She rolled her eyes. “I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re all talk, Caleb. You make these pithy remarks and dirty little jokes but you haven’t actually asked me out. I’m not sure I would go so far as to use the C-word, but...”
“The C-word?”
“Chicken.”
Was the Prim Miss Hargrove calling his bluff? He raised a brow. “You sure I haven’t asked you out?”
“Nope, not once. And I know you have asked out other women in the office. Tiffany from accounts. Stella from payroll.” She ticked the names off with her fingers. “Bethany from the assistant pool. She was a temp, but I’m still counting it.”
“I had no idea you were keeping track.” That pleased him greatly. “Are you aware they all said yes?”
“I am. Seems nobody turns you down.”
“Except you.”
“I haven’t turned you down.” She clicked her nails against the metal shelf behind her. “Yet.”
“Yet.”
“You’re too busy beating around the bush to ask.”
“But you would turn me down?” He rifled through another box, acutely aware that he was being watched. “And stop staring at my ass.”
“Excuse me,” she spluttered. “I am not staring at your ass.”
She totally was. He could see her in the reflection off the thick poles that stabilised the shelves. “I should have HR write you up for that.”
“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about.” She threw her hands up in the air. “You’re all talk, no action. Face it, I could unbutton my shirt right now and you wouldn’t do a damn thing about it.”
Ka-ching! “Try me.”
He turned and leaned against the shelving unit, mimicking her pose. The crappy florescent lighting of the archive room did nothing to hide the delicious flush in Imogen’s cheeks. The colour spread all the way down her neck, and he imagined farther past the modest neckline of her shirt.
“It’s an expression,” she muttered.
“Now who’s all talk?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You think I’m a chicken?”
“Free range, obviously. Possibly organic.” He grinned. “Definitely one hundred percent chicken.”
She licked her lips. Stalling. “There are cameras in here.”
“So turn the light off. Dad’s big on security but he’s too tight to spring for infrared.” He waited for her to back down. “No one will know.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of the exercise?”
Exercise. Like they were talking about a bloody fire drill. “I can see with my hands.”
She sucked in a quick breath. “You’re so full of it.”
“Think that honour goes to you, Miss Hargrove.” He laughed. “You talk a big game, but the second I try to pull the trigger you’re coming up with excuse after excuse. Don’t worry. I’m disappointed but I’ll live.”
Her nostrils flared. This was how things always were between them—simultaneously wary and oh so interested. Truth was he hadn’t ever asked her out. Because he knew what the answer would be. But today she’d decided to play his game. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t going to question it.
“Ugh, I’m sick of men acting interested and then backing off the second any conversation happens.” She stalked over to the door and Caleb was sure she was about to leave. But then the light went off. “Am I really that boring?”
Holy shit. Was this happening? The sound of fabric rustling in the dark got him hard as stone in an instant. He blinked, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the dark. But the archive room was like an underground cell. Not even a crack of light slipped in from the hallway outside.
“Stay by the door,” he said. He walked around the perimeter of the room, his hands trailing along the edge of the shelves so he knew where he was. “And don’t turn that light back on.”
Silence. For a second there was nothing. Then his hands brushed something warm. Bare skin.
“Found you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “My, my. The Prim Miss Hargrove knows how to play a game of truth or dare.”
“Just dare,” she said. He stepped closer, his hand brushing her bare skin again. The area felt flat, possibly her stomach. God, he wanted to touch all of her. “And I play to win.”
She stayed stock still as his hand travelled up. There was a curve, something hard beneath her soft skin. Rib cage. Then his fingertips brushed over something soft and textured. Lace. The swell of her breast filled his palm perfectly—firm and round. His thumb grazed over a hard nipple and his cock shifted in response.
Imogen made a soft, strangled sound and it was like an arrow of excitement straight through him. How many times had he thought about doing this with her? How many times had he wondered what her soft, curvy body would feel like under his hungry grasp? It would be so easy to back her up against the door and lift her leg over his hip.
“See,” she said, though her voice trembled as his thumb brushed her nipple again. “Told you I’m not all talk.”
Caleb opened his mouth to respond when a loud knock came down on the other side of the door. The thud was so hard it seemed to rattle the door in its hinges. “Hello? This is Jim from security. Everything okay in there? We saw the lights go out on the security monitor.”
Fuck. He hadn’t thought anyone would be watching them.
“We’re fine!” Imogen’s shrill voice made Caleb wince. Then she shoved him away from her with one hand. “Just testing some new glow-in-the-dark promo items.”
A second later the light flicked back on and Imogen was buttoned up as if their game had never taken place. She yanked the door open and gave the security guard a charming smile. “Sorry, we should have warned you. We needed to test that the items glowed properly and the rooms upstairs don’t get dark enough.”
The security guard raised a brow as though he didn’t really believe the story, but she didn’t give him a chance to ask any more questions before marching out of the room, leaving both Caleb and the security guard in her dust.
