Sweet & Sassy Anthology: Stormy Kisses

by Rebecca Rode

  “No.” Shelby straightened. “Thank you, but I think I’ll use your back door, if that’s okay.” She pointed to a small cooler filled with plastic bottles. “I’ll buy a bottle of that.”

  “Žinčica?” The shopkeeper grinned, the twinkle in her eyes a warning. “You sure?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Shelby shrugged and pulled some money from her purse. “I like to try new things.” She handed the bills to the woman. “Now, the back door?”

  The woman moved a large rolling rack to expose a door. It opened into a short hallway. The shopkeeper peeked out the door that opened to a dim alley before letting Shelby go outside.

  “Thank you again.” Shelby turned down the alley, away from Grantham Industries headquarters. She’d report in today, as commanded. On her terms. As she began the climb up the tall San Francisco hill, she wished she’d worn different shoes.

  ***

  Wade Masters froze at the sound of Wild Thing from somewhere behind him. He found it poetic he should hear that oldie as a ringtone today, of all days. The instinct to turn around hit him as powerfully as it ever had over the last four years. What if he looked and it was really her? Today, it could happen.

  But how many times had he made a fool of himself chasing after that song? Leaning his head back a little, Wade tried to hear if that familiar voice answered it. If someone did, the noise in the crowded shop swallowed the sound. The ring seemed to move away and then stopped abruptly. He looked over his shoulder then, stretching to see over the heads of the people behind him.

  “Your hot chocolate is ready,” the clerk said. “Good luck with it.” She winked at him and turned to the person behind him.

  Wade stepped out of the way, still searching the crowd. Not seeing the face he sought, he made his way outside into the cool San Francisco sunshine. He checked in both directions but saw no one who looked remotely like Shelby.

  After taking a careful sip of the hot chocolate, he paused to savor the strawberry taste for a second. He opened the lid to find melting marshmallows, white chips, and chocolate chips. Just the kind of thing Shelby loved. Or used to love.

  If only the owner of that phone had been her. It’d be better to meet her accidentally before showing up at a Grantham Industries business meeting she attended. He paused, picturing himself offering to buy her a hot chocolate.

  “Hey, bud, move it,” a strange man said. “You’re blocking the trash can.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Wade stepped aside. Daydreaming again. Today he had to be on his toes.

  As he drank the hot chocolate, he stared down the street, where the tall Grantham building shone in the bright sunshine. How much had the years changed her? All this time, as he’d tracked what little Shelby posted on social media, he’d imagined her even more beautiful, more confident.

  Did she still drive herself like she had some taskmaster on her shoulder cracking a whip over her? He’d always admired the passion she put into everything she cared about. She never did anything halfway. Like how she’d stood up for him that first day at college. It had resulted in him being teased about his “little protector,” but never in front of her. He grinned. No one had dared to cross her.

  Wade’s grin slipped, and he frowned at the building. Not Shelby Nash. Shelby Grantham. He hadn’t handled finding out about that well. But she’d just unloaded the information on him. Wade had grown up in a home with a father who loathed corporate snakes like the man who’d stolen his life savings. How could Wade have explained to the fam that he’d wanted to marry a Grantham, daughter of the king of corporate snakes?

  All those thoughts had flashed through his mind when she’d dropped the bomb on him at their graduation practice. He might have even spoken some of the thoughts aloud; he couldn’t remember. But the look on her face had burned itself into his memory. She’d turned and stormed away. He’d have gone after her then if he’d had any idea he’d never see her again.

  Until today.

  Wade’s hands turned cold, and he considered the empty cup he still held. Maybe a Love Potion hot chocolate would soften her up. He turned back to the shop. The line now had a good twenty people outside the building. He checked his watch. No time. Alan Bradley had insisted that Wade not be late. He tossed the empty cup into the trash and headed for the Grantham building.

