Escalation Clause (Stewart Realty Series)

by Crowe, Liz

  “With what?” She matched his stance.

  “Keystone,” he said, naming their father’s construction company. The company had fed, clothed, and sent them to college, all with very little scrimping or saving by the time she had come along. “Can you?” He looked at her, and this time his gaze was earnest, worried, even a little vulnerable.

  She frowned. “Save the puppy dog eyes, Jack. What is it exactly you need? Spit it out.”

  He chuckled, for a minute looking like the man she knew, the man who’d been so deliriously happy that day on Lake Michigan when he and Sara married. “Sorry. I just caught the general manager trying to cook the books and write himself a big check. The accountant gal there is, um, well, she caught him and told me.” He frowned, ran a hand down his face.

  “The accountant ‘gal?’” Mo hooked her fingers around the word. “Is what exactly, Jack?”

  He frowned at her. “Sorry, Gloria Steinem. The ‘woman’ who handles bookkeeping for our father’s company is an old girlfriend. She has some loyalty to me which is becoming harder and harder to find. She caught him. He’s out, and lucky I’m not pressing charges.”

  “So, promote the old girlfriend. What do you need me for?” She glared at him. “You had better be behaving Jack Gordon. I will kill you otherwise, do you understand?”

  He rolled his eyes, anger lighting their sapphire depths. “Jesus, does everyone honestly think I’m such a shithead that I’d be cheating on my wife?”

  “No, but I think that you are under a ton of stress; so is Sara. And women like this ‘ex-girlfriend’ may sense it and try to move in on you, ya handsome bastard.”

  He shrugged, not rising to her bait like he normally would. She bit her lip, worry lighting the edges of her current shitty mood. “So, what can I do? I’m no contractor.”

  “No, but I’ll send you to the class, you take the test. God knows you were around the business enough and you’re smart. You’ll pass it. But that’s just a formality. I need you in charge of the place Mo. You’re organized, bossy. You’ll have it running smoothly for me again in no time.”

  She blinked. “You want me to be the General Manager of Keystone Construction. Are you out of your mind or just drunk?”

  “Neither.” He turned to her, grabbed her arm, that worried look back in his eyes. Her heart started to pound, her mouth dried out. “I need you to do this. I’ve run through five managers in seven years. I can’t trust anybody. But, you I trust. The kids are old enough to manage. And you….”

  She held up a hand. “I am a “poor me” widow who needs to get out of the house more often, I get it.”

  Jack chuckled. “Hardly,” he put an arm around her, soothing as he always could. “You are my sister; you are as much a part of the damn company as I am. Think of it as ‘time you earned your shares?’”

  “What’s up with you and your wife, Jack?”

  He jumped away from her as if she’d poked him with a hot stick. “Can we stay with the original conversation please?” His face closed off again.

  “Fine. Okay. I’ll do it. On one condition.”

  “What’s that,” he crossed his arms, in full negotiation mode she recognized from years of experience with him as an older sibling. “You and Sara go away somewhere, soon. I’ll take the kids. I know how to handle a baby and Lila can help, too. You guys need some time alone.”

  “We’re fine Mo. Sara is…” he brushed his fingers through his hair, making it stand up, in a familiar nervous tick gesture he’d had since boyhood. “Sara is handling this thing amazingly well. I’m helping, like you told me. And considering the guy who was her rock for so many years is…” he gulped, “gone, I think she’s doing great. Her mother on the other hand,” he let his voice trail off.

  Mo stayed silent, contemplating how he had not answered her question but had assured her that Sara was “just fine.”

  “Besides, I think she’s planning to take the kids with her to Florida, spend a couple of weeks there. I need to be out of town next week for the soccer thing and…well, sorry,” he held up a hand. “Besides, Stewart is swamped these days. I need to hire two new sales managers and….”

  “Okay, all right, I get it. You’re busy as shit. Whatever. But you had better listen to me. Things are not good with you two. Deny it at your peril. You’ve worked awfully hard to get to this place with her. Don’t assume it’s all good just because she’s not a quivering puddle of agony over losing her brother and relying on you to do everything just so she can mourn.”

  “Point taken,” he said still not looking at her. “So, when can I sign you up for the class and test? Sooner the better.”

