“Yeah, we weren’t involved. There are plenty of witnesses. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“I’m sure.”
My hands shook as I grabbed my shoes. Joe pulled up to the curb a car length ahead of us and Jude ushered me inside. I scooted across the back seat while he scanned the scene. Blue and red lights flashed behind us.
Jude got in and shut the door. “Get her home.”
15
Jude
Cameron was quiet on the drive back to her house. Although she’d said she wasn’t hurt, I’d be surprised if she didn’t have some bruising. I’d tried to get her out of harm’s way without letting her crash to the pavement, but a few bruises were preferable to being hit by a fucking car.
I’d been focused on her, not on the SUV, so I hadn’t gotten the license plate. And I’d quickly determined that the other bystanders were useless. The cops would interview them, but I doubted they’d get anything. Half a dozen vague descriptions of a black SUV that swerved onto the sidewalk, hit a parked car, and drove off. Unless they got lucky and the SUV got pulled over somewhere else, they’d never track down who it had been.
The question on my mind was whether that had been a random hit and run, or another attempt on Cameron.
My gut was telling me it hadn’t been random.
The guy in her parking garage. The untraceable emails. Now a hit and run. It all seemed so haphazard and strange. Were they trying to hurt her? Kill her? Was it a competitor vying for one of Spencer’s contracts? Someone who wanted Cameron to step down as CEO?
Not knowing why someone was targeting her made it impossible to predict what they would do next. There was no pattern. No logic to it.
Her driver pulled to a stop in front of her house. She didn’t wait for anyone to open her door. Carrying her shoes—one of them had a broken heel—she got out and went inside.
I followed her in, then shut and locked her door behind us. She headed straight for the kitchen at the back of the house. I checked the ground floor for any signs of an intruder or forced entry before joining her. Probably not necessary, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
Not with her.
She sat on a stool at the island, a glass of bourbon in her hand. The only light came from the under-the-cabinet lighting, casting a soft glow over the shining surfaces. The bottle was still out, a second glass sitting next to it.
I took the stool next to her and poured myself a drink. We sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping our bourbon. The slow burn of liquor helped calm the aftereffects of all that adrenaline coursing through my system.
“Just when you thought this was the most boring security job ever,” she said, lifting her glass.
I clinked mine against hers. “I’d prefer boring.”
“I can’t disagree with you there.”
“Are you all right?”
She stared at her glass for a long moment, and I could tell she knew I wasn’t asking her if she was injured. “I think so. This is going to sound ridiculous, but I don’t know what has me more rattled. Seeing Aldrich or almost getting run over on a sidewalk.”
Every bit of me wanted to gather her in my arms and hold her. The desire was almost overwhelming, but I held myself in place. “I don’t think that’s ridiculous.”
“Did you get closure with your ex? The one who tried to kill you?”
“In a way. She thought I’d double-crossed her. Turns out I was set up by someone we both knew. So we… handled it. I wouldn’t say we were friends after that, but at least we weren’t enemies.”
“That sounds like a good ending.”
I took a sip of my drink. “It was. I don’t like loose ends.”
“I hear that.” She took a drink and set her glass down. “This isn’t because I miss him. I don’t have unresolved feelings for my ex.”
I nodded.
Aldrich had come across as egotistical, especially with his barely-in-context mention of a trip they’d taken together. He’d been like an animal marking his territory. I hadn’t been able to tell if he’d been trying to get into her head with a look-what-you’re-missing reminder of their relationship, or if that comment had been meant for me.
Either way, the brief encounter hadn’t told me whether Aldrich was just a shitty ex, or something much worse.
He was still on the list.
Her phone buzzed on the counter, the screen lighting up with a call. She picked it up, winced, and set it back down.
“Do you need to take that?”
“No. It’s just Bobby. The last thing I need right now is to listen to him tell me he’s at the sickest party ever and I really need to get down there.” She shook her head and took another drink. “You know, I used to defend Miami when people said the drivers here are the worst. But now I think they’re right.”
“That wasn’t just a bad driver.”
“He swerved onto the sidewalk, almost hit several pedestrians, smashed into a parked car, and took off. I think we can put whoever that was firmly in the bad driver category.”
I didn’t want to scare her, or make her feel worse than she already did, but I didn’t feel right coddling her either. She needed to know.
“I think he was trying to hit you.”
She closed her eyes for a second. “Fuck. I was afraid you were going to say that. The whole way here I was trying to come up with another explanation. Do you think…” She trailed off and swallowed hard before continuing. “Do you think whoever it is was trying to kill me?”
“That’s one of three possibilities.”
“What are the other two?”
I kept my hand on my glass but didn’t move to drink more. “The objective could be to scare or intimidate you. Or to hurt you, but not necessarily kill you.”
“But killing me is the third.”
“Yes.”
