by Kat Cantrell
“Yeah, Mrs. Jesse. I’m on it. Why don’t you stay in the cabana at the pool?” he suggested.
Her eyes widened. “The cabana has attached living quarters?”
“Yeah, Mrs. Jesse.” He nodded craftily. “All cleaned and stocked for you. I make it ready this morning.”
The sweet gesture pricked at the corners of her eyes. Moki could see that her heart was in the right place—in Jesse’s hands. Now she just had to convince her husband of it.
“Brilliant.” The tight band across her chest loosened a little as the issue of where she would sleep disappeared. “I’ll move my stuff. Could I bother you to bring me leftovers occasionally?”
“Yeah, Mrs. Jesse. You got it. What you want me to do?”
“I’ll let you know. It’ll be later in the week.”
“It’s not right, Mr. Jesse telling you to leave.” Moki lumbered off, shaking his head.
She dragged everything from the bedroom she shared with Jesse out to the cabana. Everything being relative—it was a tiny pile. Seemed like she should have more to show for the time she’d spent here investing in the future.
Useless didn’t hesitate to move along with her, wallowing on the new bed with soft moans of approval. The dog loved her. Moki was on her side. So maybe she had something to show for her efforts.
The cabana was bigger than her former apartment and comfortably furnished, with a window seat overlooking the pool. She plopped there with her laptop and didn’t move for hours.
The housekeeper brought out leftovers later that night, and as she wolfed down ziti and Italian bread at the small table in the cabana, Moki whispered about how Jesse favored his ribs, came home from court, and immediately went to bed, and how new lines had appeared around his eyes. He kept refusing the pain killers, and though taking them would decrease the healing period, he’d always done things his own way.
Moki cleared the dishes, leaving her alone but stoically determined. Back at the window seat, she hammered away at her plan until Jesse limped out onto the patio about midnight, almost startling her off the seat. His injuries were obviously still bothersome, and she agonized along with him as he floundered, halfheartedly swimming through the pain. He was having trouble sleeping, probably. That made two of them.
His beautiful, wet body glistened in the moonlight. After the Bahamas, the pool had been the site of some sensational romantic evenings, and she yearned to join him so badly her throat ached. She’d taken their easy intimacy for granted, and the loss of it ripped a gaping hole inside.
So close, yet so far. She missed him so much, and it was so much harder than their first split. Separation played havoc with her sanity far more effectively than any panic attack ever could.
The next morning, she checked in with Dolores, who confirmed the investigation was still ongoing and, in fact, had grown legs. The AG was combing through all of Outlaw’s records, not just the personnel records included in the original investigation.
Reggie, her other constant companion, swam languidly in his bowl as if nothing catastrophic had happened. Any day now, she expected to find him floating on top of the water, belly up.
By Thursday, after three trips into town to put her plan together with Layla, Danny, and a host of others, she had enough raw footage and design work roughed out to piece the presentation together. Under normal circumstances, a package of this magnitude would have taken her a month to edit, but Outlaw didn’t have that long. Neither did her nerves.
Her plan was simple. Give the rest of the world a glimpse into the inner workings of Outlaw. Show the attorney general, Jesse’s distributors, and anyone else who believed he’d intentionally engage in illegal business practices the true nature of the man behind the company. No one could sit through this presentation and not be convinced they’d misjudged the situation, which was partially due to her superior marketing skills but mostly because the subject—Jesse—gave her plenty to work with.
At the start of the presentation, she positioned two sixty-second commercials highlighting Outlaw Manufacturing as part of the local landscape, using local labor and giving the American economy a boost. With light, feel-good, down-home-style advertising, the commercials revealed a straightforward message: Outlaw was a valued part of the community.
With the commercials completed, she focused a few hours on the radio spots, print copy for the magazine and direct-mail campaign, and art for four different billboards.
