Unfazed at this point by his barked orders, I walk to his office, entering at the same moment he bursts into more coughing. Then he scowls at me as he barks, “Why do I not have Mike Rogers on the phone?”

“His secretary says he’s at a team meeting,” I say, wondering how I’ve turned my low profile into calling NBA team owners who will actually answer.

“I don’t care where the fuck he is,” Brandon Senior snaps. “If I don’t have him on the phone in fifteen minutes, you’re fired.”

I bristle at the threat, and my first instinct is to retreat, which angers me for my reaction more than at him. I will not allow these damnable circumstances to turn me into that person. If he really intends to fire me, he’s going to do it no matter what, and if not, my response sets a tone for the future. “If you fire me,” I say, my voice firm and confident, “who’ll put up with your crankiness? And arrange your conference calls. And find Mike for you?”

“Well, you haven’t found him, now have you?” he asks, the challenge in the question sidetracked when he hacks a few more times.

“I have found him,” I retort when he settles down. “He just refuses to be interrupted.”

“When he’s on the phone with me, then you’ve found him. Get out of my office and shut the door until then.”

I’m not fired, apparently, and I don’t get out of his office, watching as he obviously chokes back more coughing. “Can I get you something hot to drink and some drugs to go with that cough?”

“Mike Rogers is the only drug I need.”

“I respectfully disagree.”

“You’re pushing your luck, Ms. Stevens.”

Resigned to his stubborn arrogance, I exit the office, pulling the door shut, and then claim my desk, immediately searching my Rolodex for Jessica’s number, and hitting that extension. “Jessica,” I say when she answers. “It’s Emily.”

“I was about to head in your direction for lunch.”

“I told you, I can’t go with you,” I say, and quickly change the subject, “but I have a question. Is there a drugstore that delivers nearby? It’s for Brandon Senior.”

“Not that delivers. What’s wrong with him?”

I open my mouth to reply when a gorgeous woman in a sleek black pantsuit breezes into my workspace, her long, brunette hair a shiny veil touching her shoulders. More than a little shocked that I wasn’t warned of her entry first, I quickly say, “I need to call you back,” to Jessica and replace the receiver on the cradle. “Can I help you?”

“Honey,” she purrs, stopping in front of me, and shifting her Chanel purse from one shoulder to the other, “if you’re sweetening my husband with that sweetness you ooze, you’ve already helped.”

My eyes go wide. “You’re—” I almost say Shane’s mother. “Mrs. Brandon.” And good grief, she looks too young to be Shane’s mother, her pale skin more porcelain than most twenty-year-olds.

“And you’re the newest target for my husband’s wrath.” She claims a chair in front of my desk and a bit to the left. “How are you handling him?”

“His wrath isn’t so bad,” I say. “Some of the people he does business with are fairly hateful, but I’m no delicate flower.”

“Has he threatened to fire you yet?”

Obviously this is a thing for him. “We just did that about five minutes ago.”

“And you’re not in the bathroom crying. I approve. If you’re still here in two weeks, I’ll take you to the spa to celebrate.” She stands up, and I turn in my chair to watch her walk to her husband’s door, open it, and walk right in. Oh God. Is she going to get me fired? Or … not? What does a man who brings his mistress to his son’s hotel expect of me where his wife is concerned? And officially, I’ve decided Shane’s family unit is as screwed up as mine.

“Lunchtime!”

At the sound of Jessica’s voice, I whirl around to find her hurrying toward me, her purse on her shoulder. “Snap, snap,” she commands. “Let’s head out.”

“I can’t go, Jessica. I told you that.”

She stops in front of my desk. “I talked to Shane. It’s fine.”

“No,” I say. “I appreciate it. I really do, but I’m not going.”

“He said—”

“It doesn’t matter what he said. It matters what he’ll think.”

“Wait in the lobby, Jessica.”

My lips part in shock at the sound of Shane’s voice and Jessica whirls around to face him, her body blocking my view. Blood rushes in my ears. Brandon Senior can’t rattle me but his youngest son can. I count three seconds and ten of my heartbeats, before Jessica steps aside to let Shane pass and heads for the lobby.

Shane is instantly in front of me, leaning forward, and his hands are on my desk, much like Derek did. But he’s not Derek, and this is nothing like that encounter. “Go to lunch with Jessica, Emily.”

“I’m not going.”

“You can trust her. The woman won’t break a promise, or your trust, not even to me. I want you to go.”

“Shane—”

“You can’t work here, or live in this city, without anyone. Okay?”

My chest tightens with the memory of him asking me that in the bathroom. “You’re sure?”