by Shayla Black
because you all responded to my e-mail advising you. Is fighting like this some British thing I don’t understand? Do you normally greet reporters by brawling with your brother?”
Her pretty cheeks flushed pink. He’d bet she would turn that very same color when he spread her legs and fucked her hard. Damn, but she was pretty when she was mad. He was getting an erection that stiffened and throbbed every time she screamed at him.
Lord, he sounded half mad. Sometimes he wondered if hitting the ball with his head so many times had led to brain damage.
Tori turned her attention to Oliver. “And you… I thought you were better than that.”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed and he stood, leaning over his desk so he could properly intimidate her. His older brother had perfected that maneuver in the last two years. He stood a good foot taller than petite Tori and loomed over her like some snarling beast. “So sorry to have proven you wrong, but I think you forget exactly who you work for.”
If Tori was at all intimidated, she didn’t show it. She planted her palms on Oliver’s desk and leaned in, mirroring him. “And I think you forget what you hired me to do, what you swore we were all working toward.”
The sexual tension between them was so bloody thick he could cut it with a knife.
And sweet, smart Tori was in the perfect position for a spanking. She was leaning over, her pert ass in the air. Callum could almost feel his palm connecting. He would give her one rough swat to get her attention, then pepper more across that lush ass to sensitize her skin and prepare her for the fucking to follow.
A big hand swatted his arm, jerking him from the fantasy.
“What is wrong with you?” Rory leaned in and hissed quietly.
His brother’s eyes were focused on his slacks. Damn it. He shifted, trying to hide his unruly cock. “I can’t help it.”
“Try,” Rory bit out.
Tori snapped her head around like a predator sensing prey. His sweet bunny actually had a few layers of sharp teeth. That was the trouble. She was so very kind, but in an instant, she could turn into a raging bitch. God, that got him hot. She got him hot.
Callum shifted again and tried to think of past games. 2011. Manchester United vs. Arsenal. Their opponents had lost the coin toss, so he’d taken the kickoff.
“Is he listening to a word I’ve said?” Tori now stood in front of him, but she’d posed her question to Rory.
“Give him a minute. Cal has taken many a thump to the head. Sometimes he requires a moment to focus and get himself back under control.” Rory’s words provided the time needed to tamp down his arousal and get his head back in the game.
But he knew how to play this scene to his advantage. “I’m all right. Now what were we saying?”
Tori stared at him for a moment as if trying to decide whether to believe him. “I was saying we’re screwed.”
Nope. Just hearing her utter that particular word got him hard again.
Callum stood and shifted his suit jacket for better coverage. “We’re brothers. You were saying that we’re one of the last great family-owned corporations in Britain. We proved it by acting like brothers.”
He didn’t see the problem. Brothers sometimes fought. Then they made up with a pint and a laugh. Most men functioned that way, and it had nothing to do with stocks or bottom lines.
Tori’s head sank forward like it was simply too heavy for her to carry anymore. She sighed and when she looked up again, she wore a sadly earnest expression. “The press won’t see it that way. The original story I crafted described a unified family rising again in both spirit and sales. Now it will be about three brothers tearing themselves and their company apart. They’ll bring up everything from Oliver’s marriage to Rory’s playboy status to Callum’s loss of career and descent into paternity hell.”
“I didn’t mean to collide with the opposition and break my leg in such a way that I can no longer play.”
She sighed tiredly. “Don’t apologize for that and don’t be flippant. I’m merely pointing out that the press uses the video of your injury and the fact that they had to clean your blood off the field as a metaphor for the company. You’re all damaged and someone needs to clean you up.”
“Pitch,” he corrected.
“What?”
“We call it a pitch. They cleaned my blood off the pitch after they carried me off with my tibia sticking out.” He forced himself not to shudder. He still felt a bit sick when he thought of it.
Tori turned pale. “Sorry. I’m not trying to bring back bad memories, but they will use everything against you.” She sighed. “Do you want to tell me what all this squabbling is about?”
She stood so close and she looked tired. Callum wondered how her visit with her sister had gone. Hadn’t seeing Piper cheered her up? All he wanted to do was haul Tori close and promise that everything would be all right. But he couldn’t—yet. Callum wasn’t sure how he and his brothers would solve this mess. Oliver and Rory were excellent at unraveling puzzles. He was the workhorse really. He simply did what needed to be done.
“Nothing for you to worry about,” he said softly.
“None of your business,” Oliver stated at the same moment.
She whirled on Oliver. “You ruin my press conference before it even begins and it’s none of my business?”
Maybe, Callum thought, he was more necessary than he’d imagined. Oliver obviously lacked a soft touch these days. “Of course it’s her business. Bolstering us with the press is precisely the reason we hired her.”
“Can we all calm down?” Rory held a chair out for Tori. “Claire is having tea with the reporter and she’ll smooth things over. She’s very good with them, unlike the rest of us.”