Last, she queued up the uncut video of Danny’s interviews. Dozens of files blipped onto the screen from the cloud folder he’d saved them to. Rubbing her forehead to ease the tension, she clicked on the first one. He’d said he conducted a lot. A lot was twenty. Not seventy-five.
A heavy-set man wearing thick work gloves and a hard hat stared straight at the camera and said, “Mr. Hennessy comes to the factory almost every day and asks after us like we’re family. I drive a forklift for Outlaw, and it’s the best job in the whole world.”
She clicked on the next one, and the next. Danny interviewed Outlaw’s employees, one by one, his humble style and smooth voice lending a sincerity and depth to the vignettes. But the stars of the show were the simple men and women who ran Outlaw Manufacturing and who loved their employer.
A young Hispanic woman with a lovely face and nervous hands materialized on the screen. She kept her eyes on Danny instead of the camera. “Mr. Hennessy came to the hospital when I had my baby. He brought my Cristina a giant teddy bear and gave me an extra month off with pay so I could spend more time with her. He’s a hero, like those people in the military they show on TV. Thank you for giving me a chance to say how grateful I am for this job and for Mr. Hennessy.”
Alexia’s eyes stung, and she swallowed twice against the rising lump. Jesse’s employees weren’t talking about a CEO who paid them well or gave them enough vacation. They didn’t love him because he installed a refrigerator and a Ping-Pong table in the break room. He’d touched their lives because he truly cared about them as people. He killed himself working ninety hours a week to ensure Outlaw prospered so they would have jobs.
The room flashed hot then cold. This was Jesse’s core. And she’d made it absolutely, perfectly clear how much she resented Outlaw. Not just resented it. Hated it. She might as well have told Jesse she hated him. Yet he’d agreed to spend less time at work. For her.
And to repay him, she’d initiated a vicious investigation. An accident, but one she could have avoided if she’d had her head screwed on straight. If she’d taken the time to get over herself.
She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. The gutting seemed pretty complete but she hadn’t viewed all the files yet. Jesse deserved the best presentation possible.
Danny interviewed Ben, Layla, and left the best for last: Dolores.
“Mr. Hennessy saved my life,” Jesse’s admin said earnestly. “I had trouble finding a job after my divorce because I lacked workplace skills, but I had three kids to feed. Jesse gave me my first ever interview. I was so nervous, but he got me a drink and talked like we were old friends. He asked me to describe the difficult tasks I performed as a mom, how I solved them. I wouldn’t have known to play up the ability to schedule three kids’ soccer games, Cub Scouts, and ballet, but he knew. He needed someone who could be his right hand, and he found me.”
Dolores dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. The bond between the admin and Jesse came through like gangbusters on camera. “He’s brilliant and the most ethical person I’ve ever met. He’s someone you can trust. I love him like my own family. I know you’re not supposed to feel that way about a boss, but I do.”
Trust. Jesse was someone to trust. Alexia snapped closed the laptop’s lid and rested her head on crossed arms, too drained to continue.
The interviews hadn’t been intended as a tribute, but Jesse’s passion for Outlaw was so intertwined, there was no division between them. It permeated every part of his essence down to his unique scent.
To remove him from Outlaw would be
akin to removing a vital organ, yet it was exactly what she’d tried to do. Unseen forces hadn’t been stripping away all the things from Jesse which fit him. She’d been stripping them away. Transferring the hurt from the pregnancy and miscarriage to his company instead of talking it through. Instead of healing.
Outlaw wasn’t some imagined enemy for Jesse’s affections. Her own inability to forgive and to see what was actually there had alienated him where Outlaw never could. Then and now.
Her heart contracted. It should have been obvious earlier. She loved the smell of Outlaw on Jesse. Because she loved all of him, even the parts she didn’t always like. Even the parts she’d tried to change.
Even Outlaw.
There was no unbreakable triangle between her, Jesse and Outlaw. In her mind, it ironed out into a straight line—her on one end and Outlaw on the other, with Jesse in the center. At any time, he could slide toward one or the other, the key being that he always would come back in her direction.
