Hard Rules Read online

  I suck in a breath and let it out. “I don’t want to be the person that screws up this family’s life.”

  “He’ll never let me tell her,” he assures me. “And I wouldn’t without your approval anyway. You know that. But for the record, this family’s life is already screwed up and it’s fucked up that they don’t know it.”

  I hesitate all of two seconds. “Do it.” The truth is, my fleeting moment of guilt was wasted on a man who revels in breaking the law.

  “I’ll leave tonight then,” Seth replies. “Right after I pay the ‘other woman’ a visit.” He motions to the desk. “Need me to do anything about Nina?”

  “I have it handled.”

  Still he doesn’t leave, an expectant few beats of silence passing before he asks, “Anything else?”

  Translation: he wants to know about Emily, and while I have every reason to get him digging around about her, somewhere in the middle of this conversation, I’ve decided I’m not done with her myself quite yet. “Nothing,” I say.

  He narrows his gaze a moment, clearly weighing my reply. “Very well,” he says, heading for the door.

  “Don’t shut it,” I call after him, grabbing the envelope with the deal memo and staring down at it, clear on how to handle it, but Emily is another matter. Creating a distraction to keep me from finding the Martina connection would be smart. And yet, I’m foolish enough to want to believe Emily is telling me the truth. She’s either the only woman who’s ever rocked my world, or she’s a source of information I can, and will, use.

  I round the desk and the instant I’m out the door, Jessica says, “Your father—”

  “Handled,” I say, and I don’t stop walking, passing my brother’s closed door and dark office before cutting down the hallway and through the lobby, where Kelly is greeting a visitor I don’t know.

  Continuing on, I enter the next hallway to my father’s office, not sure if I should expect to be requesting Emily’s phone number through human resources after visiting with my father or if I’ll find her still present and accounted for. I round the corner, bringing the empty desk in front of my father’s office into view, and the idea that Emily’s run again is actually a relief. If she was a game piece my father and/or brother placed in an attempt to distract me, or throw me off my game, she’d still be here.

  I walk to my father’s open office door and enter, finding him behind his desk on the phone. I shut the door and he glances up. “I’ll call you back,” he says to whoever is on the line, clearly not waiting on a reply before hanging up to direct his, “About damn time,” at me.

  Stopping in front of his desk, I toss the envelope down as I had the photo of Derek and the FDA inspector. “I know that’s a payoff.” I know I can’t cave too easily or he’ll suspect something is wrong. “Which is exactly why you asked me to bring it to you on a thumb drive or hard copy. You didn’t want it proof of our file transfer. What’s it for?”

  He leans back in his seat. “Must you always try to prove why you earned that Harvard law degree?”

  “You expected me to be the best and I am,” I reply. Pushing for any piece of information I can get, I ask, “What does Nina Thompson know that she shouldn’t?”

  “Does it matter?” It’s my turn to offer a deadpan look, and after two beats he scowls and snaps, “Riker had an affair with Nina. When he tried to break it off, she threatened to go to his wife.”

  Riker, who is gay, had an affair with his female employee? I’d laugh at the blatant lie if I wasn’t concerned about what’s really going on, and how my father’s involved. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

  “Your skills are better used for bigger things. I handled it. Like I always do.”

  Like he handled the Feds, but I let it go, pushing for a way inside this deal’s origin instead. “If I call Nina’s lawyer, what will I hear?”

  “I convinced her not to hire a lawyer.”

  Of course he did. “If I call her, then?”

  “What do you think?”

  I consider him. “I’ll pay her off. Consider it handled.”

  “I’ll deal with the conclusion of the agreement.”

  “Part of my employment contract requires my signature on all legal agreements. I’ll handle it.”

  “Not this time,” he says, his tone absolute. “Riker’s a friend and he’s worried about his family.”

  I shake my head at the absurdity of him having friends. “Of course, Father, and fucking around on his wife certainly proves that concern.” I pick up the envelope. “An investment is the wrong packaging for a gag deal. I’ll rework it and you’ll have your contract by morning.”

