by Jill Shalvis
“What’s wrong?” Elle asked as they turned back.
Mike smiled but it was a wry one. “You absolutely certain that you’re not taken?”
“Of course I’m sure!”
He reached for her hand. “The heli belongs to an influential businessman buddy of mine, one who hires Archer’s company for his security.”
She had a bad feeling about this. “And?”
“And suddenly this chopper is needed elsewhere. I think Archer shut us down.”
Whelp, that did it. She was going to have to find a way to look good in an orange jumpsuit after all because she was indeed going up for murder one.
Mike was a good sport about it, so good that when he brought her home, she let him kiss her goodnight. She stilled at the touch of his mouth, soft yet firm on hers, willing herself to get lost in the connection. His mouth was warm and very nice as it brushed over hers. He had some serious talent, but then again, players usually did. It was lovely and even caused a few little sparks as he shifted his nice, hard body into hers.
But no wildfire.
Dammit.
When Mike pulled back, there was nothing but good humor in his gaze. “Thanks for trying,” he said, and with a last brush of his mouth over her cheek, he was gone.
Elle watched him drive away and then pulled out her phone.
When Archer’s phone went off he was lying flat on a four-story roof in the Mission District. He had a pair of binoculars up to his face and was watching for a high dollar skip in the building across the street—most definitely not needing the chopper he’d called back.
He didn’t have to look at the phone to see who the text was from—it shook with the fury that could belong to only one woman.
Elle.
He ignored it while thoughts of her invaded his mind, as they’d been doing for so long now that he should’ve been used to it. He’d tried to train himself over the years to not think about her, and he’d mostly succeeded. Until last year when he’d found out she’d been let go from a job because she’d refused to sleep with her boss. That hadn’t been the official reason she’d been terminated; she’d been officially fired for accessing files above her authorization level and breaching her confidentiality contract when she’d allegedly “accidentally” forwarded company emails outside the company.
Technically true, but Archer knew the real story. After Elle had refused to sleep with her scumbag boss, he’d threatened to fire her. This hadn’t helped Elle’s lack of trust in authority figures in the least, and instead of going to HR, she’d taken matters into her own hands. As collateral and protection, she’d forwarded emails between the scumbag and his mistress . . . to his wife.
How did Archer know all this? Because he’d been watching over her. Yes, he’d invaded her privacy, and yes, he was clearly a very sick man. He didn’t care. He’d long ago realized he couldn’t help himself when it came to her.
Just like when Spence had first bought the Pacific Pier Building. It’d taken little to no effort to talk him into hiring Elle for the general manager position. After all, she really was excellent at her job.
He’d never told her about his involvement, nor did he plan on ever telling her. He valued his life more than that. Besides, he’d actually believed that after all that time of keeping his distance from her, he’d have no problem keeping his hands off her once she was in the building. He told himself he was giving her a real chance at living a full, happy life, including finding a man she could relax with, a man who hadn’t once seen her at her most vulnerable.
In truth, keeping his distance had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. He hated himself for desiring her as much as he did. Now and then. She’d been a kid for God’s sake. He’d had no business wanting her at all. It’d made him work doubly hard at keeping her safe over the years. Safe for life, he’d promised himself. She deserved that after such a rough start. So yeah, the illusion of distance had become his best friend.
At least until the other night when they’d been camping and Spence had called the girls in for the s’mores mission. Because the illusion of distance had shifted the second Elle had planted her warm mouth on his. And when he’d gotten a taste of her, he’d completely lost his fucking mind as well.
Elle had been right about one thing—that couldn’t happen again.
Giving in to his curiosity, he finally pulled out his phone and accessed his text.
Elle: I’m going to kiss you!
Archer: With tongue?
Elle: Kill you. I’m going to KILL you. Ducking autocorrect!
Archer found himself grinning like an idiot. He used his Bluetooth to call her and was still cracking up when she connected but didn’t speak. “Looking forward to this kiss,” he said.
“You really called me just to say that?” came her frosty voice. “Calls are only for when someone dies, Archer. And even that could come in a text.”
He heard a snort in his ear, cluing him into the fact that his guys could hear her through their comms. He sighed. “Did you need something, Elle?”
