Hard Rules

by Lisa Renee Jones

  I’m about to knock, but my father erupting in a coughing fit sounds on the other side. Knowing how he despises seeming weak, I wait and wait some more, but he continues to hack eternally. A blade of pain slices through me and I lower my forehead to the door, telling myself this is bronchitis or something other than the cancer traveling from his brain to his lungs. Sometimes I pretend he isn’t dying. Most of the time I pretend he isn’t dying. It’s how I cope, perhaps because it’s how he copes, but there are moments of reality like this one that gut me and turn me inside out. To hell with knocking.

  I open the doors to find my father sitting behind his desk in profile and hunched over. Mindful of his privacy, I shut us inside the office, rounding the desk to find he’s leaning over a trashcan. My gaze lands hard on the blood tingeing the napkin in his hand, the sight driving that proverbial blade of dread a little deeper. So does the way he avoids looking at me and the next bout of coughing that leaves his lips stained red.

  Desperate to help him, though I doubt he would do much but kick me if our positions were reversed, I grab the bottle of water on his desk, and hand it to him. “Drink,” I order.

  He accepts it and damn if his hands don’t shake, a sign of weakness he’s never shown, not even during chemo. I watch him tilt the bottle up, choking as he tries to swallow, but just when I’m about to take it from him, he starts gulping. Half a bottle later, he’s wiping his mouth and straightening. “This didn’t happen,” he orders.

  “It did happen,” I say. “Mom—”

  “It didn’t happen,” he growls, rotating to face his desk, and I can almost see that invisible wall, which he habitually slams between us, fall into place, about ten feet higher than normal.

  I inhale and let it out, standing and rounding the desk, arms crossed as I stare down at him. “The cancer has spread,” I say and it’s not a question.

  “I’m being treated.”

  “That’s a ‘yes.’”

  His gray, bloodshot eyes meet mine. “Yes. What did you want when you came in here?”

  “More chemo?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?” I press.

  “Starting Monday, which is why I’m trying to get my goddamn work done. Why are you here?”

  I ignore the question. “Does Mom know?”

  “No one knows. That’s why I said this didn’t happen. Keep your mouth shut.”

  “She deserves to be told.”

  “Why? So she can worry more than she already does?” His expression tightens, his fingers laced in front of him on the desk as he leans forward. “Back to business. What are you here for?”

  The cold reserve of his tone matches the look in his eyes that tells me that wall is now a block of ice. Anger starts to form in my gut. “Why,” I say, “when you’re dying, would you help Derek take this company into deeper, darker places, rather than help me secure a different future for him, and for everyone involved? Why, Father?”

  “Son, I’m on the sidelines keeping score with one agenda. This company has to survive, and thrive, in my absence. You want to restore its ethical virginity, do it. Make it happen.”

  “You’re as on the sidelines as a quarterback and apparently you’re going to go into your grave lying to me.” I lean forward, pressing my hands on the desk, challenging him. “Do we amuse you, Father?”

  He stands, mimicking my position, all signs of his sickness fading into the hard man that built an empire on secrets and lies. “I assure you, nothing about handing over the reins to Brandon Enterprises amuses me. If you can’t second-guess your brother, you can’t handle this company.”

  “I’m not competing with my brother and we both know it. I’m competing with you. It doesn’t have to be this way. You have the power to change everything. Help me get us free of all this dirty money.”

  “Help you? Who’ll help you when I’m gone? If you can’t take what you want, then someone else will take it when I’m gone.”

  Our eyes connect and hold, a silent war between us, and while I pride myself on control, the absolute ability to contain what I feel, I am tested by this man who I both love and hate. He is destroying us, as cancer is destroying him. “Do the right thing before you die,” I bite out. I turn and start walking, making a fast path to the door, my hand coming down on the knob.

  “Shane.” I pause, but do not turn as he adds, “Everything is not black and white, son. If you want to defeat those walking in the gray, you have to go there with them.”