Eyes burning but dry, she brewed another pot of coffee. He could never intentionally engage in illegal practices under any circumstances because he treated his company as an extension of himself. It was her responsibility to prove it to everyone else whether Jesse forgave her or not. At this point, he probably wouldn’t, and it was no less than she deserved.
By this time tomorrow, Outlaw’s fate, and the fate of her future with Jesse, would be sealed.
Chapter 14
Friday dawned cloudless and hot. Alexia spent the day reviewing the presentation, obsessively tweaking every piece she touched and fighting nerves.
At five o’clock, she raised a conspiratorial eyebrow at Moki. Side by side, they peeked out a front window through a slit in the wooden blinds. Jesse’s Vette rolled through the gate.
Show time.
She hightailed it upstairs and double-checked everything. In the media room, the big-screen TV and her laptop were linked by a cable. Batteries in the remote. Lights at forty-five percent. All Moki had to do was get Jesse there. Fingernail in her mouth, she waited. When Jesse swung the door inward, she jumped, despite expecting him. He was close enough to touch and clad in an Alice in Chains shirt. Her heart plummeted. Angst-filled music signified a difficult ride ahead.
When Jesse noticed her sitting on the arm of the leather couch, he stopped short.
“What is this?” he demanded. “Moki said the TV had a problem. What are you doing here? You were told not to come back.”
Here we go.
“No,” she replied calmly, though nerves were doing a cancan up and down her spine. “You told me to get out of your house, which I did. Now I’m back. And I would like you to listen to me.”
“You seem to think you have some say here. I don’t want to hear anything your lying lips could possibly utter. Get out. And this time, don’t come back.” He whirled to leave, and she sprang across the room, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.
He shook it off with one roll and without turning around bit out, “If you touch me again, I cannot be responsible for what I might do.”
His tone crawled down her already frayed nerves. He was so much more than just angry. “Jesse. This is not about me and you. I’m here to help save Outlaw.”
She hadn’t intended to jump right into it, but his inflexibility gave her no choice.
He spun, eyes blazing. “Haven’t you done enough to Outlaw? Give it a rest, will you. If I needed your help, I would have told you to hold your breath until I asked for it. Why are you still standing there? Am I not being clear enough with my instructions to you?”
“I’m not leaving,” she said coolly and stared him down. “I owe you, and I’m going to pay my debt. You’re going to let me. Please sit down, and I’ll show you what I’m talking about.”
“It’s impossible to repay me for what you’ve taken, unless you have a spare soul lying around. Oh, wait. You don’t even have one of your own.” He laughed without mirth. “If I have to pick you up to remove you from my property, I will. I would suggest you don’t allow the situation to go that far.”
He sniffed disdainfully, and her confidence began to splinter. She hadn’t expected this to be easy, not when the damage had been so great, but she hadn’t remotely imagined he’d threaten to forcefully eject her from his house. Their house.
It could be their house if he’d give her five minutes. One minute. Anything. His feelings for her couldn’t have died irrevocably in a few short, yet interminably long, days.
Negotiation. Her only hope. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll leave quietly when it’s up if you give me that long.”
“I’m not giving you one minute. I can’t believe I’m still standing here arguing with you.” He rolled his eyes and glanced heavenward.
“Five minutes. And I’ll do it naked.”
She whipped off her shirt. Stripping had been a backup plan. Just in case, she’d worn his favorite bra, the one from their trip to the Bahamas. It was guaranteed to drive him absolutely wild. Under normal circumstances. She waited with bated breath to see if the gamble would pay off.
His implacable expression didn’t change, but his eyes strayed to her breasts, and his jaw tightened.
With one foot, he slammed the media room door. “That’s not naked. Close. But you still have on way too many clothes to be considered naked.”