“To know when you’ll be home so I can kill you,” she said. “And that’s k-i-l-l, not k-i-s-s.”
More muffled snorts.
“Okay, great,” he said. “Thanks for narrowing that down.”
But she’d already disconnected.
And because their skip made an appearance just then, he did what he did best. He compartmentalized his life. He slid his phone away and got to work.
Elle told herself to just go to bed. It was ten p.m. and she could use the rest. She kicked off her boots but instead of lovingly putting them back in their place in her closet like she always did, she let them fall carelessly to the floor. She started to strip down but eyed her laptop as an idea came to her.
Maybe Archer was working, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t email him exactly what she thought of his butting his nose into her business and breaking up the first date she’d had in forever. She opened the laptop and went at it, her fingers working furiously, outlining in great detail what a dick he was.
At heart, she was a businesswoman. She knew the value of holding her cards close to the vest. She’d long ago taught herself patience and also the need for giving a decision a good, long thought process. Often she’d made herself sleep on especially difficult decisions before allowing herself to react. So normally she’d sit on this email until morning.
But not this time, she just couldn’t do it.
She hit send.
Then she calmly finished getting ready for bed, putting everything away, including the cowboy boots. She removed her makeup and moisturized. She flossed.
Then she got under her covers and . . . stared at the ceiling going over every scathing word of her email. She’d called him more than a few choice names and she’d ended it with “Don’t call me, don’t email me, don’t come to my office, don’t anything, not ever again.”
And she meant it. Nodding to herself, she turned over, punched her pillow and tried to go to sleep.
Don’t anything, not ever again . . .
The words haunted her. It would mean no more working with him, and maybe no more seeing him, and that gave her the first small inkling of what was possibly regret. She might want to kill him half the time but the other half of the time she . . . well, she didn’t know exactly, but she knew she’d miss it, whatever it was. Maybe she was giving up on a romance between them but did that mean she could or should give up their . . . friendship? Is that what they had? Elle didn’t know, but she did know this—she wasn’t prepared to cut him out of her life entirely.
She also had to give a fond thought to the money he paid her when she worked for him, money that funded her shoe habit. And then there were his guys, all of whom she adored.
Don’t anything, not ever again . . .
Okay, Elle, she ordered herself, put it in perspective. What he’d done tonight, calling off her date with Mike, had been wrong. He’d definitely crossed a line there, but to be honest so had sh
e, going out with someone he had to deal with as a client.
They’d both been wrong. Mostly him, but still. She could accept some of the blame.
Don’t anything, not ever again . . .
And that’s when it hit her, the full reality of what she’d emailed him had the air backing up in her lungs, and her eyes popped open.
What had she done?
Well, she’d let her temper get the best of her and she’d cut him out of her life instead of just making him pay. Shit. Making him pay would’ve been so much more satisfying. She sat up and texted Spence.
Elle: Is there any way to delete an email once you’ve sent it?
Spence: What did you do?
Elle: It’s a yes or no question!
Spence: No. Not without being a felon. What are you up to, Elle?
Best not to bother him with an explanation, she decided. And anyway, she knew what she had to do. She had to break into Archer’s office and erase that email, hopefully before he accessed it on his phone—which she assumed he wouldn’t do since he was on a job.
No problem. No problem at all . . .
Spence: Elle?
Spence: Seriously, Elle. Answer or I’ll send out SWAT.
Elle: The person you are trying to reach pleads the fifth . . .
And then, knowing how smart Spence was, she turned off her phone so he couldn’t track her and stop her. Because nothing could stop her.
Chapter 8
#BeAllYouCanBe
Elle threw back her covers and hurriedly dressed, for the first time in her life throwing on clothes without conscious, careful thought. She pulled her hair up in a ponytail and left her place.
She took a cab because she couldn’t spare the time to wait for an Uber. Once at the Pacific Pier Building, she ran through the courtyard, which was completely empty at this time of night.
The pub was still going strong though and she was very lucky to find Spence in the back room playing pool with Finn and Keane. She didn’t see Archer and suspected slash hoped he was still on a job, but he was a sneaky bastard so she needed to be sure. Pretending she wasn’t out of breath or panicked to the gills, she strolled up to the pool table, hugging Keane hello. And then Finn. She saved Spence for last and he arched a brow at her warm greeting.
