Hard Rules

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “I know your family will be cautious with me now, but I’m still close to your father. Tell me what to be looking for and if I can help I will.”

  “Not this time,” he says, draping his arm around my shoulders to put us in motion toward the front door of the building. “I don’t want you anywhere near this problem.”

  Like I don’t want him anywhere near my mess, I think, and it’s not a good thought. Suddenly, I can’t help but wonder if we are the right people but at the wrong time. But how could this ever be the right time in my situation? I wouldn’t want to miss knowing Shane and I don’t know where that leaves me, or us.

  I’m still trying to figure out the answer when we reach the double glass doors of the building. Shane opens the door for me. I step inside the foyer, seeing gray stone under my feet, a capped high ceiling above me, and a luxury seating area outlined by an expensive-looking blue oriental rug. Shane joins me, and I say, “It’s pretty, but kind of sterile, where the Four Seasons feels warm and friendly.”

  “‘Sterile’ seems an appropriate description,” he agrees, motioning toward the seating area where a man and woman, both in business casual attire, are chatting.

  His arm returns to my shoulders.

  “I feel underdressed and like I need a shower,” I say, as we start walking.

  “I’m spending millions on this place if I buy it,” he says. “They’re the only ones who need to take a shower.”

  “Only you could say that and not sound arrogant,” I comment.

  “Because I see the influence of money as a fact,” he states. “It’s about knowing where your power comes from.”

  Knowing where your power comes from. Those words resonate with me, and in my mind, I believe my phone will ring now. Because I took the power I still had left, and used it when I left that message. I’m so lost in thought I don’t immediately realize the woman is walking toward us, and not only is she elegant in black pants and blouse, she has spiky blond hair and her name is Jessica.

  Instantly on the defensive, I try to pull my hand away from Shane and he catches it on the other side of his hip. “Shane, let go, damn it.”

  “She’s already seen us, sweetheart, and I trust her. You can trust her too.”

  “Why didn’t you at least warn me?”

  “I didn’t know she was going to be here until we walked in.”

  It’s at that moment that we halt in front of Jessica, her attention settling on me. “Hello, Emily.”

  “Hi, Jessica,” I say, giving an awkward wave. “Sorry I didn’t tell you, but it just wasn’t the right time.”

  “I’m using her to get information,” Shane says. “Hiding in plain sight. Understood?”

  “To protect her,” Jessica concludes, her gaze flickering between the two of us. “Understood. You could have told me right out of the gate.”

  “We’re telling you now,” Shane says. “And Derek and my mother know.”

  “And your father?”

  “Assume he does,” Shane states, and obviously done with the topic, adds, “Let’s get this viewing done and over with.”

  “All right then,” she says. “But before I introduce you to Frank, our realtor today, you should know I’d describe him as ‘difficult.’”

  “My money isn’t,” Shane replies.

  “Well then,” she replies, “it seems that in your present mood, Frank doesn’t stand a chance.” She steps backward and leads us in his direction.

  Frank, a fifty-something man with glasses and a pretentious attitude he doesn’t need words to reinforce, greets us with handshakes, and quickly directs us to an elevator bank. Once inside, Shane stands behind me, one possessive hand on my shoulder. “This property will go fast,” Frank states, standing near Shane. “How motivated are you to make a quick decision?”

  “If I’m motivated,” Shane says dryly, “you’ll know.”

  Frank doesn’t get the message to stand down, pressing onward. “I should tell you that I already have several interested parties.”

  “If I’m motivated,” Shane repeats. “You’ll know.”

  Frank shuts up at that point and the rest of the ride to the penthouse is silent. The car stops on our level, and Frank leads us to the one and only door on the floor, while Shane urges me inside the apartment for the first look. Upon entering, the wooden floor is dark, almost black, a striking difference to what Shane has now. Traveling a short hallway with stucco walls, I exit the other side to find myself in a half-moon-shaped room wrapped in windows. The view of downtown and the Rocky Mountains is so stunning, I barely glance at the black leather furnishings framing a fireplace running to the ceiling.