  I turn and walk away to hear him growl into his intercom, “Come to my office, Emily.”

  Tension ripples down my spine and I open the door to come face-to-face with my sweet-smelling potential liar. She physically flinches at our standoff, a reaction that hits me in a variety of ways. One: she’s fucking gorgeous and I still want her. Two: no one trying to rattle me would be this rattled by me—not unless she’s a good enough actor to fool someone who makes a living reading people.

  “Shane,” she says. “I mean … Mr. Brandon.”

  I step to her. “Not ‘asshole’?”

  Her cheeks heat. “That would be unprofessional and I’m trying hard not to get fired. Unless you just made that happen.”

  “In other words,” I say, “calling me an asshole is an appropriate term. Just not at the office.”

  “I plead the fifth. I’m not incriminating myself to a man who could fire me.”

  “A little too late for that, sweetheart.” I step around her.

  “No,” she says from behind me and when I face her she steps closer, lowering her voice. “I didn’t know who you were and no matter how many ways you infer or say I did, it still won’t be true. And I’m not your sweetheart, Mr. Brandon.” She whirls around and charges into my father’s office.

  I stand there, fighting the urge to go after her. Whether she is telling the truth or not, there is one thing for sure. It’s game on, and if I win, she’ll be telling the truth and back in my bed, where I most definitely want her. If I lose, she’s lying, but she’s still ending up back in my bed.

  EMILY

  Trying to garner some semblance of control, I make a mental list I don’t dare write down, deciding a number of things quickly. Number one: I don’t have the luxury to leave this job if I’m not fired. Number two: in order to survive in the middle of a company, and a family, at war, I can’t be the gazelle outside the lion’s office. I have to be me, the real me that my nightmare of a secret has suppressed, and that means holding my own with all of the Brandon men. It’s a task I take on with Brandon Senior, from the moment he barks his first order and I spout back with knowledge, not fear, an act that earns me a long, hard glower, before respect flints through his stare.

  By six thirty, only a half hour before Shane’s demand that I meet him in the garage, I’ve continued to hold my own with my new boss. On the other hand, I’m concerned that meeting his son, who had me naked and submissive last night, in private, isn’t the best way for me to keep my job. The intercom buzzes for about the twentieth time this afternoon and Brandon Senior barks, “I need that document I asked for before you leave.”

  “Finishing it now,” I assure him, only to glance up in shock to discover Shane’s brother has snuck up on me and is standing in front of my desk.

  He leans forward, resting his palms on my desk, his eyes the same gray as Shane’s, but his are cold and cunning while Shane’s are intelligent and calculating. “Yet another new secretary,” he observes.

  The ways I don’t care for that description are too many to count. “And you’re Derek Brandon.”

  “And you know this how?” he asks, a predatory tone to the question that reaches beyond its simplicity and is meant to intimidate me.

  “Because,” I say, stamping the paper in front of me to assure him he does not have my full attention, “I’ve met your
brother and you look like your father.”

  His reply is a long, intense stare, another attempt to stir unease in me because he clearly thinks I’m the gazelle outside the lion’s office. I laugh after a few beats. “Do you not like to be told you look like your father?” And before I can stop myself I say, “Would you rather I say you look like your brother? Or do you prefer to hear that he looks like you?”

  I’ve earned an instant scowl and he shoves off my desk as if pushed. “Good luck with the job. I hear there’s a betting pool for how many days you’ll last.” And with that fear-mongering remark, he walks into his father’s office. And that’s when my skin prickles and I feel Shane before I even see him.

  My gaze jerks to the hall, and there he is, far better looking and intimidating than Derek could ever hope to be, leaning on the wall, just watching me, his expression all hard lines and shadows. Seconds tick by like hours in which I wonder if he thinks me still being here is a sign of guilt rather than necessity. I wonder if he knows his concern over my possible betrayal made him act like the true spawn of his father. Or maybe it wasn’t acting at all? Worse, I wonder if he thinks the way Derek was leaning over my desk infers intimacy and my guilt. Another couple of seconds pass by, and he turns and walks away, and I swear he takes all of the air in the room with him.

