Suited (St. Martin Family Saga)

by Watson, Gina

  Cash walked in to the office and saw Isa bending over to pick up the spilled contents of her purse. The view of her ass in that position, with her in heels that pushed it straight up to the sky, was heaven, but she seemed unsteady, dizzy even. She staggered, and Cash was at her side immediately, pulling a chair under her and guiding her down. He took her head into his hands, noticing that her color was off. She was naturally bronzed, but today her skin had a green tinge.

  “Isa?”

  “I just had a weird sinking feeling. I’m kind of dizzy.”

  Cash thought it no wonder with the way she ran herself ragged. She was working on three commercial projects, and she insisted on jogging four miles every morning and working out with a trainer nightly at the gym. She said all the physical activity focused her. And then there were the nights, with them going at it like rabbits making up for lost time.

  “I think the fumes from the excavation equipment got to me.”

  Cash went to the office’s mini-fridge and pulled out a small carton of orange juice. He grabbed a package of peanut butter crackers and offered it to her.

  “Eww. Just the juice, thanks.”

  Cash opened the crackers and ate one. “You love these things. That’s why I keep them around.”

  “I do, but I’m still feeling a little queasy from the fumes.”

  Cash turned on the oscillating fan and placed it in front of her while she drank the juice and he picked up the contents of her purse.

  Looking up at her from his squat, he said, “What you need is a break. What do you say we take off to New Orleans and catch Bernard Larue?”

  “I’d love that.” She cupped his cheek. “But you forget, silly man, the tickets have been sold out for weeks.”

  His claims notwithstanding, she’d quickly realized that he didn’t have tickets when he’d told her, in front of Grandy, that he did. She had thought his jealousy humorous. But he had tickets now. He’d planned on surprising her, so they were in his back pocket.

  “Oh really?”

  Isa snatched the tickets out of his hands. “How in the world did you come by these?”

  “I’m trying my damnedest to make you happy. As long as you’ll have me, I’ll never stop trying. I mean that, Isa.”

  She bobbed up and down in her chair. “I’m so excited! When do we leave?”

  “As soon as Camp gets here.”

  She wrapped her hands around Cash’s neck and squeezed his face into her breasts.

  Camp came barreling through the door. “Hey, you guys need to get a room. Seriously, it’s the same thing every day.”

  Isa said, “Somebody’s a Grumpy Gus.”

  “Something bothering you?” Cash asked.

  Camp slumped into his desk chair and exhaled long and loud. Two sets of eyes stared at him.

  “It’s the Lake Charles gig. There’s this woman.”

  Cash and Isa each raised a brow and caught each other’s gaze.

  “Do tell, brother.”

  “I don’t know what to tell. She’s got me tied up in knots. When she’s around, I don’t know if I’m happy, sad, excited, or pissed off. She calls me on all my shit too, and I’m just talking about at the work site. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if…”

  Isa prodded. “If what?”

  “I can’t believe I’m even thinking this, but I’m attracted to her. It’s bad too. Whenever she’s somewhere on the property, I can sense it. It’s like my body is a magnet and she’s made of metal. I’ve been reduced to an adolescent. Plus, let’s not forget the fact that I’m an engaged man.” He exhaled an exasperated sigh and fisted his hand in his hair.

  “Camp?”

  “Yeah, Isa?”

  “You don’t seem like a man happily engaged. You’ve already been married once; don’t you think you should think things through a little bit so you don’t make a mistake?”

  Camp stood. “Fuck, don’t you think I’ve thought about that?”

  At his expletive and raised voiced, Cash stood and got in his face. “Don’t speak to her like that.” He threw a punch, but Camp dodged it.

  “What the hell, Cash? I told you that Isa and I are friends. Get over it.” He turned to Isa, “I’m sorry. I’m frustrated and while I couldn’t be happier for you and Cash, your closeness just reminds me that Kim and I are not.”

  “You have to tell her,” Isa said.

