Because I Can

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Tell me about the auction,” he says, his tone turning hard again.

  “You got my message about Hawk Legal paying you for rush validations?”

  “I did. We’ll donate the time and energy for the press, and for a promise of your return.”

  He’ll donate the services for me? I blinked, shocked at such a generous offer. “To work here has been a dream,” I say. “To be valued here, an honor, but he’ll pay you,” I say quickly. “Take the money, Mr. Compton. Please.”

  “In other words, you’re not coming back.”

  “Nothing has changed. My plans are the same as when I left.”

  “And yet, Ms. Wright, it has. You have. I can see that in your eyes. You need to look in the mirror and see it, too. Then, make your decision and own it.” He leans back. “I’ll donate the services because I believe you’ll make this auction a win for everyone involved. Now go figure out how you win, Ms. Wright.”

  I stand and leave his office, and when I return to mine, it doesn’t feel like mine anymore.

  ***

  Dash has meetings run over into the late afternoon which ends up working out just fine, considering I’m far from done here at Riptide. It’s five when I join Dash in the back of the hired SUV.

  “We have just enough time to grab a bite at the hotel restaurant before cocktails with the publisher. I want you to come with me.”

  “Which publisher? The one I worked for or your new publisher?”

  “The one you worked for. Since they published all the books currently released, they’re overseeing the signing.”

  “Drinks with both of our ex-employers. This should be loads of fun,” I say sarcastically. “How can I not want to attend?”

  He laughs and gives me one of his devastating smiles. “Better with you, than without you, baby. Of that, I’m certain.”

  I smile with him now and decide that coming to New York was a good thing for me. I’m facing the past with the man who may well be my future. And if I decide to leave that past behind, I will walk away. I will not run.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Turns out cocktails are not just cocktails.

  We arrive at the restaurant to discover the publisher has rented out the entire place. “I’m going to kill Bella,” Dash says, reading a text from her. “She thought she told me this was a big deal tonight.” He slides his phone into his pocket. “Sorry, baby, but now we become the show. And I mean we. You up for this?”

  “Riptide events are one big press event,” I say. “I’m well-practiced.”

  “You’re going as my woman, Allie. There will be photos. There will be talk.”

  “Well, in hindsight I wish I would have changed clothes, but yeah, I get it. All photos that get posted will probably be ones of me with my mouth open, or falling over my own feet, and the speculation about me will have tongues wagging.”

  “You sure you want to do this?”

  “Do you want me to do this?” I counter.

  “I do,” he says. “And I promise to catch you if you fall over your own feet.”

  “Unless I take you down with me.”

  “That could be fun,” he teases and opens the door.

  A few minutes later, we’re in a three-level bar with fancy drop lights and dark décor. Dash and I are greeted by his former editor and my ex-boss. Ellen is tall, thin, attractive, and in her mid-fifties. She greets Dash with eagerness and gives me a wide-eyed inspection. “Allie.”

  “Hi, Ellen, good to see you.”

  “How did you get here tonight? Are you back in publishing?”

  Dash slides his arm around me. “With me.”

  Ellen blanches. “Oh—I—Well. That’s an interesting pairing. You both do love books.”

  “Yes, we do,” Dash says. “And we both need a drink.”

  “Yes, get a drink and enjoy yourself,” she says. “I was made aware of a few things we need to address before the singing. Can we meet in the morning?”

  “Just call me,” Dash says. “I have a book I’m trying to crunch.” Dash directs me away from her, and says, “Drinks. Now.”

  I laugh and say, “I better not or I’ll be your drunk party date and that won’t look good.”

  “Hmm. It’s not called drunk. At these kinds of parties, it’s called sane.”

  We manage to get our drinks and claim a standing bar table before Dash is suffocated in attention, but attention he does get. One after another, people come up to him and he signs more than a few books. There’s a slight break in the crowd of people forming around our standing bar table when my gaze locks with another’s across the room and my lips part. Brandon. Brandon is here.

