Hard Rules (Dirty Money #1)

by Lisa Renee Jones

  She ends her call and her attention lifts, her eyes going wide as they land on me. I stride toward her, stopping in front of her desk. “Hi,” she says, her voice quavering ever so slightly, the high neckline of her black silk blouse reaches her collarbone, and is ten times sexier than Lana’s deep V.

  My gaze flicks to my father’s office, and back to her. “Is he alone?”

  “Yes.”

  I lean forward, resting my hands on the desk, my gaze meeting hers. “Why are you still here?”

  “I don’t want to leave.” She lowers her voice. “Shane. I can help you.”

  “The way to help me is to give me the peace of mind to know whatever I do, won’t put you at risk.”

  “Shane—”

  “This isn’t a debate, Emily. You will not stay here.” I push off the desk and walk to my father’s doors, opening them without knocking.

  “Holy fuck, son,” he grumbles as I step inside and shut the doors behind me. “Did I not bring you up with manners?”

  “Mom brought me up with manners,” I say crossing to stand in front of his desk. “You just taught me to watch my back in case I have someone like you behind me.”

  “And now you’re a killer in the courtroom,” he says, leaning back in his chair, white lines around his mouth that I suspect indicates nausea.

  “You better hope I am. I was having coffee with our head of research and development for BP this afternoon, when we had an interesting guest.”

  He arches a brow. “Was she pretty?”

  I ignore the ridiculous comment. “She was a he and carrying an FBI badge.”

  He leans forward, snapping out, “What did he want?”

  “He’s investigating the FDA inspector Derek bribed, and now we’re back on the Feds’ radar.”

  “Get us out of this,” he orders.

  “I plan to, but you already know how fast things can escalate with the Feds. They won’t just look at the BP division, especially with our track record. They will, and probably already are, looking at every one of our divisions. Put that leash back on Derek and don’t tell me to do it. Not if you want me to be focused on fixing this.”

  His eyes glint, a hint of anger in their depths he doesn’t try to hide. He might want my skills working for him, but he hates the power they give me. “I’ll handle Derek,” he says.

  I give him a nod and begin to turn when he says, “One more thing, son.”

  I face him again with an arched brow. “Emily told me you fucked her.”

  Shocked at Emily’s actions, I check my reaction. “Are we really talking about who I’m fucking right now?”

  “She also told me she’s not fucking you anymore,” he continues, as if I haven’t spoken. “She’s afraid of being fired and since she’s the only damn person who’s sat at that desk in a year that I can actually tolerate, I need to be clear. She’s staying.”

  A ball of anger forms in my chest. “And if I object?”

  “I’ll let you choose. Do you want me to control Derek or fire Emily?”

  Ignoring the ridiculous question that dismisses the FBI threat we both know he isn’t dismissing, I turn and walk to the door, with every intention of handling Emily on my own. Exiting the office, I shut the doors behind me and discover Emily is no longer at her desk. Jaw set hard, I stride through the office and down the hallway, pausing at the reception desk. “Where did Emily go?”

  “She just got on the elevator with Jessica,” Kelly replies.

  The elevator it is. I start walking.

  EMILY

  Jessica and I step into the elevator and she punches the lobby level. “What’s wrong?” she asks as the doors shut. “You sounded panicked when you called.”

  “I am,” I say, pressing my hand to my forehead. “I mean, I did the right thing, but—”

  “What did you do?”

  The elevator stops only two floors down, and she rolls her eyes. “Oh good gosh, not now,” she says, as the doors open again, and four people crowd us into a corner.

  “What did you do?” she whispers.

  “Not yet,” I say.

  “Right. Not yet. This is killing me.”

  “Try being me,” I murmur, enduring the rest of the ride by silently assuring myself I did the right thing, while worrying about Shane’s reaction.

  “Finally,” Jessica says, as we hit ground level and follow the crowd out of the car.

  “This way,” she says, linking her arm with mine, and leading me toward the garage, where we exit into the parking lot. She releases me. “What did you do?”

  “Shane ordered me to piss off his father and get fired so that no one thinks I left because Shane is protecting me.”

  She blanches. “What? Why? What happened to the whole ‘using you’ routine?”

  “I don’t know. Something must have happened, which is why me staying is more important than ever. I’m sitting at the window, open to his enemies.”

  She holds up her hands. “Okay. Okay. I have to tread cautiously here or Shane is going to hang me by my toes in some public place.”

  In other words, she agrees with me, but works for him. “I’m not leaving,” I announce.

  “Shane can just fire you himself.”

  I shake my head. “Not anymore.”

  “Once again. What did you do?”

  “I told his father I slept with Shane, but that it’s over. I told him Maggie warned me that I was being used, which she did, by the way.”

  “I told you that would happen.”

  “Yes and it sucked but it helped me today.”

  “This is holy batshit crazy.”

  “I’m not even done yet. I told Brandon Senior I was afraid Shane would fire me and he promised me job security.”

  “Oh my God, Emily. Major respect for you right now because that took courage, but Shane is going to be furious.”

  The garage door opens again and my gaze jerks in that direction, finding Shane standing there, his expression hard and his eyes steely gray. “Speak of the devil,” Jessica murmurs softly.