The door was closed, and she could breathe. No tingles. No panic. No matter what else happened, it was a good day already. As an added bonus, it would be difficult for him to carry her out of the room now.
He massaged the back of his neck. “I’m wavering, here. Your offer is intriguing. So instead of throwing you out now, I’m going to let you parade around naked and then toss you out on your extremely attractive butt. Go ahead. You’ve got your five minutes.”
He eased onto the couch and sat back, lazily twirling his fingers in a clearly implied get-on-with-it.
Gracefully, she turned her back and started stripping. First the shoes, then the skirt, surreptitiously observing him while he thought she wasn’t looking. Obviously in pain, he held his abdomen with a flat palm, and her heart ached. The crash had done a number on him, followed swiftly by her total screw-up.
She twisted in a slow reveal, clad only in the cup-less bra and matching thong which showcased the body he liked underneath. “Is this naked enough?”
“Not even close, Alf. Keep going,” he demanded. “Dance, maybe.”
Elation flooded the empty, Jesse-shaped hole inside. He’d called her Alf, probably without even realizing it. It meant everything. She was going to win him back.
The realization bolstered her spirits and shot new life into her resolve. If she had known such a bold move would break the ice, she would have been undressed when he walked in.
Dancing was the least she could do.
With one flick of a button, she filled the room with a thumping club beat. As her athletic hips swayed and thrust along with the notes, the lines in Jesse’s face deepened.
After about thirty seconds, she picked up the shirt and chafed it across her breasts. Back and forth. Jesse shifted, and his lids dropped to a sexy half-mast—the cue to drop the shirt and crawl into his lap.
He didn’t shove her off.
Astride his powerful thighs, she captured his gaze, slid her hands under his shirt, and brought the fabric to her breasts, twisting the fabric around her nipples, peaking them. The motion shot liquid fire through her flesh. Heat streaked through her core and lit her up.
With a throaty groan, she ground against his hard length with tiny pelvic punches. She lifted his shirt and stroked her tingling nipples across his bare chest.
Her skin screamed for his touch, begging for his rough hands now. She needed him, needed the fulfillment only he could give her. But he didn’t reach for her.
She got it. This was her show. She had to make it worth his while, and oh, she intended to.
His restraint was extraordinary. She was hot and damp and about to come apart. Let’s see how yo
u do with this, Mr. I’m-Always-In-Control.
She dropped to the floor and unzipped his jeans, releasing his shaft into her hands. Then she dragged her tongue along his flesh from base to tip, watching him as she worked him.
Eyes hot and knuckles white, he clenched the leather couch cushion. As she stroked and laved and sucked, his eyes closed. His chest heaved with every breath. Relentless, she chased after his release.
His lips parted, and the sexy, husky moans she’d become addicted to poured out. Still she licked and nibbled. Sucked hard. Drew him further into her mouth. His hands tangled in her hair and she braced, expecting him to jerk her head away, but he didn’t.
He held her steady, fingers hot on the back of her neck. Experimentally, she opened her throat a little deeper and swallowed, muscles tightening around his rigid tip. He’d never let her go this far before and it thrilled through her.
Hips rolling, he thrust again and again. With a curse, he exploded and she registered his hot, salty flavor a moment before he sagged back against the couch cushions.
She smiled as she tucked him away. Amazing. Her beautiful, amazing husband had let her suck him to a climax, surrendering more control to her than she’d have imagined him capable of. It was a testament to how far they’d come. Or more likely, evidence of something that had never been true in the first place: there was no power struggle in their relationship. Just two people who made mistakes and were awful at forgiveness.
“You had your five minutes,” he snarled. “Get out.”
Shocked, she glanced up from her servile position on the floor. The callous words ripped a new jagged tear in her heart. He concentrated on zipping his jeans and then closed his eyes, one hand pressed against his healing ribs. Hurting, like she was.
“I believe I earned five more,” she countered, pulse hammering. “That side trip wasn’t why I’m here. I have something to show you.”
