Hard Rules Read online

  “Please give me a reason to go Rocky on that man. I’ll leave you to your work.” She crosses the room, disappearing into the hallway and pulling my door shut without me asking. The woman is a jewel in a sea of stones.

  I grab the folders and go to work, looking for our next play in the market, the one where the rest of Brandon Enterprises no longer exists. I start reading and I don’t stop, analyzing alliances I might form, products we might produce. My interests lead me to Internet research and an e-mailed list of prospective hires that I shoot to Seth. I’m deep into the second half of folder number one when I blink and look up to find Jessica setting a coffee on my desk, along with a bag I know has the croissants I favor inside. “It’s seven o’clock.”

  I blink and look up at her. “How long have I been sitting here?”

  “I believe you stretched your legs and walked to what I assume was the bathroom—I certainly hope so—at about four o’clock. So, three hours, not including the three before that break. What can I do to help?”

  “Go home.”

  “You’ve been here late every night for a month, Shane. You haven’t even changed your shirt. You need rest.”

  “Thank you, Mother. I’m fine. Go home.”

  “I’m twenty-nine years old, about to be thirty. For your safety, do not call me ‘mother.’”

  “Go home,” I repeat.

  “Fine,” she says, turning on her heel and marching toward the exit, disappearing into the hallway and shutting the door behind her. I rotate my chair to face the floor-to-ceiling windows wrapping the room. The city is soon to be aglow in light, but it will never compare to the view from my Manhattan office. Frustrated at myself for going there, I face forward again.

  It’s time to go home, order a pizza, and just work, but I don’t get up. Instead, for at least the tenth time, my mother’s words replay in my head. Take control and then make changes, followed by my thought of, Not a chance in hell. I need a play, a game changer that forces everyone to follow me if Seth fails on the leverage side. I stand and grab my briefcase, shoving the files inside, and damn it, my gaze catches on the view behind the glass. For almost a year now, I’ve craved my return to New York, but it’s time I face facts. I have to be here and be present to win this war, or give up. I dig my phone from my pants pocket and text the realtor I’ve been dodging for months: I’m ready. Find me a house. I’ll call you tomorrow.

  Shoving my briefcase strap over my shoulder, I cross the room, exiting into the dimly lit outer office, and I’ll be damned if Derek doesn’t do the same. We both stop outside our doors, the tension between us damn near making the floor quake. In unison it seems, we start walking, neither of us stopping until we are toe-to-toe at the hallway, inviting both our departures.

  “The company doesn’t need to be saved,” Derek bites out, as if we’re mid-conversation. “Father might be playing a game with us, but we both know he won’t watch his pride and joy be gutted.”

  “Wake up, Derek. He’ll be dead and you’ll be in jail if we don’t make changes. We can make those changes together.”

  “We can’t do shit together, Shane.”

  “We’re brothers. We used to be inseparable.”

  “I was your babysitter, then left for college before you even hit high school. We barely know each other and anything we were damn sure ended when you returned home and became everyone’s moral compass.” His jaw sets. “Go back to your world. This is mine.”

  His. This is all about the company and money. Power. And still, the brother in me who used to idolize Derek wants to cave and give him what he demands, but he’s made that impossible. “Together,” I say again.

  “Fuck off, Shane. How do you not see how much I hate you? Right isn’t right because it’s your way, and you’ll find that out soon. You have my word.” He steps back and walks down the hallway. I step to the center of the hall, staring after him, willing him to turn back, and wondering how we’ve gotten to this place where we are now enemies. He rounds the corner, disappearing.

  Gone. But he’s not completely lost yet. I refuse to let that happen.

  The sound of the lobby door opening and closing signals his departure, and ready to get the hell out of the building, I waste no time following in his path. By the time I’m in the corridor outside Brandon Enterprises, he’s already departed in one of the eight elevators. Another opens for me quickly.

