Bad Deeds

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Understood,” Cody says, giving me a mock salute and heading for the door as Seth’s phone now begins to ring.

  “Nick,” Seth tells me, taking the call while Cody exits and shuts the door.

  I turn and face the window, hands sliding under my jacket to my hips, Cody’s words in my mind: The minute Adrian feels he’s locked you down, your brother becomes disposable.… Ramon will kill him. Even if I were to pull Derek to our side, which is unlikely, that relationship with Teresa is a thorn-covered rose.

  Seth steps to my side. “Still no Ted. Still no leads. I don’t think I have to tell you where my head is going on this.”

  He thinks Ted is dead. So do I. “No,” I say. “You do not.”

  We stand there for several beats, heaviness in the air, and then I turn to him. “What’s on your mind?”

  He faces me. “Send him back to Mexico in a wooden box,” he says, repeating my words. “You understand that might be what this comes down to, right?”

  “I understand completely,” I say, expecting regret or guilt that doesn’t come. These people will kill everyone who has ever spoken to me, and they won’t blink.

  “‘See something, say something’ is what Cody told Emily. All I want to hear from you is ‘see something, do something,’ and I’ll protect you from the details.”

  “I don’t want to be protected. See something, we’ll do something.”

  He studies me for several beats, his stare probing, assessing, looking for a sign that this is my hesitation or weakness, but it is not. It’s my full willingness to do what I have to do. He sees it too. It’s in the shift of his eyes and the slow nod of his head before he walks toward the door. I face the window again, inhaling on the promise that I have never been more of a Brandon than I am in this moment.

  EMILY

  For two hours, I dodge and weave through one call after another as Brandon Senior shouts orders at me, but one good piece of news manages to find its way into the fold. The analyst Shane had me contact sometime back about our options for an acquisition in the fashion industry followed up with me. We now have a recommendation to bid on a company we can get at a steal of a price.

  I’m about to sneak to Shane’s office and talk to him about it when my intercom buzzes. “My office, Ms. Stevens.”

  I stand to do as ordered when Maggie appears in a wave of sweet-smelling perfume, stretching her normally all-black wardrobe by wearing a pale pink pantsuit, her eyes bloodshot and her skin washed out. She stops at my desk and punches the intercom. “Emily is taking a thirty-minute break from her desk.” She eyes me. “Go.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “No,” she shocks me by saying. “I’m not okay. Please go.”

  I nod and step around my desk, hurrying through the lobby and down the hall. And while I do not think good things are going on in Brandon Senior’s office right now, Maggie is here. They are together, and that is step one toward making peace. Or war. God. I hope it’s peace they find, I think, reaching the end of the hallway leading to the alcove that houses Derek’s and Shane’s offices. I start to turn left toward Shane’s, but Derek’s secretary passes me and I stop dead when I realize his door is open. Maggie might be making peace at this very moment. Maybe I can at least open a door to some myself.

  Steeling myself for probable failure and certain confrontation, I step forward and, decision made, charge in Derek’s direction. Never pausing, I enter his office, shut the door, and turn to face him. He glances up from his desk, a look of surprise on his face before he tosses his pencil onto the desk and leans back. “Did you finally figure out I’m the right brother?”

  “Shane’s not your enemy.”

  “Says the woman banging him.”

  “Why do you have to be so crude?” I ask.

  “My father taught me that skill with admirable insistence. I never put skills to waste.”

  “Shane’s not your enemy,” I repeat. “He had an amazing career in New York. He’s only here, doing all he’s doing, to save the company you seem to love.”

  “Take off the rose-colored glasses, Emily. Shane is not as admirable as you seem to think.”

  “Shane is not trying to take over the company, Derek. You’re his brother—”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Wake up before it’s too late. Martina will destroy you all, and he’s not even the only person with his eyes on a takeover.”

  “What does that mean? Who else has eyes on the company?”