  “What do you think?” Shane asks, stepping to my side.

  I turn to face him. “So far, it’s not that different from what you have now, though I haven’t actually looked around it completely.”

  “You’re right. It’s got the same look and feel, down to the balcony off the living area.” His hands settle on his hips. “The difference is that there I’m by the office.”

  “That has pros and cons,” I say. “And your father sure won’t be renting a room here.”

  “My father,” he says, his look thoughtful, his fingers stroking the dark, sexy roughness of the stubble on his jaw, which he didn’t shave this morning. “Won’t be renting a room there either.”

  “I thought you said he was already?”

  “I did.”

  Before I can ask what he means, Jessica appears between us, linking her arms with ours. “Let’s look at the rest of the place,” she urges. “Through the archway directly in front of us is a gorgeous gray stone kitchen and a sunken library.” We start moving in that direction. “There’s also an office and a bedroom, while the upstairs is expansive.”

  For the next ten minutes we do a walk-through of the remainder of the apartment, including the rooms Jessica has indicated, along with a media room, and the second level, where we find a ridiculous number of bathrooms and bedrooms. Through it all, Shane is reserved, removed even, barely commenting on anything. Finally, we reach the master bedroom, which is another half-moon-shaped room, with a massive four-poster bed in the center, and another balcony to the right. Shane gives it a thirty-second inspection, says nothing, and then crosses the room to the balcony, which he opens, and steps outside.

  Jessica lets out a frustrated sound and I turn to find her facing me. “I know you two started seeing each other before you showed up at Brandon Enterprises,” she says. “What I don’t know is how well you know him, so let me point out the obvious to me. While other people throw things and curse when they’re angry, this is how Shane does pissed off. The quieter he is, the worse his anger. So what happened and with who?”

  Her observations resonate as correct, and since Shane trusts her, I decide to answer. “Something Seth found out and shared right before we got here. I don’t know anything more.”

  “If Seth’s involved, it’s bad.”

  “Jessica,” Frank shouts from the stairwell.

  She grimaces. “I’ll hold off Franky boy out there and give you two some time.”

  I nod and she heads for the hallway, while I quickly join Shane on the balcony, seeing nothing but his back, his shoulders bunched under his T-shirt, and his gaze cast over the city.

  “What can I say or do?” I ask, joining him, facing his direction, one of my hands closing around the steel railing.

  He faces me, and his expression is all hard lines and shadows. “What can you do?”

  “Yes. What can I do?”

  He pulls me to him, his hands fanning out on my lower back. “You can go home with me, get naked, and stay that way.”

  A few days ago his boldness would have flustered me, but not now, and this isn’t about sex anyway. “Will that help?”

  “Temporarily,” he says. “Yes.”

  His voice is tight, controlled, but his heart thunders beneath my palm. “Then why are we still here?” I ask.

  “I was just wonderi
ng the same thing.” He cups the back of my head, an action he favors, and one I’ve come to like, and gives me a hard, fast kiss. “I’m going to deal with Frank.” He sets me away from him and just that quickly, he’s gone, and I’m leaning on the railing, watching him depart.

  Jessica appears almost instantly, and I turn to face her. “I’m loyal to Shane but we are not, and never were, romantic,” she says.

  “I sensed that.”

  “He did something for my family in a time of need. A big something and I’m forever loyal. I cannot be turned by his family.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because it doesn’t matter that he’s pretending to use you to protect you. They will try to turn you. They will try to make you think he’s betrayed you in some way, and I have to make sure I’m not a tool they use to do that.”

  “They who?” I ask, making sure I’m clear on the exact people she sees as enemies.

  “His family and anyone working for them.”

  “All of them? Even his mother?”

  “I don’t trust any of them. They will make you doubt him.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  “That wasn’t a question, Emily. They will make you doubt him.”

  “No, damn it, they won’t.”

