Giving myself a mental shake, I stick the phone back in my purse, and grab the other one, and this time I find a message that amounts to a temp service offering me a low-paying job. In so many ways, Brandon Enterprises is a blessing. A knock sounds on the door and I jump. “Room service said fifteen minutes.”
“Great,” I say. “I’m starving. I’ll hurry.”
His footsteps sound and I stuff my phone in my purse, bury it in the bottom of a bag, and remove the toiletries, along with a flat iron I unwrap and plug in. While it heats up, I hunt down Shane’s blow dryer to remove the dampness in my hair and dress in a light blue pair of Nike sweats, matching V-neck tee, and tennis shoes. Another ten minutes pass and I’ve managed to apply light makeup in pale pinks and run a brush through my hair. It smells like some sort of musky Shane-scented shampoo, and is actually a shiny light brown, draping my shoulders. I like smelling like him. I like a lot of things about being with Shane.
Setting all of the bags in a corner out of the way, I head for the door, but stop before I exit. I just left a message demanding a returned call. I rush back to the bag and grab the appropriate phone, stuffing it in my pocket, and head back to the door. I’m not sure how I’ll handle it if it rings, considering under no circumstances can I take that call in front of Shane. My hand comes down on the knob, and I pause to force myself to make a hard decision. I set a deadline. If I can’t come up with a solution that lets me tell Shane the truth by Monday, I have to get fired and stay away from him.
Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.
—Michael Corleone
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EMILY
Saturday afternoon finds Shane and me huddled inside his office, which is actually more of a library than anything, bookshelves sandwiching a massive pale wooden desk. Us claiming the dark brown leather sofa and chairs nested in a corner. Shane chooses to sit on the couch, while I settle onto the plush brown rug on the floor beside him, both of us placing the two MacBooks he has on top of the wooden coffee table that matches the desk.
Once we’ve reviewed what he wants achieved, it doesn’t take long for us to dive into his research, or for us to get creative and turn the one open wall into a giant bulletin board with a massive amount of data sorted by topic, organization, and people. It becomes evident almost immediately that we are just as good at working together as we seem to be at everything else. And I not only enjoy our sharing of information, but really, truly, get a real thrill out of the case law related to drug-centric lawsuits, but we argue about his risk or reward with certain product choices for the BP division.
One case in particular has Shane ripping a page off the wall, while I insist he leave it in place, detailing the reasons I don’t think it’s high risk, despite a massive lawsuit ten years ago. He ends up repinning it to the spot on the wall, and when he sits back down, he gives me a scrutinizing look.
“LSAT score,” he says.
“I never said I took it.”
“Did you take it?”
It’s a direct question, and I know he’ll know if I lie, and the truth is that it matters to me. “I took it. I killed it.”
His eyes light with approval. “I had no doubt. You don’t need to be sitting outside my father’s door. You need to be in law school.”
“I’m getting too old.”
“When we touched on this the night we met, I had a feeling age was holding you back. Twenty-seven is not old.”
“Oh come on, Shane. For law school, it is. You know it is.”
“We’ll agree to disagree on that one. Why didn’t you go after you took the test? You had to have had offers.”
Regret over the many things that went wrong and can’t be shared leaves me with only one answer that I pray he accepts. “It’s complicated.”
He studies me and I am certain he will press me, but instead he gives me a nod. “Understood,” he says, and I don’t think he is talking about law school being complicated, but rather, me not wanting to talk about it.
We slip past that moment easily though, and by evening, we’ve spent more time on work than Shane planned, but I don’t mind. I’m also not complaining about our move to the bedroom, where we spend more hours naked than not, and discover we both love Criminal Minds, which launches us into a Netflix marathon. We laugh and talk, but I don’t miss that after the LSAT conversation he’s cautious about pressuring me for more personal details. I’m both relieved and sad at the limits I’ve placed on us, but still my phone doesn’t ring, and the more I think about Derek digging into my background, the more I know where my decision must be headed, and it’s not me staying with Brandon Enterprises or Shane. It’s a reality that cuts and burns, as hours later, I lay awake in the darkness while he sleeps, his big body wrapped around mine, and I try to chase a way out of trouble that I can’t seem to find.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I wake, it’s daylight on Sunday, and Shane is still holding me as if he thinks I’ll escape like the first night we met. But I don’t want to escape, and he only drives home that point with morning sex, and a suggestion we go for a run together, which I eagerly accept. Both of us dress, Shane in black sweats and a black T-shirt that shows off every perfect line and muscle of his torso. Me in black Nike cropped leggings, a matching tank top, and a hoodie. Ready to go, we head down the hall, and when we step into the elevator and he laces his fingers with mine, it’s that moment that I feel us becoming more than the number of amazing orgasms we’ve shared. The fact that he’s proclaimed he doesn’t do relationships and that I never intended to do one either shakes me to the core. We are more than those orgasms and yet we are still defined by my lies.
The elevator dings at the lobby level, and the instant we step out into the hallway, I am suddenly nervous. “I don’t know why I keep thinking we’ll run into your father. He was just here one night.”