  “Not just the company,” I say, thinking of the combination of heartache in Maggie and anger in Brandon Senior that I’ve seen today. “Your family is falling apart now, but they could all be dead later.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Martina’s right-hand man followed me today, Derek, and of course that was a threat. I’m a target. I could end up dead. And you know what? You might not care, but just so you know, I don’t want you to die, but you might. We all might before this is over.” I turn to leave, but before I can even open the door, he’s behind me, his hand on the wooden surface above me.

  “No one is going to die,” he says. “Who else has eyes on my company?”

  “You mean Martina’s company? Talk to Shane. Before it’s too late.” I tug on the door, and to my surprise, he allows me to leave, which I do. And at the exact moment I exit into the hallway, Shane steps out of his office, his eyes meeting mine, concern and a hundred questions in his gray eyes. I take a step toward him, and him me, but Derek overtakes me, outpacing me and charging toward Shane. And just that easily, I’ve forced a conversation between the brothers, but this one, I fear, will not end in peace.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SHANE

  Only moments after Seth warns me that my mother is in the office, Derek stalks toward me, leaving Emily behind, his steps determined, his energy confrontational. His dark gray suit is less than pressed and perfect, when it’s never so much as ill adjusted. He’s rattled, on edge, ready for a fight with me, the wrong person. Martina and Mike are the enemies, but I am not sure he will understand this until it’s too late, and I won’t ever let that day come. I stand my ground, expecting some sort of snide remark about Emily perhaps before he moves on and lets me get back to trying to save us all. But that’s not what I get. He stops in front of me, his eyes level with mine. “Let’s talk.”

  A novel idea that, coming from him, and about as surprising as that demand being issued after Emily’s been in his office, leaving me ever so curious as to what my woman said to my brother. Whatever the case, she got me his ear, and I’m going to use it any way I can. I give him a nod and move back into my office, standing my ground midway, expecting that confrontation to happen now.

  Again, I’m surprised. Instead, my brother walks to the window and, giving me his back, stands there, looking out at the city the way I often do. I’m struck by the likeness in us, which I’d once claimed and wish I could deny now, and I wonder how many times we’ve stood at the windows of our offices, in the opposite direction. Opposite in all that we do, or so I’d thought days ago. Now I’m not so sure anymore, and I wonder how he went from being my big brother and idol to being an enemy. I step to the window myself, leaving several shoulder lengths separating us, the many spoken and unspoken words of the past few turbulent years thickening the air between us.

  “Emily says you never wanted the company,” he says finally, still looking at the skyline, though I doubt he’s really seeing it any more than I am.

  “She’s correct.”

  “Then why come here and try to unravel everything I’ve worked for?” he asks, still not looking at me.

  “I have some news for you, Derek. ‘Everything,’ as you put it, was unraveled before I got here or I wouldn’t be here.”

  He glances over at me. “And yet this company, and the people working for it, managed to function for thirty years without you. Pops,” he adds, “did okay by it, and so did I.”

  “Pops,” I say, giving a humorless
laugh at the childhood name we’d used for our father. “He hasn’t been that person in decades.”

  “He was always the person he is now. We just didn’t see it.”

  “But he isn’t and wasn’t the person who made these missteps.”

  Derek laughs this time, the sound bitter, choked, and in unison, as we often were in the past, we face each other. “Pops didn’t make the missteps?” he asks incredulously. “Pops is king. He calls the shots. Who do you think is behind every move I’ve made since I stepped foot in this building? And I do mean every move.”

  “So he sent you to the FDA? I’m not buying it.”

  “Not directly,” Derek says. “He never does things directly, but he makes it clear what he wants done and how.”

  “Your hunger for power makes you take things out of context.”

  “He said that I needed to convince the right people to approve that drug in whatever way necessary. Does that sound like I took his directive out of context?”

  “And getting involved with a drug cartel?” I say, far from convinced. “Am I supposed to believe he told you to do that too?”

  “He flung a picture of Teresa on my desk, along with her biography, and then told me he thought she needed a good fuck.”