Naturally, Rory had given her the seat closest to him. Bastard.
“At least she didn’t fall asleep during media training.” Tori huffed as she sat.
Callum knew that particular comment was directed straight at him. “Sorry, love. I sometimes get sleepy about midafternoon.”
“He’s also easily distracted,” Rory said pointedly.
Tori sat with her back ramrod straight. “I think it’s time to try something different.”
Oliver relaxed into his chair and nodded. “I’m all ears.”
“I don’t think I’m helping you as much as you need. I have a colleague in New York who might be better suited to your PR needs. I’ll leave you his contact information. We spoke yesterday about another matter, so I know he’s working on something right now, but he could probably be here by the end of the month.”
He tensed. “We don’t need to bring in anyone to help you, Tori. You’re doing fine.”
“That’s not what she’s suggesting,” Oliver explained grimly.
Rory turned to her. “Oh?”
Tori trained her stare on Oliver. “It’s been six months, and I haven’t made a substantial difference here. Perhaps the company should try someone new. I suggest a man because I think you might listen better to one.”
“No.” Callum wasn’t about to let her go, not before he could see whether he and Tori could have a go at a future together. “Absolutely not. You saw what happened. We’re on testosterone overload as it is. We don’t need more. We need you.”
Oliver held up his hand, a clear signal he’d decided to take over. “So now we’re misogynists, is that it?”
She frowned. “No. You’re all normally quite polite and kind. You’re very much gentlemen around me, which is why I think you need a male. You might talk to him more…openly. He might be able to get to the root of the problem.”
Tori was the root of the problem. How the hell could they tell her that?
Well, love, we all want in your knickers and we’re battling it out to see who gets to go first. Yes, she would love that.
Who goes first? Callum intended to be first—and last. He would be her only. Hell, he and his brothers couldn’t share a room, much less a wife, without fighting. Right?
A little voice in his
head had been picking at him for weeks, ever since he’d talked to his friends in New Orleans who shared a wife. Three lawyers. One beloved beauty. He kept waiting for their relationship to fall apart, but they seemed happier than ever.
Oliver sat back, looking positively arctic. “Do you want to leave?”
“Of course she doesn’t,” Callum said, trying to be an optimist.
“Don’t interrupt, Cal,” Oliver snapped. “Tori has been through a great deal with us in the past six months. My situation—and the company’s—was already challenging enough. So what did you give her? A paternity suit. Brilliant.” He turned to Rory. “And you heaped on a parade of apparent sluts. I wouldn’t blame her if she preferred to go home.” He quieted for a moment, then his expression softened as he regarded Tori. “Do you miss your fiancé? You’re not wearing your engagement ring. Is there any trouble?”
Callum bit back a retort. For once, he knew something they didn’t. Finally, he was ahead of his brothers in the knowledge department, and he’d been saving this nugget for his own use. He wasn’t about to let Tori leave. But for now, he sat back and waited to see how she responded.
Tori glanced down at her hand and seemed surprised to see it ringless. Then she fumbled for her purse and slipped the meager gem on once more. “I took it off so my sister could look at it. She loves diamonds. I guess I forgot to put it back on.”
Yes, because the Queen of Bezakistan couldn’t tell a real diamond from that piece of shit fake. Callum held back his snort. He suspected that if he asked Piper, she probably had no idea her sister was “engaged.”
For months, it had bothered him that Tori talked about that ring as if James Fenway had spent his last dime on it. He’d assumed that she was either overcompensating because she knew it was synthetic or terribly naïve. If the latter, Callum had itched to beat the liar to a bloody pulp.
Except now he knew. She was the liar. Tori had bought that silly ring for seventy pounds, and according to his private investigator, no man by the name of James Fenway existed in her little Texas hometown.
Yes, he definitely intended to spank her for that, the little minx.
“You’re under contract,” Rory reminded her with a quiet bite.
“I can release her from that contract,” Oliver countered.
“Not without the support of the board.” Rory sat up straight, thrusting his chin out stubbornly, the way he used to just before he did something sure to land him in trouble. “I think we need her. Callum will vote with me.”
“Damn straight.” At least they were in accord on this.
“Claire will vote with me.” Oliver shot Rory a tight smile.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Callum said. “Claire likes Tori. She might vote to keep her around just so she’s got another female, but if not we go to our tie breaker, Uncle Walter.”
Uncle Walter loved one thing and one thing only these days. He’d been given stock in the company on the marriage of his only sister to Albert Thurston-Hughes, but he’d never had a head for business. He taught mathematics at university but he only worked so he could afford tickets to his favorite football team.
Manchester United.
“Yes,” Callum said with a satisfied sigh. “I think I should ring him up and assure him I can get him an executive box this year.”
