Escalation Clause (Stewart Realty Series)

by Crowe, Liz

  She put her suit jacket on, covering her bare arms when Mrs. Perkins told her the crew would be in her office in twenty minutes. She had to gather her thoughts, and remain calm, professional. Not be the hysterical female they expected. A tough balancing act, but she felt like she could handle it. She grabbed her phone and dialed Rafe’s number, needing to hear him before she hit this conflict.

  “Mi amor,” he purred in her ear, calming her instantly. She sat, put her head on the desk.

  “I have to fire an entire group of contractors in the next twenty minutes. Tell me how great I am, quick, before I lose my nerve.”

  “Maureen, you should let Jack—”

  She sat back up. “No, Rafe. I’m the president of Keystone now, I handle this.”

  “Okay. Sorry. I just meant…well, is it that Brian person you’ve been bitching about?”

  “Yeah. And his entire useless crew.”

  “I don’t know if I like this.”

  She frowned, fiddled with her hair, read the email again, and let anger pierce the nervous gloom gathering in her mind. “Don’t like what?” But, she knew the answer. They’d hit this bump in the relationship road recently, when he showed all the signs of being a fairly classic Latino alpha male, up to and including his disbelief that she went out to work every day because she wanted to, not because she had to.

  But, he stayed silent and she valued that, and loved him even more for it. “Call me after, okay?” He hung up. She stared at the device and realized that he had taken the high road just then, gone against his inner macho man and let her handle it without commenting. She sucked in a huge breath, put on some lip gloss and squared her shoulders. The phone double-buzzed with a text message from Rafe.

  “I love you, Maureen. I’ll see you tonight. Be strong; not that you need me to say that.”

  She smiled but before she could reply there was a knock on the door and the men walked in. They had smiles pasted to their faces but had obviously been warned by Mrs. Perkins that the shit had hit the fan and that they were in the direct line of splatter fire.

  “Gentlemen,” Maureen began, letting anger at their incompetent laziness fuel her words. “Who wants to tell me what went wrong with the Chamberlin house? Brian?” She leveled her gaze at the man who stood, chin raised defiantly, his stance one of opposition as always. “You go first. And it better fucking be a good story because I am staring at a lawsuit that you caused. Give me your side of the story before I deal with their lawyers. We’ll decide who in this room stays employed after I hear it all.” The men shifted nervously and she sat, putting her elbows on the huge desk, and giving Brian a neutral look. “Well. I’m waiting.”

  By the time they’d spluttered through an hour of excuses and bullshit she knew all she needed to know. “All right,” she closed the file, set her pen down, and made a point to make eye contact with each of them in turn. They were rattled, she knew it, and a couple of them kept trying to look over at Brian, but he wouldn’t look away from her. His gaze never altered from its “fuck you bitch” message.

  “You are all fired. Clear out your lockers. You’ll be escorted off the property.” She looked down, trying to get her knees to stop shaking. She heard various sounds of disbelief and looked up. “Why are you still in my office?”

  The three other men started out, but Brian stayed, his hands clasped behind his back, staring daggers at her. She lifted her chin but stayed silent.

  “You can’t do this. I have seniority. I’m calling Jack.”

  She stood, put her hands on the desk and kept her voice calm. “You are an incompetent tick on the ass of my company, Brian Jefferson. A parasite. And I’m plucking you off and burning your fucking head with a cigarette. Do you feel it?” She pointed to the door. “Get out. Now.”

  “Cunt,” he said clear enough for her to hear it.

  “Maybe,” she said, sitting back down and propping her high heels on her desk, picking up a random piece of paper to indicate he was being ignored. She clenched her jaw to keep from saying anything more and making it worse.

  “Your father would be rolling in his grave right now, with a bitch in charge of his company.” The man said, low and firm.

  “Guess what, Jefferson,” she spoke to the paper. “It’s no longer your concern. I will call the police if I have to. But what you should remember is that I am the cunt who was your boss and just fired you.”

