Damage Control

I push off the door and waste no time getting in the shower, and then out again, with two thoughts in mind. I have to contain Emily’s situation. And I have to get rid of the Martina cartel before they are fully embedded in Brandon Enterprises, if it’s not already too late. And I can’t do it pussyfooting around, which is exactly what we’re doing by toeing every spot Derek might be hiding the Martina involvement instead of stomping it out. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I inch the door open, finding Emily still asleep, the first glow of morning light illuminating her dark hair draped across the pillow. Seeing her like this, peaceful and sweet, punches me in the chest and stirs unfamiliar emotions. Crossing the bedroom, I step into the closet and shut the door, flipping on the light. That’s when my gaze goes to Emily’s tiny stack of clothes sitting on the floor, in a corner.

“Fuck,” I whisper, deciding right now that this will be the last day I don’t see a long row of her clothes in my closet. Interestingly enough, that idea is a good one: her clothes, next to mine. Her clothes in our closet. She is my woman now, and I have to protect her, something I have yet to ensure. The warmth I feel at her presence in my life becomes concern over her safety I need to be addressing now, not later.

Spurred into action with this thought, I dress in a gray pinstriped suit and a pale gray silk tie, and I open the door, light flooding my eyes. Emily is sitting on the bed, the blanket tucked under her arms, with her phone in her hand. “Did you hear from your brother?”

She sets the phone on the bed and twists around to look at me. “No call, but I was afraid maybe I missed one while sleeping.” Her gaze sweeps over me, her eyes warm when they find mine, her hair adorable, all over the place. “I could really get used to waking up to you looking like that every day, Shane Brandon.”

“And I could get used to waking up to you naked under the blankets,” I say, my cock thickening with the knowledge that she’s exactly that way now. “Which,” I add, “means we may be late to work more often than not. And since this can’t be one of those days, I’m going downstairs before I forget why.” Her stomach gives a loud growl and I laugh. “Sounds like I need to feed you anyway.”

“My stomach has told on me. I’m starving. How did we not eat last night?”

“We were hungry for other things,” I remind her, thinking of the things I did to her before I let her sleep, and want to do to her now. “I’d better go take care of the business I got up to attend before I make you breakfast.” I stand and start for the door, about to exit when I hear, “Shane.”

I pause at the doorway and turn to look at her. “What am I going to say to your father?”

“You don’t have to say anything. You can quit.”

“What am I going to say to your father?” she repeats, clearly dismissing that idea.

“We’ll talk about it when we’re eating.”

“Any word from Seth?”

“Not yet, but we’ll know something today.”

“I need a drink, but since I can’t handle my booze, and it’s far too early, can you make sure breakfast includes chocolate?”

“Chocolate,” I confirm. “You got it.”

Turning away, I head down the stairs, hating that I have to subject her to my father’s games, when I really want to pull her out of Brandon Enterprises, which simply isn’t happening right now. Aside from the fact that it won’t protect her from my family as long as she’s in my life, she’s made it clear she’ll fight me to stay, and at least I’ll know she’s in sight and safe. Or safer. And I admit to myself that I want her close. Selfishly, that light in the midst of a whole hell of a lot of darkness has been like a lifejacket I need more than I want to be true. But would I have taken our relationship up a notch this fast had Seth not made his discovery?

Reaching the kitchen, I flip on the light, making my way to the coffeemaker to get a cup brewing. It’s then, staring at the drip, that I answer the question with a resounding no. I would not have, but not because I didn’t want her here like every woman before her. It was about being sure I could keep her safe, so it’s pretty fucking ironic that she’s here now because her family might be just as dangerous as mine.

I grab my cup of coffee, sweeten it, and set it on the island counter. I drag a barstool up to the counter and sit down, opening my laptop, to quickly order breakfast. That done, I have three things I want to Google: the Geminis (though I won’t, out of caution), the Martina family, and superstar pitcher Brody Matthews. I start with Adrian Martina, the man behind what might be Brody’s demise, and mine too, for that matter, if I don’t shut him out of Brandon Enterprises.

Twenty minutes later, I have a selection of pastries and egg-filled croissants waiting on Emily, and I’m not pleased with what I learned about Adrian. He’s not the typical gangbanger stereotype you think of in jeans and bandana, with a gun in his back pocket and an impetuous spirit and trigger finger. He went to school in the States. Graduated from Brown University with honors. Dresses better than most of the people in my offices, and has legitimate investments here. And yet, he is regarded as the heir to the Martina cartel, and right arm to his father, the acting kingpin. He’s also thought to have killed at least a dozen people with his own hands. And my brother is fucking his sister.

Scrubbing my freshly shaved jaw, I make another cup of coffee, pull another barstool into the kitchen for Emily, and then reclaim mine. Now it’s time to shift gears to Brody Matthews, and a search brings up several articles that confirm he punched a fan and then disappeared, both things that simply don’t compute with the man I’ve met. I dial Jessica, and she answers without a hello, getting straight to the point. “Oh King. Oh Master, my boss and leader. Why have you called me so early in the morning?” She firms her voice. “Seriously. Since you haven’t called me to bring you breakfast the entire year I’ve worked for you, what’s wrong?”