  Bodies move and my view of his location is suddenly blocked. I shift and lean left and right, but when the place he was standing is cleared, he’s not there. Did I imagine him? Yes. Of course, I imagined him. Why would he be here? He has nothing to do with Dash and Dash’s books. No more booze for me, I think, setting aside the half glass of champagne I have left. This is me looking in the mirror, as Mark said, and feeling shame. I’m embarrassed about being used and made a fool. Being back here, among the people I worked with when it all came raining down, must be stirring up the ghosts of my past.

  A reporter steps to the table across from us and focuses on Dash, of course. “I’m Connor Meyers from Men’s Health Magazine. We’d really like to profile you. I’ve got a call into your agent to try and seal that deal.”

  I lean in and whisper, “Bathroom,” to Dash, and then slide away from the table.

  Turns out there’s a line, and I decide to try the second level. I might get done and back sooner. Sure enough, upstairs, a few people mingle about, but the real crowd is downstairs with Dash. I walk down a hallway by the bar, and enter the bathroom, quickly do my thing, wash up, and then stare into the mirror. What do I see? Not the same woman I was with Brandon, I think. But Brandon is devious, vicious, a man who will lash out. Which means, now that I’m in the press with Dash, I have to warn Dash.

  The past is only the past when you face it in the future. I read that in a book. No truer words have been written.

  Resolved to do what is right, I open the bathroom door and go cold. Brandon is standing there, waiting on me. I wasn’t imagining him. He’s tall, dark, handsome, with a John Travolta dimple in his chin, that I once thought attractive. Now I can barely look at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was invited.”

  Alarm bells are chiming in my head, warning me that he’s up to something. “You have no vested interest in Dash’s books.”

  “You underestimate my reach, Allie, sweetheart. You always did.” He steps into me, presses a hand on the wall. “Your father dumped me when you left me. I don’t suggest you underestimate me now.”

  In other words, he’s after payback. “Step away,” I hiss. “Get away from me.” His hand comes down on my waist and I shove his chest. “Damn it, Brandon, I’ll scream.”

  Suddenly, Dash is there, pushing Brandon back and stepping toe-to-toe with him. “Who are you and what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I grab Dash’s arm, holding onto him. “Dash let’s walk away. Let’s go, now. I’ll explain.”

  “Dash Black,” Brandon greets. “I hear you like to punch things. You going to punch me now?”

  My heart is racing, charging a million miles an hour. Does he know about the fight club? Dash’s lips curve, and not kindly. “What’s the fun of hitting someone who’ll just fall down?”

  “I assure you, I won’t fall down. I’ll rise to the challenge.” Brandon smirks and to my surprise, actually walks away.

  The minute he’s gone I turn to Dash and just start spewing information. “Oh my God, Dash. That’s Brandon. My ex. He’s an agent, he was my father’s agent. My father dropped him over me and he wants me to pay. He wants to hurt you to hurt me. And he knows about your fighting.”

  “Easy, baby.” He maneuvers me around the corner, down a second hallway leading to the men’s bath
room, and turns me to face him, his hands on my shoulders. “He knows what the press told him. I just had a black eye from a sparring session. He wanted me to hit him so he could get a payday. That’s all.”

  “You don’t know him like I do. He’s resourceful. He’s devious. I need you to understand how devious. I overheard him telling someone I was his cash cow. He was marrying me for my dad’s money and my dad knew. He gave him the stamp of approval. My father wanted me away from my mother’s influence, because she kept me hating him. He wanted the money. Now I didn’t just take that from him, my father fired him. And God, this is so embarrassing.”

  Dash slides one hand between my shoulder blades and molds me close, the other holds my head. “Do not be embarrassed with me, Allie. God, woman, I love you so fucking much, you don’t ever have to be embarrassed.”

  I blink, stunned, all kinds of crazy emotions flooding my entire body. “You love me?”

  He tilts my head back, looks into my eyes, and says, “So fucking much and I don’t want you to come back to New York.” His mouth closes down on mine in a kiss I feel to my toes, a kiss that is so much more than a kiss. It’s passion, it’s friendship, it’s love.