  She felt him before she saw him. Actually, when she reflected back, it was more that she smelled him first—cigarettes, beer, sawdust—all familiar scents to her having grown up in her father’s house. He lunged for her, his fingers gripping her jacket collar and grazing the skin of her neck. The fabric ripped when she leapt up. At that moment, the door flew open revealing Rafe in his scrubs, his dark eyes wild. He grabbed Brian by the shirt and landed a couple of punches to the guy’s gut before all hell broke loose.

  The other men flooded back into the room, pulled Rafe and Brian apart. Her heart pounded, brain buzzing with adrenaline as she watched the scene unfold. Twin emotions of relief and anger flooded her nerve endings. It was eerily quiet, just heavy breathing and the sound of a siren.

  “I called the cops,” Mrs. Perkins said, glaring at the men across from her. She grabbed Maureen’s arm. But, Maureen only had eyes for Rafe. His biceps bulged as he struggled against the man’s grip, his dark eyes full of murderous fury as he glared across the room at Brian.

  “Jesus.” Her voice was shaky. She stood, trying to square all the emotions swirling in her head.

  “Let go of me,” Rafe growled and something in his voice compelled the guy to do just that. He was at her side in a second, and she allowed herself a moment of relief at his touch.

  “Don’t do this,” she whispered, watching Brian’s eyes dart from her to Rafe and back. “I need to handle it.”

  Rafe stood, the frustration clear in his eyes. One thing about the man—he was no mystery. He hid nothing, even the worst of his emotions. “Maureen,” he said, his voice hard. “You can’t do everything alone. You don’t have to.”

  Her vision dimmed. “This is not your problem Rafe. I’ve got it. Go.” She watched him do as she asked, his spine stiff, wishing him back and cursing herself for sending him away.

  The cops showed up and took statements then escorted the men off the property. One of them knew her, had gone to high school with Jack, and promised her they’d beef up patrols around the Keystone construction sites for a while. She flopped back in her chair the residual stress from the encounter making her shiver and her teeth chatter. Mrs. Perkins brought her some water, patted her arm then shut her office door.

  She tried not to call out to her, to bring her back, not to be left by herself. But then she was. She put her head down on the desk and let the tears flow.

  A soft knock made her look up. The guy she wanted to see did not peek around the corner, but the sight of her brother’s face made her want to cry again.

  “Serious drama Mo. Cool. Love that shit.” He gathered her into his arms. She tried not to lose it, but she did.

  Rafe’s eyes burned and his skin crawled as he drove back to the clinic. His ears kept humming as he parked and made his way back to the office. But the scene was seared into his memory banks—that asshole in denim, eyes wild with fury and intent lunging for and nearly grasping his woman. He shook his head. Maureen Taylor was a bundle of contradiction and the most compelling woman he had ever encountered. She brought out his inner beast, on many levels, but she pushed back again and again, and it was starting to burn him in ways he had a hard time handling.

  His phone buzzed. Maureen’s number flashed on the screen. He tossed the fucking thing to the floor of the car and stomped into the clinic. He had blown off at least one client and maybe even two when something had compelled him to jump in his car and head for her downtown office building.

  He wanted her—wanted to watch her in that god damned killer suit and high heels bossing guys around but at the same time wanted her to sit
in his lap, let him soothe and fix and handle problems for her.

  “Inez!” His boss’ voice cut through the angry fog. “Where the hell were you?”

  He sighed and moved on with his day, after going out to retrieve his phone from the car. She called two more times, not leaving any message or texting. He knew she didn’t like to text so that was no big surprise. By the time he looked up it was nearly six o’clock. Melanie was finishing up with her last patient and he had about an hour of paperwork left. He was supposed to meet Maureen later, dinner at her place. He seriously contemplated not going, but, of course, he knew that was not an option. There was no way he would skip seeing her. It was not in his skill set at this point, now that they’d come together and had managed to keep it that way. Today’s drama weighed heavy on him for many reasons. And he was still just pissed off enough about the look on her face before he left her office to ignore her once more when she called.