  Once inside the car, my mind doesn’t go to Derek, but rather to my father. He’s always been brutal, the ways he terrorized me in my youth too many to count. Derek had been older, but there had been a window of time we’d shared a hatred of him, and yet both of us had craved his attention and the love I’m not sure he’s capable of giving. I don’t crave that anymore, and yet he’s dying and I think maybe I should. My mind travels to the past, to me at sixteen, and him forcing me to run laps until I threw up after I got a ninety on a test, a failure in his eyes. I guess I should thank him, though. I did get into Harvard.

  Holy fuck, I want out of this elevator. I step to the doors, waiting impatiently for them to open, and the second they part, I cut through the deserted building toward the parking garage. Once I reach the steel door, I hesitate, the idea of my empty apartment hitting all the wrong nerves. I head back toward the lobby, which leads directly to the Sixteenth Street strip mall lined with restaurants and bars. I’ll prepare for my brother the way I did my cases in New York. In a corner booth of a restaurant, only this time it won’t be with a never-ending pot of coffee, but an expensive bottle of whiskey. I’m halfway to the front door when my gaze catches on the security booth in the corner and I stop dead in my tracks.

  Unless I’m dreaming, my sweet-smelling coffee thief is indeed here again and seems to be arguing with the guard. Suddenly, a little conversation doesn’t sound so bad after all. I remind myself that she is completely wrong for how fucked up my life is right now, but the truth is that’s exactly what makes her appealing. Besides, I don’t want to own the woman. Well. Not when she has her clothes on, and if I have my way, she won’t for long. I start walking in her direction.

  EMILY

  “I understand the Lost and Found is locked up for the night,” I say to the stoic, gray-haired guard behind the security desk. “But surely you can make an exception for a cell phone. I’m expecting a very important call. I can’t be without my phone.”

  “I understand, miss, but there are rules.”

  Rules. There’s a concept that hits a raw nerve. “Fine,” I concede, reaching for my wrist, missing the bracelet that should be there but is not. “I’ll come back. How early can I be here?”

  “Seven in the morning.”

  “Six forty-five it is,” I say, rotating to depart, yelping as I smack into a hard body, and a pair of large, manly hands settles on my waist, steadying me. “I’m sorry,” I say, glancing up in shock to realize the hot man from the coffee shop is standing in front of me and my palms have landed on his incredibly hard, broad chest.

  “We meet again,” he says, his voice a soft purr of seduction, and his eyes are still a perfect steel gray just like the tie that matches his suit.

  “Yes, I…” I swallow hard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  “I’m not sorry and I did see you.”

  “You … what?” I step back, his hands falling from my waist. Mine slide away from his chest, where I wouldn’t have minded them lingering a little longer, but that would be bad. And inappropriate, which is exactly what I’m trying never to be again.

  He glances at the guard. “Is there a problem, Randy?” he asks, and good gosh, no wonder I ended up in that exchange with him this morning. The man is the definition of “tall, dark, and handsome.”

  “The lady is looking for her cell phone,” Randy explains, “and Lost and Found is closed for the night.”

  Shane arches a brow at the man. “Closed? How does Lost and Found close?”

  My thoughts exactly, but I bite my tongue, considering “Randy” had actually displayed quite
a lot of patience with me, when I’d asked the same question in a far more pushy way. And Randy is actually looking quite uncomfortable, his reaction indicating that Shane is more than a random hot guy in this building who likes his coffee ridiculously strong. “I’m the only guard on duty,” Randy explains. “I can’t leave the desk.”

  “I’ll watch it for you,” Shane states, and it’s not an offer. It’s an expectation. Everything about this man is a smooth command that manages to be sexy, not obnoxious. A rare skill few men, or women, successfully harness, though I’ve known many who tried and failed.

  “Yes sir,” Randy says. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  The guard rushes away, leaving me stunned at his quick departure while Shane rests an arm on the counter and faces me. “You ran away today.”

  My eyes go wide. “That’s the way to get right to the point. And for your information, I had someplace to be.”

  “You didn’t even take your coffee with you.”

  “I didn’t have time to drink it,” I say quickly, no stranger to thinking on my feet.