  He’s so beyond the gray, it’s laughable, and with this budding cartel connection I’m certain he’s involved with, it’s more like black sludge. He will never repent his sins, and I’m done trying to convince him to change, let alone convince myself he’s really on the sidelines. I’m not just at war with my brother. I’m at war with my father.

  I turn the knob and exit the office, immediately aware of Emily at her desk. “Is he okay?” she asks.

  “He’s himself,” I say, continuing on to the lobby, away from my father and away from Emily. I can’t see her right now. Not with my family gutting me, and her pushing me away, no matter how smart she is for doing it. Because one touch from that woman, and I’ll be selfish enough to fuck her until she forgets why she left that coffee shop without me. I know whatever she’s running from can’t be as lethal as the Brandons and the Martinas forming a partnership.

  Passing through the lobby, I exit the offices and walk directly to the elevator bank, punching the call button. “Shane.”

  Emily’s voice carries from the office doorway, radiating through me like silk and sandpaper and I do not look at her. The elevator doors open and I grind out, “Not now, Ms. Stevens,” stepping into the elevator and leaving her behind. Inside, I face forward—and fuck me—she’s standing in front of me.

  “Shane.”

  My name is a plea on her lips and I have just enough time to get lost in her big, gorgeous blue eyes and her wounded expression before the doors shut between us. And somehow, some way, I remain aware of the cameras and don’t react. I stand there like stone, waiting for the car to reach the garage, my mood throwing rocks around inside me. From one nerve to the next, I am bruised and beaten when the elevator finally jolts to a stop.

  I step forward, a steel barrier preventing the escape I’m once again impatient to make. I’m on edge, in need of an outlet that allows me control. I need to run ten miles or fuck this hellish rage of emotions out of my system, but the only one that sounds right to do that with is Emily. Just Emily, who has come into my life and turned it a little more upside down. Finally the doors part, and I step outside to find Derek once again making an odd late-night return to the building. And once again, we meet in the middle of the garage.

  “Ah, baby brother,” he begins, reaching up to loosen his tie. “All these long hours and all for naught.”

  “Not now, Derek,” I snap.

  He narrows his gaze on me, his attention sharpening, and he seems to sense the foreboding in the air. “What is it?”

  “The cancer has moved to his lungs. He’s coughing up blood.”

  He inhales slowly, seeming resigned in his reaction. “Translate that to an outcome.”

  “He won’t say much and he hasn’t told Mom at all. Chemo starts Monday. That’s all I was able to pry out of him.”

  “How do you know he’s coughing up blood?”

  “I saw it,” I say, not about to bring Emily into this. “Which is why he had to tell me.”

  “Holy fuck,” he curses, running a hand through his hair, and gives me his back, his face tilted toward the ceiling, struggling with the news that our father might pretend he doesn’t have cancer, but he indeed does.

  Seconds tick by and he faces me, laughing without humor, and scrubbing his jaw. “How can I hate that man so much and be gutted by the idea of him dying?”

  “How can you hate him and want to be him, Derek?” I demand, the question setting me off. “Look at yourself. Look at what—”

  He lets out a low
growl and shoves me against the wall, concrete grinding against my back, his hands clutching my jacket. “You fucking bastard,” he hisses. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up. I am not him.”

  “Right,” I say dryly, my hands balled by my sides, his anger muting mine, driving me into courtroom mode. “And the sun doesn’t come up every morning.”

  “I am not him,” he bites out again, a charge barely contained just beneath his surface.

  “No,” I say, and not ready to tell him I know about the cartel, I settle on, “You’re headed to much darker places and we both know it. Translation; dead or in jail, and one of those has no return.”

  He glares at me, his emotions pushing against mine, wanting a reaction, but it’s in moments like these, when someone else loses it, that I excel and win. “What now, Derek?” I challenge softly.

