A Cutthroat Business

by Bente Gallagher

  “Sorry about that.”

  Rafe shrugged. “Can’t fault a man for looking.”

  “I can,” I said. He grinned.

  “Is that why you’re wearing those clothes? So I wouldn’t look?”

  I opened my mouth, but before I could deny that such a thought had ever crossed my mind, the waiter appeared. He whisked Rafe’s plate away. I gave him mine, too. I’d eaten as much as I decently could without looking like a glutton.

  “Would sir and madam like some dessert?”

  He looked from one to the other of us. Rafe turned to me, questioningly. I shook my head. “None for me, thanks. Though you may want to try the chocolate raspberry cheesecake. Todd had it yesterday, and it looked good.”

  He nodded. “One of them, then.”

  I added, “And some coffee, please. Black.”

  The waiter took himself and our used plates away, and Rafe returned his attention to me. An arched brow invited me to pick up where I’d left off. I said, reluctantly, “As a matter of fact, Todd asked me not to wear anything revealing.”

  “You told him about tonight? Afraid you wouldn’t make it back home again?”

  I shook my head. “It was yesterday. Last night, after you left. He said he didn’t like the way you looked at me, and would I please not wear anything provocative in front of you again.”

  “You think he’d approve of that getup?” His eyes wandered over me, what he could see above the table.

  “It’s not provocative,” I said. He grinned.

  “That depends, darlin’.”

  “On what?” What was provocative about a longsleeved, primly buttoned blouse and a chignon so severe my eyebrows were elevated, for goodness’ sake? “I s’pose on what’s underneath. And what it’d take for someone to get to it.”

  He smiled, but the eyes that met mine were intent. I opened my mouth, but found I had nothing to say. Rafe didn’t speak, either. Leisurely, his gaze snagged on my lips for a moment before moving south. As the seconds ticked by, the curve of his mouth softened and his eyes turned hot. I had a hard time catching my breath. I felt the way you do when you jump into cool lake water and all the air gets slammed out of your lungs. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, and for the life of me, I couldn’t look away. The sounds around me receded, until all I could hear was a faint buzzing, as if from a bumblebee trapped in a jam jar. The drumming of my own heartbeat sounded uncomfortably loud in my ears.

  The return of the waiter broke the spell, and I accepted my cup of coffee with hands that weren’t entirely steady. My voice wasn’t, either. “I don’t know why I ordered this. Could I have a glass of water, please? With ice?”

  The waiter didn’t react, but, of course, Rafe did. “Have the cheesecake, too, darlin’. You look hungry.”

  A choking noise came from the table next to us, and one of the women buried her face in her napkin. I opened my mouth to protest, but the waiter was already lowering the plate, and I didn’t want to argue in front of him. I waited until he was out of earshot before I hissed, “I told you I didn’t want any dessert.”

  “That was before,” Rafe said.

  “Before what?”

  “Before I got you so hot and bothered you ordered ice water to cool down.”

  “I am not hot and bothered!” I denied. “And I don’t want any cheesecake.” I pushed the plate away. For what might have been the first time in my life, cheesecake held absolutely no appeal for me. As a matter of fact, I felt sick. I got to my feet, a little unsteadily. “I . . . um . . . need to powder my nose. Excuse me.”

  He nodded cordially.

  I walked through the restaurant with my head held high, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, and without actually seeing where I was going. It was a miracle I didn’t knock one of the waiters over or walk right into some happy couple celebrating their anniversary. When I got to the ladies’ room, I wasted no time in splashing my face and neck with cold water, devoutly thankful for waterproof makeup.

  I was still standing there, dripping, looking at my pale face in the mirror and trying to make sense of what had just happened when someone knocked on the door. It’s not common practice to knock on ladies’ room doors, so I went to see who it was. I guess I expected Rafe, although I should have known better; he wouldn’t have bothered knocking. When I opened the door, I saw none other than my boss, Walker Lamont.

  “Oh, God!” I blurted. “What are you doing here?”

