turn it, and find it locked. A sudden roaring sound from near the front of the offices has me whirling around toward the lobby, my heart thundering in my ears right along with the air conditioner that just kicked in. Okay. That’s it. I’m done and I all but run to the front door, turn out the lights, and hesitate in the doorway. Wait. I never turned on the lights in this part of the offices. Did I? No. I did not and they weren’t on when Randy left either.
Officially freaked out, adrenaline surges through me, and I flip the light switch off, lock the door, and cross to the elevator panel, where I punch the button over and over, until finally a car arrives. Stepping inside, I dig out my phone, holding it like the weapon I wish it was, and watch the hallway every second until the doors shut. Another thirty seconds that feel like thirty years later I exit into the downstairs corridor. I start walking for the front exit, glancing toward the security desk to discover the first Randy at the desk. More unease rolls through me, and as much as I want to confirm the other man really works here, I want out of this building more.
A few dozen fast steps, and I am outside, a chilly breeze lifting my hair, and without hesitation, I start walking toward the Four Seasons, punching in Shane’s number as I do. It rings once and goes to voice mail, and in the short two-block walk, I try twice more, with no success. Arriving at the entrance of the hotel, I wave at Tai as he helps another visitor, and enter the lobby to make a beeline for the elevators.
Once inside, I key in the security code, and watch the floors tick by, certain this knot in my belly will disappear when I see Shane. So much so that I am out of the car the minute the doors open, and double-stepping for his door. Once I’m there, I resist the urge to just go in, forcing myself to punch the doorbell. Seconds tick by and he doesn’t answer, and I finally dig out the key he’d given me. I’m reaching for the lock when the door opens and I come face-to-face with a stunning brunette.
“Oh,” she says. “Hello.” Her lips curving in a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. “He’s all yours.” She steps around me and starts walking.
My stomach rolls, at the same moment Shane appears in the doorway, his Burberry tie I’d put so much meaning behind gone, along with his jacket. “Emily,” he says, and before he can utter a lie I don’t want to remember him by, I try to turn away.
He catches my arm, dragging me to him, and my hand flattens on his chest, but he doesn’t say anything and he smells like perfume. No. He smells like her. “Let go of me,” I say, my voice trembling with the pain I swore no man would cause me again.
Several beats pass and if I wanted some sort of denial from him, I don’t get it. He releases me, and every warm spot this man ever created in me turns icy. I take a step backward, swallowing hard, and turning away. Somehow, my feet are moving, while the cold, hard truth is slowly, but precisely, seeping in and carving out a piece of my heart. This isn’t even a betrayal. He’d cut ties with me last night and I’d simply chosen not to believe it to be true.
Reaching the end of the hall that leads to the elevator, I already know he’s not following me, but some part of me needs that confirmation. Inhaling, I rotate to glance down the path I’ve just traveled to find Shane lingering in his doorway, now in profile, his hand on the jamb, his head tilted forward and low. Tormented, it seems, but I don’t pretend to know what he’s feeling. I don’t pretend to know him at all. I leave then, turning the corner and moments later, stepping into the elevator, I have two thoughts. I’m still clutching the folder I never gave him against my chest and I must have been falling in love with him to hurt this badly.
I step out of the Four Seasons and onto the street to start the six-block walk to my apartment, shoving aside the tears threatening to erupt. I will not cry. I will not be defined by the actions of one man. And the very idea that if Shane had declared that woman’s presence in his home an innocent encounter, I’d have believed him—despite her scent clinging to his clothes—infuriates me. I will not become the fool my mother was with my stepfather, with Shane or any other man.
A half block later, I have found a cold, gray spot in my mind and taken residence there, not overthinking my relationship with Shane, when I so easily could. Instead, I occupy my mind by reading store names, never letting myself go to places that might test my emotions. By block four there is a prickling sensation on my neck, a sense of being watched I do not like. It quickens my pace, reminding me of more than Randy. It reminds me of why I’m in Denver, and it is with relief that I reach my apartment and lock myself inside.
Leaning on the door, I walk to the kitchen, and set the folder on the counter. I grab my purse and the new disposable phone inside, punching in Kevin’s number. He doesn’t answer, of course. He never answers. “I think I’m in trouble,” I say. “I need help. You have to call me back.” I press end and then redial his number, with the same result. I try again and again, and I have this clawing feeling that Kevin is gone for good. I set my phone on the counter, and stare at my apartment, absent of all furniture, and I have never felt so alone or without resources. That’s not true. I do have a resource. Shane and the Brandon Family empire.