by Julie James
Of course Vaughn, with his FBI superpowers of perception, had to comment.
“Got another offer on the table that expires soon?” he asked.
“Go away.”
Vaughn grinned. “You’re quite circumspect about this situation with Brooke. I find that very intriguing, don’t you, Hux?”
No reply.
“Hux?” Vaughn looked to his right, where Huxley was reading something on his phone. With an unmistakable smile, he tucked his phone into the pocket of his impeccably tailored Ralph Lauren suit, and then noticed Cade and Vaughn looking at him. “Sorry. What were we talking about?”
“Just giving Cade crap about a certain sexy general counsel. But never mind that.” Vaughn pointed suspiciously. “What’s going on here, with the phone and the sneaky smile?” He studied his partner. “Don’t tell me you actually have a hot date tonight.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.” Huxley took a sip of his beer, deliberately leaving them hanging.
“Look at you,” Cade said. “With who?”
“Addison.”
“Addison? Who’s—” It took Vaughn a second, then his mouth fell open. “Agent Simms? When did this happen?”
Huxley swirled his glass, looking quite coy. “Things have been percolating for a while. But they shifted into high gear after our fake date at Sogna.”
Vaughn threw out his hands in exasperation. “First Morgan, now you. Plus McCall’s getting married next month, and Pallas is having a kid. Purposely. Am I the only one not getting laid as part of an FBI sting operation?”
Huxley pretended to muse over this. “Maybe you should take some time. Figure out what’s gone wrong with your mojo these days.”
“My mojo is perfectly fine,” Vaughn assured him.
Cade was curious. “Is it serious?”
Huxley smiled. “Yeah. I think so.”
Vaughn scoffed at this. “Come on. You’ve only been seeing her for, what, a month?”
Huxley shrugged. “I like her. She likes me. It’s not that complicated.”
Cade and Vaughn threw each other looks. Right.
“Amateur,” Vaughn said, with a conspiratorial grin.
“Amateur, huh? I’ll be sure to ask Addison tonight if she agrees with that assessment.”
And if his confident smile was any indication, Agent Seth Huxley wasn’t worried about the answer to that one bit.
* * *
“YOU REALLY DO impress me, you know.”
Cade peered down at Brooke, who lay against his chest, curled up in the sheets of her bed. “Thanks. I even impressed myself with that one.”
She chuckled. “I wasn’t referring to that move you threw in at the end there. Although, yes, well done, you.”
“Glad you approve.”
“Actually, I was thinking about our conversation earlier, when you were talking about being out with Vaughn and Huxley.”
“You’re thinking about Vaughn and Huxley while we’re lying in bed together? Not sure I like the sound of that.”
She perked her head up and looked at him. “Oh . . . so that’s not something you would ever consider? The three of you, you know . . . all at once? Because I kind of have this fantasy I was going to talk to you about.”
Cade was about to laugh, but then she held his gaze so unflinchingly that for a split second he wondered if she was actually serious.
Okay . . . this definitely was not a conversation he’d ever expected to have with Brooke Parker of Sterling Restaurants, the Gorgeous Green Eyes, and Holy Shit She’s Into Foursomes.
But then he saw the telltale sparkle in her eyes.
He exhaled. “You suck.”
“Oh my God, you should’ve seen the look on your—” She cut off, laughing when he beaned her with one of the pillows. Then he bonked her two more times for good measure.
She sprawled across the bed when he’d finished, her hair tousled about her shoulders. “So that’s a ‘no,’ then?”
Cade smiled. The woman may have driven him crazy, but he had a grin on his face the whole way. He lay on his side, facing her. “That is definitely a ‘no.’ And you still suck.”
She turned into him, absentmindedly trailing her fingers over his bare chest. “What I was referring to, when I said I was impressed, was the way you’ve managed to have so much balance with your job. You’re obviously very successful. You have a great career at the U.S. Attorney’s Office. Yet you still have time to play football and hang out with Vaughn and Huxley and just . . . have an actual life.” She mused momentarily over this. “I haven’t figured out that trick yet.”
“I get busy, too, especially when I’m on trial.” Cade paused, proceeding cautiously with his next words since he knew it was a sensitive issue. “But you do realize that your work schedule isn’t exactly the norm, right?”
She thought about that. “It’s just because we’re building the company right now,” she said, ready, as always, to defend Sterling. “Ten years ago, Ian owned one restaurant. Now, on top of seven additional restaurants, we’re in ballparks and arenas across the country. Things will quiet down eventually, but for now I just have to keep chugging away.”
“Have to?” Cade asked.
“Ah, I see what you’re trying to do there, counselor. I want to keep chugging away,” she quickly amended. “Look, I know the hours are a little crazy. But I worked hard to end up right where I am now. And when I walk through Sterling’s doors every morning, I feel proud of what I’ve accomplished.”
That brought to mind something Cade had been curious about. “Do you ever go back to Glenwood?”