“Thought you were on a date,” he said. “Pleading the fifth.”
“Was. So . . . where’s your fourth musketeer?”
“On a job.” He looked at her for a long beat. “What are you up to, Elle?”
Dammit. This was the problem with having a genius as a BFF. He saw everything. He knew everything. And he could think ten steps ahead of her. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all.” She added a smile because she knew what he didn’t. That that big, beautiful brain of his had one fatal flaw—he lacked experience in outwitting, outlasting, and outplaying a Female on a Mission. “Okay, then, good to see you but I’ve gotta go.”
He grabbed her by the back of her sweater and held tight. “You know to call me when you need me.”
“Yes.”
“Before the cops arrive.”
She laughed, as he’d intended. “Yes.” She hugged him. “It’s late. Past my bedtime. Don’t wanna turn into a pumpkin.” And then she made her escape.
She didn’t breathe again until she was on the second floor outside Hunt Investigations. Slowly she opened her fist and looked down at what she’d palmed from Spence’s pocket.
His keys, including the master key for the building.
Yes, she was quite the felon tonight and she came by it naturally.
Her plan was simple. Get into Archer’s office, access his email and erase her message—assuming he hadn’t seen it already—and get out again without being detected. That she was doing all this to a security specialist did give her some pause but she had her pride at stake here as well as any future interactions with Archer. Not that there would be anything more than a simple friendship.
She got inside Hunt Investigations and hit her first snag. She didn’t have a key for the interior door to the back offices. But hold on a minute . . . there was a light on in the back—
“Elle?”
She just about swallowed her own tongue when Joe appeared on the other side of the glass partition, looking at her in surprise.
“Hi,” she said, mind racing. “You’re working late.”
“Stupid report on a takedown that went bad earlier.”
Her heart stopped. “How bad?”
Joe blew out a breath. “Our guy threw a knife before we could relieve him of his weapons, and let’s say he had good aim.”
“Oh my God,” she said, stomach jangling. “Who’s hurt?”
“We got lucky. The blade would’ve hit our contract worker because he didn’t duck as fast as the rest of us. But you know our gang, someone’s always gotta play the hero.”
She did know. She’d heard the stories. These guys had all at one time or another saved each other’s lives. “Who dove for him and got stabbed?”
“Who do you think?” Joe asked. “Archer, of course.”
Elle felt the blood rush out of her head and her vision went cobwebby.
“Hey. Hey, whoa there . . .” she heard Joe say from a million miles away. And then his hands were supporting her, bringing her into the back, pushing her into a chair.
Well, she’d accomplished getting into the interior offices if nothing else . . . “How bad?” she whispered.
“It sliced through his biceps,” Joe said. “Not too bad. He tried to tell the paramedics he only needed a Band-Aid but they insisted on stitches. He’s probably already done and in bed.”
Elle nodded as her vision cleared. “Good to know. Thank you.”
“No problem.” Joe stroked a hand down her arm, clearly trying to soothe. “But if you didn’t know about the incident, what are you doing here?”
Uh-oh. Good question. She stood up and didn’t have to one hundred percent fake the tears in her voice when she met Joe’s gaze. “I left something here.”
Joe took one look into her eyes, saw the tears, and clearly panicked. “Where is it? I’ll get it for you.”
She wrung her hands together and let a tear fall. “I wouldn’t want to bother you—”
“It’s no bother.” He whirled around the office and pounced on the box of tissues sitting on Mollie’s desk like it was a pot of gold.
He pulled out just about every tissue in the box and shoved the whole mess at her, the whites of his eyes showing. “Tell me what you need.”
She sniffed a little dramatically and made a show of dabbing her eyes. “It’s in Archer’s office.”
He blinked. “Uh—”
She started walking down the hall and got just inside Archer’s office to flip on the light when Joe caught up to her.
“Elle—”
“It’s on his computer,” she said, opening it, willing it to boot up fast.
Joe reached around her and gently but firmly shut the laptop. “I’d do just about anything for you, you know that, but I love my job.”
She met his gaze.
His own was apologetic and regretful, but also filled with steely resolve. “I have orders.”