  Camp turned to Cash.

  “I agree, bro. You could be trapped in a passionless marriage for upwards of fifty years. In that case, an early death would be preferable to a life of longevity.”

  “Jesus. Thanks for that grim image.”

  Cash shrugged. “Just trying to help. It’s not too late to get out.”

  “I know.” Camp nodded, as if trying to convince himself, “I know.”

  ≈

  Isa turned to work on the following week’s schedule since she and Cash would be gone for the next three days. While she organized her week, she listened to Cash and Camp. They were talking about their father.

  “Dad’s on his way; he’d like to see you. Do you think you can wait another hour before you and Isa leave for New Orleans?”

  Cash shrugged. “Yeah, sure, I gotta check on the progress in the pit anyway.”

  Isa studied Cash on his way outside, concluding that he looked desperate. She hated that. He’d been estranged from his father for eight years. Camp had told her that Cash had seen their father on average two to three times per year but that they didn’t speak, and she knew they’d yet to talk since he’d been back. She wondered why Cliff was coming to the site but she shook it off and went into the copy room.

  Through one-way glass she saw the exterior door open and in walked Clifton St. Martin. “Speak of the devil,” she whispered. He was an imposing man who stood board straight at about six feet five. The man simply commanded the room. The twins, the shortest men in the family, stood nearly half a foot shorter than their father.

  Clifton sat at the desk that was his but was being used by Cash. He started flipping through paperwork, scrutinizing and questioning every decision.

  “I don’t know, Dad,” Camp told him for the third or fourth time. “I told you you’ll have to ask Cash.”

  “Where the hell is that boy?”

  Overhearing the full conversation, including the overly picky questions, Isa emerged from behind the copy machine.

  “Hello, Clifton.”

  Clifton used the wheels of the chair to push back from the desk. He stood and walked to Isa with extended arms.

  “Isa, tu es très belle.”

  Isa knew he was speaking about her beauty. He did the same to all the women in his family, and she’d always loved that. Loved being included. She’d memorized a few fitting responses and today tried out a new one. “Et vous avez de beaux yeux.” She loved the St. Martin ice-blue eyes, knew he was responsible for passing the color to his children, and so she told him that he had nice eyes.

  Clifton smiled. “And smart too, the whole package. It’s a wonder some man hasn’t snatched you away from us.”

  Camp and Isa shared a nervous look. When Cash had taken off and left Isa behind, the entire family had been crushed, but Isa begged them not to interfere. It was true that Isa had become part of their lives over the three years she and Cash had been together. Given that she had no family of her own, she’d become a permanent fixture at their home. Whenever the family was hosting a party or just having a barbeque, she’d been invited. She’d even spent some holidays with them, and it was the St. Martins who had her looking forward to her birthday instead of loathing it. Before she’d met them, no one had even recognized her birthday. They did it up big too, with decorations and gifts and so much food she had to roll herself home. And they continued to celebrate her birthday every year.

  “I understand you’ve been working solely with Cash for the last eight weeks while Camp finishes up in Lake Charles.”

  “That’s right.”

  He lifted his brow. “St
arting a project is the hardest and most crucial part. Tell me, how’s Cash doing?”

  The truth was Cash had really come around and into his own over the last two months. At first he just sort of sat back and let the project run itself. He’d let her have free rein with the decision-making on her end, but she knew Cash. He’d been thrown into the project, and Cash didn’t like to show his hand until he had all the facts. The first two weeks he’d been compiling his cards to make his move. By week three he’d taken control of the team. He was a natural. The only drawback had been the fact that his name wasn’t on the company accounts, with that omission it was gumming up the schedule but he’d even found a way to work around it.

  “We’re actually ahead of schedule. The developer is thrilled.”

  Clifton grunted at her words. “Has he met with the developer in person?”

  “Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

  Cash walked through the door, and Isa looked up into his eyes. He looked composed, ready to speak to his father. And he looked quite sexy. She loved a man in jeans. She especially loved Cash in jeans.

