Behind every great fortune, there’s a crime.
—Lucky Luciano
CHAPTER TWO
SHANE
Within fifteen minutes of my mother’s “lipstick” announcement, I’m already behind my cherrywood desk in the corner office opposite my brother’s, trying to focus on work, when Jessica, a tall blonde with spiky hair and an attitude, steps into the office.
“Your fresh shirt has arrived,” she says, indicating the garment in her hand. “And let me just say, if the woman responsible for your change of clothes put that scowl on your face, I’m personally requesting there’s no do-over.”
“The lipstick on my collar isn’t what it looks like,” I say, dropping my Montblanc pen on the desk. “If it was, I’d definitely be in a better mood.”
She hangs the shirt on the back of the door. “Sounds like an interesting story we both know you won’t tell me, so I won’t ask.” She crosses to stand in front of my desk and sets two folders in front of me. “The top one contains the top ten most profitable drugs in the world, along with risk assessments, lawsuits, and drug studies. The bottom contains the profiles of the key players who brought them to market.”
“Ever efficient,” I say. “Good work. Is—”
“Yes. Derek returned to his office just after you did.”
In other words, my father shut him down, which is, at least, a small piece of good news.
“Anna, his new secretary, followed him into his office and shut the door, a recent habit they’ve developed. I’m really quite thankful the walls in this place are thick because, I assume, he too will be in need of a fresh shirt. I guess it’s good to have a full-service assistant. She can do it all. I don’t. I won’t. But I promise you, I’m better than her.”
“Ah, Jessica. Leave it to you to keep things in perspective. I keep waiting for the day my brother tries to hit on you to get to my secrets. I want popcorn and front-row seats.”
“Please give me a reason to go Rocky on that man. I’ll leave you to your work.” She crosses the room, disappearing into the hallway and pulling my door shut without me asking. The woman is a jewel in a sea of stones.
I grab the folders and go to work, looking for our next play in the market, the one where the rest of Brandon Enterprises no longer exists. I start reading and I don’t stop, analyzing alliances I might form, products we might produce. My interests lead me to Internet research and an e-mailed list of prospective hires that I shoot to Seth. I’m deep into the second half of folder number one when I blink and look up to find Jessica setting a coffee on my desk, along with a bag I know has the croissants I favor inside. “It’s seven o’clock.”
I blink and look up at her. “How long have I been sitting here?”
“I believe you stretched your legs and walked to what I assume was the bathroom—I certainly hope so—at about four o’clock. So, three hours, not including the three before that break. What can I do to help?”
“Go home.”
“You’ve been here late every night for a month, Shane. You haven’t even changed your shirt. You need rest.”
“Thank you, Mother. I’m fine. Go home.”
“I’m twenty-nine years old, about to be thirty. For your safety, do not call me ‘mother.’”
“Go home,” I repeat.
“Fine,” she says, turning on her heel and marching toward the exit, disappearing into the hallway and shutting the door behind her. I rotate my chair to face the floor-to-ceiling windows wrapping the room. The city is soon to be aglow in light, but it will never compare to the view from my Manhattan office. Frustrated at myself for going there, I face forward again
It’s time to go home, order a pizza, and just work, but I don’t get up. Instead, for at least the tenth time, my mother’s words replay in my head. Take control and then make changes, followed by my thought of, Not a chance in hell. I need a play, a game changer that forces everyone to follow me if Seth fails on the leverage side. I stand and grab my briefcase, shoving the files inside, and damn it, my gaze catches on the view behind the glass. For almost a year now, I’ve craved my return to New York, but it’s time I face facts. I have to be here and be present to win this war, or give up. I dig my phone from my pants pocket and text the Realtor I’ve been dodging for months: I’m ready. Find me a house. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Shoving my briefcase strap over my shoulder, I cross the room, exiting into the dimly lit outer office and I’ll be damned if Derek doesn’t do the same. We both stop outside our doors, the tension between us damn near makes the floor quake. In unison it seems, we start walking, neither of us stopping until we are toe-to-toe at the hallway, inviting both our departures.
“The company doesn’t need to be saved,” Derek bites out, as if we’re midconversation. “Father might be playing a game with us, but we both know he won’t watch his pride and joy be gutted.”
“Wake up, Derek. He’ll be dead and you’ll be in jail if we don’t make changes. We can make those changes together.”
“We can’t do shit together, Shane.”