  I shake myself, my decision about tonight’s meeting made. Grabbing the Rolodex, I find Shane’s number, surprised his cell phone is on the card, and I key it into my phone. Next I grab the file on my desk and walk toward the office, only to have the door shut, but I still hear Derek say, “I told you Shane would buy the Nina Thompson story.”

  I grimace and turn away, walking to the desk and punching the intercom. “Yes, Ms. Stevens?”

  “I have your document. Shall I bring it in to you for your review?”

  “Leave it on your desk.”

  My list for the day complete, I ask, “Do you need anything else before I leave?”

  “Just an answer to a question.”

  “Of course.”

  “How many days?”

  I blink and then I grimace at what I know is a reference to my conversation with Derek. “However long I stay,” I reply, “won’t be determined by an office bet or by delicate sensibilities I don’t have.”

  There is silence. And more silence before he says, “Good night, Ms. Stevens.”

  I pop to my feet and grab my purse, shoving it over my head and across my body, and all but run through the now dark lobby. Punching the elevator call button about ten times, I will it to produce a car. The door to the offices opens and that prickling sensation is almost instantaneous. I whirl around and he is walking toward me, and why, why, why, does he have to be so stunningly male when he was so stunningly an asshole?

  I lift my chin, refusing to be that gazelle. He takes his time, torturing me with his approach, until he towers over me, too close. So very close, and I can smell him, all spicy, and masculine, wonderful, in the way that he defines and owns. I can almost feel him. That is how much, despite him being an asshole today, I want this man.

  “Running again?” he asks softly, his voice a low, raspy taunt that somehow still manages to be a seduction.

  “I’m not running. And I’m not quitting a job that pays double what it should to compensate me for tolerating your father. I was going to call you when I got downstairs.”

  “Call me how? I’m not at my desk.”

  “Your cell phone number was in the Rolodex. I was going to tell you I can’t meet you someplace private.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you think I slept with you for the wrong reasons and therefore you think I’ll do it again.”

  “Why did you sleep with me?”

  “I told you my reasons last night.”

  “Tell me again,” he orders.

  “No.”

  He arches a brow. “No?”

  “No,” I repeat firmly.

  “How do I know this isn’t a game?”

  “If this is a game, I’m losing. Fire me if you’re going to fire me, Shane.”

  “I’m not going to fire you.”

  “Does that mean you’re the one playing games?”

  “I don’t play games, but we both know you’re in some kind of trouble.”

  “You’re my trouble,” I say defensively. “You’re the one who has me fearing I’ll lose this job.”

  “And people in trouble,” he says, as if I haven’t spoken, “make mistakes. But I wasn’t a mistake.”

  My throat goes dry. “If you’re saying I knew who you were, I told you, I didn’t know.”

  “That’s not—”

  The door behind Shane opens and my gaze lifts and jerks back to Shane’s. “Your brother,” I warn softly, quickly putting two steps between us.

  “Tell my father,” Shane says instantly, as if we’re holding a conversation we weren’t, “nothing has changed. I said the contract will be ready in the morning and it will be.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Brandon,” I improvise. “He’s just pushing me to get it right away.” The elevator doors open. “Thank you again,” I say and quickly dart inside the car.

  Turning, I face forward and find myself pinned by Shane’s intense steely gray stare, the connection jolting me. There is something going on between me and this man. Something I don’t understand. And that is my last thought before Derek steps to the side and the doors shut. It’s over. Shane is gone. I slump against the wall, unsure of what just happened. I have my job but absolutely no clue if Shane still believes I’ve betrayed him. He said that sleeping with him wasn’t a mistake. He never said he was sorry or wrong about anything that happened in his office. So there is my answer. He believes I betrayed him and he is playing games with me.