“Actually,” Shane says, “he rented a place here for his mistress.”
I blanch at the news he’s stated as matter-of-factly as he might the weather. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I were,” he says, and before I can reply, the double glass doors have parted and Tai is greeting us, diverting us from Brandon Senior to small talk.
Five minutes later, we finally break away from the conversation, but my read on Shane is that the moment to talk about his father is gone, if it really even existed in the first place. We’ve already moved on to comparing music, and I’m surprised he listens to Jason Aldean, one of my favorite country singers. “I’m from Colorado,” he says. “A country boy at heart. You’re from L.A. What’s your excuse?”
Because I’m from Texas, I think, hating the way the lies circle me like sharks. “Colorado doesn’t get to claim Jason Aldean,” I say, dashing into a run.
He quickly catches up to me and in agreement it seems, we both reach for our headsets and fall into an even pace together, and even in the absence of conversation, I have this sense of being with him that I’ve never experienced with anyone.
Forty-five minutes later, he’s officially pushed my limits, never easing his pace, and we continue longer than I normally would have on my own, but I like it. “I’m dying,” I say, when we finally start walking, my chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “How far was that?”
“Six miles. Did I push you too hard?”
“It felt like seven,” I say, “but no. It was a great workout.”
“Next time we’ll do seven then.”
“Six will do just fine,” I assure him, and I have not missed his reference to a future run I really do hope happens.
“Coffee?” he asks, stopping next to one of my favorite chains.
“Yes, but what if we run into someone from the office?”
“It only feeds the idea that I’m using you.” His lips quirk. “I am, you know. For sex and coffee. But you can use me too.” He opens the door and waves me forward.
I laugh despite my nerves and enter the building, seeing woode
n tables, many filled with people, clustered around me. Shane joins me and we head to the counter, both of us ordering coffee and bagels, and he surprises me by draping his arm over my shoulder.
“You aren’t being discreet,” I whisper as we wait for our order, both holding our pastry bags.
“Am I supposed to be?” he asks, grabbing our coffees, and indicating a free table for two in the corner.
I wait until we claim our seats, sitting across from each other, to reply. “Shouldn’t we be at least a little discreet?”
“No,” he says, and sets his phone on the table next to him; the way he’s monitoring it gives me the distinct impression that even on Sunday, he’s working some angle to take over Brandon Enterprises. “We do not need to be discreet.”
I consider him a moment and nod, pulling my bagel out of the bag while he does the same. I’ve just taken a bite of mine when he surprises me. “I want you to stay tonight.”
I set down the bagel and grab a napkin, only to have him reach across the tiny table and wipe cream cheese from my mouth, and lick it off his finger. “I owed you,” he says softly, and he is close, his mouth a lean away from a kiss, his voice sandpaper and silk on every nerve ending.
“We are most definitely not being discreet,” I manage.
“Stay the night again.”
Surprised, I lean back to look at him. “I have to get ready for work in the morning.”
“So do I.”
“I’m not riding to work with you, Shane. That just makes me look like a bimbo.”
He arches one dark brow. “A bimbo?”
“If the shoe fits.”
“That shoe hardly fits you, sweetheart.”
“I am sleeping with one of my bosses.”
“Yes. You are, and maybe I should just start ordering you to do things.”
“You already do.”
“And yet somehow I struggle to get you to do what I say.”
“Not at work.”
“Then consider yourself at work for a moment, because I’m taking you home early in the morning and you’re staying the night. End of subject.”
“I’ll stay,” I say, giving him a tiny smile. “But not because you’re my boss. Because I want to stay.”
His sexy lips quirk and he reaches for his coffee but doesn’t take a drink. He sets it back down, the full force of his attention on me. “I don’t wake up with women in my bed.”
While he has inferred as much, I am surprised and pleased by this announcement. “I’m no different.”
“You went on the pill for someone.”
“Paranoia,” I say honestly, clinging to every truth I can tell him. “I was afraid of getting pregnant, since becoming a single mom and trying to go to school didn’t seem exactly smart.”
“But you were in a relationship.”
“I thought I was, but I was confused.”
His brow furrows. “Now I don’t understand the words coming out of your mouth.”
I can’t muster a smile. “That part of my life is not my shining glory.” As with the present day, I add silently before explaining. “He was my college professor and didn’t tell me he was married.”
“How badly did he hurt you?”
“I found out the day after my mother was killed in a car accident. It was a blow.”
“I’m beginning to see you more clearly,” he says. And before I can ask what he means, he’s already moving on. “What did you do about the professor?”
“Nothing.”
“You should have reported him.”
“In hindsight, maybe, but I was not in a good place, and I darn sure didn’t want to hear I had daddy issues.”
“Lots of people date older.”
“Yes, but my father was…” I catch myself before I say a law professor and invite questions I can’t answer.
“Your father was what?” he prods.
“Within his circle,” I say, avoiding a question about where he taught. “So I brilliantly rebounded with a tattoo artist who was younger than me.”
“And yet you have no ink.”