  “I love you, too,” I whisper, when his lips part mine. “And I want to stay with you.”

  He strokes my hair from my eyes and says, “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Can you?”

  “Hell yeah, baby.” He closes his hand around mine and leads me to the door.

  Once we’re in the back of the hired SUV, he pulls me to him and kisses me again, and by the time we’re in the hotel room, we are combustible. We never make it past the front door. We’re naked in about sixty seconds, and I’m against the door while he presses inside me, thrusting and pumping, while I pant through the pleasure.

  When we collapse on the floor, we both laugh at the fact that we are literally naked and sitting against the front door. “You want to try the bedroom next?”

  “You think we should talk first?”

  “I know all I need to know. He lost you. You’re mine now.”

  “Dash, really? He’s a problem.”

  He stands and pulls me to my feet. “And I haven’t fucked you well enough or you would not be naked and talking about another man. Challenge accepted.” He scoops me up and carries me toward the bedroom.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The next day, Dash dresses casually for a day working in the hotel. I dress in a black skirt and teal blouse with the intention of working at Riptide for a few hours.

  “The driver will be here to get you in twenty minutes,” Dash says as I join him at the dining table for room service coffee and pastries.

  I accept the coffee he pours me and decide that passion and midnight go together. So do daylight and reality. That reality is punching me in the face. “Brandon is going to come for you to hurt me, Dash.”

  “I’ll have Bella dig around and find out why he was at the party,” he promises. “We’re working in the same circles. It’s possible he just happened to be there.”

  “You’re underestimating him, Dash.”

  “Don’t underestimate me, baby. I got this. And I told you, I got you.”

  He offers me the creamer and I accept, wishing there was some way to get Dash to really take Brandon seriously.

  “Hey,” he says, drawing my gaze to his.

  “I heard you loud and clear. I’m not a man without resources, Allie. I will handle him. I need you to trust me enough to know that when I say that, I mean it.”

  Because he’s ex-FBI, I remind myself.

  His cellphone buzzes and he glances at the message. “That’s the driver. He’s here early but he can wait.”

  “I’ll just go on down. The sooner I get to work, the sooner I get back.” I push to my feet.

  Dash follows and folds me close, cupping my face. “Considering what that asshole did to you, you trusting me, is a big order, I know. But I’m not him, baby.”

  “I do trust you, Dash. The problem is, the only thing I trust about Brandon is his ability to do bad things to serve his own greater good.”

  “And he’s not the first Brandon I’ve dealt with. He’s nothing next to Ghost, I promise you.”

  “I try not to think about Ghost hanging around and watching us. Is he? Watching us?”

  “Try not to think about it.” He teases. “Then again, maybe you should think of Ghost, not Brandon. On another subject, I want to set a service to move your apartment before we leave. You okay with that?”

  “You’re not letting me back out, are you?”

  “Not a chance. Do you want to back out?”

  “Not a chance,” I say, and just that easily, Dash has me smiling when he kisses me goodbye and seals me in the hired SUV. But as the driver pulls us onto the road, I swear a bad feeling is clawing at me, and the past Allie, is suffocating me.

  ***

  For most of the day, I expect to hear from Brandon, expect an explosion that doesn’t come. As for my job, well, I don’t resign. Mark is at the hospital with his mother all day so it’s not exactly the right time to drop that bomb. I decide I wouldn’t resign even if he was present today anyway. There’s an idea brewing in my mind about how Hawk Legal and Riptide might become partners with me in a key role to win for both sides. But I need time to put those thoughts on paper and make sure everyone is as sold on the idea as I am.

  I arrive back at the hotel to find Dash still at his computer. “How did writing go?”

  “Damn good,” he says. “I’m finally in a zone with this book.” He stands and motions to the wine bottle on the coffee table.

  We come together in the living room, and soon our glasses are filled, and when I would start asking questions about Brandon, he’s already offering answers.

  “No one at the publisher is calling Bella back about Brandon. I even tried to call, no one called me back.”

