by Alison Aimes
“Good.” He decided to hold back the fact she should have done it long ago. “But getting canned only gives him more of a motive—and he doesn’t need to have been here to be behind it. He could have paid someone else. He certainly wasn’t there when the reporters ambushed you at Tyson’s hotel, but he was definitely the reason.”
“I’m well aware. The police are investigating him—and others as well.” She stood straighter. “But whatever the cowards who did this to Russell’s grave intended, it won’t delay me at all.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you took a day or two. I could talk to the board. Ask for a postponement on the vote.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I didn’t say it was necessary, just that it could happen if you’d like it to.”
“Well, I don’t.”
A flash went off. Then several more. Shouts issued from the nearby reporters.
“You should have your people move them back.” He gave the mob a warning glare. “They’re pushing the limits of what’s allowed.”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “I don’t want to antagonize them.”
“They won’t stop until you draw a hard line.”
“I prefer a less Neanderthal approach.”
Was she kidding? He’d been congratulating himself on his show of restraint.
Then, as predicted, a hack from one of the fringe papers barreled under the police tape, his nostrils flaring as if he scented a Pulitzer. “Lily, is this the ghost of Russell returned? Have you considered baring all and telling your side of the story? Others have done it. Our paper would—”
Relieved to finally be able to do something, Alexi stepped in front of her and, with the tilt of his head, gave Morales and his team the go-ahead. They had the asshole in ten seconds, his toes dragging along the pavement as they escorted him from the premises screeching about rights. All the while, the two security guards employed by the cemetery—used to dealing with bodies that never moved—just stared.
His rival looked equally shocked. “That”—her mouth opened, but no complete sentences came out—“that was…”
“Come on.” Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her around to the other side of the police car, away from the defaced grave, and out of sight of the reporters—and everyone—because…well, just be-fucking-cause.
She stared down at his hand. “You can’t just come in and take over.”
“Did you want him in your face asking stupid questions?”
“No.”
“Then problem solved.”
“Problem solved?” It was as near to a shriek as he’d ever heard from her.
“Stop arguing with me and listen. We’ll clear the floor below mine at my building for your company use until they figure out who’s behind this. And you need better security. I’ll have Morales send over a list of top options. We’ll have something in place for you by morning.”
He expected gratitude. Relief. Instead, she glared up at him as if he’d just kicked her puppy. “That’s kind of you to offer—or rather decree—but it’s not going to happen.”
“Why the hell not?”
She shook off his hold. “Because I’m fine where I am. Moving out is an overreaction. What’s more, I don’t need you to sweep in and fix things. I can take care of myself. I have for a long time now and,” she lowered her voice, “grinding up against each other in that conference room didn’t change a damn thing about our rivalry. Stop pretending it did.”
“Did you inhale too much spray paint?” He really didn’t get this woman. Anastasia would have handed over the reins a long time ago. Hell, so would most of his associates.
And the fact that she was making a hell of a lot more sense than him? That might chafe the most. “You’re really pissing me off.”
“Good.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “I won’t be beholden to you.”
It was the strangest thing. People were always asking him for things. Favors. Deals. Information. Money. They wanted him to fix things. They expected him to solve issues. Make things happen. Deliver.
It was what he did. Who he was. How he coped.
But not Lily Bennett.
Which was a problem.
Because the more she told him to stay the hell out of her business, the more he wanted in. Not just her tight body, but inside her stubborn will. Inside her complicated mind.
And the last time he’d cared enough to try and storm such high walls, Anastasia had died. He’d barely survived. Lena’s heart had been broken.
“You won’t like me pissed off,” he warned.
“I don’t like you at all,” she snapped right back. “You have your loyalties. I have mine. You have your objectives. I have mine. Pretending anything more is possible between us is not only dumb, but dangerous.”
He slammed his mouth over hers.
Without hesitation, her tongue met his. His scalp tingling as her fingers burrowed in his hair and locked him close. Damn, if he didn’t like being on the same side as this unpredictable, stubborn, crazy-making woman. Holding her close. Keeping her safe.
“Lily? Are you back here?” Jim’s unwelcome voice echoed from around the other side of the car. The man had the worst timing in the world.
“Tell him to go the fuck away.” Alexi wrapped his arm around her waist, keeping her pinned as he nipped at her earlobe. The junkyard dog in him was three feral seconds away from tearing out the jugular of anyone stupid enough to try and take her from him.
“Lily?” The impatient bastard sounded near.
“Coming,” she yelled.
“Not yet,” Alexi’s mouth ghosted over the corner of her mouth, “but you could be. Once I work that pretty clit the way it needs. Once I fuck you like we both want.”
She shivered, her pupils shrinking even as her jaw firmed. “This…this is not a good idea. I…I have to go.”
“To him?” His grip tensed. “I won’t be put off much longer. It might be dumb. It might be dangerous. But fighting this is getting us nowhere.”
She stiffened against him. “It may come as a shock to learn it’s not just up to you.” Her gaze slid away. “My husband is buried right over there.”