She tucked her arm under her head. “I haven’t been back there in years. My parents sold our townhome after I graduated from high school. In fact, they put it on the market literally the week after I graduated. After it sold, they moved three hours west of here, to a small town on the Mississippi River. I remember being so perplexed by that at first—my parents had lived in Chicago for years, and then Glenwood, which was a decent-sized suburb. So I kept wondering when the desire to live in a small town had set in.
“They moved just after I started college, so the first time I saw the place was Thanksgiving break. It’s a cute house, a little Victorian, and they have a big yard. On my first visit, my mom took me around the yard and told me about all these plans she had for a garden. I remember laughing a little, and asking her when she’d gotten so into gardening, since the most we’d ever had at our townhome was a few potted plants. And she said to me, half-joking and half-serious, something about being inspired by all the big, fancy gardens she’d had to drive by, every day, when we lived in Glenwood.”
Brooke chewed her lip, thinking about that. “It was this strange moment, because, as a teenager, I’d really only thought about how it felt for me to live in the ‘poor’ part of town, and how much harder I had always had to work for everything. But then I kind of put it together, the fact that my parents had put their place on the market the week after I’d graduated, and realized that they’d probably been wanting to get out of that place for a long time. But they’d stayed for me, so that I could get the education they thought I deserved. That was . . . a little humbling.” She looked at him across the bed. “I just don’t want to let them down. It’s like, sometimes I feel this weight, the pressure of everything everyone in the Parker family, including myself, has done for me to get where I am today.”
She peered at him, appearing surprised. “I’ve never said that to anyone. Not even Ford.”
“Why tell me?” he asked huskily.
“I don’t know . . .” She studied him, then shrugged, deliberately teasing. “Maybe I just wanted to talk. And you happened to be here.”
“I feel so used.”
She laughed, just like he’d hoped. And when she curled closer to him, he felt it—that same tightening in his chest. He looked down at her, turning more serious. “I’m sure, more than anything, your parents just want you to be happy.”
Brooke nodded, as if mulling
this over. “Well, and I am happy, obviously,” she said, almost as an afterthought. She changed the subject. “What about your parents? Are they in Chicago?”
It was a perfectly innocuous question. Cade started with the easy part. “My mom lives in Scottsdale. She got married after I graduated from college and moved shortly after that. It was kind of weird when she got married, because it had always been just the two of us, but I’m happy for her. Kent, her husband, is a good guy.”
He paused, falling silent for a long moment before something drove him on. “Do you remember that night we met at Bar Nessuno, when I showed up late?”
Brooke nodded. “You said you’d had a strange day.”
“The reason I was running late was because my sixteen-year-old half brother, who I didn’t know existed, showed up at my office out of the blue.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, wow.”
“That was basically my reaction at first.”
“How did you not know he existed?” she asked.
Certainly a fair question, so Cade thought about where to go from there. He’d avoided talking about Noah for so long, it wasn’t easy to know where to start. “I’ve only met my father once. My mom got pregnant when they were in high school and he bailed on us. I was ten when he finally decided to show up. He came to my house, and I was furious with him for not being around. But then we went out into the yard and played football, and it was good. Really good. Like, suddenly there was this person I barely knew who fit into my life so perfectly.” Cade’s tone turned dry. “Of course, it was all an illusion.”
“What happened?” Brooke asked.
“When we’d finished playing football, Noah—my father—asked if I wanted to go to the Bears game with him the following weekend. He never showed up that day. Or any other day afterward.”
Cade lay there, debating, before he continued. “I know the exact moment I pushed him away. It was when I called him ‘Dad.’ I saw the panic in his eyes, and I think, deep down, that a part of me knew right then that I’d blown it. For years, I wished I could go back and change that one moment, wished I could tell myself to keep it in check, and just not care so much. Because in the end, I was setting myself up for a huge disappointment.”
After a pause, he looked at Brooke. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”
She held his gaze. “What made you tell me?”
He pretended to think about that. “Maybe I wanted to talk, and you just happened to be here.” When she smiled, he reached over and pulled her closer, their naked limbs tangling together as she rested her head against his chest.
Tomorrow morning he would undoubtedly start to sweat, big-time, thinking about why he’d decided to share more about his past with Brooke than he ever had with anyone else.
But right then, with her lying in his arms, he wouldn’t change a thing.
Twenty-four
SAFE TO SAY, Friday was not a banner day for Sterling Restaurants.
Brooke spent the majority of her afternoon in her office with Keith, Sterling’s VP of security, who’d received an anonymous call earlier in the week from a woman claiming to work at one of the restaurants at the United Center. She’d told Keith that the general manager of the restaurant had been stealing from the company for the last few months by voiding out cash sales from the point-of-sale machine at the end of the night.
At first, both Brooke and Keith had been skeptical.
“Dave’s been with Sterling for seven years,” she’d said, referring to the general manager in question. “He and Ian golf together all the time. He wouldn’t steal from the company, let alone a friend.”
“Could be a disgruntled employee or ex-employee trying to make trouble,” Keith had said.
“We’ll find out soon enough.” They’d agreed that Keith would conduct an immediate internal investigation and report back to her.
And now they knew.