  “What indeed,” he replies, his voice practically vibrating, before he abruptly releases me, putting several steps between us. “Wherever I go,” he says, tugging his jacket straight, “if you stay here, you’re going with me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, brother, and mark my words, I’m not following you where you’re headed, nor is this company.”

  His lips twist and he lets out a tight rasp of laughter. “You amuse me, brother. If our father dies tomorrow, I have the vote, and you’ll be gone. And I’ll do anything to make sure I keep that vote. Anything. And we both know you don’t have the backbone to stop me.”

  He heads back to his car, and I’m not sure, but I think he just told me that he’d kill our father to ensure that vote happens when he wants it to happen. Or maybe he meant he’d kill me. I have no idea who Derek is at this point. He’s damn sure not the brother I grew up idolizing. I’m halfway to my car when he speeds past me. I stop and stare after him, and the whirlwind of emotions I can’t even name, which I’ve been suppressing not just today, but this whole damn year, begin a slow boil. I need the hell out of here. I need everything I can’t have.

  EMILY

  An hour after Shane disappeared onto that elevator, shutting me out, I am still at my desk working on one edit after another to the deal memo his father is using for the hedge-fund recruits. Brandon Senior, on the other hand, busies himself rejecting every version I give him, in between hacks and phone calls. And being here is making me crazy, when all I can think about is Shane and the torment I’d seen in his eyes moments before that elevator had shut. Finally though, I think I’ve nailed it and I carry the memo into Mr. Brandon’s office.

  “Here you go,” I say, setting it on his desk, noting the white ring around his lips and the ruddy look to his skin.

  He glances down at it, scanning for several seconds before looking at me. “Finally, Ms. Stevens.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Brandon.”

  His brow arches. “Feisty this morning to submissive this evening. You know, don’t you?”

  “Know?” I ask cautiously. “Know what?”

  “About my cancer.”

  “Yes,” I say. “I know.”

  “Who told you?”

  “You,” I say, dodging a direct answer. “With the bloody cough.”

  “Who told you?” he pressed.

  “Does it matter?”

  His lips thin. “I suppose it doesn’t. You may go, Ms. Stevens.” I don’t move, unsure I should leave him alone. He might be an asshole, but he’s coughing up blood and he is Shane’s father. He arches a brow at me. “Something you need, Ms. Stevens?”

  “I’m not sure I should leave you.”

  His eyes glint hard. “If I drop dead, I’m sure you’ll clean up the mess tomorrow. Get the fuck out of here.”

  The outburst jolts me and I rush across the room, exiting the workspace, having learned a big lesson. Concern pisses him off. I grab my purse and I don’t bother to say good-bye, nor do I stop walking until I’m at the elevators, punching the button. The car to my left opens and Shane’s mother exits.

  “Mrs. Brandon,” I greet, facing her, and she’s still in her same black pantsuit, her hair and makeup still perfect.

  “Emily,” she greets me, finding her way to the space directly in front of me. “I was hoping to catch you. We should talk.”

  “Talk? About?”

  “Are you aware my husband is sick?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course, you are. You’re bright.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “It’s cancer and it’s terminal.”

  “‘Terminal,’” I repeat. The word rings with a grimness I’d not quite fully digested until this moment. “Is it manageable?”

  “He did a clinical trial and has done well, but I understand he’s hiding worsening effects from me now. What do you know about that?”

  “I know today was a bad day,” I say, cautiously.

  “That’s a carefully weighed answer I can’t afford.” Her hands go to her hips. “Stick it out with him and I’ll pay you a fifty thousand dollar bonus.”

  My eyes go wide. “Fifty thousand dollars?” Alarm bells go off in my head. “Why would you pay me that kind of money?”

  “I need someone close to him I can trust and who won’t leave.”

  “That you can trust?”

  “That’s right. You’d simply call me once a day and give me an update on his medical condition and the projects he’s working on.”

  “‘The projects he’s working on,’” I repeat. “Why would I do that?”

  “I have to tidy things up if he suddenly crashes.”