“The man has been dead for a year. He can’t dislike anything anymore.”
Crass? Yes. But something ugly sliced through him at the sound of that name on the lips just pressed against his.
She wrestled out of his hold. “I’m sorry your late fiancée and the woman who raised you had a rough time of it, but there is no proof Russell was behind it. Plus, that man was my husband and a good friend. I won’t stand by and let you insult him. I miss him every day.”
“While shoving your tongue down my throat?” The ugliness had him in a stranglehold. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
She flinched, but came back fast. “We all grieve in our own way. Your throat seemed a convenient enough depository.”
Seizing her arm, he yanked her close. “I’m not some pathetic substitute you’re grinding up against to ease your grief, and you know it.”
She shoved backward. “The only thing I know for sure is you want Winslow Industries, and you’ve repeatedly said you’ll do whatever it takes to get it. If that includes fucking me, you’d better rethink your strategy.”
He brought his nose inches from hers. “When we fuck—and we will—it will be in spite of all the baggage related to the company, not because of it.”
“Your arrogance is unbelievable.”
“Arrogance has nothing to do with it.” He tamped down the urge to grab her and prove his point here and now. “I’ll be waiting for you, Lily. Don’t take too long.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“I’d rather be holding you.” Straightening his tie, he took a step back. Then another. Jim’s tentative tread growing easier to hear. “I’ll have my men reach out with any information they discover about the vandalism.”
Surprise flickered in her gaze, but it was quickly masked.
“Thank you. That would be appreciated.”
So civil. So polite. So fucking irritating.
“Just watch yourself, Armageddon.” He lengthened the distance between them, trying hard not to think about the fact that another Winslow male was about to take his place. “Maybe the graffiti and trampled flowers are the end of it. But it could also be just the beginning. Whoever did this today isn’t happy with the board’s decision to keep you on as head for now. You need to stay on your toes.”
“I’d prefer to concentrate on bringing you to your knees.”
Damn. He really wished he didn’t like that smart mouth of hers quite so much.
Chapter Eleven
Lily watched Kazankov’s wide shoulders and sinful ass stalk away, her lungs deflating like a punctured balloon.
That had been close. Too close.
All-consuming lust mingling with the secret wish to curl into his strength and admit she wasn’t fine, that she was drowning in others’ hate and her own self-doubts.
But she wasn’t a fool.
She might smash her mouth to his in a moment of lust-induced insanity, but she’d never reveal her vulnerable underbelly to a predator like him.
Even if, for a few delusional seconds, it had almost seemed as if he genuinely wanted to help. As if she could walk into his arms and absorb some of his strength without paying a terrible price.
But she knew better than anyone how foolish such notions were. Everyone extracted a price. Everyone.
“You okay?” Jim crept up beside her, his hand landing on her lower back. “What did Kazankov want?”
“To tell me it wasn’t him behind the vandalism.” She sidestepped his touch and headed back toward Russell’s grave.
Her CFO followed, his expression thoughtful. “And you believe him?”
“I’m not ruling anyone out.” Her gaze shifted to the far side of the main funeral building where Paul, who must have recently arrived, loomed over one of the reporters, their little tête-á-tête highlighted by the flashing siren lights, big brother’s movements jerky and tense as he spoke. They were too far away for her to hear what he was spewing, but it didn’t take a genius to come up with a pretty good guess.
“Who knew this would get so ugly?” It was as if Jim read her thoughts.
She swiveled to face him. “Why did you tell your brother about finding me and Kazankov in that conference room?”
His face flooded crimson. “I…I didn’t…I—”
“I know it was you.”
Shoulders slumping, his gaze dropped to the ground. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I…” He cleared his throat. “There’s no excuse. Paul was upset and going on about how he didn’t understand how I could still work for you. He kept saying I was weak and didn’t know the first thing about what was going on under my nose and I…” Troubled eyes found hers. Hot eyes. Angry eyes. “I just wanted to prove him wrong. I told him I did know stuff—and that sort of tumbled out in the mix.”
Poor Jim. Desperate to prove himself. Eager for respect.
“I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” His voice vibrated with genuine regret.
“He’s your brother. I understand your loyalty to him.” She said the words she should have spoken a long time before. “And, believe me, I know how hard it is to want someone’s approval and never get it. Heck, I’ve been trying my whole life to get people to take me seriously.”
“But Dad respected you.” A tiny kernel of resentment sharpened his voice.
Her heart ached for him. Kazankov’s late fiancée wasn’t the only one harmed by Russell’s neglect.
“Not at first,” she admitted. “Maybe not ever.” If Paul was to be believed. “But he did think I would fight to protect his company, and he must have thought the same thing about you because it wasn’t just me he entrusted with his legacy. He made you CFO. Refused to consider anyone else. That doesn’t sound like something he would do if he truly thought you were weak.”
“Maybe.” Jim’s look of hope nearly gutted her. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I know I am.” Twisted logic? Perhaps. But sometimes that’s all you could do with the baggage the dead left behind.