  Chapter 2

  SHELBY LIMPED A LITTLE AS she entered her father’s office building. She’d finally had to stop at a small shoe store to buy a pair of running shoes. Even so, she was sure she had a blister. She’d also kept her father waiting an hour. Worth it.

  Pausing for a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darker entry area, she shifted the shopping bag holding her heels. After a deep breath to steel herself for battle, she headed toward the elevator. She didn’t miss when security recognized her; the man immediately turned his mouth to his shoulder mic and said something. They’d been waiting for her. She sighed. Really no surprise there.

  She stepped into the elevator and set the bag down, glad to have a quiet moment to herself. It never hurt to mentally prepare for one of Alan’s briefings. He would never admit that her father had cameras and watched their interactions, but Alan never denied their existence either. Just as the door had almost closed, a hand shot through the opening, causing the doors to open again. Shelby jumped a little and stepped back against the elevator’s handrail.

  Her Asian bodyguard, his eyes blazing and lips pulled in a thin line, stepped into the elevator. Pinning her with a hard gaze, he never moved his eyes to the side but reached over and pushed the Close Door button. As the doors slid shut, he pushed a button and the elevator didn’t move.

  Wow, she’d really ticked him off. Shelby swallowed, her heart beating faster. She forced her breathing to stay steady; no way was this guy going to intimidate her. She lifted her chin, lips pinched tight, and met him gaze for gaze, keeping her hands against her legs so he couldn’t see them shake.

  A familiar little twitch near the corner of his left eye broke her concentration. She squinted and leaned in a little closer. Yeah. He had to be.

  “You’re one of Shang’s boys, aren’t you? I should have recognized you before.” She leaned against the elevator’s back wall, going with her I-don’t-care attitude. It always surprised coworkers who knew her in the field to see her headquarters act. Or vice versa. Well, her father had set things up so she had little choice but to work for him. It seemed only fair that he should reap the consequences. “So, are you going to get this thing moving, or are you trying to make me late?”

  The only sign he gave that she’d surprised him was a little raising of a brow. “You’ve already made sure you’d be late, Ms. Grantham,” he said, his voice stern.

  “Nash.” Shelby tried not to grit her teeth.

  “Grantham, as long as your father is my employer.” He pointed to one of the elevator’s “hidden” cameras. “We need to have an understanding, you and I.” He took a step closer and leaned in until their noses were almost touching, the smell of his morning coffee breath strong. It took all of Shelby’s self-control not to flinch or look away. He said, “I’m well aware of your reputation with security. It’s my job to protect you for the duration of the current threat.”

  Shang Junior stepped back, his eyes full of dislike and something Shelby wasn’t used to. Disdain. She opened her mouth to defend herself, but he continued, “Do not disrespect me again with your childishness. I take my responsibilities seriously.” He pushed a button and the elevator began to move. “You may not care how you could be used as a pawn against your father, but I’m sure Mr. Bradley does.”

  Alan. At the mention of his name, Shelby shifted uncomfortably and the fight in her fled. She hadn’t meant to worry him. Her little fit of defiance no longer satisfied her. He deserved better.

  Why did her father always bring out the very worst in her, turn her into the hurtful, angry sixteen-year-old again? Why? She let out a slow breath. Because what else would a father, who had newly claimed his parental rights, do w
ith his only child? Send her off to boarding school, of course, to get rid of the nuisance.

  For a second, Shelby tried to remember how many times she’d tried to run away. Tried to run away. Shang Senior had been over her boarding school security.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. Alan was one thing; her father’s minions were another. Reaching over, Shelby pushed the button again, and the elevator stopped. For Alan, she’d try to be civil. She looked up, met, and held the guard’s gaze.

  “Yes, Shang Junior, let’s be clear on this. Since you know me so well.” Too much sarcasm. She toned down her next words. “You want to be respected; you have a job to do. Being a Shang—I do know your father well”—something flashed in his eyes but he didn’t interrupt—”I expect that you have his powerful code of honor.”