  My brows furrow. “They didn’t call you? That feels weird, Dash.”

  “They’re getting ready for the signing. I wouldn’t read into it. How was your day at Riptide?”

  “Good,” I say. “And no, I didn’t resign.” I proceed to tell him my idea, that perhaps Hawk Legal could outsource their auctions to Riptide. “I could work on-site at Hawk Legal.”

  “You think they’ll go for it?” he asks.

  “I’m going to sell the hell out of it.”

  His cellphone rings and he glances at the caller ID. “That would be Bella.” He answers the line on speaker. “You’re on speaker, Bella. I’m with Allie.”

  “You’re both about to lose your shit.”

  “What the hell does that mean, Bella?” Dash demands.

  “Yes, what does that mean?” I ask, setting my glass down and turning toward Dash and the phone.

  “Brandon is now repping—God, I can barely say it—your father, Dash.”

  “Oh my God,” I say. “He went after someone close to Dash with the intent to hurt me by hurting him. I know he did. I know he did.”

  “Okay, this gets worse,” she says. “A few hours ago, I asked for the promotional material for the signing because I just couldn’t get a copy. I got irritated. I raised hell. They sent it to me.”

  “Just tell me what the hell is going on, Bella,” Dash snaps.

  “Apparently, Brandon set-up a Halloween signing for your father, Dash. Brandon swears he thought your father was the only one signing, but from talking to the publisher, they believed it was a father-son event. Something never done before.”

  “Holy fuck. Are you telling me I’m signing with my dad?”

  “Yeah. And he’s not happy about it either. But the publisher and the charity sent out a huge press blitz for this event just today, Dash. And yes, Brandon pushed for the blitz. You can’t get out of this. And neither can he. And for the record, I talked to that prick Brandon myself. I called him myself. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knows you two don’t speak, but apparently, he got your dad so much money, he feels like he’ll fo
rgive him this error. I’m going to get on a plane—”

  “No,” Dash says. “Stay there. It’s a signing. It’s complicated enough, Bella. And we both know this is too personal for both of us. I need you to keep your space and professionalism in case I don’t.”

  “You have to, Dash,” she insists. “This is really high-profile. And you’ll have to take photos with him. I’m sorry. I wish I could make this go away. But believe you me, if I can make Brandon go away, I will. I’m going to report him to the ethics committee. He should not be an agent.”

  “I’ll handle Brandon,” Dash says. “Stay away from him. I want him to come for me, and only me. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Dash—”

  “Later, Bella,” he says, and he hangs up, setting the phone down.

  “Dash, I’m so sorry,” I say quickly. “This is because of me. If I’d told you about Brandon before now, maybe we could have—”

  “No. No one could see this shit coming, Allie. You didn’t do this. This isn’t about you. It’s about a couple of assholes. Your ex and my father.” He stands up and walks to the patio doors, opening them and stepping outside in the bitter cold night, with no coat on.

  I grab my own jacket and pull it on, following him outside. He’s standing at the railing, holding onto the steel bars, face pointed skyward. I step to his side, shivering in the long moment that passes before Dash grabs me and pulls me in front of him.

  My back is to the railing, his hands on my waist as he says, “Do not talk to my father. I need you to promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

  I could be offended. I could get defensive. But I don’t. This isn’t about me and Dash. This is about Dash and his father. There’s something between them, something he doesn’t want me to be involved with. Something I can’t push him to explain while he’s dealing with this.

  “Okay,” I say. “I won’t talk to your father.”

  “Promise me, Allie. Stay away from him.”

  “Yes, I promise. I’ll stay away—”

  Already his hand is in my hair, fingers twining roughly, his mouth claiming my mouth. He devours me with that kiss, anger burning on his tongue that has everything to do with his father and nothing to do with me. He tears his mouth from my mouth, and turns me to the railing. He drags my coat down my arms and throws it away, but I’m no longer cold. My hands are on the steel railings now and my skirt is at my waist. He yanks my panties and I gasp into the night, the mist of warm air fanning from my mouth.