She rubbed her hands up and down her face. “Who would do that? Who would try to…”
“Noelle Olson and Aldrich are my main suspects. Someone attempting corporate espionage is another, although I haven’t dug up any solid connections there. But I need you to be honest and tell me if there’s anyone else who might hold a grudge against you. Any enemies you’ve made. I don’t care how long ago or how minor it might seem now.”
“No, there isn’t anyone.”
“Are you sure? A college boyfriend? A jealous coworker? Someone who might think they deserve credit for your work or a piece of your success?”
She shook her head slowly. “No. I dated off and on before Aldrich, but nothing serious. And it’s not like I clawed my way to the top, making enemies along the way. I didn’t sleep my way to the top either.” She side-eyed me.
“I wasn’t implying that you did. Why don’t you tell me how you ended up as CEO of Spencer Aeronautics.”
“It’s kind of a long story.”
“I have time.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “After college, I got a job with a company that made parts for commercial jets. It was stable, and a decent place to work, but I hated it. There was no creativity or innovation. Most of my job was trying to find ways to save money on materials without impacting safety. I can’t imagine I made enemies there. I was just a young engineer, and I left on good terms.”
“What did you do after that?” I wasn’t just interested in hearing more for the sake of figuring out who might be after her. I wanted to know everything about her. How she’d become who she was. This woman fascinated me, but she kept her cards so close.
Her lips twitched in the hint of a smile. “I didn’t have another job when I quit. What I had were some very big ideas and just enough money to get started. I downsized everything. Gave up my nice apartment for a cheap studio. Sold my car so I wouldn’t have a payment or insurance. I rented some old warehouse space and got to work. Three years later I was broke, behind on my rent, and living off ramen noodles and cheap coffee.”
I raised my eyebrows. “But?”
“But I’d filed four patents. Nex
t thing I knew, I was juggling multiple job offers and had companies trying to outbid each other for the rights to my tech. In a slightly unexpected twist, I sold my first patent to the company I’d left a few years earlier. It made me a millionaire.”
“Wow.”
She smiled. “Yeah. My life changed quickly. And to answer your next question, no, there aren’t any disgruntled engineers who think I steamrolled them and took all the credit. I worked mostly alone. When I needed help, especially with testing, one of my old college professors would hook me up with interns.”
“Noted. How did you end up at Spencer?”
“Milton wanted my tech. His company was struggling, and he knew he needed to take it in a new direction if it was going to survive. I told him the girl came with the patents. I wanted a job. He brought me on to head his new emerging technologies division. I didn’t know this when I started, but he was looking to retire. My initial position was basically a test run. He wanted someone with fresh ideas who’d be willing to take the company into uncharted territory, and he didn’t see that in any of his existing executives.”
“But he saw it in you.”
“He did. And when he retired, he put me in charge.”
“Did anyone other than Noelle oppose his decision?”
She shook her head. “No. I’d established good relationships with the rest of the executives. And they could all see what I’d done for the company. None of them would have still had jobs if it hadn’t been for me.”
“Then why does Noelle have a problem with you? She wanted the job?”
She ran her finger along the rim of her glass. “Probably. And she thinks I got the job because of favoritism, not because I earned it.”
“Favoritism? Why?”
“Because I grew up knowing the Spencer family. My grandmother worked at Spencer. She was a brilliant engineer. Way ahead of her time, being a woman in a very male-dominated field. Milton didn’t care about that kind of thing. He just wanted talent. She was one of the first engineers he hired when he started the company. Eventually she and my grandad became friends with the Spencers.”
“But you didn’t go to Spencer for a job after college,” I said. “Trying to strike out on your own?”
“Exactly. I didn’t want any favors.”
I shifted on my stool. “What about Milton’s son?”
“Bobby? What about him?”
“How did he feel about his father’s decision to put you in charge?”
“It probably didn’t make any difference to him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. He’s a trust fund kid. Even if Spencer went under, he’d never have to work a day in his life.”
I tapped my fingers on the counter, mulling that over.
“Why?” She reached over and nudged my leg with her toe.
“He’s on my list.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Your list of suspects?”
“Yes.”
“Bobby’s not smart enough. He’s just a spoiled douchebag.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe you’re right. But it’s my job to be suspicious.”
“Fair enough.” She paused for a moment, licking her lips, then tucked her hair behind her ear and met my eyes. “Thank you. For what you did tonight.”
I held her gaze and one corner of my mouth turned up in a grin. “Just doing my job.”
“I’m glad you were there to do it.”
“Me too.”
She smiled, then looked down. “I should let you get home. It’s getting late.”
Part of me wanted to stay here all night to stand guard while she slept. But that wasn’t exactly an option.
Unable to help myself, I stood and leaned in, cupping her cheek with my hand. I pressed my lips to her forehead. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I asked softly.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
With my hand still resting against soft skin of her cheek, I kissed her temple. “Call me if you need anything.”
She nodded and I dropped my hand. The scent of her hair lingered, and it took a supreme act of will to make myself turn around and walk away.
I wanted to wrap my arms around her.
