“Right.” She drew a deep breath to steady herself. “Time to focus. The presentation’s a week and a half away, so we don’t have any time to lose. Edgar will get your study schedule set up, and we’ll call downstairs to reserve the boardroom so you can practice. When you’re up to it, read over the material. We’ll begin run-throughs as soon as possible.”
He scratched his head. “Good. Shouldn’t be any problem.”
“We put out the word you were sick with food poisoning for the past week, so you’ve got a bit of breathing space there to recover.” She looked him over, taking in his appearance. “So, if you’re still feeling a little out of sorts and want to slow down, it’s fine. No one’s going to look at you any differently.”
“Food poisoning? Couldn’t you think up with something sexier?” His lips curled away from his teeth in a wide smirk. “Kidnapped by a flock of showgirls and taken to one of those cathouses out of town?”
“Food poisoning worked.” She gritted her teeth. “It worked while Jessie hunted for you.”
“The crazy woman.” Spittle flew across the table, soaking the pages. “She came right in. She came right the fuck in and screwed up the game.” He thumped the table with both fists. “The pot was close to a hundred thousand dollars.” His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. “You had no right to send her after me. You’re not my sister, you’re not my mother—you’re my cousin.”
Ally sighed silently as she took in the sudden personality change. It was normal for Vincent to twist and turn after these drunken bouts, but this time it grated like never before, salt rubbed into an open wound.
Not enough time for this.
“Vincent. I need you to focus.” She rapped her knuckles on the files in front of her. “We need you to ace this presentation.”
“She almost got me killed. Don’t you dare pay her the full amount she charged you for this…” He shook his head, fumbling for the words. “This kidnapping. You start at half and bargain her down. The bitch handcuffed me like a goddamn criminal. She handcuffed me.” He shoved his hands in front of her, pressing his wrists together.
She couldn’t resist. “I know. I added the cost of the cuffs to her bill and gave them to Edgar. In case we need them again.”
Vincent’s face turned scarlet. “You…” His mouth opened and closed but nothing came out.
Edgar entered the room wearing a light-blue dress shirt and jeans. She saw the wheels turning behind his eyes, assessing the situation.
Vincent found his voice. “Listen. I want you to destroy her. Call the lawyers, sue her for unlawful confinement, kidnapping, whatever they can find. I want her out of business, forced to beg for pennies in the street. What she said to me, she…” He whipped his head to one side as Edgar placed a hand on his shoulder. “What?”
“It’s almost time for your massage. The ladies will be waiting for you.”
Vincent blinked in confusion. “Massage?”
“Yes.” Edgar tugged on the back of his shirt, urging Vincent up onto his feet. “The spa here is lovely, one of the best in the city. I’ve arranged for you to receive the best massage, the best haircut, and the best manicure this evening in a private appointment. A nice relaxing time, all for you.”
“A good idea.” Vincent cleared his throat. “An excellent idea. Thanks for setting it up.”
Edgar caught Ally’s eye and nodded.
She returned the gesture, grateful for the save.
“We’ll talk about this later. Let’s go.” Vincent turned and strode out, followed by Edgar.
Ally slumped in her chair, mentally and physically exhausted.
Finally, alone with no chance of distraction, she allowed her thoughts to turn to Trey and the ticking bomb he’d left behind.
She went back to earlier that day, when she’d ordered Trey out of the room. Edgar had taken Vincent into their suite, manhandling the chuckling, snorting jerk as she fought not to cry.
She hadn’t. As soon as the door had shut, she’d made a phone call, sending her computer security expert on a hunt.
She had her answer in the early afternoon, the email sliding into her mailbox between phone calls.
Trey had told her the truth regarding his accessing her family’s history.
According to the expert, Trey had stayed clear of the personal files, the archives that could have given him the details about Vincent’s actions five years ago. Wherever he’d gotten the information on Vincent, it hadn’t been dug out of the family vault. The firewalls around that hadn’t been breached or even tested—anything he’d learned had been from other sources.
She’d followed the email up with a phone call, unwilling to lay out her second query in a text message.
“Thank you.” She felt numb, realizing she’d been wrong about Trey—perhaps in more ways than one. “There’s one more thing I need you to do.”
She’d laid out her request.
“That’ll take a little longer,” the expert said over the phone. “You’re asking me to go outside my usual stomping grounds, beyond our company files.”
“Understood. Do what you can, just keep it legal. Consider this a priority—put everything else on the shelf. I need this done as soon as possible.”
“I’ll call when it’s ready. Best guess, a week, maybe two. Have to wait for some callbacks, and even then, I won’t be able to tug too hard on those strings.”
“Do what you have to do. If you have to pay for it, go ahead and send me the details. Thanks.” She hung up and wiped her eyes dry. There was work to do, and she was the only one who could do it.
Now as Edgar hustled Vincent downstairs for some pampering, Ally wondered if she’d done the right thing.
And if she hadn’t…what else she could do.
Ally rose and went to the window, the headache clogging her mind. The hotel room presented an excellent view of the Strip, the most famous tourist area in Las Vegas.