  “Bullshit, Derek.”

  “You think I could even make this shit up? Really? Because I guess my imagination has run wild while good ol’ Pops suddenly became a Boy Scout?”

  I step to him and he to me. “If this is true—”

  “It’s true.”

  “Why the fuck would you do it then?”

  “Which ‘it’ are we talking about?”

  “All of it. Any of it.”

  His lips thin. “There are reasons.”

  “What damn reasons?” I demand tightly. “Make me understand.”

  “He has ways to destroy me.”

  “You’re his son,” I say. “Your scandal becomes his reputation, so I’m not buying that.”

  “He has ways around his own demise, I promise you. Why do you think the board, Mike Rogers included, stays so damn loyal to him? He has a file on everyone. He’ll have a file on you too soon.”

  “His threats do not justify your bad deeds.”

  “Says the almighty Shane Brandon.”

  “That’s not how it is.”

  “Isn’t it? Well, talk to me a year from now when you aren’t that person anymore. He’ll change you if he lives long enough.”

  “That’s a cop-out.”

  “Ask Mike Rogers about cop-outs. He’s as captive as I am, which is exactly why I have his vote.”

  “Well, you must be proud to have the vote of the man fucking your mother. I guess nothing matters to you anymore.”

  He blanches. “What the hell are you talking about? Mom wouldn’t do that.”

  “That’s what I said too,” I say, relieved that he’s genuinely shocked rather than approving. “But it’s true.” I walk to my desk and pull open a drawer. “Seth provided proof.” I remove a folder, flipping it open and tossing it onto my desk, a picture of my mother and Mike kissing on top. But Derek still stands two feet away, frozen, as if he dreads the truth I’ve just offered him. And I wonder if he too has her on a pedestal.

  Finally though he caves to what I recognize as a need for answers, and crosses to my desk and looks at the photo, his jaw and pretty much every muscle in his body tensing. Abruptly his gaze cuts to mine. “When was this taken?”

  “Recently.”

  “Fuck,” he murmurs, his hand sliding over his chin. “Does Father know?”

  “He knows and not because I told him. He told me.”

  “His comments at dinner,” he says. “The wills. The Brandon family staying in control. He thinks Mike is plotting a takeover.”

  “And Mom is in Mike’s bed. That equates to conspiring as far as Father’s concerned.”

  His gaze sharpens on me. “And you? Do you think the two of them are conspiring?”

  “You tell me,” I say, folding my arms in front of me. “You’re the one buddying up with Mike.”

  “For his vote, and my own control, not his, but for him to do this, he’d need to be certain that you or I didn’t inherit the ammunition Father has on him.”

  “Mom’s resourceful,” I say, remembering my request for that information she has yet to deliver to me. “If it really exists—”

  “It does.”

  “Then she might have it.”

  “I met with Mike this morning,” he surprises me by admitting. “I don’t believe he has it.”

  “Why did you meet with him?”

  “To tell him you’re the acting CEO and a fucking bastard,” he says. “Why do you think?”

  Translation: to plot how to unseat me. I move on, staying focused on gaining every drop of information this chat might deliver for my arsenal. “Does Mike know about Martina or the FDA?”

  “Contrary to what you think, I don’t hand anyone ammunition to use against me. I learned that lesson from our father. Anything Mike knows, Mom told him; I sure as hell haven’t shared any of the details with her, and I know for a fact Father never tells her anything.”

  “But again, she’s smart. She’s capable of finding things out.”

  “This is Mom you’re talking about,” he argues. “Even if he cut her out of his will, she’d inherit a small fortune, and I can’t believe she’d betray us, her sons.”

  “Unless Father’s moved the money around so that it seems like there is nothing.”

  “He could have. It’d be lower than I give him credit for, but he could have. But if he did, we assume she’s doing what?”

  “Trying to be on the winning team that isn’t us,” I say. “And if that’s true—”

  “Mike’s aggressively planning a hostile takeover and she thinks it will work,” he supplies, his lips thinning.