  “No,” I say quickly, not sure whose side she’s on and not sure it matters. I’ll protect Shane directly, not through a third party. “I can’t do that.” I punch the elevator button again. “I won’t.”

  “It’s fifty thousand dollars.”

  “It’s me becoming a spy in this war going on in this family. Who are you going to pass the information to? Derek or Shane?”

  “You know more than I thought.”

  “It doesn’t take much to figure out the obvious.”

  “This is for me and him.”

  And him. That seals the deal, because Brandon Senior sure as hell doesn’t have Shane’s best interest in mind. “No,” I say. “And if this means you’re going to fire me, I’ll live with that.”

  She studies me several seconds, her expression unreadable, but there is a tiny quirk to her lips. “To be clear. Your answer is no.”

  “No,” I repeat. “So if you’re going to—”

  “You’re not fired, Emily. Have a good weekend.” She turns away and walks toward the offices. I watch her until she disappears behind the glass doors, baffled by what just happened. The elevator dings and I give myself a mental shake before hurrying inside the car. Facing forward, the steel doors shut me inside, and I’m still thinking, What just happened? Was that a test to see if I can be bought? Or did she really mean to have me spy for her? I am still clueless when I step out of the car into the lobby.

  At the front doors, I exit to a gust of wind laced with a chill us Texans call winter, while Coloradans seem to call it year-round. Vowing to buy a light jacket with my first paycheck, I find my way to Sixteenth Street, where I stop, my gaze finding the towering building that is the Four Seasons. Where Shane is and where I was with him. Where I want to be now, and suddenly, every reason I have for pushing him away feels small compared to the reality cancer delivers. Life can be short, a reality I’ve learned the hard way and I know he’s faced with now himself. I can’t stay away. I start walking and the next thing I know, I’m standing at the entryway of the hotel and Tai is greeting me.

  “Emily. Good to see you. Do you want me to call upstairs and tell Mr. Brandon you’re here, or is he coming down for you?”

  “I’ll call him from inside myself,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “Of course. Let me know if I can do anything for you while you’re here.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  He steps aside, giving me a grand wave forward, and that’s when my nerves kick in. Shane isn’t expecting me and he
told me he’d had second thoughts about us, going so far as to tell me to stay away from him. And I should. I know that, but I just … can’t. Not tonight. I move through the lobby, digging my phone from my purse, and it hits me that at any moment, Brandon Senior could appear. It’s not likely, after his wife joined him at the office, but it’s possible. That has me double-stepping and rounding the corner to the elevator bank and punching in Shane’s number, each ring radiating through me with a new push of nerves.

  “Emily,” he says when he answers, his voice sounding raspy.

  “I’m downstairs, by your elevators, and I’m really nervous about your father returning and seeing me. Please come get me.”

  “You’re here.”

  “Yes. I’m here.”

  Silence follows, stretching eternally it seems, before he says, “Don’t move.” The line goes dead. He’s on his way down and I’m not sure if it’s to tell me to go or ensure that I stay.

  You weren’t supposed to walk away no more …

  —Tommy Agro

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EMILY

  The elevator door opens and Shane appears, dressed in black sweats and a black T-shirt, his tennis shoes unlaced as if he’d thrown on clothes to come and get me. My eyes meet his and the connection is a charge that lights up my body. What this man makes me feel is simply indescribable and I suddenly can’t breathe for the impact of seeing him.

  “Come here,” he orders softly.

  I don’t hesitate, crossing the small space between us and stopping in front of him where he holds the doors open. “Why are you here?” he asks, and he doesn’t reach for me or touch me when I want him to touch me. And I want to touch him perhaps more than I have ever wanted to touch anyone.

  “You know why,” I reply.

  His response is no response. He stands there, towering over me, searching my expression, looking for something I hope he finds. Sincerity maybe? A lie I’m not telling this time? I do not know but I am certain whatever he finds will decide if I go upstairs with him. “I couldn’t stay away and the truth is, I didn’t want to.”