  “They had better not,” she says, her gaze sharpening, “because if you care about him at all, you cannot become the only weapon they have against him.” She walks away and I hug myself, guilt clawing at me. Jessica’s right. I can’t be a weapon to tear him down. Every decision I make has to revolve around that absolute. And that’s the moment my cell phone rings.

  Digging my phone from my pocket, I move to the far side of the balcony, away from the open glass door, and hit the answer button. “Where have you been, Rick?” I demand softly.

  “Do not call me and make threats like you did earlier,” he growls.

  “That wasn’t a threat,” I promise. “That was survival.”

  “I told you, the less we talk the safer we are.”

  “You also told me I’d be free of this in a month, two tops, and I’m headed toward that two.”

  “It’s going to be a few more weeks.”

  “I can’t do this for a few more weeks.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “I have a choice,” I counter, “and yes. That’s a threat.”

  “To yourself. You know the consequences.”

  “That you created and you said you had proof to make go away.”

  “Proof that has to be absolute, and it’s not absolute yet. Stay your course. I’ll be in touch. Get rid of the phone you’re on and text me your new number.”

  “I need—”

  He ends the call before I can say “money” and I stuff my phone back into my pocket, turning to face the railing, my hands settling on the steel. So much for using my power. I failed miserably and I lower my head, forcing myself to think. Suddenly Shane’s hands are on my shoulders and I whirl around to face him, afraid he’s heard my call.

  “Hey,” I say, his big body crowding mine, his eyes too attentive, searching my face. “What did you do about the apartment?”

  “I bought it,” he says, and the very fact that he’s answered tells me no. He did not overhear my conversation.

  “Already? How is that possible?”

  “Money talks, but I’m not going to live here.”

  My brow furrows. “Then why buy it?”

  “It’s a damn good investment.”

  “So is Jessica lining up more places for you to look at?”

  “Yes, and I might buy them too, but I’m staying at the Four Seasons.”

  “I’m confused, Shane. Does this mean you’re leaving?”

  “Leaving? No. I’m not going anywhere. It hit me when we were talking earlier: I decided to look for a place before I found out my father rented an apartment in my building for his mistress; if I leave now, he’ll think he drove me out. I’m staying in the city, in the building, and I’m taking the apartment and the company.” His hands come down on my arms, branding me, in that way his touch always brands me, and he closes the tiny space between us. “The way I’m going to take you when we get back to the Four Seasons.”

  “Yes. Please.”

  “There’s a word I like and haven’t made you say near enough.”

  He kisses me, quick but perfect, and I’m getting used to the way he kisses me all the time. And when he grabs my hands and leads me toward the door, I let him. Because in the next few weeks, I’m either going to have to tell him the truth or leave, and the only way I can tell him the truth is if I fix my mess. Whatever the case, I’m going to savor every second I have with this man.

  Nothing personal, it’s just business.

  —Otto Berman

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SHANE

  I spend the rest of Sunday making good on my promise to keep Emily naked and saying “please,” a remarkable feat, considering I now know I’m not just in bed with her. I’m in bed with the Martina cartel. They’re running drugs through our trucking division, and getting them out will be no easy feat. They have the control, not my brother, who foolishly thinks he does. My desire to find Derek and beat the shit out of him is outside my normal calculated response.

  Come Monday morning, I let Emily sleep while I shower, and adrenaline, not coffee, is fueling my thoughts. Brandon Enterprises will not become the Martina cartel’s bitch and today I will come up with a plan to get them the hell out of our business. And while beating my brother’s ass won’t solve anything, when this is all over, I plan to give him the ass beating he deserves, purely for pleasure.

  By the time I’ve texted my mother to find out what time my father starts his chemo, shaved, wrapped a towel around my hips, and entered the bedroom, Emily seems to be stirring. I cross to the closet and choose a dark gray suit. I’m dressed aside from my jacket and tie when Emily appears in the doorway wearing one of my T-shirts, her hair a wild, sexy mess.