  Shelby took a step toward him and pointed her finger between his eyes. The effect wasn’t nearly as good as his because she didn’t have his towering presence. But she’d had her nails done yesterday, and the long acrylics made Shang Junior’s eyes cross. “You don’t like me; I don’t like you. All I asked you was a simple question, and you blew me off.” Stepping back, she didn’t bother to look at him as she hit the button again to get the elevator moving. She picked up the shoe bag again and took up the I-don’t-care pose again, her hands shaking a little. Her fingers tightened around the handle, but she refused to acknowledge it or show weakness.

  They rode in silence the rest of the way. The doors opened, and Shelby moved to get past him.

  “Philip,” Shang Junior said, as she strode past him.

  “What?” She looked back over her shoulder.

  “My name is Philip Shang.”

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She smiled and turned back. How funny. He was Shang Junior.

  ***

  As Shelby stepped into the office suite, Philip Shang Senior rose from a couch to the side. Obviously a staged impression of “waiting,” since security would have informed him of her arrival. He exchanged a glance with his son, who had followed her in, but held back a few feet. She sensed that she wouldn’t be allowed another escape. Why so much diligence this time? Did her father know about the résumés she’d sent? Did he mean to block her from getting free of him?

  “How are you, Philip?” She held out her hand. He’d aged over the last year, dark circles under his eyes making him look gaunt. “I thought you’d retired.”

  “Not quite yet, Ms. Nash.” He did a little bow over her hand, his expression disapproving. “Mr. Bradley is still waiting for you.”

  “Yeah, well.” Her cheeks had heated at his emphasis. “Sometimes it’s important to make a point.”

  Philip Senior shot a look at his son over her shoulder, and she felt a little sorry for Junior. She’d received enough of those looks over the years. Father Shang—how was she going to keep two Philip Shangs separate in her mind?—had always had the power to shame her like no one else. It must be one of those Chinese honor things. He did it really well.

  Even now, as they headed toward Alan’s conference room, she could still feel the heat of that long-ago summer evening, hear the crickets in the background. Philip Shang had appeared at the Greyhound bus stop where she waited for a bus to anywhere. She’d groaned when he’d sat beside her. For a week she’d managed to evade them and had gotten two states away from the school. A record.

  “Miss Grantham,” he’d begun.

  “My name is Nash.”

  “Nash, then.” Philip had sighed, but it’d been the last time he’d called her Grantham.

  “I’m not going back to that school with all those snotty, rich brats.” At least at her mom’s lousy apartment, Shelby had known what to expect. At least there she’d had friends.

  On the Greyhound bench, she’d literally dug her heels into the gravel and folded her arms tight against her chest. All her mother’s creepy boyfriends who’d tried to turn Shelby into one of their toys had forced her to learn how to fight, and to fight mean. If her father’s minions tried to force her to go back to that school, she’d kick and scream and fight them all the way.

  “Then where, Shelby?” Alan had asked, his voice soft as he sat on her other side.

  She started at his sudden appearance, surprised at how tired and beaten down he looked.

  “Help me figure this out,” he said. “Please.”

  For the first time, she saw the silver-haired attorney as more than her father’s tool and a means to ruin her life. And, also for the first time, she felt bad about always running away. Could he get fired because of her? Full of sympathy for him, she put her hand on his arm and offered comfort to a fellow victim of her tyrant father.

  “Could I become emancipated?” she asked.

  “In California there are only three ways to be declared emancipated. Get married with your father’s permission and the permission of the court.” The corner of Alan’s mouth twitched at her expression. “Join the military—no, Shelby.” He rubbed his face. “If you don’t follow their rules, they lock you up. I can’t see you in the military jumping to someone’s orders.”

  “That’s it, then?” Shelby leaped to her feet.

