Chester’s voice was gruff, thick with concern.
I stifled a curse, shutting off the TV. I’d caught the headlines this morning, and knowing my grandpa’s habit of drinking his morning coffee with the news, I figured Chester had seen them too.
“It’s all right, Grandpa. I’m on top of this.”
“On top of what? What’s this about low-quality materials causing fires at your buildings? I know I didn’t teach you like that.”
I pushed back the instinct to defend myself. This was my fault, I reminded myself, taking a drink of my own coffee before answering him. “Remember how you told me to reconsider hiring Devlin Cunningham? I should have listened.”
“Hell, you should have listened when I told you not to partner up with that slick-talking fucker, Joel, but you haven’t listened to me in years, so I don’t know why I bothered wasting my breath. What did Devlin fuck up?”
I explained the situation, bringing Chester up to date on everything I’d done so far to mitigate damages. Chester grunted in approval.
“I did raise you right, then. Taking care of those people was your first priority, and that’s how it should be. Most CEOs would be in lawyer mode right now, stomping all over the little people just to make sure they don’t get the pants sued off them. But what they’re saying, that all your buildings are death traps, just how much damage are we talking here?”
I stood up from my office desk and walked to the window, looking out over the city. The tops of the tallest buildings were shrouded in clouds, and the heavy rain was falling as hard as it had been on my way into the office. Despite the weather forecast of partly sunny skies later, the rain looked like it had no intention of going anywhere.
“I don’t know,” I finally answered. “Depends on how long Devlin had been skimming. Could be a few, could be more.” I wanted to sugarcoat the truth, but Chester would see through that in a heartbeat.
“Can I do anything to help?”
God, that was all I needed. Grandpa stomping in here and telling everyone to get off their lazy asses and get this shit cleaned up, A-sap.
“No. Like I said, it’s managed. Did you make an appointment with Dr. Merrick this week like I told you to?”
Chester snorted. “What for? He’s just going to tell me I’m lucky to have lived this long already. Eighty-three years ain’t a bad run.”
“And you’d have another twenty in you if you’d quit being so stubborn. What about the housekeeper I hired for you? Mrs. Blakely?”
“What the hell do I need with a housekeeper?” Chester blustered, and I held the phone away from my ear, wincing at the old man’s volume. “If I wanted a wife, I’d have married again after your gramma, God rest her sweet soul, passed in ninety-one. That Blakely lady does nothing but cluck and scold. ‘Chester, would it kill you to put your dirty socks in the hamper? Chester, cereal and beer aren’t a proper dinner. Eat this stinky salmon I cooked for you, instead. It’s good for your heart.’” He mimicked the elderly housekeeper in a falsetto that dragged a chuckle out of me.
I’d done something good there, for a change. The house I’d bought for Chester in North Chicago had been too big, I could see now. Chester had rattled around in it like a pebble in a tin can. A few months before, I’d set up some interviews for live-in housekeepers and had hit the jackpot with Mrs. Blakely.
A childless widow since the Korean War, Elva was in her mid-seventies and needed the job badly. Most places weren’t hiring for septuagenarians, and she’d jumped on the opportunity to boss my grandpa around. Even though he constantly bitched at having a “meddling woman” around, I could tell Chester liked her. She made sure he ate his meals regularly, took his medications, and got out of the house occasionally. And all his endless complaints about the ever-patient Mrs. Blakely had to be good exercise, if nothing else.
“All right, Gramps, I’ve got a meeting in five minutes. I’ll keep you posted on the progress here.”
Spoiler: I wouldn’t.
Not unless things magically turned around. Chester didn’t need the strain. I made a mental note to myself to ask Mrs. Blakely to “accidentally” unplug the big flat screen TV in Chester’s den the next time she dusted.
“You let me know if you need me to come over there and knock some heads together,” he reiterated and hung up.