  It’s nobody’s business but mine who put these slugs in me!

  —Owney Madden

  CHAPTER TEN

  EMILY

  I give up on sleep at five in the morning, pulling on leggings, a tank top, and a warm hoodie, and pause to finger the dainty silver bracelet on the counter that my mother had given me when I graduated high school. She’d changed those last few years. Become someone I didn’t recognize, someone with no dreams of her own, who existed to survive rather than to embrace life. Because of him, I think. He is the root of every choice I’ve made. In fact, if I made a list of how I got where I am now, he’d be at the top of the list, the catalyst to everything. It’s not a pleasant thought and I shove it aside to turn my attention to tying my hair at my nape. Bypassing makeup, I brush my teeth, and attach my headphones to my cheap phone, which actually has a music app. From there, I exit my apartment, lock the door, stuff the key in my bra, and with the full intention of running Shane out of my system, I start jogging. It’s not a great plan, but it’s better than hours of willing my eyes shut for sleep, only to see him, and darn near taste him, in between my fury at his accusations.

  By the end of block number one, the night chill I’m coming to know is common year round here is almost gone, and I shove down my hood, crank up a familiar song in an effort to mute out the conversation with myself I keep having in my head, and step up my pace. But instead of escaping into the music, I find myself replaying every thought that kept me up last night, starting with one that is especially bothersome. If Shane believes I am working for his family, he’s keeping me around to prove some point or pick my brain for things I don’t know. That means I could be gone any second. I have to find another job. And it hurts and makes me angry all over again.

  The more my mind tries to play with me, the harder I run, and I’m a good six blocks from home when I look up and jolt at the sight of a man in sweats running toward me. A tall, familiar-looking man. Oh God. This can’t be happening. It’s Shane and he’s almost on top of me. I turn and launch myself in the other direction, but it’s too late.

  I make it all of a few steps before he shackles my wrist and rotates me to face him. “We need to talk,” he says.

  “No. No, we don’t. T
his is my private time and I don’t work for you right now. Not here.”

  “Come with me,” he orders, and the next thing I know he’s leading me into a coffee shop and through the rows of seats, and the only way I can stop him is to make a scene. And since technically he is still one of my bosses, that doesn’t seem smart. It’s an assessment that seems good until he’s leading me into a bathroom, locking the door, and crowding me into a corner.

  “You can’t do this,” I hiss, and I don’t know what to do with my hands, flattening them on the wall behind me.

  “It looks like I can.”

  “You’re a bully and now you’re using my job against me too. This is wrong. I didn’t even know I’d gotten the job. Human resources called me yesterday morning.”

  “I told you I am not firing you. Your job is between you and my father.”

  “And yet I’m shoved against a wall in a bathroom. With you.” I try to duck under his arm. He steps closer, completely pinning me, and this time my hands can go nowhere but his chest. That I’ve seen naked. And I feel naked right now. “Let me out of here.”

  “I was a total ass yesterday, Emily. I’m sorry.”

  I blanch, momentarily stunned by the unexpected apology that none of the powerful men I’ve known in my life have offered, not sure what to think. Before I can figure it out, he presses again. “Why did you leave without saying good-bye?” This time his voice is softer, more seduction than demand.

  Because he sees things I can’t let him see. But I can’t say that. “I didn’t want the awkward morning after. It was a one-night stand.”

  “That wasn’t a one-night stand.”

  It’s the answer I both want and can’t accept. “We said—”

  He drags me to him, his hand at the back of my head, and before I can so much as breathe, his lips cover my lips. My hand flattens on his chest, my arm firm, and I try to resist, but his tongue strokes against mine, and the taste of him, hunger, and male perfection, assaults my senses. Another stroke, and my elbow softens, my fingers are curling around his shirt only to have him tear his mouth from mine to declare, “Now we’ve ensured it’s more than a one-night stand. It’s here and now and whatever we decide it can be. Come back to my apartment with me.”