  He didn’t respond to my tone, which was nice of him. Instead he took the question at face value, and gave me a few seconds to pull myself together. “The same as you. Having dinner with a friend. Are you all right, Savannah?” He looked me over, concern in his eyes. I nodded.

  “I’m fine, thank you. I was just feeling woozy for a moment. Too much wine, I guess.”

  The single glass of Sauvignon Blanc wouldn’t have affected a child, but Walker didn’t know that. He didn’t look as if he believed me, though, although he was too polite to say so. Tim would have commented. My mouth made the connection before my brain had caught up. “Are you and Tim . . . um . . . ?”

  “We’re having dinner. And discussing some business matters.” His tone was bland.

  “Oh,” I said. Walker nodded.

  “Tim tells me that you’re here with Mr. Collier.”

  It was my turn to nod, a little nervously. “That’s not a problem, is it? I mean, is there a reason why I shouldn’t have dinner with him? Other than that my mother would ground me for life and all my friends would think I had completely lost my mind, that is? It’s not like I’m actually involved with him, you know. It’s just dinner . . .”

  “You don’t have to explain your personal life to me, Savannah,” Walker said.

  “I don’t want you to misunderstand, though, and think there’s something going on between us when there isn’t. I’m sure there’s some kind of rule about getting involved with clients. See, there’s been a . . . um . . . development in the case.”

  Walker’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of development?”

  “Well . . .” I hesitated, “it’s complicated. And kind of personal, too. Although you aremy boss, and the listing for 101 Potsdam is technically yours, so I guess it’s all right to tell you.”

  Walker was looking politely inquiring and just a little wary. I did my best to pull myself together and condense the story into a few salient sentences. “See, Rafe Collier is actually the grandson of the woman who owns . . . um . . .ownedthe house on Potsdam Street. His mother died recently, and he never knew his father . . . anyway, it’s a long story. Did you know that the listing agreement is for a net deal?”

  “I discovered that fact when I took over the listing after Brenda’s death,” Walker said tightly. “How did you find out?”

  “I asked Detective Grimaldi if she had a copy, and she faxed it to me. This morning.” Walker’s demeanor was making me nervous, and I started babbling, explaining my reasoning. “See, Alexandra Puckett told me that Brenda had met with someone at Beckett’s Bar to handle the details of the listing.” The guy that Alexandra thought had something to do with the medical field was probably from the Milton House, there to accept his cash. “Alexandra said that her mother had a habit of doing that when something wasn’t right about a listing. So I went to the office to look for it, but then Clarice showed up before I could find it. And I went to Brenda’s storage unit, but it wasn’t there either. I knew that the police had been there, though, so I called and asked if they had a copy I could see.”

  “Very industrious of you,” Walker said. I shrugged modestly. “So the detective faxed you a copy of the listing?”

  I nodded. “Rafe told me that Mrs. Jenkins’s share, the hundred grand, is already on deposit with the nursing home where she lives. He’s obviously not happy about the fact that Brenda took advantage of his grandmother.”

  Walker nodded. He looked pale, but that might have been just the glaring light in the bathroom. “What is he planning to d
o?”

  “He isn’t sure. He doesn’t have the cash to buy the house back, and I doubt the board of directors at the Milton House would be willing to part with the money they were given. If there’s no other way to get the house back, I suppose he might sue.”

  Which would open up a huge can of worms, and involve every single one of us. Every transaction Brenda had ever taken part in would be dug up and scrutinized. Walker would lose his spot on the Real Estate Commission. The agency would go belly-up. I’d have to go back to the makeup counter, and the whole story about Tyrell and LaDonna would come out. Brenda’s reputation would take a further hit, and Alexandra and Austin would grow up with a cloud hanging over them.

  “Would you do me a favor, Savannah?” Walker’s question brought me back to earth, and I nodded. “I have reasons for wanting this kept as quiet as possible. If I can get the situation resolved without any money changing hands, do you suppose your friend might be amenable to that?”

