ASHFORD (Gray Wolf Security #5)

by Glenna Sinclair

  It felt good to be around Roland. When I could forget for a little while about everything else, I loved to watch him as he talked about anything in the world. He could be talking about an analysis I’d written up or a story he found interesting in the paper or about the coming expansion of Shepard Shipments across the world. When he was passionate about something, the way his face lit up was completely inspiring. It made me think that anything was possible if I just cared enough about it, and that even I could make a difference if I put my mind fully to it.

  I could make a difference in anything except the course of my own life.

  It wasn’t fair that I felt so at ease when I was with Roland. And it definitely wasn’t fair whenever I thought back on that night when he’d admitted to having feelings for me. We hadn’t discussed it further beyond him asking if I was okay with his admission after I’d missed work, but I found myself wondering if those feelings for me were still present…or even if they’d grown with time.

  I would’ve been lying to myself if I’d said that I didn’t have the same feelings for him still.

  I admired the fact that Roland hadn’t immediately tried to court me after I told him Dan and I were no longer an item. It was respectful of him, I thought, and it only made my affection for him grow. I enjoyed being around him, enjoyed listening to him and learning from him, and felt utterly conflicted about it because I was betraying his trust so completely.

  There was always that, as much as I tried to turn away from it. I couldn’t deny the feelings I had for Roland; I couldn’t deny that every day I grew to even love his scar more and more; and that my self-loathing grew exponentially. I omitted everything I could in my reports to Dan as tiny acts of love, actions I could actually take in order to try to protect Roland.

  And it would never be enough. The truth was too fucked up and too painful for me to ever believe that Roland and I could be happy together. There just wasn’t any point of wishing for it or dreaming about it, and still my traitorous heart did.

  I always felt like a bundle of twisted, shitty little nerves. Another point of penance for myself. I loved Roland, but I was betraying him. I hated Dan, but I was working for him. And I didn’t deserve anything else but to be in this purgatory for what I’d caused on that night on that Texas road.

  “Beauty?”

  Roland was staring at me, amused.

  “Sorry!” I yelped, having no idea just how long I’d been standing there, thinking about how much I liked Roland and how much I loathed the rest of my life.

  “You were deep in thought,” he observed.

  “I think my blood sugar’s just low,” I laughed, uneasy and backing away. I hated to think about how long Dan had probably been waiting by my car. “I’d better get a juice or something before I come back.”

  “Take your time and do whatever you need to do,” Roland said. “Dinner’s on me tonight. Are you in the mood for anything?”

  I shook my head, continuing to edge toward the door. “I’ll have whatever you’re having. I trust you.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he said, looking oddly pleased as I practically ran out of the door.

  That was the worst thing of all; I really did trust him. I trusted Roland in his capacity as a businessman, I trusted his character as an actual man, and I even trusted his taste in food. I trusted him in all aspects of life, and he should’ve known better than to trust me with anything.

  I was out of breath when I got to my car, and Dan was visibly seething.

  “I’m sorry!” I said, trying to head off the glowering before it got out of hand. “I got held up. I came as quickly as I could.”

  “Me standing around isn’t part of the deal, Beauty,” he warned.

  “I know it isn’t,” I said as earnestly as I could manage, “and I’m sorry. Roland called me into his office right as I was about to leave. That’s what I’m here to tell you about. Roland’s going to be talking to his contact in Africa this evening.” Throw Roland under the bus to try and save my own skin. How could I even live with myself?

  For whatever reason, this piece of information I’d fed him made Dan preen.

  “Excellent,” he said. “That’s excellent news. I’m sure he wasn’t happy about it.”

  That was odd. Roland hadn’t been very happy about it.

  “He didn’t like the tone of the email,” I elaborated reluctantly. I tried not to give more detailed answers, attempting to keep it simple so Dan wouldn’t get so greedy.

  “I’ll bet he didn’t,” Dan said. “Well, Beauty, thanks for the pick me up. If you’re going to be late next time, just text and I won’t be so pissed. I don’t like feeling like I’ve been left hanging. It makes me think you might be having second thoughts about things.”

  Second thoughts? I was already on hundredth thoughts. I was just too selfish, too stupidly obsessed with self-preservation to do the right thing. I was a coward.

  “I’ll do that,” I said, even though I hadn’t been in a position where I could text him earlier.

  “Can I treat you to a drink?” he asked. “Really, the fact that my brother’s talking to Mason Nchia tonight is great news. I’m very pleased, and a celebration is in order.”

  “No,” I said quickly, shaking my head, then, “thank you,” as an afterthought. I didn’t want to incite Dan’s rage any more than I already had today.

  “Don’t you think you owe me a little extra time since you were late?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  This was a dangerous path to tread. “I’ll remind you that socializing isn’t a part of our deal,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully.

  “And I’ll remind you that this doesn’t have to be unpleasant,” Dan said. “Can’t I reward my little spy for bringing me good information?”

  I wanted to vomit. It was obvious to me that Dan had pulled something off to piss Mason Nchia off, and Roland was going to bear the brunt of it. Was there a way to try and head this off tonight during the phone call? I was going to try and erase some of the damage I’d done.