  They worked out some logistics and walked back to the pitch to watch Katie’s team win before greeting her and Ella on the sidelines. Katie was hanging on to her cousin’s hand. “Daddy, can we make cupcakes when we get home?”

  “Uh, sure. But I have to pack. I’m leaving in the morning for a week. Why don’t we get Uncle Rob to—”

  “No!” the girl yelled so loud everyone around her looked over. Jack frowned, stuck his hands in his pockets.

  Maureen knelt down and met Katie’s bright green eyes. “Honey, you know Uncle Rob loves you. He misses you.”

  “I don’t care.” The girl ran towards the car, her soccer bag bouncing on her back.

  “What a cluster fuck this is,” Jack groaned under his breath. Mo elbowed him in the ribs. “No seriously, the girl is a basket case. Won’t let Rob get within a mile of her or she screams and cries. I don’t get it.”

  “Well, from what I understand he has his own issues.”

  “Yeah,” Jack left it at that, so she did, too. A sudden tingling on the back of her neck told her one thing. Rafe was near. How she knew this was beyond her and more than a little scary to admit, even to herself. But sure enough she turned, and he was a few feet away, chatting with some of the parents on Katie’s team.

  He was relatively new to the club, worked days at the university hospital as a sports medicine physical therapist. But he’d been there done that with the big leagues, soccer-wise. Their conversations had wandered all over the place lately, and she’d gotten to where she anticipated his calls with an almost teenager-like glee. She shook her head at herself but when he looked over at her, as if knowing she were staring, he winked and she nearly melted into a puddle of lust. It felt so odd, this strange, phone-based relationship they had. But she held on to it, nurtured it, let it sustain her.

  “Let’s go. Stop ogling the man-candy.” Her brother said, following where his daughter had just run.

  She smacked him. “Fuck you. I can ogle what I want.” But, her throat was tight, and embarrassment flooded her every pore. She put an arm around Ella’s waist, kissed her temple.

  “Cut it out, Mom,” the girl squirmed away, dashed after her uncle. Adam caught up with her, and they walked together in silence to the car. He put an arm around her at one point. She leaned into him, already nearly six feet tall at just fifteen years old.

  “Is it bad that I sometimes can’t remember him as much?” her son’s voice broke and pitched lower. Suddenly all she wanted to do was cry. “Mom?”

  A tear slipped down her face. She was such a tangle of emotion. “No honey, it’s okay.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s the shitty part.” He opened the back of her SUV and tossed his soccer bag inside. “Can I drive?” His dark face became a heart-breaking mirror image of his father’s when he smiled and raised an eyebrow. She sucked in a breath.

  “Sure,” she tossed him the keys. Ella climbed in the back and they headed towards Ann Arbor, the satellite radio blaring some ungodly combination of screaming and swearing that Adam and Ella both yelled along with. Mo caught Ella’s eye in the mirror. But the girl’s face was blank and she didn’t speak to either of them once they got home, just ran upstairs and jumped in the shower. Mo sank into a chair with some ice water, then gave up and switched to wine.

  Her phone rang. She glanced at the display, know
ing it would be Rafe. When she saw his name, she swallowed hard, and turned the phone off.

  Chapter Ten

  The room was pitch dark, but she heard him, sensed his soothing voice before she felt his lips against hers. “Maureen,” he crooned, running a hand up her arm to her neck, pulling her close. The odors of leather, grass, sweat overwhelmed her. She gulped, terrified and needy all at once. Her arms slipped around his waist. His kiss started slow, as if testing her, seeing how she felt about it. But a primal hunger shot through her, made her part her lips and give in to it.

  He held her closer, and swept into her mouth, his body pressed hers back onto some surface, she couldn’t figure out what and no longer cared. His hand trailed down her neck, cupped her breast, brushed across her nipple making her arch into him. All the while, he kissed with an intense ferocity that matched her need. She threaded her fingers in his long hair, held on for dear life as he pitched her over a sheer cliff of desire with his lips, tongue, his long fingers that continued to dance over her flesh. She shifted, needing him to … “Oh, God,” she moaned into his lips, holding on his arm as he slid a hand down the front of her panties. In one touch she came, crying out and shivering, terrified, mortified and needing more.