  Shane seems to hear her, flicking her a look. “Leave.”

  She grabs my arm and squeezes before walking to the door, but before she exits, she pauses next to Shane. “She’s protecting you,” she says. “Don’t forget that.” She doesn’t wait for a reply—which I doubt she’d get—entering the building and leaving me alone with Shane.

  He steps forward and I don’t know how, but without ever touching me, the man backs me against the wall, his big body crowding mine. Everything about him is big and angry. “What the hell was that?” he demands, his voice a tight band, ready to snap.

  Quite clear on what “that” is, considering he just met with his father, I state my case. “You need me to stay. I have access to information that can help you.”

  “What I need is for you to do what I tell you. No want. Need. Demand. Nothing has changed. Today is your last day. If you show up tomorrow, I will personally escort you out. Do you understand?”

  I swallow hard against the hardness of his energy, and I want to argue, but I believe him. He will escort me out. I nod. “Say it,” he demands.

  “I understand.”

  He studies me for several heavy seconds, seeming to weigh my sincerity, before he steps back, giving me space I don’t want, my gaze falling on his tie to discover it’s the one I chose for him.

  “Emily,” he says, a soft command demanding I look at him, and when I do, that connection is like an electric charge going through me, touching me everywhere when he is touching me nowhere.

  “I won’t be the reason you get hurt,” he says, a vehement rasp to his voice. He turns and leaves, the door shutting behind him.

  I swallow against the sudden thickness in my throat, and while his coldness hurts, no matter what his intentions, I remember two things only. What I’d felt when I looked in his eyes, along with him wearing that tie, tells me no matter how hard he’s pushing me away, it’s not the choice he wants to make. And if he rea
lly feels this is the right move, I’ll respect his wishes, but damn it, if today is my last day, I’m going to make it count. This good little soldier will leave here with every piece of data that can possibly help Shane win his war.

  Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. I am kind to everyone, but when someone is unkind to me, weak is not what you are going to remember about me.

  —Al Capone

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  SHANE

  A full minute after leaving Emily in the garage, I can still smell the floral sweetness of her perfume, every muscle in my body tense with the effort it had taken to keep my hands off her. I reach the elevator, and step into a car, the steel doors sealing me inside, and I feel more caged animal than man right now. I need a release. A run. My fist in my brother’s face. Emily naked. Seconds and floors tick by like hours, until finally I exit on the higher level, my gaze landing on the Brandon Enterprises logo, honing in on the lion. It’s becoming clear that sharp leadership might not be enough to save this company. I might have to rip a few throats out to get the job done. And at this point, a few throats versus total annihilation of the brand, and my family, seems a fair trade-off.

  Entering the reception area, I quickly make my way toward the end of the hallway that forks to my office and my brother’s, noting his door is still shut, before traveling to my own. Jessica stands on my approach.

  “Not now,” I say before she starts explaining herself. I’m really not in the mood. I walk straight into my office and resolutely shut the door.

  I’ve barely sat down when she buzzes in on the intercom, proving she is forever dogmatic about just about everything. “I’ll defend myself when you’re a little less intense. But since ‘intense’ only makes you a better negotiator, the bank is on the phone about the Cherry Creek apartment and there’s an attorney for a class-action lawsuit on the phone.”

  “What class-action?”

  “It’s related to BP Pharmaceuticals.”

  I scrub my jaw. “Of course it is.” And while this kind of thing is common with drug companies, it hits one of about ten raw nerves. “Put the attorney through.”

  From there, my work snowballs and it’s nearly six when Seth calls to report in. “Tell me something good,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

  “If you define ‘good’ as me having no bad news, then I can. My news amounts to not much. For now, all is quiet, and Nick’s team has widespread eyes on our watch targets.”

  “What I want is conclusive evidence that Sub-Zero is not in my manufacturing facility.”

  “Nick’s men entered BP on the pretense of a conveyor belt repair, and managed to install a few added camera angles we didn’t have on the security feed. I’ll be watching real-time surveillance tonight to see if we triggered any unusual activity when we spooked William.”

  “Sounds like titillating viewing. Is it mobile?”

  “On my laptop. Why?”

  “I need out of this place almost as much as I need a drink. If you meet me at my place and supply the movie entertainment, I’ll provide the expensive booze.”

  “Sold at expensive booze. I’ll see you then.”

  Happily ending the call to get the hell out of here, I buzz Jessica. “I’m headed out,” I say, already stuffing files in my briefcase. “You do the same.”

  Almost instantly, there’s a knock on the door that’s clearly more of a formality than a request, since Jessica immediately enters and shuts the door. “You can’t leave without telling me what’s going on.”

  I drape my briefcase strap over my shoulder, ignoring the question for what’s really on my mind. “I hope like hell you didn’t encourage Emily to pull that stunt.”

  “How can you even think that? She was just telling me what happened when you showed up in the garage. But she had to have been sideswiped by being pushed away and told to quit when you’d decided she could stay. What changed?”

  “Nothing you need to know,” I say, rounding the desk and crossing to stand in front of her. “Is she still here?”