“I’d really hoped this one would go the other way,” Keith said. Even the normally unflappable VP of security looked dejected after filling Brooke in on the results of his internal audit. Bottom line: the allegations against the general manager appeared to be true.
Brooke sighed, a mixture of frustration, anger, and disappointment. Firing some random homophobic jerk she’d never met was easy, but she knew Dave Lyons—he was a senior-level employee whose wife she enjoyed chatting with every year at the company holiday party. “I’ll talk to Ian and bring him up to speed. He’s going to be crushed.”
“For what it’s worth, I think Dave is in trouble financially,” Keith said. “I’m hearing rumors about a gambling problem.”
That certainly didn’t make Brooke feel any better about the situation. “When do you plan to talk to him?”
“He should be at the restaurant now,” Keith said. “Figured I would get this over with before the weekend.”
Agreeing with that, Brooke counseled Keith on the various questions he should—and more important, should not— ask when he interviewed the general manger. When they’d finished, and Keith had left to head out to the United Center, Brooke went to see Ian in his office.
She knocked on his door. “Got a minute?”
Sitting in front of his computer, he waved her in. “Absolutely. Just checking out the Bears’ schedule in advance of your big meeting and making sure I have all the home games on my calendar. Kidding.” He paused when he saw her expression. “Oh, boy. I know that look.” He turned in his chair and faced her, never one to beat around the bush. “Tell me.”
“We think Dave Lyons has been stealing from the Stadium Club.”
Ian’s expression went from surprise to disbelief. “No way. Dave and I have known each other for years. He was the manager I hired to run my first restaurant.” He shook his head. “There must be some mistake.”
“Keith is heading over to the United Center now to talk to him. But he’s already done an internal audit and it looks pretty incriminating,” Brooke said. “I’m sorry, Ian. Keith said he’s hearing rumors about Dave possibly having some financial issues, maybe a gambling problem. But that part is just speculation at this point.”
“Aw, hell.” Ian ran a hand over his face. “I knew about his gambling habit, but he never said anything to me about having money problems.” After a moment, he looked at her. “How much do you think he took?”
“Roughly fifty thousand dollars.”
Ian went silent, hearing that. “All right,” he finally said, his tone having turned noticeably more businesslike. “Assuming this turns out to be true, what are our options? I can’t believe I’m going to ask this, because I probably shouldn’t give a crap what happens to Lyons, but . . . I don’t know, if it is a gambling thing, can we have him resign quietly and then work out some kind of private arrangement? He gets himself into Gamblers Anonymous and agrees to pay the company back every penny, that kind of thing?”
And this was one of the reasons Brooke believed in Ian, both as a person and as a CEO. Even when he’d likely been stabbed in the back by someone he’d considered a friend, he cared.
Unfortunately, that didn’t change the fact that their hands were tied in this particular instance. And, as general counsel, it was her responsibility to advise Ian of that. “If it were one of Sterling’s independent restaurants, that might be something we could consider. But the United Center owns the Stadium Club, and as part of our contract with them we’re obligated to report all known instances of employee theft to the police.”
And the news didn’t get any better as the afternoon progressed.
Two hours later, Keith called Brooke from the Stadium Club to let her know that he’d met with Dave, and that the general manager had broken down and admitted everything. Over the course of the last six months he’d lost a significant amount of money in gambling, a fact he’d kept from all his friends and family. Not knowing where to turn, he’d started pocketing cash from the restaurant’s POS machine—small amounts at first, and then he’d grown bolder in his desperation.
Hearing the whole story just made Brooke feel . . . bad. For once, she thought she’d actually prefer another oops-I-hired-a-murderer moment. At least with that one, she’d been able to laugh eventually.
“Dave’s in pretty bad shape,” Keith said. “As soon as I confronted him, he started crying. Sobbing, actually. I think part of him is relieved to have gotten caught—he keeps saying he feels terrible for doing this to Ian. I assume you want me to call CPD and let the police handle this from here?”
Brooke tiredly ran a hand through her hair. That would be the normal procedure, yes. And she knew what would happen from there: two Chicago police officers—likely detectives from the financial crimes unit given the amount at stake—would show up at the Stadium Club, throw Dave Lyons in handcuffs, and then would very publicly escort him out of the restaurant.
Unless . . .
She debated for a half second, and then thought about whether she would pick up the phone and call Cade if they were simply friends and not sleeping together. When she decided that, yes, she would, that put an end to her hesitation.
“Hold off for a couple of minutes, Keith. Let me make one call before we bring in the cops.” Brooke hung up with the VP of security, then dialed a now-familiar cell phone number.
“Ms. Parker,” Cade answered, his voice low and rich. “An actual phone call instead of a text message—I’m honored.”
“I have a favor to ask of you. Work related.”
Instantly, he turned more serious. “What do you need?”
“We caught one of our general managers stealing,” she said. “To make a long story short, he’s confessed to everything and we’re turning this over to the police. For various reasons, I’d rather not make a spectacle of the guy’s arrest. I was wondering if maybe you had, you know . . . a guy at the Chicago Police Department who could handle this quietly.”
Cade seemed amused by her question.
Of course he did.