  She sat up, clutching the sheet to her neck, hoping to god she did not actually call out Rafe’s name in the middle of her overheated, cougar-ish wet dream. She wiped her hand down her neck, retracing his tongue’s imaginary track. Then she flopped back on the pillows, resigned to rubbing one out for herself, again. Alone.

  Afterward, she lay breathing heavy and wishing for nothing more than to hear Rafe’s voice. But she had avoided him for the better part of a month now, using the excuse of her class, then the test for her contractor’s license. She’d buried herself in the Keystone books and records, trying to get a handle on what was indeed revealing itself to be a disorganized mess. Staying up late for nights, poring over the information, was making her feel more human with every passing day, but she missed his voice more than she cared to admit.

  The morning of the intense Rafe-fantasy fueled dream she was headed into her new office for the first time, officially the general manager of a five-million-dollar construction company. She showered off in a daze, gulped some coffee and let Ella fiddle with her jewelry and hair before brushing the girl away. “Go on, go clean the pool or something.” She looked out in the yard. Learning to get through days like this, when it was as if Brandis were literally just in the next room and not years gone from her life were the hardest. The desire to share this moment with him was so keen her chest ached. The bright blue water of the pool pierced her between the eyes, reminding her as always of the summer she spent falling for the first and only man she’d ever loved.

  She squared her shoulders, and picked up the phone when it rang, busy pep talking herself out of a funk before she read the screen. Too late, she realized it was Rafe.

  “Te extrano,” his voice was low, and made her break out in a cold sweat. She put her hand on the cool granite countertop.

  “I know, I’m sorry. I’m just really, you know, um….”

  “Busy, I understand. I wanted to wish you much luck today. At your new job.”

  “Oh, well,” she fiddled with her hair, then forced herself to stop. “Gracias.”

  “He estado pensando en usted.”

  She clenched her eyes shut, then opened them. “Listen, Rafe, we have to stop this.”

  “Stop what mi amor. Being friends?”

  “No, damn it. I’m not your love, I mean. You know. Shit.”

  “I don’t know and I don’t understand why you are avoiding me. I am sorry about that time…when I…I wish I hadn’t….”

  Mo felt every inch of her skin flush.

  “I feel like I ruined something between us, that night.”

  She gritted her teeth. “There was nothing between us Rafe. And there never will be okay? Please, I have to go.” She bit back the urge to beg him to keep talking.

  “Maureen, I would very much like to take you to dinner. Would you, please, join me? For a meal? Anywhere you like.”

  She gasped, not expecting this particular question. “Wow, to the point aren’t you?”

  “I am Latino. We are direct. And stubborn. And a lot of other things you will come to learn…I hope.”

  “I don’t know, Rafe. I mean, it seems a little… you’re… Jesus, I do know how to string words together into sentences, I swear to God.”

  He laughed and the sound shot straight to her libido. She sat in the kitchen chair before she toppled over in her suddenly ridiculous high heels. “I know you can mi amor. I mean,” he paused. “Think about it. Please, I so want to talk, like we used to before.”

  She nodded, then gulped, feeling like an utter idiot. “I’ll think about it. I’ll call you, okay? Gotta go.” And she touched the end call on her phone screen before she made it worse.

  The day was a long slog of frustration highlighted by a distinct undercurrent of disproval from the entire front office staff. Maureen finally sat at the giant desk that used to be her father’s, contemplating failure at four p.m. after suffering through a painful staff meeting in which the various general contract managers talked over each other and ignored her while the bookkeeper “gal” shot her daggers of hatred the entire time. She was sweaty, cold, exhausted, exhilarated and wanted nothing more than to take back the split second when she had told Jack “yes” she would run their father’s company.

  She opened her email and shot her brother a message. “This was a huge mistake. I don’t think I can do it. These people hate my guts. I feel like a poser. I never even finished college. What makes you think I am cut out for this?” She hit send and flopped back into the big leather chair that still smelled like her father—cigars and booze.

  The sixty-year-old woman who was to be her secretary peeked around the corner of the office door. Mo sat up straight, embarrassed to be caught lolling around like a kid. “Sorry, dear,” the woman shut the door behind her and handed Mo a cup of coffee. She never usually drank caffeine this late in the day but took it to be polite. “This has been a rough day for you. I know. I remember when you were a little girl, so tough and tomboyish then a teenager, so beautiful and stubborn. And when you moved out, your dad was really sad about that.”