Hold her tight until she felt safe again.
I wanted to pick her up and lay her out on that island so I could devour every inch of her body.
If I’d thought she wanted me to, my self-control would have failed. But I wasn’t even sure whether Cameron liked me very much, let alone shared any of my desires. I knew she was grateful that I’d saved her from that hit and run. But gratitude didn’t mean she wanted me the way I wanted her.
And fuck, I wanted her.
Without another word, I left, hoping I was doing the right thing.
16
Cameron
The sun hadn’t risen, but I was wide awake. I sat on a tall stool in my workshop, the parts of a dismantled blender spread out on the spacious worktable. The walls were lined with shelves, drawers, and bins, all my tools and materials neatly organized. I had everything from plastics and heat guns to a 3-D printer and a soldering iron.
Some women dealt with stress by going to the spa or with retail therapy. Others meditated, practiced yoga, or took long, hot baths with a glass of wine. I did those things, too. But my favorite way to de-stress was tinkering.
I’d been a tinkerer from the time I’d had enough hand-eye coordination to take apart my toys. As I got older, I started putting them back together again—only with modifications. I’d happily put motors on model airplanes to make them fly, built solar-powered robots that walked and had lights that flashed, and tried to enhance every household appliance I could get my hands on.
I didn’t want to brag, but the modifications I’d made to my Lady Jam Personal Erotic Massager had become the stuff of legend. My friends had all bought the same model and made me trick out theirs too.
Pushing the safety glasses back up my nose, I inspected my handiwork. This blender had never worked as well as it should. I’d swiped it off the kitchen counter this morning while I’d waited for my coffee to brew, suddenly determined to make it better.
At the moment, it was still in pieces. But I wasn’t finished.
Someone knocked on the partially open door.
“Yeah?” I asked, not looking up.
“What is that?” Inda asked. “Your blender?”
“Uh huh.” I kept my eyes on the tiny screw I was reinserting.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why do you think something would be wrong?”
“Because you’re out here destroying your blender and it’s not even six in the morning. Did you sleep?”
I tested the fit of the base that housed the motor. I was going to have to shave down some of the plastic to make it fit. Or maybe fabricate a new one. “Yes, I slept. I woke up early. And I’m not destroying my blender. It sucks. Or it did. It won’t when I’m done with it.”
“Okay,” she said in a tone that made it clear she didn’t believe me. “Are you going to finish up first, or…?”
“Why? Isn’t it my day off?”
“From work? Yes, it’s Sunday.”
“No, from you.”
She laughed. “Nope. Leg day.”
I eyed her over the top of the glasses. Evil woman. “Fine. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“I already set your workout clothes on your bed.”
“You think of everything, don’t you?”
“Just doing my job,” she said with a smile, then turned on her heel and left.
Of course she was just doing her job. Most of the people in my life were around because they worked for me. They had a job to do, and they did it.
I took off the glasses and set them on the table. I knew I was being sensitive because of what Jude had said last night. He was just doing his job. But what else did I expect? That in the aftermath of a tense and scary situation, we would have fallen into bed together? Had wild, adrenaline-fueled sex until we both collapsed fr
om exhaustion?
The stupid part of me had thought that, yes.
The uncomfortable ache that still lingered between my legs was entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have been fantasizing about him like that. Not when I’d almost been hit by a car.
And why did my thoughts keep returning to Jude and his annoyingly hot body? If he was right, and last night hadn’t been an accident, I had an enormous problem on my hands. Someone was trying to intimidate, hurt, or possibly even kill me. This wasn’t the time to be indulging in daydreams about getting naked with the man who was supposed to protect me.
But it wasn’t just the sex fantasies that had me so distracted my brain was prioritizing the bulge in Jude’s pants over the very real problems in my life. I liked him. There was more than physical attraction at work here, and it was scaring the hell out of me.
I wasn’t ready for this.
My heart was still bruised by Aldrich’s betrayal. I’d let him into my inner circle, and the number of people I allowed that close was very small. My three best friends. To a much lesser extent, the people who worked closely with me, both at Spencer and here at home. But even there, the natural boundaries of being the boss kept distance between us.
And Jude worked for me. I was his client, he was my contractor. That was the nature of our relationship, and I needed to remember that.
Leaving the still-dismantled blender, I went upstairs to change, then subjected myself to leg day with Inda. She coached me through heavy squats, walking lunges, stiff-leg deadlifts, squat jumps, and various other tortures.
I focused on her voice, giving me brisk words of encouragement. On the heat and burn in my muscles. On the sweat that dripped down my back and glistened on my forehead. On the steady stream of eighties music blasting in my home gym.
But even the musical stylings of Wham! and A-ha weren’t enough to break me out of my funk.
When I finished, she sent me out to the kitchen for a breakfast protein shake. Nicholas was there, grumbling that the blender had gone missing. I patted him on the back, told him not to worry about it, and grabbed a premade protein drink from the pantry.
The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy Page 12