I hadn’t lied. I had meeting after meeting stacked up for the rest of the afternoon. But that didn’t stop me from staying at the window a few minutes longer, watching raindrops wind their way down the glass, wondering what Olivia was doing right then. I could see her hotel from where I was standing. What did she think she could do with access to Ainsley’s records? Why had I handed her the materials she’d need to wreak havoc inside the company? Was she pissed enough to do it?
And what about the press onslaught that morning? It had quickly become obvious that someone had tipped them off on the cause of the South Chicago apartment fire. I’d already talked to the fire chief, who had assured me that no one on the investigation had passed on the information.
The news stories had been detailed, including the information that the fire was due to a materials issue. It made me furious all over again. Just one more piece of shit on top of the pile I had to clean up. The leak had to be from someone close. Someone within the company who’d figured out Devlin’s scam. I’d had so many betrayals already, I didn’t want to even speculate on the possibility.
I didn’t want to think that Olivia had done it to get back at me. From what I’d seen, her anger was slow-building and straightforward, finally burning hot and banking just as quickly. When she was pissed off, something I’d managed to accomplish frequently since we met, she told me. She lacked the slyness that it would take to pass info on to the news outlets.
I hoped.
In the meantime, I was sick of being reactive. The last year had been one dick punch after another, and I needed to get back the upper hand. I pulled out my phone and sent a group text to the rest of the Five, promising pizza and beer if they’d meet me at my office at noon. They all responded right away, and I called Brian and had him move my next two meetings to the end of the day and have something catered in.
***
They filtered into the executive conference room around twelve. I’d known Hunter Landon the longest, having played football with him for the Cougars, Chicago State’s team. He was still built like a linebacker, had come from hardscrabble beginnings, and built a successful security firm from the ground up. He came in with Jason Pierce, a former Marine and the owner of an elite bodyguard agency. Flynn Murphy strolled in shortly after, his usual cocky grin in place. Flynn, unlike Hunter and Jason, came from money. He was also a wizard with computers and had created a lucrative tech startup. Beckett St. Clair, heir to the St. Clair hotel chain and indirectly my current Olivia babysitter, came in last.
Hunter, true to form, waited until everyone had their lunch and immediately started running his mouth. “So, you guys should ask Gabe about his trip to Detroit. I’m thinking Olivia Cunningham was a little more than he bargained for.” He smirked around his beer.
Flynn perked up, like he always did when the topic of women came around. “Yeah? Is she hot?”
“Yeah, she’s hot.” Beckett sent me a sympathetic grin. “But she’s not staying at his place. He’s got her over at the St. Clair on Walton.”
“What do you mean ‘she’s hot?’” I shot back. “You haven’t even seen her.”
I realized I’d walked into that one when Beckett shook his head at me and laughed. “Hey, I’m a curious guy. And when I oh so casually dropped in at the hotel this morning, just to make sure things were running smoothly, and just happened to be checking in with the security guys, and just happened to check out the footage from the outside cams last night around eleven to see a gorgeous, leggy female coming into my hotel out of the rain—”
“Wait. Around eleven? I dropped her off an hour before that. What was she doing?”
“Who knows?” Beckett shrugged.
“She was talking to Jeremy, the doorman, for a second, and then came in and picked up the stuff you sent over. Went up to her room after that.”
My suspicions came roaring back. Had she been meeting someone?
“So, what’s the deal with her?” Jason frowned, cutting straight to business as usual. “Is she helping you?”
“I think so.”
Flynn interrupted. “You sleeping with her yet?”
“None of your business, asshole.”
“He is.” Flynn nodded wisely around the table, his blue eyes glittering with amusement. At my expense.
“I didn’t call you guys to come over here and give me a hard time. I need help.” The mood shifted, and all eyes were on me. “I feel like I’m swinging in the dark over here.” I caught everyone up on the recent developments and my suspicions of a leak. “I need some ideas. I’ve got to get ahead of this shitstorm.”
“If the leak is internal, I can help,” Jason offered. “I’ve got a guy between assignments right now that we can bring in. Treat him like a new hire, or better yet, an intern. He looks young enough. We can see if he can pick anything up around the office.”