  “You ran,” he repeats.

  “You’re kind of intimidating,” I counter.

  Amusement lights his gray eyes. “You aren’t intimidated by me.”

  “Are you saying you are intimidating to others?” I challenge.

  “To some I am, but not to you.”

  “You base this assessment on what, exactly?”

  “Anyone intimidated wouldn’t be brave enough to say they are.” He closes the distance between us, the scent of him, autumn leaves and spice, teasing my nostrils. “Are you intimidated now?” he asks, the heat in his eyes blisteringly hot.

  “No,” I say, suddenly warm all over, when lately, everything has made me cold. “I’m not intimidated.”

  “Good news,” the guard announces, jolting me back to a reality that does not include hot strangers who could find out more than I want them to know. I quickly take a broad step backward, distancing myself from Shane, to face Randy.

  “You found my phone?” I ask, hopeful.

  “I found a phone,” he confirms. “I need you to verify the first number in the contacts.”

  I hesitate, but having no other option, admit, “There are no numbers in my phone at all.”

  “You are correct,” the guard says, sliding the phone onto the counter. “I’ve never known anyone to have no contacts in their phone.”

  “It’s new,” I explain, picking it up and slipping it inside my purse, and realizing it’s a lame excuse, I add, “I need to sync my numbers. Thank you.” I rotate to face Shane to find him staring at me with the kind of interest and curiosity I’m not in a position to invite. “And thank you,” I add, motioning toward the door. “I should go.”

  “I was about to go grab dinner and a drink at one of the restaurants nearby. Join me.”

  “I really should get home,” I say, trying not to sound as regretful as I am. I’m flattered, but then, what woman wouldn’t be with this man?

  “I won’t keep you long.”

  “I have plans in the morning,” I counter, and it’s true. I’ll be waiting for the phone to ring and thinking about how much I wish I’d said yes to his invitation.

  He glances at the guard, who quickly takes a hint and murmurs, “Good evening,” before stepping back behind his post and busying himself.

  The instant he’s gone, Shane once again closes the space between us, this time bringing us intimately close, and I think he might touch me. I want him to touch me. “Here’s how I see us meeting again: the odds are next to zero. That means you have to have dinner with me.”

  “Have to? Is that some rule or something?”

  “Not just a rule. A hard rule I just made up.”

  “Does making up rules work often?”

  “Yes. Is it working now?”

  Yes, I think, but instead, I say, “I wish I could.”

  “You can. Just say yes, Emily.”

  Emily. I hate that name, but he has somehow not only remembered it, but made it silk and seduction. He is silk and seduction, a magnificent man who no doubt has so many woman lining up that I am a mere flicker on the screen. And actually, that isn’t a bad thing. In fact, it’s freedom. This is about tonight. Just tonight. He won’t want to know my past or my future. He’s looking for a diversion, and the truth is, if I spend one more night alone, trapped in guilt, worry, and my fast-looping replay of how I got to this point, I might go insane.

  “Emily,” he prods, using that name again, my name, and I swallow hard. “Say—”

  “Yes,” I supply. “Yes, I’ll have dinner and drinks with you.”

  Satisfaction fills his eyes and he waves the guard forward, handing the man his bag. “I’ll pick it up on my way out,” he tells him. The other man nods, and a moment later, Shane’s full attention shifts back to me, and I’m jolted by the way I feel the impact, or rather, I feel him, a warm spot forming in my chest and spreading low into my belly. He offers me his arm. “Shall we?”

  I hesitate a few beats, reminding myself that “alone” promises safety, but I can’t live that way forever. This dinner with this man is a no-harm, no-foul way to practice being the new me. I accept his arm.

  You just know how to hide, how to lie.

  —Tony Montana

  CHAPTER THREE

  EMILY

  Arm in arm, Shane and I cross the lobby, and as crazy as it is, for the first time in a very long time, I don’t feel alone. It’s a façade, of course, but one I’m happily wallowing in. A fantasy and an indulgence: this night that can never become another night.