“Oh, he tried to convince me to remedy that. But you know, it felt more like a commitment to him, which I wasn’t going to make, than a tattoo.” I sip my coffee. “I told you my history. Your turn.”
“I was engaged to another law student,” he says, delivering a bombshell I don’t expect.
“Engaged. That’s pretty intense.”
“Not really. I was young and the pairing fit an image I had formed in my mind of my life and career at the time, which was total bullshit. We ended badly, and after that, I let my career take over, and kept things simple with women.”
I tell myself not to ask, but I can’t help myself. “Simple how?”
“Women I have agreements with up front.”
“Agreements,” I say, a bit stunned. “That’s cold, counselor.”
“Not if it’s what they wanted too.”
“That never backfired?”
“I never allowed one the chance.” He gives me a thoughtful look. “Interesting enough though, with you, I was the one who never had a chance.”
“Funny,” I say, my stomach fluttering. “I thought the same about me.”
Flecks of blue glint in his gray eyes, telling me I’ve pleased him, and I am surprised how much this pleases me as well. “Then it’s mutual,” he says, “but actually, there is one agreement I think we should make.”
“Agreement,” I repeat, the word promising me an escape from the dangers of too much intimacy, while I simply feel like a fool. “I don’t need an agreement, Shane. I told you. I understand—”
“Apparently you don’t understand, or you wouldn’t be about to say what you’re about to say.” He leans closer. “Emily. Let me be clear. I want you. And not just in bed.”
“Why?”
“It’s indefinable. It’s just you.”
“But you just said—”
“That we need one agreement. That being, if at any time my brother makes you feel uncomfortable at work tomorrow, you do not stand alone. You text me, call me, or come to my office.”
My relief at how wrong I was comes at me far too intensely for the short time I’ve known this man. “I can handle Derek.”
“You’re strong, but he’s vicious. I know I told you not to come to me at work, but that was before we were outed, and this is now. If you—”
“I will.”
“He will trick you and play with your head.”
“He’s already tried.”
“He’ll try again.”
“He’ll fail.”
“You come to me.” His cell phone buzzes and his gaze flicks to his screen, and he immediately reaches for it. “I need to take this call, but we’re not done talking about Derek, or my father, for that matter.” He stands. “I’ll be right back.”
I nod and track his path across the coffee shop to step outside, obviously not wanting me to hear his conversation. He has secrets too, I realize, but that’s expected. We’ve not known each other long, and he’s trusted me in ways I believe he reserves for few others. And he has no idea the many reasons I have to trust no one, and yet … I want to trust him. But it’s not as simple as that, nor is my secret about trust. It’s about the damage it could do to him. That I could do to him.
Anger at my situation has my hand going into my jacket pocket and grabbing my phone. I check for a message I already know isn’t there before hitting the redial button, grimacing as one ring sends me to voice mail. The line beeps and I say, “This is the last call I’m making. If I don’t hear from you today, I’m out.” I end the call and give myself a mental pat on the back. Let him squirm over the definition of “I’m out.” I’ve just shoved my phone back in my pocket when Shane reappears.
“Jessica got us a viewing of the apartment, but we need to go now. Apparently, the owner still lives there and is out at the moment.”
I stand and grab my coffee while he does the same with his. “How close is
it?” I ask.
“Ten minutes in a cab if we can find one,” he says, and we both grab our bagels and toss them in the trash on the way to the door.
Shane hails a cab quickly, and once we’re inside, his hand closes on my leg, and he pulls me closer, aligning our bodies, our legs touching, but already he is glancing at another text message. The next moment, he’s pulling up a video he doesn’t try to hide, watching what appears to be several men in a warehouse, loading boxes onto a truck. The instant it’s over, he releases my leg and punches a call button.
“What the hell did I just watch?” he demands of whoever answers the call, and while I can’t hear the conversation, I have a pretty good idea it’s Seth based on what I’ve seen of their interactions.
“You’re sure?” Shane asks, after listening a few beats. “Son of a bitch, this takes everything to a new level. When do you get back?” He listens again, and then, “I want to meet with the security team as well. Tomorrow.” He ends the call, tension crackling off of him, but he contains it, unmoving—every bit of the anger I sense in him well bridled, his control enviable in every way.
Time passes, and still he doesn’t speak or look at me, but his hand comes back down on my leg, silently telling me he’s still right here with me. I reach down and cover his hand with mine, answering with a silent promise that I’m not going anywhere. I’ve never wanted it to mean more.
“I had concerns that one of the companies under our umbrella was a liability,” he says, turning his head in my direction, “and Seth has confirmed I’m correct.”
“Can you fix it?”
“I have to fix it. There’s no other option.”
The cab stops in front of the blue glass building in the center of what seems to be a high-end shopping district. Shane pays the driver and exits first, offering me his hand, and helping me to my feet, allowing me to discover we’re nearly on top of a mall. “I’m no longer objective about this apartment,” I say. “It has me at shopping.”
He laces his fingers with mine. “I’ll bring you back another day and show you around. Unfortunately today, I have some business to attend to.”
Hard Rules Page 20