  I blinked. Rafe didn’t strike me as the type who’d accept charity, but it might depend on the situation. “It couldn’t hurt to ask, I suppose.”

  “Would you mind checking with him, then? Seeing as the two of you are so close?” His voice and face were bland, and it was probably just my imagination that supplied the sarcasm.

  “I don’t know about that, but I’ll float the idea by him. And now I guess I’d better get back out there, before he comes looking for me.” Something I definitely didn’t want. Especially in the semi-seclusion of the ladies’ room.

  Walker drew his perfectly groomed brows together in a frown. “He isn’t giving you a hard time, is he?”

  “No more than usual,” I said. “Don’t worry, I can handle him.”

  Walker smiled approvingly. I tried to look confident, although in my heart of hearts I knew that my last statement was—pardon the language—crap, and that the only hope I had ofhandling Rafe Collier was if he allowed himself to be handled.

  When I got back, he was making idle conversation with the three women at the next table. The cheesecake he had insisted on giving me was neatly packaged in a Styrofoam to-go box, and my coffee and water were shimmering in the candlelight. The sight of it all— especially Rafe—made my stomach twist unpleasantly, and rather than sit down, I placed a steadying hand on the back of my chair. “I’d like to leave now, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure.” He rose with alacrity and tossed a couple of bills on the table. They were more than adequate to cover the tab and the tip.

  “I didn’t mean that youhad to leave. Just that Iwanted to.”

  “What am I gonna do here by myself?”

  “You could join them.” I looked pointedly at the next table, where all three women were watching us—him— expectantly. He grinned.

  “You ain’t jealous, are you, darlin’?”

  “You wish,” I said. The grin widened.

  “You bet. So I think I’ll just take you home. Just in case you feel like giving me a kiss when I drop you off.”

  As I turned to leave, one of the women at the next table snagged my sleeve. “If you don’t want him, sister, I’ll be happy to take him off your hands.” She winked at Rafe.

  “Be my guest,” I said. “If you want him, you can have him, with my blessing.”

  Rafe grinned, but refrained from pointing out that he wasn’t actually mine to give. “She don’t mean it,” he said instead, putting a friendly arm around my shoulders and squeezing.

  “Sure I do,” I said—rather, tried to say—but the words wouldn’t come. Rafe nodded politely to the threesome.

  “Nice to meet you lovely ladies. Y’all have a good evening.”

  “You, too,” all three women chorused. As for the one who had spoken earlier with an envious look, little did she suspect that I intended to ditch him just as soon as I decently could.

  That proved to be a more difficult task than I had expected. My first attempt, on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, didn’t come off at all. “I’m not really dressed for a ride on the back of the motorcycle, so why don’t I just get the valet to order me a cab?”

  He smirked. “Nice try, but I ain’t sending you home by yourself.”

  “But there’s no sense in you coming all the way back with me when you could just go home yourself.”

  “Sorry, darlin’, but you ain’t getting rid of me that easy. I got you here, and I’m taking you home.”

  “But I can’t ride on the back of the motorcycle. Not in this skirt.”

  Rafe glanced down at it, and back up to my face. There was a wicked glint in his eyes. I took a step back, shaking my head. “Oh, no. I’m not taking it off. Nor hiking it up to my hips, either.”

  He grinned. “Relax, darlin’. You can keep your clothes on. For now. I had Wendell leave the Town Car in the lot down the street. Come on.” He put a hand against my back to steer me down the sidewalk. I let him do it, even if it took everything I had not to flinch from the touch.

  Neither of us said much on the ride back to my apartment. I don’t know what Rafe was thinking, but personally, I was planning what to say when we got there, and how I would handle the various scenarios that might present themselves. My first choice would be to simply say goodnight in the car outside the gate. Failing that, I’d say goodnight outside the door, without unlocking it. If he absolutely insisted on coming in—and I knew I couldn’t stop him if he did—I’d let him go in first and make sure he didn’t get between me and the door. If he did . . . But I’d deal with that situation if I got to it. Which I wouldn’t. Because I’d simply say goodnight in the car outside the gate; it was that simple.