  “Your dad sent her on some errands and then I think she was headed home.” Her lips tighten. “Shane—”

  “Nothing you need to know,” I repeat.

  She inhales and lets it out. “This is one of those times I need to know my boundaries, right?”

  “You always know your boundaries. You simply choose to ignore them and that would not be a good decision right now.”

  “Shit,” she says. “You don’t shut me out, so whatever happened must be bad.”

  “It is,” I confirm, “which is why I need you to color in the lines I give you, for once.”

  “Not my greatest skill, but I’ll manage.”

  I give a quick nod and take a step toward the door.

  “Wait,” she says, surprising me by grabbing my arm. “Sorry,” she says, releasing me, “but I just needed to say this. Emily really cares about you. And that isn’t based on what she’s said. It’s in her eyes.”

  I feel that bittersweet observation like a punch in the gut, and my response is low, vehement. “And I’m doing my damnedest to make sure she doesn’t regret that,” I say, stepping around her to exit the office and I don’t stop until I’m at my car, about to climb inside, pausing at the sight of a note on my windshield. Brows furrowing, I snatch it, recognizing Emily’s handwriting even before I read: Confucius says—A tie can speak a million words. I laugh, the tension in my spine sliding away, and once again, Emily has made me smile without even being present. I slide into the car and turn on the engine, more determined than ever to do whatever it takes to win this war. Or rather, end this war.

  Three hours later, Seth and I are sitting in my living room, our ties and jackets gone, along with several pizzas, and a fair share of cognac. “I have to tell you, man,” I say, indicating one of several laptops we have open on the coffee table, “the movie entertainment you provided just plain sucks.”

  “Welcome to my life,” he says, lifting his glass and downing the contents. “I spend way too much time watching, and waiting, for assholes to become idiots.” He refills his glass and mine. “And unfortunately the smart ones, like Adrian Martina, aren’t easily spooked. They’re smart and calculated, but that makes catching them all the sweeter.”

  A message pops up on the computer screen from Nick, as it has many times tonight, and we both lean in closer to read it: Derek just arrived at Martina’s restaurant.

  “Houston, we have contact,” Seth murmurs, cutting me a look. “Looks like your brother decided he needs to consult the real boss. Let’s hope this is a prelude to some sort of action at the pharmaceutical branch.”

  “Let’s hope it’s not, because that would mean Sub-Zero really is inside our facility.” The house phone for the hotel rings from inside the kitchen and my brow furrows. “That’s odd,” I say, already moving in that direction. “You didn’t order room service, did you?”

  “Hell no,” he calls out. “I just ate two pizzas.”

  I walk to the wall by the fridge and grab the handset. “Mr. Brandon,” the front desk clerk says. “I have a Lana Smith here to see you.”

  “Here? As in, she’s in the hotel?”

  “Yes sir. She’s standing right here.” And then she must grab the line because I hear, “Shane. It’s Lana. Or I guess he told you that.”

  “How the hell do you know where I live?”

  “I know the receptionist at your office and she let it slip at a happy hour months ago.”

  And Lana is nothing if not an opportunist. “Why are you here?”

  “There are some things going on at BP and I didn’t think I should go to the office to tell you and alert anyone.”

  “That’s why they make telephones.”

  “I didn’t think that was smart either. Please, can I come upstairs?”

  I generally believe most things Lana does are rooted in manipulation, but she works with William, and I need information. “Wait there,” I order, ending the call and turning to find Seth h
as joined me.

  “Problem?” he asks.

  “That’s one way to describe her. Lana Smith from BP is downstairs, insisting she has information we need to know. I told her we’d come and get her.”

  “On my way,” he says, already on the move, while I round the bar to the kitchen and decide a pot of coffee, not a bottle of booze, is now in order. That, and about ten grains of salt, might get me through another encounter with Lana. The pot has just finished brewing when the door opens, and I forget the coffee, and claim a spot at the end of the island. Seth and Lana enter the kitchen, and as usual, Lana’s dressed to seduce in skintight black jeans with a T-shirt that scoops low to expose her cleavage. She’s a five-alarm fire, burning hot, and ironically, that very quality drew me to her in the past but does nothing but scream trouble to me now.

  She approaches the island, but instead of stopping on the other side, she rounds the counter to stand by the sink a few steps from me. “Sorry about dropping in on you,” she says, hugging herself and actually seeming a bit awkward.

  “If there’s a problem, I need to know,” I say, offering her cautious encouragement. “What information do you have for us?”

  “Us?” she asks, glancing up at Seth and back at me. “You. I’m not telling anyone but you.”

  “Anything you can say to me, you can say to Seth.”

  “I’m sorry,” she replies. “But I don’t know him and I need to talk to you alone.”

  I clench my teeth, but she has access to BP in a high-profile position, and if she knows something about illegal activity, I can’t blame her for being guarded. I eye Seth, giving him a silent command. He nods and without a word, heads for the door.

  “All right, Lana,” I say as the door opens and shuts. “We’re alone.”

  To my surprise, she wastes no time proving she’s here for a real reason. “A man visits William every Monday and he always has a large envelope in his hand when he enters William’s office, but not when he leaves.”

  “He could be a supplier.”