  “Our agreement is purely professional,” I said. “Don’t mix work and play, Dan. Nothing good ever comes of it.”

  “I think you and I are pretty good together,” he said, looping an arm around my waist.

  Every muscle in my body went stiff, and the panic I was becoming all too familiar with rose in my throat. It was distasteful to see Dan every day, but it was unbearable to feel his touch, searing me even through my clothes. It struck me that I wouldn’t be able to wear this outfit again without feeling his touch through the fabric. I’d probably have to burn it.

  “Remember what I told you,” I hissed, trying to move out of his grasp. “Our agreement will be null if you insist on pursuing it this way.” It was the nicest way I could think of telling him not to fucking touch me.

  “And remember what I told you,” he said, keeping a hold of me roughly, not allowing me to break free of him. “If I think your devotion is waning, there will be consequences you won’t enjoy.”

  We scuffled for several moments more, my heart pounding, before he let go of me. I gave him a nasty stare before getting in my car and driving off, trying to control my breathing, eager to get out of range of him, and finally allowing myself to smile as I got around the block.

  I’d gotten through the intelligence session without giving up the fact that I would be attending Roland’s call tonight with Mason Nchia. It was a small victory, but a significant one. I hadn’t caved in to Dan’s physical threats, and I’d protected a portion of Roland’s privacy.

  I circled around the block and saw, with great relief, that Dan had vacated the premises of the parking lot. I pulled in, parked my car, and made my way back to the building reasonably pleased with myself. I wouldn’t have to contend with Dan for another twenty-four hours, and now I got to spend extra time with Roland. It was the closest I’d been to happy for a long time.

  By the time I made it up to the office, all of my coworkers had cleared out and
there was some delicious aroma wafting through the air. I followed my nose all the way to Roland’s office.

  “That didn’t take long,” he remarked, pouring a glass of ice water beside two covered plates on one of the low tables next to the leather chairs and couch.

  “No, no it didn’t,” I said absently. “Neither did dinner, apparently. I could smell it almost immediately after getting out of the elevator. Where’d you order it from?”

  “Actually, I thought I’d keep it in house this time,” he said lightly, filling the other glass with water.

  “In house?” I repeated. “You mean you have a chef on staff?”

  “I mean that I cooked it,” he said, lighting a pair of candles with a match before blowing it out.

  “I didn’t know that you cooked,” I exclaimed, walking over to examine the spread.

  “I don’t think it ever came up in casual conversation.” We rarely had casual conversation, so no surprise there.

  “Well, what’s on the menu?” I asked, sitting where he indicated I should do so.

  “See for yourself.” With a flourish, Roland took the cover off of my plate and the delicious smell of well-prepared food hit me full force. It was a steak swimming in its own juices, paired with fragrant, long green beans and a fluffy pile of couscous dotted with pieces of grape tomatoes. My mouth watered and I wanted nothing more than to dig right in.

  “This is amazing,” I said, gaping, as Roland took his own seat and removed the cover to his matching dinner. “Where did you learn how to do this?”

  “I’ve picked up a couple of surprising hobbies over the years,” he said, smiling at me. “I wish we could have a glass of wine with this; I know one that would work particularly well with steak, but I’d prefer we had our wits about us when I speak with Mason.”

  I seemed to recall another time when I’d imbibed in very expensive bourbon with Roland, so it was something of a relief to only have access to water with our meal.

  “Well, don’t just sit there,” he admonished, placing his napkin into his lap. “It’s going to get cold, and then you aren’t going to think I did a good job.”

  I laughed at him. “I already think you did a good job.”

  The first bite of steak was just as succulent as I knew it was going to be, the meat only lightly seasoned, the quality of the cut speaking for itself. It was how steak was supposed to be done, pink and tender inside, all the flavors melding in my mouth. The green beans were crisp, retaining their rich taste and color, and the perfectly prepared couscous was the best possible way to complement everything else on that plate.

  It was a side of Roland I’d never seen before—and probably one that hardly anyone knew about. No one beyond that office door would call him a beast if they knew how well he understood the nuances of a steak.

  “Is it good?” he asked worriedly, and I looked over to see that he’d barely touched his own plate.

  “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” I declared. “It’s so good that I don’t have words for it. Thank you so much for this.”

  Roland gave a tiny smile of satisfaction that made my heart shiver in my chest. Was there no one here to lavish praise on him? He’d been telling me that I’d been doing a good job all this time, but who was on hand to tell him he was doing a good job, too?

  “I’d never really had an opportunity to cook before living in Seattle,” I said, smiling. “I’m having a torrid love affair with a slow cooker right now. Have you ever tried one of those? It’s kitchen witchcraft. I can dump a bunch of things in a pot and plug it in, and by the time I get home from work, there’s dinner.”

  Roland laughed. “No, I haven’t ever tried a slow cooker. But I’m intrigued. Next time, you can be in charge of dinner.”