* * *
Caleb pulled into the sweeping driveway of his parents’ Albert Park mansion with his head still spinning from the incident in the archive room. He needed to put it out of his mind, though, because it was family dinner night. And that meant being on his A-game.
It looked as though Jason had already arrived, since his brother’s black BMW was parked out front. It sat next to his mother’s gunmetal Mercedes and his father’s silver Audi. God, it was like someone had done a photo shoot of the world’s most boring vehicles.
He pulled his candy-apple-red Alfa Romeo into the empty spot next to the Merc. Like most things about Caleb’s life, it didn’t fit in with the rest of his family. In his world, he wasn’t the black sheep. More like lime green with purple polka dots.
“About time,” his brother called from the front door. “I thought we’d have to start without you.”
“That would make a change. Since when am I the last to arrive?”
Caleb and his mother often jokingly made bets about who would be later to dinner—Gerald or Jason. They were two peas in a pod, unable to tear themselves away from work even with the promise of a home-cooked meal. Well, a meal cooked in their home, anyway. No one had cooked in that house but their personal chef, Luis, since they moved in a decade ago.
“I went to the finance town hall and it finished up a little early. So, I stayed for a drink and then came straight over.” His brother slapped Caleb on the back as he entered the house. “Thought it might be nice not to hold up the show, for once.”
“And Dad’s here already?” They walked through the foyer and into the open-plan dining and living room. His parents were already seated, a bottle of wine open between them.
“Yeah, the negotiations turned out fine.”
Of course they did. There weren’t many p
eople who could face down Gerald Allbrook and come out on top. His father had intimidation down to a fine art. The only difference between him and a mob boss was that he didn’t need henchmen. Or a gun.
“What held you up?” Jason asked.
“Had to get something from the archive room.” Caleb grinned at the memory. “Since you and Dad were gone, I had to get a key from Imogen.”
“You still don’t have a key?” Jason raised a brow. “Get Imogen to cut one for you.”
The whole key issue was representative of Caleb’s relationship with his father. Gerald had made a big song and dance about only wanting three keys and it turned out the old man trusted his assistant more than his youngest son.
“All good, mate,” he said loud enough for his father to hear. “It’s never a hardship to visit Dad’s lovely assistant.”
Gerald grunted from the table. His mother jumped up and enveloped Caleb into a hug—her earrings made jingling sounds as she squeezed him tight. The familiar scent of her perfume immediately lifted his mood.
“What’s that about Imogen?” she said. “Oh, we should have invited her for dinner.”
The Allbrooks were big fans of Imogen Hargrove. There’d been some chatter among staff that when Gerald had promoted her from the general assistant pool to be his dedicated executive assistant that it’d been due to her pretty face and shiny blond hair. But that rumour was quickly dispelled when it became evident that Imogen ran a tight ship and, despite being younger than almost everyone who worked at the company, she didn’t take shit from anyone. Not even Gerald himself. A fact that endeared her to Caleb greatly.
“I’m sure she’s got friends to hang out with.” Jason shook his head and pulled two beers from the fridge. He popped the caps and handed one bottle to Caleb. “Or her own family.”
“Oh, I know. But it would be nice to see her.” She waved a hand in the air, a stack of gold bracelets clinking with the movement. Caleb smiled. His mother was like a one-woman band with all the noise she made—she was always humming or wearing something that chimed when she walked. “Maybe we’d see her more often if you asked her out on a date.”
“Not sure how Dad would feel about that.” Jason’s eyes shifted to their father, who grunted. “Good assistants don’t grow on trees.”
Caleb’s stomach revolted against the idea. It was stupid. Outside their quick grope in a darkened room, they were hardly an item. And Jason and Imogen were about as perfectly matched as two people could be. They were both driven, serious types set on conquering the world. But the moment he even thought about his brother’s hands on her, it was like Caleb’s brain went into meltdown mode. An unfamiliar roar of jealousy surged through his body, squeezing his muscles and tightening his hands into fists.
“If either of you do anything to make her leave, I’ll have your hides,” Gerald replied, his gaze drifting purposefully toward Caleb.
“What the hell did I do?” He took a swig of his beer, the taste bitter on his tongue.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what happened with Neila.” Gerald pierced him with a gloomy stare. He and Jason had the same irises—light, nearly colourless. Eyes that gave nothing away. “She was a valued member of our team until you interfered.”
And by “interfered” he meant having a relationship with the woman, one that was supposed to be meaningful until he found out that she was using him to climb the ranks at work.
The memory shot through him like a bullet. He’d come back to the office to surprise her with flowers and a fancy dinner reservation. Neila’s voice had floated down the empty office corridor, her snide tone cutting him to the bone as she told someone he was her second choice. She’d wanted Jason because he would have given her a more solid foothold within the company. But at least Caleb was a good fuck. The way she’d laughed had shredded him into a million jagged little pieces.
Rather than admit that humiliation to anyone, he’d let his family assume he’d dumped her because he’d gotten bored.
“She didn’t have to leave,” Caleb drawled as he dropped into a seat next to his mother. “That was her call.”