  Clifton turned to his son and they held each other’s gaze for several minutes before Cash said, “Dad.”

  They sat at the lunchroom table, and Clifton started grilling Cash about every business decision he’d made. Isa and Camp listened unashamedly. Cash had a thorough and reasonable answer for all the choices he’d made. Great business decisions, Isa thought.

  After forty-five minutes of discussion, Clifton said, “I’m impressed, son. This all looks real good. Tell me, what are we paying you?”

  After having kept his thoughts to himself, Camp chimed in to say, “I haven’t actually paid him anything yet, Dad.”

  Clifton threw his head back and engaged in deep tummy-jiggling laughter. “Well, Cash, there’s one bad decision you’ve made. You can send us a bill.”

  Cash said, “About the bills… I’m having a hard time keeping up with the schedule since I’ve gotta wait for Camp to settle bills and to get cash and put payroll together. We need to add me to the company accounts as a signatory.”

  Camp added, “Yeah, that solution would keep us on schedule for sure.”

  Clifton pushed to his feet. “It’s my name and Campbell’s on all the accounts, and that’s how it will stay. What do you think would happen if people thought they were investing their money in you? We’d be closing our doors. The whole town knows you’re a professional gambler.”

  Isa gasped. Clifton had just accused Cash of not being honorable and trustworthy with his money. She held her breath, praying that they would set aside their differences and work together. But she didn’t know how Cash would be able to forgive such a slur.

  Cash cut him off. “I’m a successful professional gambler. There aren’t a lot of those.”

  Clifton didn’t acknowledge his comment. Instead he said, “And look at how you’ve defaced your body with those tattoos. No one would take you seriously much less trust you with their investments.”

  Cash got up from the table with enough force to knock his chair into the wall and dent it.

  “Never could control that temper of yours, boy.”

  Cash walked out.

  Isa stared from Clifton to Camp and then back to Clifton. She ran after Cash, but he was already flying out of the driveway when she got outside. She planned to follow him in her car but was hit with a bout of nausea and ended up vomiting over the railing. The tension was taking a toll on her.

  She trudged back into the office. Camp looked at her expectantly, and she shook her head and looked down at her hands.

  She walked over to the table where Clifton was seated. She picked up the overturned chair and sat in it. She stared at Clifton, knowing that Camp was watching her.

  Narrow-eyed, Clifton looked at both of them. “Everything I said is true, and the two of you would know it if you looked at him objectively rather than that way you do, as if he were perfect. As if his love for you made everything else he did right.”

  Did he mean to say she shouldn’t look at Cash with love? That she shouldn’t consider his care of her when she decided what kind of man he was?

  Is that what Clifton did, stripped out the love and tenderness, pulled out all the good in a man to see what was left?

  Well, if he stripped the love away from Cash, there wasn’t a whole lot left. Not that Cash didn’t have a lot going for him or wasn’t skilled or talented. It was just that everything he did was done with love and integrity. The core that made him up, the love, couldn’t be stripped away from his actions. If all the parts of him that were interwoven with good and compassion and honor were cut away, then no, there wouldn’t be much left. And thank God for that. Cash was good through and through.

  He’d made mistakes when he was younger, but he was honest and upright, compassionate and loving. And Isa would take that over other qualities any day.

  Clifton pushed himself back in his chair. “You would think the boy would at least cover his arms with a long-sleeved shirt, but he has never considered anyone but himself.”

  Isa had heard enough. And she’d had enough of this Southern shit. She knew instead of pressing their father, the boys just chose to retreat, respect the elders and all. Fuck that. She was going to speak up. “He doesn’t normally dress that way. He’s been wearing dress trousers and Oxford shirts with long sleeves every day. But that’s not the real issue here, is it?”

  Clifton met her gaze with intense, burning eyes. “It’s true that in business tattoos don’t conjure up thoughts of a responsible and respectable individual.”