  He drove to his condo, which was not part of the original plan for the evening, but by the time he hit seven thirty and closed down his computer he’d worked himself into a pretty serious head-boiling fury. He knew if he saw her he’d let it loose, and that would be in the “not good” column for their growing relationship. He threw on running clothes and hit the street, proud of himself for not calling her. When he stumbled back into his place after nearly fifteen miles his anger had settled into a dull, manageable roar. So, he picked up the phone.

  Adam answered. “Hey, Rafe, uh, mom is…hang on,” the young man’s voice faded then Rafe could hear the unmistakable sound of Maureen, telling him to hang up the fucking phone or she was going to ground him.

  “Adam, don’t hang up.” Rafe pressed his fingers to his aching forehead.

  “I’m not. I just want to know what’s going on, you know, so I can figure out whose side I’m on. Uncle Jack told us about the scene in her office. Sounds like you got there just in time….”

  “To piss your mother off, yes. I did.”

  “Well, I guess you’ve figured out that it doesn’t really take much.”

  “Uh huh.” Rafe shivered as the sweat dried on his skin. “Listen, Adam, I hope you don’t think this is inappropriate for me to tell you but—”

  “Whoa, hold it right there. I’m guessing that if you have to say that then it probably is.”

  “I want to ask your mother to marry me. And I want you and your sister to be okay with it before I do.”

  There was a distinct beat of silence. Rafe held his breath. He did want that, but hadn’t planned on saying it just yet. And why in the world he thought this was the right moment he had no idea.

  “We would be fine with it, Rafe.” The boy finally said.

  “I’m glad. And I hope you understand that I’m not going to try and replace your dad. You and Ella are nearly adults. You don’t need a father figure in your life. But….”

  “Listen, dude, can I give you some advice?”

  Rafe smiled. “Sure.”

  “I’m pretty certain my mom would just as soon gouge out your eye balls and feed them to you as talk to you right now. So, I’d save the proposal shit until after you guys cool down. She is heated. I haven’t seen her this bad in…well, ever.”

  “Great.” He flopped back on the couch. “I really was only trying to help. I mean I was worried and, shit. I don’t know. I fucked it up didn’t I?”

  “Yeah. But it’s salvageable. Like most fuckups are with chicks who are worth the effort. And my mom is. Don’t forget that.”

  He jumped when his phone buzzed indicating another incoming call. He held it away from his ear and grimaced when he saw it was Jack. “I won’t, Adam. Thanks.”

  “Ella’s gone overnight and I’m about to head out. Why don’t you come over and make nice?”

  “I’ll consider it, but I may wait until tomorrow. She isn’t the only one who’s heated, and I’ve been known to make things a lot worse with my temper.”

  “Later then. And good luck.”

  He hit the answer button and held his breath all over again, waiting for the barrage from Maureen’s older brother and his future boss.

  “Okay, so, not my business, but what the hell?”

  “You’re right. Not your business.” He felt the anger creeping back in and shoving the remorse out of his head.

  “Fair. Fair.” The line was quiet a minute. Rafe let it remain that way. He grabbed one of the soccer balls lying around, one of the distinctive black and red ones the Black Jack Gentlemen marketing department had made up in advance of them even having a team yet. He tossed it and caught it, trying to settle his nerves. “Thanks.” Jack finally said. “I’m glad you were there.”

  “You’re welcome. Is someone telling her that?”

  “I did. But she’s…ah…well, she’s trying to prove something to herself, to me and probably to you. That she can be this boss lady. And it’s a tough job, don’t kid yourself. Brian was an asshole, and I’m kicking myself for not letting him go before now.”

  “She doesn’t have to prove anything to me.”

  “Well, your macho thing rubs her wrong a little I guess. Mo has never been a needy person. She’s always gone her own way, done her own thing. God knows her hook up with my friend all those years ago was exactly that. But it was more than a hook up; I finally had to admit it and let her be. She took to the military wife thing with gusto, too. Making all kinds of new friends, organizing events for kids and spouses, learning German. She’s pretty amazing.”

  “I know that.” He closed his eyes and let the ball bounce to the floor.

  “Brandis was one of the calmest guys I know. It’s why we were such good friends. And why he and Mo were….”