  “That’s where my head is at,” I confirm.

  “And Pops? What does he think? Where’s his head?”

  “Mike’s sleeping with Mom. Where do you think his head is?”

  “He wants to ruin him.”

  “Or at least control him,” I say.

  “Control him how?”

  “He’s working on a plan,” I say, offering no further detail.

  “I’ll make this easy on everyone,” he says. “I have one. Use Martina against him.”

  I press my hands on the desk, leaning toward him. “Are you crazy? We don’t know what Martina will do to him, and Mom could end up collateral damage in the process.”

  “Jesus, Shane. I’m not telling you to have Martina kill Mike. I’m telling you to make it clear to Mike that inheriting this company means inheriting Martina and his drug cartel family.”

  Relieved that he has not stooped to ordering hits on people, I absorb his meaning with a mixed reaction, hitching my hip on the edge of my desk. “You just said you didn’t tell him about Martina or the FDA for a reason. You didn’t want him to have ammunition on you.”

  “Which is why we need to turn the tables. Get ammunition on him that ensures if he tries to take us down, he goes down too. We need to connect him to Martina. Make it look like he’s the instigator of the cartel relationship. Like he forced us into it. Then he’s a captive. We control him.”

  His use of the word “we” is coming a little too easily after years of shunning me. I narrow my eyes at him. “Was this your plan? Get him on your side, set him up, and then use him to force me out?” I don’t wait for a reply I don’t think I can stomach. “Because if it was, you failed. It’s not Martina’s plan. Martina’s plan is nothing shy of owning us all.”

  “How would you know anything about Martina’s plan?”

  “Adrian Martina came to see me last night. Made it to my door without authorization.”

  “How did he even get to your floor when I can’t?”

  “We’d have to ask the member of my security team who went missing last night, if he ever returns. And for the sake of his wife and young children, I
hope the hell he does.”

  His eyes harden. “What did he want?”

  “It was all about power. He wanted to send a message. He has it. We do not. Is that really how you want Brandon Enterprises to end up? Under his control?”

  His expression tightens and he stares at me for several beats, his face unreadable before he walks back to the window. I join him, stepping to his side, both of us folding our arms in front of us at the same moment. The same, but different. Together, but apart. “Emily said Ramon followed her today.”

  “He did,” I say. “And he made sure I knew. Just like Adrian made a point of telling me you’re using Teresa to get to him.”

  We face each other, hands going under our jackets to our hips. Again the same, but different. “And you said?”

  “I told him you fell for a girl and saw an opportunity. You are aware that Ramon is in love with Teresa, I assume.”

  “Believe me, I’m crystal clear on that point.”

  “Adrian only needs one of us, Derek. You’re fucking Teresa. He’s going to pick me.”

  Before I can blink, his hands are on my lapels and he’s shoved me against the window. “Is that a threat?”

  I shove him backward with enough force that he stumbles, and I get the hell off the glass. “It was a plea that we stand together. Clear the company of outsiders. Then if you want to fight with me, we’ll fight it out—brother to brother—on our terms, one-on-one, the way it should be. Truce, brother. Choose family.”

  “Is that what you were doing when you drafted that document that just made you acting CEO? Choosing family?”

  The fire alarm goes off, blasting through the overhead speakers. “Martina,” I say, already walking. “I went to see Teresa today. He’s making me pay. I need to get to Emily.”

  He grabs me again before I can make it to the door. “Why the hell did you go see Teresa?”

  “Mom is in the building too,” I tell him. “Martina is coming for our family and anyone we care about. We need to get everyone out.”

  “Damn it,” he growls. “You did this. If anyone gets hurt, it’s on you.” He releases me, but the safety of everyone in this building is far more important to me right now than the reality check he deserves. Exiting the office, I find Jessica missing and I keep moving, leaving Derek to deal with his secretary, and when I reach the lobby as Seth does, both of us notice that the receptionist is still at her desk. “Get up and get outside,” Seth orders.