If she squinted, she could see the Devil’s Playground in the distance, the popular nightclub only a short drive away.
She checked her email again, hoping for some answers. Instead she found an email from Lyon Investigations. It took only a few seconds to download and open the document on her screen. Jessie had sent an itemized bill, a short professional email with the invoice attached, and payment information.
It was…enlightening.
Jessie hadn’t charged for the extra men Dylan sent off to search the bars and nightclubs, choosing to only list what she herself had done.
It still boggled the mind.
The photographed receipts were for parking lots, food—the usual expenses. The loan shark payment was there as well, listed under “extras.” Some were enigmas, begging questions.
Such as a charge for a dozen shots of whiskey, very expensive whiskey, at a high-priced bar in Reno.
Ally licked her lips, unable to keep her eyes from wandering over to the locked bar.
Don’t.
Don’t even think about it.
The invisible devil on her shoulder nattered about picking a fight with Jessie, considering she was in on Trey’s deception. She and Dylan had pushed Trey into Ally’s life, put him right where he needed to be to confront Vincent. It’d serve them right if she refused to pay the entire bill, or at least demand a discount for their actions.
An angel chirped in her ear, pushing the thought away.
She’d agreed to let Trey go into their files. She was the one who had asked him to stay, and he’d been the one to save her from the loan shark and his men.
Ally’s beef was with Trey—not with Dylan and definitely not with Jessie.
She tapped in the payment information without hesitation, charging the fee to Sheldon Construction. If her parents picked up on it, great. It’d save her trying to figure out how to bring up the topic.
A yawn came up, shocking her as she covered her mouth. It was time to shut things down and go to bed.
Her skin tingled at the memory of last night, of the way Tre
y had felt—how he’d touched her body and soul, how he’d shown her a side of him she’d never suspected existed.
And she’d thrown him out the door, her stinking drunken brother standing beside her.
Damn it.
She rubbed her cheeks.
You couldn’t take the chance, she told herself. You couldn’t risk the company, taking him at his word he hadn’t hacked the servers, or used you to further his own goals.
But he hadn’t—as far as she could tell, he’d told her the truth.
Except about her adopted brother.
He had to be wrong. There was no way Vincent would have run down people in the street and then fled the scene.
Would he?
She glanced at the wall, remembering the man who had brashly walked out only a few minutes ago.
A cold ball of fear curdled in her stomach.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Trey terminated the computer search program with a click of his mouse. He could have sworn he heard a heartfelt sigh from the Brotherhood mainframe, the computer resources now diverted to other areas, the five-year run grinding to a halt at a finger’s touch.
It’d been almost a week since he’d marched out of Ally’s room, but he hadn’t had the heart to turn it off until now, not wanting to accept his search was finally over.
He still hadn’t called Nick’s parents. There was nothing to say to them, nothing he could offer other than tell them about a man who said he didn’t remember that night and who was immune to prosecution due to a lack of evidence. It would hurt more than heal, rip the skin open, and toss a handful of salt into the wound.
He glanced at the framed photograph.
I’m sorry. So damned sorry…
He scrubbed his eyes with clenched fists. The last few days had been hell—he’d only eaten when his stomach had growled, diving into intense workouts in the gym to try and quiet the demons screaming in his head. Exhausted and sore, he’d drag himself to bed, but it was no use. A few hours later, he’d be back up, prowling the club looking for something to do.
Trey got up and walked out of the computer room. He was on duty in a few minutes, and he didn’t want to be late.
Work was the only thing keeping him sane. It was as if he was living in a dream, unable to focus on anything or anyone since leaving Sheldon Construction.
Leaving Ally.
He took the elevator up to the main floor then ducked and weaved through the loud and boisterous crowd on the way to his usual station. Finn was up there, tapping his foot to the live band and smiling.
Finn gave him a sideways glance as Trey climbed the stairs and moved to stand beside him on the catwalk, the position giving them an excellent view of the dance floor.
“No ninja moves?”
Trey bit back the curse dangling on his tongue. “Not in the mood.”
Finn turned his attention back to the crowd. “Been a few days of that.”
“Yeah, well…” Trey scratched the back of his neck. “Just a rough patch.”
“I heard.” Finn didn’t turn his head. “Too bad things didn’t work out.”
“Yeah.” He was grateful for the lack of conversation.
“Watch out for the coffee in the break room. Jessie’s been making it again.”
Trey ignored the jibe and studied his watch, calculating the time until Vincent would be making the big presentation.
Sheldon Construction would rise or fall on the man’s ability to make it through a meeting without a stiff drink.
He couldn’t help thinking of Ally.
What are you going to do if Vincent succeeds?
What are you going to do if he fails?
…
The morning sun cut through the blinds like a series of long, bright knives, creeping across the floor to the couch where Ally sat reviewing her notes for the thousandth time.
She had her feet tucked up under her as she studied her tablet, her stomach twisting into knots. She hadn’t been this nervous since her final exams in university.