As usual, his mother averted her eyes. Such was her role in every family argument. That was where she differed from Caleb. She’d let his father’s domineering personality water her down over the years. The boring car out front wasn’t her style, nor was their sleek modern mansion. His mother was a free spirit who loved colour and texture and clutter. But Gerald had pressed down on her until he’d squeezed the vibrancy out, until he’d moulded her into a version of his first wife—Jason’s mother.
But Caleb wouldn’t ever let that happen to him. He’d continue to bug the shit out of his father with his flashy car and too-loud socks and his refusal to be a carbon copy of Jason.
“You know what,” he said, leaning back and taking another long pull on his beer. “Maybe I will ask Imogen out. Practice makes perfect, right? Let’s see if I can get this one to last a whole month.”
His father glared at him. “If you don’t take anything seriously, how do you expect anyone to take you seriously?”
He’d wanted that at one point—willed it to happen by working as hard as he could in everything from soccer to biology to Scouts. But nothing had ever been good enough. He’d always be tarnished with the label of “unwanted.” Unplanned. He was the son who wasn’t supposed to exist. A product of the trophy wife who’d stepped outside of the bounds of their agreement by refusing to terminate her pregnancy.
“I take myself seriously, Dad. That’s good enough for me.”
An awkward quiet settled over the table as Luis delivered the food. The clack of cutlery against porcelain echoed against the house’s high ceiling, highlighting how little they all had to say. Caleb kept his expression neutral, even as his mother patted his arm out of sight of her husband.
Show no weakness, that was his motto. People like his father would only win if they got to see how much their words stung. And no matter what happened, Caleb would rot in hell before he gave them such satisfaction.
CHAPTER THREE
IF IMOGEN WAS going to do something as outrageous as gate-crashing the Carmina Masquerade Ball, then she was going to make sure she’d thought of everything. Each step of her plan had been meticulously combed through. Including how she’d convinced the head of the catering company to let her and her best friend, Lainey, pose as staff members to gain entry, in exchange for putting the company on the “preferred suppliers list” at work. She’d even studied the venue, Patterson House, by taking the online virtual tour to better understand the layout of the heritage-listed estate and ensure that she and Lainey would have a place to slip out of their catering uniforms and into their ball gowns without getting caught.
This was how she’d come to be walking along a secluded path, wearing a borrowed gown with a mask covering her face.
Tonight was exactly the distraction she needed after the incident with Caleb in the archive room. Any time her mind veered in the direction of what might’ve happened if they weren’t interrupted, she’d bring her focus back to “Operation Catch a Cheater.”
Everything was in place. Her dress was dark and vampy with panels of black lace and glossy black silk, allowing glimpses of bare legs, arms and back. It was sexy with a capital S and impossibly removed from her usual style, which was exactly why she’d chosen this dress over the dozens of others that were more muted or quietly elegant.
Her jewelled mask disguised her identity by covering the top half of her face from hairline to nose, and she’d opted for a dark plummy stain on her lips. Even her nails—which she always wore bare—were painted in an inky polish that shifted from navy to onyx in the light.
The devil is in the details.
Imogen walked carefully along the path that ran the length of Patterson House, where the Carmina Ball was hosted each year. The stately old building was something that would have
made her stop and stare on any other day. But this evening was a different story.
Pausing at the corner which would lead her to the courtyard, she turned to look back at her friend. Lainey’s disguise was perfect—she’d recently dyed her hair a bright flame red. That coupled with her mask made her look like a totally new person. She had her own reasons for wanting to sneak into the ball, and had begged Imogen to let her tag along. Trouble loved company, right? Or was that misery? Imogen flashed Lainey a thumbs-up and got one in return. This was it. Time to get the show on the road.
Imogen fussed with the front of her dress, checking all the areas she’d stuck down to her skin with special skin-safe adhesive tape. The last thing she wanted was to accidentally flash anyone.
In fact, despite the sexier-than-sin dress she didn’t want to stand out at all. There were two reasons for that. One, she didn’t want to talk too much and risk Daniel catching her out. Two, she didn’t technically have an invite.
Okay, so that wasn’t a technicality. She didn’t—and would likely never—receive an invite to this event. The Carmina Ball was for rich people who could afford the five grand ticket price. For people like her future brother-in-law and his family, who enjoyed attending events which excluded the average person, like Imogen and her sister.
Penny hadn’t received an invite, either, and yet Daniel was going to be here. Why? That was what she was going to find out.
The thought of catching Daniel cheating on Penny made her stomach churn. It was one of those cases where finding out she was right wouldn’t make her feel any better. But for her sister’s sake, she had to know. There was no way in hell she’d let Penny go through that experience.
Imogen cringed as the memories assaulted her—the ghosts of old feelings like shame and despair that came back to life whenever she thought of her ex.
Not now. This isn’t the time for pity.
Sucking in a breath, she walked into the courtyard with her shoulders squared and her head held high, like there was no question of her belonging.
Hard Deal Page 2