  “You didn’t wake me.”

  “It’s still early and you’re dressing at home anyway.” I pull open one of six built-in drawers, this one with a selection of ties. “Not to mention I kept you up late.”

  “Let me choose,” she says, joining me at the drawer to inspect the options. “This one,” she declares, reaching for a blue and gray striped Burberry tie. “One of my favorite brands,” she adds, handing it to me.

  “Expensive taste,” I observe, fitting the tie under my collar and gently prodding her to fill me in on her past.

  “Says the man with a fifty-thousand-dollar wardrobe,” she says, reaching for my tie. “I’ll do it.”

  I give her a quick nod and she starts working the knot like an expert. “You seem to have done this often,” I comment, and I’m stunned to realize that I don’t want her doing this for another man. Ever.

  “My mother taught me,” she says. “She used to do this for my father, and I wanted to help. One thing led to another and I took over doing it for him every morning.”

  When she was a kid. “You were close to him.”

  “Yes,” she says, her voice softening ever so slightly. “Which was why him killing himself just didn’t make sense to me. It didn’t fit.” She finishes off the knot and runs her hand down the tie. “All done. Actually,” she says, reaching into the drawer again, removing a tiepin, and fitting it into place, “now you’re done.”

  “Didn’t make sense?” I ask, pulling my jacket off the hanger and shrugging into it.

  “He loved life,” she says. “There were no indicators he was suicidal. He didn’t even drink.”

  “Do you think it was foul play?”

  She hugs herself. “No.” She hesitates. “I mean. Not anymore.”

  I arch a brow. “Not anymore?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this, Shane.” The doorbell rings with the coffee order I placed, and I silently curse the timing. “I’m going to get dressed,” she says, turning away.

  I let
her go for the moment, but she just told me that at some point she thought her father was murdered. I have a fleeting moment when I wonder if that has something to do with why she moved to Denver, but as I exit the closet and head downstairs, I deem that hypothesis unlikely, considering he’d died when she was a teen.

  The doorbell rings again right as I reach the door and open it, accepting the Starbucks order from one of the hotel staff members. Hands full, I kick the door shut and turn to find Emily standing close, fully dressed in an all-black sweat suit, her purse over her shoulder. “I’m ready,” she says, closing the distance between us, her skin pale perfection, and her hair not as wild as it was before. “Which one is mine?”

  I offer her a cup and it hits me that she might be ashamed of something, and the minute she takes her drink, I flatten my hand on her lower back and pull her close. “You can tell me anything. Whatever you think I can’t handle, believe me, sweetheart, I can.” I don’t wait for a reply or push her, releasing her and opening the door.

  She stands there looking at me a moment, appearing a bit shell-shocked, but her eyes slowly soften. She reaches out, flattens her palm on my chest, holding it there a moment before she looks up at me. “Not yet,” she says. “It’s too soon.” Her hand falls away as she steps into the hallway.

  Pleased with an answer that wasn’t “never” or “no,” I join her in the hallway and we travel to the elevator. Stepping inside, I punch the lobby level. “You know my father has chemo today, right?”

  “Yes. I’ve never been around anyone going through this. Will he be in, do you think?”

  “He’s proven stubborn enough to work through it in the past, but I know nothing about how aggressive this flare-up is, or how intense the treatments are. I’m going to the hospital this morning to get a better picture of where he stands.”

  “I’m sorry, Shane.” Her hand comes down on my arm, the touch cooling the burning emotion in my chest. “I know this sucks.”

  “Cancer is a monster.” A jab of bitterness roughens my voice. “That it’s found another monster is rather ironic.”

  “Shane—”

  The door opens, giving me an escape from a moment when my emotions might get the best of me, and that would be unacceptable. Emily and I step into the lobby. “The car’s waiting on us,” I say, having ordered it brought around when I ordered the coffee. Her reply is to lace her arm with mine, the silent message of support exactly what I needed, even though I didn’t know it.