  “I’ll walk you up.” He had the engine shut off and his door open before I even realized we’d pulled up to the curb.

  “You don’t have to . . .” I began, but it was too late; he was already out and coming around to open my door. “Really, I don’t mind going up by myself.”

  “That’s all right. I don’t mind, either.” He extended a hand and hauled me out of the car.

  Scratch Plan A. I let him walk me up the stairs to the second floor and tried again. I had barely managed to turn to him and open my mouth when he was already talking. “Keys?”

  “Wha . . . what?” I stammered. He grinned. “What if you can’t get in? Let me see your keys.”

  I dug the keychain out of my handbag and held it up. He arched an eyebrow and nodded to the lock. Scratch Plan B, too. I sighed and unlocked the door. “Happy now? You’ve walked me to the door and I can get in.”

  His eyes crinkled. “Ain’t you gonna ask me in for a nightcap?”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I said primly.

  “Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”

  “In your dreams,” I said.

  He smiled, but didn’t speak. It wasn’t necessary. I didn’t speak, either, because I wasn’t sure what to say. The idea that I was starring in Rafael Collier’s pornographic daydreams was more than a little disturbing.

  As I stood there, dumbly, his eyes dropped from my eyes to my mouth, and I felt a stab of abject panic. God, he wasn’t going to kiss me, was he?

  It looked like he was. His eyes flicked back to mine— deep and dark; the kind of eyes a girl could drown in if she wasn’t careful—and he leaned closer. I could feel my own eyes go out of focus, and I thought I was going to pass out from the sheer terror of it.

  He grinned and dropped a kiss, not on my mouth, but on my forehead. His voice was amused. “You’d think I was Jack the Ripper. You can let go now, darlin’.” I blinked and started breathing again. “Huh?” “My jacket. You can let go.”

  “Oh.” I realized I was clutching the soft leather with both hands and moved back as if I had burned myself. He laughed.

  “Makes you wonder what’d happen if I got you into bed.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I managed, “because that will never happen.”

  “You sure about that, darlin’?”

  I nodd
ed. I was positive. If the thought of him kissing me scared me so much I almost passed out, there was no way I’d even entertain the idea of him taking me to bed. In fact, from here on out, I was more determined than ever to have absolutely nothing at all to do with him.

  16.

  My cell phone rang, and I excused myself with a cowardly feeling of having just been saved by the bell. “I’d better get this. Just in case it’s . . . um . . . a client or something.”

  Yeah, right. Fat chance of that.

  Rafe nodded politely. I dug in my handbag and pulled the phone out while he turned his back and wandered a few steps. In the opposite direction of the stairs. He obviously wasn’t finished with his agenda for the evening. I might yet get that kiss I didn’t want.

  I put the phone to my ear. “This is Savannah.” Silence, and then a dejected voice said, “It’s me.”

  “Who?”

  “Me. You know . . .”

  “Alexandra?”

  She sniffed. “Yeah.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  Sniff. “I need a ride.” She sounded pitiful.

  “What about your dad?”

  Her voice rose. “I can’t call him! He’ll kill me. He thinks I’m staying over with my friend Lynn. Plus Maybelle’s probably there, and she’ll treat me like I’m five years old. Please, Savannah!”

  I sighed. “Where are you?”

  “Maurice’s house. On Reinhardt. Loud music. Lots of cars. I don’t remember the number.”

  “I’ll find it,” I said. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Just try to stay safe.” I turned the phone off again. Rafe had turned around and was looking at me, hands in his pockets.

  “Problem?”

  “A girl I know. Alexandra Puckett, Brenda’s daughter.”

  “The one in the black dress at the funeral? Fancy hairdo? Looked about twenty-two?”

  “She’s actually just sixteen,” I said. “Her boyfriend lives on Reinhardt, and apparently something happened. She wants a ride.”

  “I’ll drive you.”