  When Philip moved as though to stop her, Alan held up his hand. “The only other way is to file a petition with the court, but that’s going to take time. You have to already be living apart from your father, with his permission. You have to be managing your finances and have a legal source of income. You have to be in school or have your GED and”—Alan twitched his brows at her—”you have to convince the court that it’s in your best interest to be emancipated.”

  “And it’s not an option to live with your father?” Philip asked.

  “Really? Are you that stupid? As if he’d let me stay in his house. He won’t even see me. You think I’d want to stay with that, that—” Shelby sputtered, trying to think of a word that fit her disgust. She couldn’t come up with anything bad enough that the two old men wouldn’t frown at. On separate occasions, they’d both chastised her for having a potty mouth. “—that sperm donor? No way.”

  Alan winced, and she almost regretted her words. Already, she realized how lucky her father was to have loyal employees like Alan and Philip. She looked back and forth at the two men. She might not be savvy in their business world, but she had smarts in a very different kind of world. How had her jerk father earned loyalty that went beyond a paycheck?

  “Miss Nash,” Philip said, “as long as you are still a minor, you must live with an adult guardian. It seems your father’s home is not an option, and you refuse to attend a boarding school. If you could choose, where would you live?”

  “You got kids, Shang?” she asked.

  “I have five sons.”

  Shelby made a face and turned to Alan. “You got kids? Would your wife mind a boarder?”

  An odd expression crossed his face and then disappeared. “My wife is dead. I live alone, except for my housekeeper and her husband.” He rose and studied her for a few seconds, his expression contemplative. “If I let you live in my house, will you abide by my rules?”

  “Not if they’re stupid rules.”

  “I can be reasonable, if you can. You’ll also have to agree to study hard with the goal of getting into a good college. If you do that, I believe Philip and I can convince your father.” Alan held out his hand to her. “Deal?”

  For a second, Shelby had an impulse to take off again. But something deep in Alan’s eyes held her in place. Finally, she reached out and took his hand. “Deal.” His expression lightened, and he actually looked happy. She vowed not to be a pain in his side. Much.

  “Would you prefer a tutor?” Philip had pointed toward a limo in the distance and nodded his head in that direction.

  “You don’t have to decide now, Shel. You have many options.” Alan had put a light hand on her back, guided her toward the car, and begun quizzing her about her interests. The three of them—mostly Alan and Philip—had spent the ride to the airport debating the
pros and cons of a huge variety of job types that Shelby had never even heard of. She’d fallen asleep on the Grantham jet to the sound of their continued discussion.

  With the memory came a realization. Alan—or Charles Grantham?—had guided her education choices and had then provided her with work experiences that placed her ahead of the game as a project manager. She knew she’d received responsibilities throughout the various Grantham Industries businesses that had stretched her, forced her to learn more than most people her age.

  She refused to credit her father with doing anything for her. No. It had to have been Alan’s idea. Only recently had she come to understand just how much she owed him. She’d have to find a way to let him know how much it meant to her. How much he meant to her.

  “Alan has been quite concerned about you this morning,” Philip said, breaking into her reverie and pulling her back to the corporate offices.

  “I didn’t mean for him to worry.” Shelby stared at the doors to the conference room where Alan would be waiting. For the first time, she felt a twinge of concern. What was the nature of the threat? Not that she expected anyone to tell her. Not once, in the last ten years, had anyone shared that kind of information with her. She’d just had to go along with their claims that she was in danger and must be protected. Either they were all full of it, or they were very good at their jobs, because she’d never seen anything.

  Philip opened the door. Inside, Alan turned around at the sound and a huge, relieved grin spread across his face.

  Shelby ran and threw herself into his arms, blinking at the stinging in her eyes. It wasn’t like they didn’t talk online every couple of days. Why all the emotion now?

  “Let me look at you.” He held her back and scanned her face. “You get more beautiful every time I see you, every bit the confident businesswoman I knew you could become.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She stepped away and wiped the corners of her eyes. “I know you had doubts, even if you did hide them well. So what does the sperm donor want me to do this time?”