  “Fair enough. As I said, they’re usually covered. He’s heading out on a long weekend. He hasn’t taken a day off since he started eight weeks ago, has even been coming in on weekends.” She rapped her knuckles against the table. “And without being paid, as Camp already pointed out to you.”

  “That’s all well and good, but I still don’t trust him. I built this company from the sweat of my brow all those years ago—”

  Isa held up her hand and spoke over him. “I’m aware of how your company got its start, and that is admirable. Your company thrives, yet there are aspects of your family and your personal life that do not. Cashel is your son. He needs your acceptance. It’s all he longs for, the one thing he doesn’t have. He’s changed, changed a long time ago, but you’re so caught up in finding his faults you can’t see how far he’s come. We’ve all messed up at one time or another. If we can’t count on the people we love and who love us to accept those mistakes and forgive them, well, sir, life wouldn’t be worth living, would it? Why would a man strive for acceptance when acceptance could never be won? Cash came home alive and healthy; that’s all many fathers can hope for. But he also came back an honorable and loving man. But you didn’t change. And you should have. Because you are no more perfect now than he was eight years ago.”

  She shook her head. Looked at him. Turned to Camp and then looked back at Clifton. She leaned in close.

  “You need to make positive contact with Cash. Before it’s too late.” She turned toward the door and imagined the world outside the office. Imagined Cash wondering alone in it. “Before his heart is too hard to hear you. Before it’s too hard to hear yours.”

  Isa stood and gathered her things before quietly slipping out. She knew the Cash of the past eight weeks was gone. She’d seen it in his haunted eyes just as she had eight years ago. There would be no jazz fest, no forever for them. He was gone and he’d let her go again.

  6

  Cash drove and drove, his head stewing in a sea of red. The only thing that focused him was the hum of the tires and the endless miles he was clocking between Baton Rouge and Las Vegas.

  It was finally clear to him that his father would never accept him. And Cash would never give him another chance. Why he even thought going back to that godforsaken town was a good idea was a mystery to him now.

  He drove for seven hours without stopping. Unfortunately he couldn’t stop thinking. H
e’d gone back home to reunite with his family. Camp had needed help, and Cash had done a damned good job with that help, but he wasn’t going to stick around and not be appreciated. It would be a cold day in hell the next time he got caught with a losing hand.

  Eighteen hours later, he’d made it back to the smoke and lights in a place as soulless as himself. Cash had given up binging on alcohol and drugs but standing at the window in his high-rise Vegas condo, he could have killed for a snort. Yet he’d made a promise to himself, and he’d kept it. He hoped it would hold firm through this shit storm his father had stirred up.

  Cash had been so mad when he stormed out that he’d forgotten about the jazz festival. Stopping only for gas, he’d driven twenty-five hours straight on the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He grimaced as he thought about the excitement on Isa’s face when he’d told her of the plans he’d made for them in New Orleans. He’d promised her he wouldn’t hurt her again and that he’d never again leave. He’d broken all his promises and after only eight weeks. There was something about the number eight that he was beginning to dislike.

  The phone Camp lent him was lighting up like it was the Fourth of July. He didn’t even bother to look at it before turning it off and collapsing on the cool crisp sheets of his bed. His migraines were back and the pain was piercing off his ability to focus but he relished the pain. The more the merrier as they say.

  ≈

  Cash was aroused from sleep at the hard banging at his door. What time was it anyway? Fucking Vegas. Cash rolled over and closed his eyes, but the banging didn’t cease. He drew himself up and pulled on a pair of lounge pants. He walked to the door and cracked it open.

  “Dad?” He looked behind his father. “Camp?” He opened the door wide, permitting them entry.

  Cash was distorted and confused. Had he taken drugs, or was he drunk? To his relief the clock on the wall read four o’clock. No drugs, no alcohol, just a crazy brother and father. He knew it to be early morning because the view from his window was glowing from the lights of the Strip.