  “Great for each other? I get it, Jack.”

  “Well, that’s enough girl talk. I just wanted you to know I appreciate your being there. But you have put yourself in a shit position with her now. And you’d better figure out a way to fix it. Or I’ll be tasked by the women in my life to pull out that castration knife again, and I really don’t want my team manager singing soprano, you got me?”

  Rafe smiled in spite of himself. The guy loved his sister and he respected that. “I got you. Later.”

  He took a long shower, put on jeans and a T-shirt and sat, staring at the beer he didn’t remember opening. Letting his heart lead, he grabbed his keys and pointed the car towards her house, keeping his mind blank determined to let her have her say. Then he would have his. His “macho thing” was ingrained in his DNA and he knew it. He wanted to be the one, the guy, the man of the house. He’d had none of this conflict with his first wife. Of course, she was Latina and “got it,” he guessed. While Maureen…he smacked the steering wheel hard enough to make his palm sting. Still completely unsure of what he would say when he saw her, he pulled into the driveway and turned the car off.

  He went around to the back, thinking she’d be on the deck enjoying the early fall evening, but it was empty. He climbed the steps and peered in the glass door. The family room and kitchen seemed the same. The door was unlocked. He tamped down the flare of anger at her for leaving it that way. Calm. Cool. Rational. It was his new mantra. It had to be or he would lose her and that was one thing he couldn’t live with. He stepped inside and stood a minute, listening. The cat wound around his ankles, and he reached down to scratch her ears.

  “What are you doing here?” her voice floated out of the darkened dining room.

  “Came to see if you were all right.” He kept it light. The table was set for two, candles were flickering, and she sat sipping wine. Her face was neutral.

  “I’m fine. Having a lovely dinner for two after a long day of being ignored by the guy I prepared it for. But, otherwise, I’m dandy.”

  He sat, repeating his mantra in his head. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I don’t get you, Rafe. Really, I don’t. I mean, you’re an amazing guy—talented, funny, a great lay. I think we work through our shit then bam, you pull a stunt like you did today.”

&
nbsp; “A stunt?” he said, trying to focus and not leap up and shake her. “That guy was coming for you Maureen.”

  “Yes, but Mrs. Perkins had already called the cops, and the guys who’d just walked out would not have let him—never mind.” She held up a hand. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

  He let her words roll around in his head a minute, latched on to something and looked at her. “A great lay.” His blood was boiling. He stood. “I should go.”

  “Yes. You should.”

  He turned at the doorway, crossed his arms and opened his mouth, realizing too late that he was about to make it worse. “No matter what you think. I’m a man, as I believe we have established. A man in love with you. So much so I want to protect you from harm so sue the fuck out of me. No.” He held up a hand when she started to speak. “I came here to apologize for ignoring you today and blowing off dinner. Not for showing up at your office ready to pound that ass wipe into oblivion. If I had today to do over, I’d still be there, and still punch him hard enough to make him regret ever taking a step towards you. This is me.” He pounded his chest. “Take it or leave it. But do not ever, ever,” he ground the last words out, “assume anything about me. I will only be seen as your equal, not your boy toy, or your ‘great lay’.”

  She got to her feet, knocking the chair back and stalked towards him, but he grabbed her first, turned her so she was up against the dining room wall and brought his lips within inches of hers. His body was a live nerve, twitching, needy and pulsing with energy. “Don’t…,” he said, putting his finger to her lips, “talk.”

  He forced her lips open with his tongue, swept into her mouth and yanked her dress up at the same time. His fingers found their target, and he twisted her panties off with a quick jerk of his wrist. She resisted for about a half second then groaned when he pressed his thumb against the hard nub of flesh at the top of her pussy. He stroked it, kept kissing her, then penetrated her with his fingers, trying not to moan at the now-familiar tight grip. He pulled them out, put them to his lips and tasted her never taking his eyes from hers. She glared at him. Then gripped his neck and pulled him back in for a tongue tangling, teeth clicking urgent kiss that made his head spin and his cock so hard he grunted in pain at the bite of a zipper along its length.