“You’re a smug bastard.” Oliver clearly knew he’d been defeated. “Ms. Glen, we’ll be enforcing your contract, it seems.”
“I thought that contract was for my benefit, that it guaranteed me a year of work.” She swiveled her gaze at Rory, who had written the contract. “You said it protected me from being fired. Isn’t that what sacked means?”
“Contracts work both ways. Since you were coming here from America, I had you sign the same contract I would give any non-British national we host for a prolonged period. We have to deal with your work visa and a lot of paperwork. It only makes sense that you would agree to a time frame advantageous to us both.”
“I’m trying to do what’s best for y’all.” As she grew more agitated, her Texas accent became more pronounced. “You can’t force me to stay here.”
“No,” Oliver agreed. “We can’t force you to honor your contract but I believe there’s a clause that states you must repay us the expenses we incurred during your employment, should you resign early. Between the legal fees to get you into the country, the travel expenses, and your flat, I think we’re somewhere close to fifty thousand pounds.”
“We’ll need that in cash,” Rory added, looking smug.
Tori blinked, obviously stunned.
They were making a hash of this. Callum sighed. “No one wants you to go, love. What happened this afternoon was entirely my fault. Oliver and I were arguing over how to handle some of the advertisements for the fundraiser. I might have lost my temper a bit and called him some names. Mentioned he’s losing his hair and getting the slightest bit soft in the middle. He was trying to show me he wasn’t.”
Tori shook a finger at him. “You can’t talk to your brother that way. You know he’s sensitive about his hair.”
Oliver frowned. “I bloody well am not. I’ve got all my hair.”
She sent him an enthusiastic nod. “I know you do.” She turned back to Callum. “You need to be more professional. And sensitive.”
At least she was back to henpecking him. He could handle that. He couldn’t handle her leaving. “Yes. Of course. I’ll apologize to the reporter and explain everything.”
She stood and crossed the room to him. Callum rose to his feet, looking down at her as she straightened his tie. “Wash up first. There’s a speck of blood on your shirt.”
God, he loved being close to her.
“Where?” He pretended he didn’t see it.
“Here.” She pointed to a spot high on his chest, her finger brushing him.
Callum’s cock went rock hard again the instant she touched him. “I’ve got a clean one in my office. I’ll change straightaway. I’m sorry, Tori. I can’t tell you how much. My behavior was immature and ridiculous. It won’t happen again.”
She sniffled a little, looking up at him with bright blue eyes. “We all make mistakes. I’m glad I’m not leaving, though I’m kicking myself for not reading the contract more thoroughly. Please be polite to the reporter. He’s a huge fan. It might be good if you took him out for a beer. A pint, I mean.”
He grinned. “We’ll make a Brit out of you yet. Now go on and try to forget this afternoon. We’ve got a ball to put on tomorrow. You’re supposed to meet with Sheila at Harrods at four.”
She looked down at her watch. “I forgot. I’ll have to run.”
“I’ll have my driver take you,” Oliver offered.
“You have a driver?” she asked. “I thought you walked everywhere.”
Stalked was more like it, but he wasn’t going to get his brother into more trouble. “We keep one in case of emergencies. Go along. His names is Charles and he’ll be waiting for you in the car park.”
She gave him a radiant smile and was off.
Rory shook his head, his eyes still on the door. “Did she not read the contract? I didn’t think I had to mention anything since she’s perfectly well educated. She’s able to read. It was right there.”
Oliver ignored him, turning to Callum. “I am not losing my hair. Don’t you dare tell that reporter some daft story about my anguish over my nonexistent hair loss. And I’m certainly not turning to fat. I proved that by the elevators.”
Callum had to hide a smile because this was the most animated Oliver had been in years. “You’re right. I’ll tell the pesky reporter that we were scrapping over a bet we’d made. Everyone understands football fights. Just a tiny bit of hooligan in you, brother. I’ll smooth it over.”
“And what about Tori?” Oliver asked.
“I’ll handle her, too.” He’d already handled the problem of her dress for the next evening.
Despite the fact that she was related to one of the wealthiest familie
s in the world, she seemed determined to make her own way. That meant she couldn’t afford the kind of designer gown she should have for tomorrow night. Given Tori’s pride, she would naturally balk at him paying if he tried to buy a gown for her. Instead, he’d arranged for her to try on some “clearance” dresses at Harrods. The clerk there would take a small portion from Tori and bill Callum for the rest.
“Whatever scheme is running through your head is wrong,” Oliver reminded through clenched teeth. “She’s engaged.”
The truth sat on the tip of his tongue, but Callum couldn’t risk telling his brothers. If he did and Oliver crooked a finger in her direction, would she choose his eldest brother? Would she prefer Rory’s intelligence? Or would she actually saddle herself with a past-his-prime bloke who’d only ever been really good at kicking a ball into a net?