The past few days had been frantic, preparing Vincent for the presentation. Meanwhile, the seeds she’d planted during her meetings before Vincent’s return were starting to bear fruit, messages coming in for possible future projects and offers to meet again. But she felt off-balance, as if she’d just stepped off a carousel spinning way too fast.
She resisted the urge to call Sheldon’s security expert again. Three days ago, he’d sent an update, telling her he was still digging but was making progress.
And then…
The nearby door swung open, slammed into the wall.
“Hey!” The shout brought her up and out of her thoughts.
Vincent stomped out of his room, waving his tablet in the air. He wore a white dress shirt and blazer, the jeans brand-new. His hair was pulled back into a tidy ponytail, the expensive manicure leaving his hands neat and tidy.
“What the fuck did you do to Capprelli?”
“Who?” It took her a few seconds to rewind her memory to the interaction with the site manager. “Oh, Capprelli. What about him?”
“You said you’d fine him if he had any more accidents, threatened to dock his pay. Son of a bitch is now running behind schedule.” He snarled as he held up the tablet. “So now we’re screwed for the early opening.”
“The early opening was only on paper. No one knew about it outside of the company. That was never a guaranteed thing,” she replied, resisting the urge to get up and face him. “It was a stretch objective if the stars aligned and everything went according to plan. We’re still going to finish on time.” She shook her head. “I told Capprelli we weren’t going to have people injured so he can get his bonus for finishing early.”
He glared at her across the coffee table. “That wasn’t your call.”
“You weren’t here,” she shot back. “So, Trey and I…”
“Fuck Trey. Oh, wait. You did.” He laughed. “Sorry, sorry. Couldn’t pass that one up.” He put his hands on his hips. “Listen, you didn’t have the authority to tell Capprelli that, and sure as hell Trey didn’t. If Capprelli knew he wasn’t working for the company, he would have blown him off. Besides, you put us in a bad spot with your boyfriend impersonating an employee. Do you have any idea how much trouble we could be in if someone took that news and ran to the press?”
Anger flashed through her, burning over the emotional scars. “But…”
“I’ve sent a memo telling Capprelli to get the fuck back on schedule, kick ass on the site and hurry the hell up. We’ll pay off anyone who gets hurt, keep the paperwork from happening.”
“What?” She was up and off the sofa, facing him. “You can’t do that.”
“I can, and I did.” Vincent stood his ground, the coffee table between them.
“And what if people are injured or killed? No amount of money is going to give them back a hand or a foot.” She shook her head. “No. Call him back. Tell him to forget the push, stay on the new schedule. We’ll finish on time and safely.”
“No.” He eyed her. “You figure you know all about this business, but I’m the one who went with Dad to every site and sat in on every meeting.” He tapped his chest. “I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen how far you can push managers. Some of them need an incentive—if it’s not waving money at the end of a stick, you use the stick. Dad used to do it. I do it.” He rolled his shoulders. “It’s an acceptable risk, and Capprelli’s an excellent site manager.”
Her mouth fell open as she digested his words, her head spinning.
“Listen, we make a good team. You handle the public relations, I bust some balls, and the jobs get done. We’ve been okay for years—don’t toss this all away because some guy put ideas in your mind. Don’t mess with a good thing.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”
“Or what?” She narrowed her eyes. “Tell me what you’d do, Vincent. Enlighten me. Sure, you can tell the press about Trey not being a legit employee—and I’ll give an interview about you embezzling th
ousands of dollars from Sheldon Construction and losing it between drunken binges and gambling. Maybe get that loan shark on camera. Bet he’d love to talk about you dropping your watch on the table for one last, desperate hand.”
Suddenly he was up in her face, far inside her personal bubble. She could smell the sickly sweat on him. Her stomach twisted into a greasy, cold ball as he pulled his lips back, showing his teeth.
“Don’t even think about it.” The low whisper ground against her skin. “My family took you in when no one else wanted you. What do you think pulling a stunt like that’s going to do?” He continued, not giving her a chance to answer. “Everything’ll go down. It’ll all fall apart. You want to destroy this company, everything your father built? What’s your legacy going to be then, hmm? What’s the Sheldon name going to be worth after that?”
“What’s it worth now?” she snapped. “Maybe you should be thinking about that.”
He glared at her, suddenly at a loss for words.
She turned and walked out, her heart racing.
…
Trey wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, the wraps tight against his knuckles. He’d been working the heavy bag for the past hour, the chains rattling from the ceiling as he made it dance under his jabs and punches.
“Looking good,” Finn called over from where he was lifting light weights. “Call out if you need a hand.”
Trey didn’t answer, too busy laying down a combination of blows. He still didn’t know what to do about Ally and Vincent, if anything.
Every night since he’d left her standing there angry in the living room, he’d dreamed of her. No escape, no getting away, no matter how much he worked himself physically and mentally.
Every episode ended with her angry accusation that he’d used her to get to Vincent. The problem was he wasn’t totally innocent of the charge.
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