“We’re brothers. We used to be inseparable.”
“I was your babysitter, then left for college before you even hit high school. We barely know each other and anything we were damn sure ended when you returned home and became everyone’s moral compass.” His jaw sets. “Go back to your world. This is mine.”
His. This is all about the company and money. Power. And still, the brother in me who used to idolize Derek wants to cave and give him what he demands, but he’s made that impossible. “Together,” I say again.
“Fuck off, Shane. How do you not see how much I hate you? Right isn’t right because it’s your way, and you’ll find that out soon. You have my word.” He steps back and walks down the hallway. I step to the center of the hall, staring after him, willing him to turn back, and wondering how we’ve gotten to this place where we are now enemies. He rounds the corner, disappearing.
Gone. But he’s not completely lost yet. I refuse to let that happen.
The sound of the lobby door opening and closing signals his departure, and ready to get the hell out of the building, I waste no time following in his path. By the time I’m in the corridor outside Brandon Enterprises, he’s already departed in one of the eight elevators. Another opens for me quickly.
Once inside the car, my mind doesn’t go to Derek, but rather to my father. He’s always been brutal; the many ways he terrorized me in my youth too many to count. Derek had been older, but there had been a window of time we’d shared a hatred of him, and yet both of us had craved his attention and the love I’m not sure he’s capable of giving. I don’t crave that anymore, and yet he’s dying and I think maybe I should. My mind travels to the past, to me at sixteen, and him forcing me to run laps until I threw up after I got a ninety on a test, a failure in his eyes. I guess I should thank him, though. I did get into Harvard.
Holy fuck, I want out of this elevator. I step to the doors, waiting impatiently for them to open, and the second they part, I cut through the deserted building toward the parking garage. Once I reach the steel door, I hesitate, the idea of my empty apartment hitting all the wrong nerves. I head back toward the lobby, which leads directly to the Sixteenth Street strip mall lined with restaurants and bars. I’ll prepare for my brother the way I did my cases in New York. In a corner booth of a restaurant, only this time it won’t be with a never-ending pot of coffee, but an expensive bottle of whiskey. I’m halfway to the front door when my gaze catches on the security booth in the corner and I stop dead in my tracks.
Unless I’m dreaming, my sweet-smelling coffee thief is indeed here again and seems to be arguing with the guard. Suddenly, a little conversation doesn’t sound so bad after all. I remind myself that she is completely wrong for how fucked up my life is right now, but the truth is that’s exactly what makes her appealing. Besides, I don’t want to own the woman. Well. Not when she has her clothes on, and if I have my way, she won’t for long. I start walking in her direction.
EMILY
“I understand the Lost and Found is locked up for the night,” I say to the stoic, gray-haired guard behind the security desk. “But surely you can make an exception for a cell phone. I’m expecting a very important call. I can’t be without my phone.”
“I understand, miss, but there are rules.”
Rules. There’s a concept that hits a raw nerve. “Fine,” I concede, reaching for my wrist, missing the bracelet that should be there but is not. “I’ll come back. How early can I be here?”
“Seven in the morning.”
“Six forty-five it is,” I say, rotating to depart, yelping as I smack into a hard body, and a pair of large, manly hands settles on my waist, steadying me. “I’m sorry,” I say, glancing up in shock to realize the hot man from the coffee shop is standing in front of me and my palms have landed on his incredibly hard, broad chest.
“We meet again,” he says, his voice a soft purr of seduction, and his eyes are still a perfect steel gray just like the tie that matches his suit.
“Yes, I…” I swallow hard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“I’m not sorry and I did see you.”
“You … what?” I step back, his hands falling from my waist. Mine slide away from his chest, where I wouldn’t have minded them lingering a little longer, but that would be bad. And inappropriate, which is exactly what I’m trying never to be again.
He glances at the guard. “Is there a problem, Randy?” he asks, and good gosh, no wonder I ended up in that exchange with him this morning. The man is the definition of “tall, dark, and handsome.”
“The lady is looking for her cell phone,” Randy explains, “and Lost and Found is closed for the night.”
Shane arches a brow at the man. “Closed? How does Lost and Found close?”
My thoughts exactly, but I bite my tongue, considering “Randy” had actually displayed quite a lot of patience with me, considering I’d asked the same question in a far more pushy way. And Randy is actually looking quite uncomfortable, his reaction indicating that Shane is more than a random hot guy in this building who likes his coffee ridiculously strong. “I’m the only guard on duty,” Randy explains. “I can’t leave the desk.”