  “How’s Jeffrey’s Restaurant two blocks down?” he asks.

  “I’ve never heard of it,” I say, “but I’m sure it’s fine.” Because I’m not going with him for the food. It’s for him. No. It’s for me, for once.

  “It has a mixed menu, a full bar, and it’s relatively quiet,” he replies, releasing my arm to open the building’s exterior door, and wave me forward.

  “Sounds perfect,” I say, and somehow our eyes collide, and I don’t know how or why, but that tiny connection has my stomach fluttering. I dart forward and outside, a cold breeze lifting my hair and sliding along the bare skin of my neck. Shivering, I hug myself, chilled on the outside but pretty darn warm in all those intimate places he continues to awaken. I start to turn to face Shane, but suddenly he is beside me, his arm draping over my shoulder, dragging me closer, his big body sheltering mine from the cold, and my chest hurts with the silly idea he’s protecting me. No one protects me and suddenly, this dinner seems like a bad idea. I deal with being alone by being alone.

  “Don’t you just love Colorado in May?” he asks, angling us left and into the heart of downtown Denver and a cluster of restaurants and shops. “Random snow showers, cold at night, and warm in the day.”

  I open my mouth to tell him this is new to me, and snap it shut, frustrated at how easily I almost invited questions about where I came from, and why I’m here. “I should have brought a jacket,” I say simply instead.

  “I’m glad you didn’t. Gives me an excuse to keep you close.”

  “Somehow, I doubt you’re a man who needs an excuse for much of anything.”

  “And you make that assessment based on what?”

  “Pretty much every one of the limited, but colorful moments I’ve known you.”

  “Colorful,” he says. “There’s an interesting description.”

  “I’m just glad it was you whose coffee I stole and not some really cranky person who would have yelled at me.”

  “I have my moments, but never over something as trivial as a cup of coffee.”

  “The world would be a better place if everyone thought like you.”

  “There’s a cynical statement.”

  “You’ve obviously not worked retail or you wouldn’t call that cynical.”

  “And you have?”

  “As a college student,” I say, quickly wishing I could pull back the words tha
t invite questions into my past.

  But I am saved as he announces, “And we’re here.” He leads me under a covered overhang toward a wooden door, where he surprises me by stopping, facing me, his hands coming down on my arms. “I’m glad it was me who found you in that coffee shop,” he says, the dim glow of overhead lights catching like fire in his gray eyes, but what steals my breath are the shadows banked behind that fire. He doesn’t want to be alone tonight either, and I find myself wanting to know why.

  I dare to reach up and press my hand to his chest. “I found you,” I say, giving him a smile, wanting him to smile. “And you should know that I’m on a roll of mishaps today. The chance that I will spill, dump, or break something during our dinner is high.”

  His eyes and mouth soften, any residual effect of those shadows I’d spied disappearing. “Then we’ll laugh and clean it up,” he says, motioning toward the door. “Let’s go inside.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He opens the door, allowing me to enter the dimly lit restaurant, where I pause to wait on him, glancing around at my surroundings. To my left is a padded leather wall, and directly in front of me are rows of uncomfortable looking wooden tables and chairs with flickering candles in the center of each table. Shane steps to my side, his hand intimately settling at my back as we advance toward the fifty-something dark-haired woman dressed in all black who is manning the hostess stand in the right corner.

  She offers me a friendly smile and then glances at Shane. “Good evening, Susie,” he greets.

  “Good to have you in tonight. Jeffrey will be sorry he missed you.”

  “He’s still giving me a hard time about the Broncos losing this year anyway. Tell him he lives in Denver. He can’t root for Texas.”

  Just hearing the name of my home state, which I can’t claim, twists me in knots. I have to get over this reaction.

  “We’ve been in Denver for twenty years,” she replies, giving me the impression she might be Jeffrey’s wife. “He’s never giving up the Cowboys. You want the bar or restaurant?”

  “Is there a booth in the bar available?”