  Mo sipped the foul brew that passed for coffee. “I’m in over my head here aren’t I Mrs. Perkins?” The woman tsk-tsked and patted her hand.

  “No, you are just what we need. But you have to stiffen your backbone and just be a female version of your father and your brother with this group.” She leaned in to whisper. “You know…rhymes with ‘witch.’” She gave Mo a knowing wink, making her giggle, then laugh so loud her sides hurt. “You can do it. I know it’s in your genes. And I’ve got your back.”

  “Okay. Then I need some gossip. I need to know why those two assholes in the meeting were at each other’s throats and then ignored everything I said as if I weren’t even in the room. Whatever you’ve got.”

  Mrs. Perkins nodded. “Yes, and I’ll fill you in on all of it. But for now,” she opened the door and admitted the man whose face, voice and body had brought an entirely new meaning to the word “masturbation” for Mo in the last months. She gulped. Rafe held out a bouquet of roses. Mrs. Perkins fluttered around, found a vase. She locked eyes with him, felt sweat gathering under her arms, realized she must look about as appealing as limp spaghetti. And there he stood, fit to eat, in dark jeans and a bright white shirt, his hair pulled back off his dark, exotically handsome face.

  “I thought I’d come here and make you go with me to dinner, before you talked yourself out of it.” He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets, his stance loose-limbed and easy going. Every bit of saliva she had flooded her mouth. Christ, “edible” was only the half of it.

  “You look beautiful, by the way. Very boss-lady. It’s sexy if you must know.”

  Mo’s face flushed. Mrs. Perkins giggled, then put the gorgeous deep red flowers on he
r desk in a crystal vase. Mo realized she’d been frozen in place since he’d come in. “Flattery isn’t necessary,” she exhaled, wanting him to say it again but knowing how completely wrong he was for her. “I’ve had a shit day, if you must know. I’m not in the mood for a date. I’ll probably just be a bitch.”

  He laughed and dropped into one of the large leather chairs across from her desk gracefully. She bit the inside of her cheek at his perfection. “I’m an expert with bitches. I was married once. And I coach teenage girls, remember?”

  She tried not to laugh. “Watch it mister. One of those is mine. Oh, yeah, I guess you are.”

  She smelled the soap and light cologne on his bronze colored skin. And had to sit fast, clenching her hands in her lap to keep from touching the black tuft of hair she could see on his chest at that angle. “Vámanos mi amor. I mean, my boss lady. Allow me to escort you to a triumphant first day of work dinner?” He held out his hand. She stared at it a solid fifteen seconds before realizing he fully expected her to put hers in it. His dark eyes twinkled.

  She kept her hands on the desk, determined not to succumb to the temptation. “You are quite the charmer, aren’t you, Inez?”

  “Ah, you use my last name like that and I think I’m back on the pitch being yelled at by my manager.” He clutched his shirt in mock dismay then leveled a look so full of meaning at her she had to cross her legs against the heat building between them. “Do it some more, I love to be bossed around.” He cocked his eyebrow at her but the smoldering “fuck me” in his eyes was nearly too much to bear.

  “Jesus,” she leaned back, studying him—the young man apparently still taken with her in wilted linen suit and too high heels. “Fine. But spare me the seduction full court press. I just want dinner.”

  He leapt to his feet and crooked his elbow. She rolled her eyes but slipped her hand into it. The heat under his shirt made her heart beat even faster. Using mindless chatter as they exited the Keystone Construction building to distract herself, she smiled when he opened his car door and handed her into an immaculate but non-descript sedan. Having grown up with, and been married to, men who prized over-the-top, in-your-face expensive cars, the understated elegance was a departure for her. She ran her hand across the burled wood console, the soft leather seats. He dropped behind the wheel, grabbed her hand and put it to his lips. She let him, as if in a trance, reveling in the soft, firm touch on her skin. He winked, let her go and turned the key, leaving her to her overheated fantasies on their way to dinner. An honest-to-god real date – her first in years. She shut her eyes a split second, let the bitter agony of loss hit her square in the chest.