  It was my turn to giggle. “Can you imagine me plugging a crockpot in at my desk? Nobody would be able to focus on their work as it cooked. That’s the hardest part of a slow cooker, waiting around if you’re not that busy.”

  “Are you implying that people aren’t that busy in the office?” he asked, aping a look of consternation. “I’ll have to think of some new project to make sure I’m getting my money’s worth out of everyone. I’ll name it Project Beauty, of course, after the employee who blew the whistle on her worthless coworkers.”

  I gave a mock look of horror. “You sure know how to make me the least popular woman in the office.”

  We lapsed into a friendly and comfortable silence, both of us noshing on our delicious dinners. I’d been missing this kind of witty banter in my life. And I was happy to share it with Roland, if it made him happy. I could do that, at least. Try to make him happy for as long as I could.

  After we polished off every last bite of our meal, I made a move to gather everything up.

  “Don’t,” he said, gently snagging my wrist. “Leave it.”

  “Don’t you know that the person who doesn’t cook gets to clean up?” I asked, arranging my silverware on the plate before dropping my napkin on top and concealing it all with the plate cover.

  “I’ll take it up later,” he said. “Really. It’ll be my pleasure to wash them later and reflect on a nice meal. Don’t worry about it. We have to focus on the task at hand.”

  Ah, yes. The task at hand. A phone call to Roland’s contact for expansion in Africa that he was clearly worried about, and that Dan was increasingly smug about. A problem that I had, quite likely, orchestrated. I wasn’t looking forward to that. I would’ve much rather focused on the delicious dinner we’d just shared.

  “I’ll get my laptop and notebook,” I said, reluctantly reentering reality and dashing over to my desk.

  Roland waited until we were both seated and comfortable in the chairs—I noticed he’d moved the table with the remains of our dinner away—before dialing a number on the phone and putting it on speaker.

  “Roland, hello,” Mason Nchia said. I remembered his deep, musical voice well from the conference call, but even I could hear that his tone tonight was decidedly chillier.

  “Hello, Mason,” Roland answered. “To what do I owe the pleasure of speaking with you tonight? I have my assistant on hand, too, to keep a record of our correspondence.”

  “Not the same assistant whose plans we ruined that night, I hope.”

  “The very same.” Roland smiled. “But she’s getting overtime and she’s well fed, so I don’t think she’ll complain.”

  I grinned at him and shook my head, my fingers poised over my keyboard. I definitely wasn’t going to record this portion of the conversation for the record.

  “The reason I asked you to get in contact with me is because I’m having some misgivings about our plans for the expansion of your business,” Mason said.

  Roland frowned. “What kinds of misgivings?”

  “The kinds of misgivings that make me question everything,” Mason said.

  Roland began drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, his frown deepening, faced with an unexpected and unwanted complication. “This is distressing to hear,” he said. “I thought our discussions were going very well, and that we were making excellent progress.”

  “I don’t know, Roland,” Mason said slowly. “The situation is that we don’t feel very confident in your discretion, at this point.”

  “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Roland said, laughing humorlessly.

  “Well, the truth is that there’s an upstart of a company here in Nigeria that has been trying to compete with the properties I own,” Mason said.

  “Don’t be afraid of a little competition,” Roland said, looking grim. “What does this have to do with our deal?”

  “There’s no deal, first of all,” Mason said. “We’re only in the most preliminary of discussions. And the reason this has to do with us is the upstart president of this upstart company let it be known to me that he was also in talks with Shepard Shipments about expanding into Africa with its help.”

  Roland’s agitated drumming on the arm
of his chair stopped suddenly. “Mason, I can assure you that this is false.”

  “Can you?” he countered. “My rival seemed very sure of himself that he, too, was under consideration for a very lucrative deal via Shepard Shipments.”

  “You are my sole contact in Nigeria,” Roland said. “In an effort to be fully transparent, I’ll tell you right now that I’ve made contact with another company in South Africa on the advice of my assistant. This isn’t in direct competition with you, Mason. This will complement the work I’ve asked you to do and benefit all parties involved.”

  “So you can tell me—right here and right now—that you haven’t spoken with anyone else in Nigeria?” Mason asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “And can this assistant also tell me that there hasn’t been contact made with anyone in Nigeria?” My fingers froze over the keyboard, and Roland looked at me.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, not taking his eyes off of me. “My assistant wouldn’t have access to those kinds of contacts.”

  “Would your assistant have access to someone who did?”

  I was being accused—and rightly so—of sabotage. Mason had hit the nail right on the head.

  “It’s impossible, Mason,” Roland said firmly, still watching me as my fingers flew across the keyboard. “Please put it from your mind—and don’t mention it again.”

  The warning was right there in his voice, and what should’ve felt like a warm vote of confidence from a man I admired only made the rich food in my stomach make an unfortunate squirm. I wasn’t to be trusted. Couldn’t he sense that? Mason was right in this situation, and somehow, Roland was blind to it.

  “I don’t mean to accuse anyone of anything unjustly,” Mason said. “All I know is that a rival has reliable information about a proposal I believed was only for my company.”