“That’d be good.”
We spent some time kicking around the details, the other guys chipping in occasionally, until it was almost time for my next meeting. It was agreed that Jason would send over Damien, a former Chicago PO, to watch things from the inside.
“You want me to keep an eye on the leggy female? Like, 24/7 surveillance?” Hunter offered on his way out, his eyebrows bobbing up and down. “It’d be a sacrifice, but…”
I shoved him out the door, hard, and he left laughing.
I felt a little bit better once they’d gone, but the afternoon’s damage control meetings and the cluster of intrepid reporters stationed outside the main entrance of my offices — and the back entrance — pushed me back into a pissed off mood quickly. I stripped out of my suit and changed into gym shorts when I got home, hitting the weight bench until I was dripping sweat, but it didn’t change anything. My frustration levels were off the charts.
Olivia.
Who had she been meeting last night? Old friends from her Chicago days? She’d have been gone longer than an hour. Someone from the press? Devlin? Old habits died hard, and I didn’t trust most women further than I had to. I’d left her alone all day. Who knew what the fuck she could have been getting into. She could be back in Detroit for all I knew.
I needed her where I could watch her. I needed her here.
Walking into my bedroom, heading for the shower, I glanced at my bed. I pictured those long, pale limbs spread across my gray comforter. Her black hair fanning in ripples across my pillow. She’d look like a black and white photo.
I could kill two birds with one stone. Work off some of my frustration. Keep her where I could see her.
My cock hardened. I wanted her in my bed.
I texted her, telling her I’d have Jeff, my driver, pick her up at seven. It wasn’t a question, and I didn’t elaborate. If she didn’t show up, I’d go over there and get her myself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Liv
I told myself it wasn’t cowardly to hide in my hotel room. It was luxurious, comfortable, and it had room service.
Who would want to leave?
It was kind of like a vacation on someone else’s dime, although the crick in my neck from bending over a computer screen all day didn’t exactly remind me of a tropical getaway. Unable to sleep, I’d started working around five a.m. and had taken only a few breaks long enough to call Freddie and check in, to grab a workout in the on-site gym, and to take a shower.
My skills weren’t rusty, and that surprised me. It had been years since I’d used a computer for more than bookkeeping. But muscle memory and instinct must’ve kicked in, because once I was logged into the laptop Gabe had sent over, my brain switched over into the analytical mode I remembered so well from the countless hours I’d spent on the laptop I’d stolen from Joel’s office the day I left town.
Accumulating enough evidence to bury Joel had occupied my days and my nights. I was out for revenge, but honestly, the work kept me from falling into a pit of depression and anxiety. I had still been reeling from the death of my mom and was suddenly fending for myself after being taken care of and pampered for so many years. Sure, I’d had Mom’s small life insurance payout standing between me and homelessness, but I’d still been afraid of every man I passed on the street.
I would have lost my mind, I thought, if I hadn’t had what I’d dubbed my “Vengeance Project,” and the martial arts classes I’d begun to try and get rid of my fear, to keep me focused.
I’d always been good with computers, and it had been simple to figure out Joel’s password, getting into his files, his calendars. From there, sifting through data, noting correlations and discrepancies in numbers, tracking names, dates, locations — it had taken a couple years, but eventually, I knew Joel’s business dealings as well as, or better, then he did himself. Now, I had to do it again. This time, though, I’d be climbing into Devlin’s head, and that was one place I didn’t want to go.
Once I was in the network, it was an easy matter to find Devlin’s accounts. Unfortunately, he was more tech savvy when it came to passwords. He’d managed to circumvent the IT administration protections, and his information was locked up tight. I could get around it, but it would take time and was a grueling, frustrating process. I’d downloaded an updated version of a program recommended by some hackers I’d met in a online forum years before, but I had no idea how long it would take to turn up results. In the meantime, I was treading water.