“I’ll watch it for you,” Shane states, and it’s not an offer. It’s an expectation. Everything about this man is a smooth command that manages to be sexy, not obnoxious. A rare skill few men, or women, successfully harness, though I’ve known many who tried and failed.
“Yes sir,” Randy says. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”
The guard rushes away, leaving me stunned at his quick departure while Shane rests an arm on the counter and faces me. “You ran away today.”
My eyes go wide. “That’s the way to get right to the point. And for your information, I had someplace to be.”
“You didn’t even take your coffee with you.”
“I didn’t have time to drink it,” I say quickly, no stranger to thinking on my feet.
“You ran,” he repeats.
“You’re kind of intimidating,” I counter.
Amusement lights his gray eyes. “You aren’t intimidated by me.”
“Are you saying you are intimidating to others?” I challenge.
“To some I am, but not to you.”
“You base this assessment on what, exactly?”
“Anyone intimidated wouldn’t be brave enough to say they are.” He closes the distance between us, the scent of him, autumn leaves and spice, teasing my nostrils. “Are you intimidated now?” he asks, the heat in his eyes blisteringly hot.
“No,” I say, suddenly warm all over, when lately, everything has made me cold. “I’m not intimated.”
“Good news,” the guard announces, jolting me back to a reality that does not include hot strangers who could find out more than I want them to know. I quickly take a broad step backward, distancing myself from Shane, to face Randy.
“You found my phone?” I ask, hopeful.
“I found a phone,” he confirms. “I need you to confirm the first number in the contacts.”
I hesitate, but having no other option, admit, “There are no numbers in my phone at all.”
“You are correct,” the guard says, sliding the phone onto the counter. “I’ve never known anyone to have no contacts in their phone.”
“It’s new,” I explain, picking it up and slipping it inside my purse, and realizing it’s a lame excuse, I add, “I need to sync my numbers. Thank you.” I rotate to face Shane to find him staring at me with the kind of interest and curiosity I’m not in a position to invite. “And thank you,” I add, motioning toward the door. “I should go.”
“I was about to go grab dinner and a drink at one of the restaurants nearby. Join me.”
“I really should get home,” I say, trying not to sound as regretful as I am. I’m flattered, but then, what woman wouldn’t be with this man?
“I won’t keep you long.”
“I have plans in the morning,” I counter, and it’s true. I’ll be waiting for the phone to ring and thinking about how much I wish I’d said yes to his invitation.
He glances at the guard, who quickly takes a hint and murmurs, “Good evening,” before stepping back behind his post and busying himself.
The instant he’s gone, Shane once again closes the space between us, this time bringing us intimately close, and I think he might touch me. I want him to touch me. “Here’s how I see us meeting again: The odds are next to zero. That means you have to have dinner with me.”
“Have to? Is that some rule or something?”
“Not just a rule. A hard rule I just made up.”
“Does making up rules work often?”
“Yes. Is it working now?”
Yes, I think, but instead, I say, “I wish I could.”
“You can. Just say yes, Emily.”
Emily. I hate that name, but he has somehow not only remembered it, but made it silk and seduction. He is silk and seduction, a magnificent man who no doubt has so many woman lining up that I am a mere flicker on the screen. And actually, that isn’t a bad thing. In fact, it’s freedom. This is about tonight. Just tonight. He won’t want to know my past or my future. He’s looking for a diversion, and the truth is, if I spend one more night alone, trapped in guilt, worry, and my fast-looping replay of how I got to this point, I might go insane.
“Emily,” he prods, using that name again, my name, and I swallow hard. “Say—”
“Yes,” I supply. “Yes, I’ll have dinner and drinks with you.”
Satisfaction fills his eyes and he waves the guard forward, handing the man his bag. “I’ll pick it up on my way out,” he tells him. The other man nods, and a moment later, Shane’s full attention shifts back to me, and I’m jolted by the way I feel the impact, or rather, I feel him, a warm spot forming in my chest and spreading low into my belly. He offers me his arm. “Shall we?”
I hesitate a few beats, reminding myself that “alone” promises safety, but I can’t live that way forever. This dinner with this man is a no-harm, no-foul way to practice being the new me. I accept his arm.