Not for the first time, her thoughts returned to Kazankov and what kind of relics his late fiancée’s passing had left for him to dig through. Did he still ache for her? Dream of her?
“What now?” Jim’s tentative question brought her back to the matter at hand.
She surveyed Russell’s grave, the crowds, the flashing police lights, Paul. “I’m not going anywhere… Neither are you.” No way would she fire Russell’s son over one indiscretion, especially when he’d only been telling the truth. “But I expect to have your loyalty from here on out. No matter how much Paul goads you.”
He stood straighter. “You will.”
She hoped she could believe him.
“This is probably poor timing, but I have to say it anyway.” His words spilled out in a rush. “I don’t think this mess with Dad’s grave is Paul’s doing. He’s angry and impulsive, but he would never disrespect our father in this way. He just wouldn’t.”
Her gaze shifted back toward her ex-employee. He was watching them as well, a hard look on his face.
A shiver wound down her spine. “Your brother’s only one of my worries at this moment.” Her gaze turned to the sea of reporters and then the ruined grave. “The board will have heard about this by now.”
Her CFO let out a soft sigh. “Yes.”
“And?”
When he still hesitated, she urged, “Don’t tell me what you think will make me happy. Tell me what you really believe.”
The tips of his ears colored anew. “I think…I think it could go either way.” This time each word was carefully measured. “The board may view this act of violence as proof you bring instability, scandal, and the kind of negative attention that will destroy Winslow Industries in the end.”
She stifled a cringe. “That’s what I thought.”
“Or,” he added, “it might make some more sympathetic.”
“We need a plan.” And watching Paul try to intimidate her and Jim from across the cemetery gave her an idea. One she’d considered when this whole mess with the board started, but had discarded out of cowardice and foolish pride. Not anymore. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
“That look on your face…” Jim sounded nervous all over again. “What are you thinking?”
Gaze dropping to the spray-painted words meant to scare her away, she admitted, “I’m thinking it’s time for me to follow my own advice. I’m thinking it’s past time for me to face my own damn bully.”
She only hoped this time it wouldn’t come at such a high cost.
Chapter Twelve
“I cannot wait for this to be over.” Eaton tugged at the collar of his ivory, starched shirt, his English rose, a.k.a. white-as-a-sheet complexion, paler than usual in the flickering light of the ornate chandelier. “The bow tie is an even worse invention than the cravat.”
“Bow ties scream old man and nights at home with the cats.” Morales flicked Eaton’s neckwear. “As do briefcases at a gala.” His gaze dropped to the scuffed brown bag at the man’s big feet. “Which is why Alexi and I wear ties. And leave our briefcases at the office.”
“You don’t even have a briefcase.” Eaton’s look was pure disdain. “Much less the kind of class needed to carry off a bow tie.”
“Will you two leave it alone?” Alexi took a nice long swallow of vodka, in no mood for their usual insult fest. He’d met them both at University his first year. Eaton was a fellow student in his business class and Morales the nighttime guard of his dorm. They’d been squabbling ever since. “Attending this schmooze fest is no one’s idea of fun, but we’re here for a particular reason, so suck it up.”
This party, held every year for New York City’s rich and famous at the top of the Empire State Building, was prime board member hunting ground. He’d already bagged two additional board members tonigh
t.
But even without that incentive, there was no way he was missing this particular event.
His gaze locked on Lily Bennett’s mouthwatering form across the room. Standing among a crowd of older, Wall Street–looking clones, she shown like a jewel. Her hot-as-hell crimson red dress drawing every gaze in the room while that annoying a-hole Finn hovered nearby.
She hadn’t looked Alexi’s way once.
“Any reason you look like you want to punch the next person who speaks?” Eaton grabbed two dumplings off a waiter’s tray with his free, non-briefcase-holding hand.
“Maybe because I knew it would be you?” Alexi watched Lily smile politely at the man to her left and then wave across the room to Tyson—impossible to miss in a giant cowboy hat—before taking a small sip of champagne, her throat working back and forth. Those sexy fuck-me stiletto heels clicking on the hard floor as she shifted to make room for another old guy in her circle, the silk fabric of her dress swishing across her tempting ass.
He downed another long swallow.
One would never know just yesterday her late husband’s grave had been vandalized or that she’d spent all day with the police filling out forms in a colossal waste of time while her ex-employee Paul, not slowed down at all by what had happened to his father’s grave, was doing his best to undercut her.
Too bad there wasn’t any evidence linking the bastard to the damage. Yet. Though Alexi’s people wouldn’t stop looking…
Not that it mattered now.
“There’s your pigeon, Don Pierson.” Morales’s observation drew Alexi from his thoughts.
“Right on time.” He tracked the pompous, older man’s progress across the room.
Don Pierson was not only the host of tonight’s event and the head of the Winslow Industries board, but the other main reason Alexi was here tonight.
Just yesterday, Paul left his father’s defaced grave marker and went straight to a meeting with the older man. A meeting that, according to an informant in Pierson’s company, ended with the older man’s pockets stuffed with cash and a promise he would support Paul’s bid to oust Lily as head.