Now, after a full day of work, and not much progress to show for it, I was restless and at loose ends. I still didn’t want to leave the hotel. I was almost cross-eyed from staring at a lit screen, and the TV didn’t tempt me in the least. And then my phone buzzed. Expecting more pictures from Freddie — I’d been enjoying the promised stream of gorgeous Mateo snapshots — I picked it up and unlocked the screen.
I’m sending a driver for you at 7. Be ready.
Dammit. Gabriel.
I thought he was going to give me time, but he was obviously as impatient as I was to see this through. It was six-thirty, and I gathered up my notes, irritated at myself that all he had to say was jump, and I was ready to ask him how high. I was even more irritated at myself when I went into the bathroom to shave my legs. But, honestly, a girl should always be prepared.
I was going. Would he take my appearance at his penthouse as a signal that I’d bend in other areas too? Because, despite my one-night-stand rule, I was sorely tempted to bend. Sex with Gabe had been beyond what I thought sex could be, and the memories hadn’t been far from my mind since the night in the bar. I’d never even known that multiple orgasms were a possibility, and he’d elicited them from me with little effort.
There was no possibility for a relationship between us, and if there were, I wouldn’t want it. His domineering nature and my need for independence would be forever at odds, not to mention the fact that we had nothing in common except Joel and Devlin Cunningham. That wasn’t a good basis for any kind of association, much less a romantic one. And after my mom died and I found out more about her real life as Joel Cunningham’s wife, I had promised to never put myself under the control of a man like she had for any reason.
I went back and forth with myself as I brushed my hair, mentally listing the pros and cons of sleeping with Gabe again.
Pro: he was so fucking good, and I was aching just thinking about how talented he was with his hands… and his lips, teeth, and tongue.
Con: he was a controlling bastard who was used to dictating everyone around him.
Con: I only had one purpose to him, and that was a means to an end.
Pro: I had no illusions of his motives. I could use him for sex, with my eyes wide open.
Sold.
When I undid my braid, my hair was still damp from my shower earlier, and I debated, finge
ring the loose, black waves. Should I pull it back? Leave it loose? Would leaving it loose be too obvious?
Shit. The man had turned my brain into total shit.
I scowled at my reflection in the mirror and pulled the long strands back into a ponytail before changing into a clean pair of cropped, bleach-splattered jean capris, a loose gray jersey-knit top, and my gray Converse sneakers. Nothing said I’m not trying to impress you like a beat-up pair of Converse tennis shoes and skinny capris with a rip in the knee. I didn’t care what I wore on a typical day, but for once, I wished I had something just a little more flattering.
Despising myself a little, I spritzed on some of the body spray I carried in my backpack. I wasn’t putting in any outright effort to attract him, but it was my favorite, cinnamon vanilla, one of my few indulgences, and I knew Gabe liked it too. I’d noticed when he was nuzzling my neck as I’d straddled him on the chair at the bar.
The thought flooded me with heat, and my face looked flushed in the mirror. Dammit, now that I’d made the decision, I couldn’t wait to see him again. It was six-fifty, but I slung the small black messenger bag I used as a purse over my shoulder across my chest and headed down to the main floor.
Unlike the night before, the lobby was crowded with businessmen in suits. There wasn’t a single empty chair, and if there had been, I still wouldn’t have wanted to stay. Despite my dressed-down appearance, I was already catching a few speculative looks, and I didn’t feel like waiting around chatting with half-drunk men whose wives were at home with their three point five kids while the frisky husbands were off on “business.”
Jeremy was outside, the young man looking dapper in his uniform, and he grinned when he saw me. “How you doing this evening, Ms. Redmond?”
“Not too shabby,” I told him. “Just waiting for my ride. What’s with all the suits in there?”
“Brain surgeons, I think. Some doctor thing over at the convention center and a bunch of them are staying here. They booked the St. Clair bar for the afterparty, and it might get rowdy later on.”
Claiming My Vengeance Page 9