by Nalini Singh
Like a barracuda.
Maybe this was who she was—a ruthless corporate machine created by two other ruthless corporate machines—and it was time to stop fighting destiny. If genes made the woman, Ísa’s genes were written in business black.
Putting her bag on the counter on that indigestible thought, not even the adorable little cactus lifting her mood, she was thinking about running away to join the circus when she got a call from Nayna.
“Can I come over?” her best friend asked. “I don’t feel like going home for dinner. The folks are all excited about the next meet and greet they’re trying to set up.”
“You know you never have to ask,” Ísa said. “I just got in myself. I was going to grill some chicken and make bad-for-the-hips buttery mashed potatoes.”
“I’ll pick up a mixed-bean salad from our favorite place.” Nayna’s tone was brighter already. “See you in half an hour.”
Feeling better now that she knew her friend and confidante was on the way, Ísa got out of her work clothes and into a pair of shorts and a spaghetti-string tank top that she only ever wore at home—she didn’t want to risk blinding blameless strangers with her whiteness. Nayna, however, had seen her in a bathing suit during their mutually hated phys-ed classes in school.
After pulling her hair up into a jaunty ponytail, she got the chicken pieces into the oven, set the potatoes to boil, then took a quick minute to check her phone. She smiled at seeing that she had a couple of messages from a friend she caught up with maybe three or four times a year.
She and Michelle, aka Micki, had been in many of the same classes at university and though their lives had gone in different directions, with Michelle already married and a mother of one, they still had enough to talk about that those coffee dates were fun for both of them. Expecting that Michelle wanted to set up a meet, Ísa clicked open the message. But her friend had something far more juicy to share this time: Oh my God, Ísa, did you see this picture of Cody? I thought you’d enjoy it!
Attached was an image of Cody with what looked like a broken jaw, the bruising ugly and his eyes scrunched as if in pain. His nose didn’t look too great either, and he definitely had the beginnings of a black eye.
Her own eyes wide, Ísa scanned down to see that Michelle had also screenshotted the message posted along with the photo. Suzanne had apparently been the one who’d posted the image. And she was fuming.
Look at what some loser did to my amazing fiancé! Cody was only trying to help a woman who was about to get her bag snatched! He’s my hero even though he refuses to go to the police because he doesn’t want to waste their time. And that woman he got hurt helping ran off too, the bitch! That’s what you get for trying to help people. And now Cody’s jaw is broken and our wedding is going to be ruined!!
Ísa blinked and read the message again. Cody? Valiantly fighting to help a mugging victim? Ísa’s bullshit meter swung over to blazing red.
She quickly typed a reply: Micki, is this is for real?
Michelle must’ve been online because she answered almost immediately. Absolutely, she said. I lurk on Suzanne’s friends list just so I can gossip about her. I have no shame. Not after she turned frenemy when we were sixteen and stole my boyfriend. She thinks I forgave her—ha-ha! Micki never forgives or forgets!
Anyway, I heard from another mutual friend that Cody really does look like he went two rounds with a professional boxer and came out the loser. Jaw’s not broken, sadly. Not like the drama queen says. But that ass is still going to be bruised for the wedding, which means Suzanne’s wedding photos will forever make her grimace, and that makes my evil heart cackle.
Ísa messaged back with a row of cackling faces of her own.
Then she put down the phone and thought of the playful man with steely confidence who’d scowled and said someone needed to teach Cody a lesson. Surely, surely… Her heart thumped. No, it couldn’t be. She was just a teacher who’d molested him in a parking lot and then gotten naked with him in a secluded little water spot.
There was no reason for Sailor Bishop to have punched out Cody on her behalf. Cody had probably fallen on his face and made up that heroic story to explain the bruises so Suzanne wouldn’t blame him for her ruined wedding photos.
Ísa’s hand clenched around her phone.
She had Sailor’s number.
16
The War of the Cacti (with a Cameo from a Swamp Creature)
A KNOCK ON HER DOOR, Nayna no doubt having used Ísa’s security code to come up.
Figuring that was a sign from the gods, Ísa put down her phone and went to open the door, dying to fill her friend in on Cody’s unfortunate facial situation. Then she took in Nayna’s own expression.
“Hey,” she said, enfolding her friend in a huge hug. “What’s the matter?”
Nayna made a face as they drew apart. “Sometimes,” she muttered, “I get tired of being the dutiful daughter.” She shut the door behind herself. “Let me help you finish prepping dinner, and then I’ll tell you the story of my sad, sad life.”
It didn’t take them long to get everything together.
Taking their plates, they sat on the sofa in front of the television; it was currently playing their favorite trashy reality show.
Nayna began to speak halfway through the episode. “It’s Madhuri,” she said, referring to her older sister.
“Has she done something rebellious again?” Ísa asked, well aware of the big scandal in Nayna’s family history—the eldest Sharma daughter had eloped with a boy from her college when she’d been a bare nineteen years of age. Nayna herself had only been fourteen at the time.
Shaking her head, Nayna mumbled her next words through a huge mouthful of mashed potatoes. “She’s mostly the reason why my parents have been so strict with me, but today she was sitting in the kitchen at breakfast, chatting away to our parents while I helped my mom make breakfast.”
“Your sister’s been welcome back in the family for a few years.” Ísa ate a big scoop of the bean salad, made an “mmm” sound that had Nayna nodding.
“I don’t care what strange herbs and spices they put in that salad,” her best friend said, “they’ll pry my bean salad out of my cold, dead hands.”
Swallowing her current bite of sweet, salty beany goodness, Ísa said, “Anyway, I thought you loved having her around.” The family estrangement had lasted six long years, during which Nayna had desperately missed her big sister. Her parents had refused to talk to their eldest daughter even after Madhuri’s relationship broke up four years after the elopement.
“I do.” Nayna’s face fell. “But today I truly realized just how much my father loves her.” Wet in her eyes, her voice thick. “She was always his favorite—the one who could make him laugh, coax him to give us extra sweets, or let us stay up to watch TV. She was the sister with the spirit, the child full of color and joy and wildness. That’s part of the reason I’ve always loved her too.”
Personally, Ísa had always thought Madhuri an attention-seeking flibbertigibbet, but she figured everyone had blinders about something. Nayna’s happened to be about her sister.
Nayna tore off a piece of chicken with her teeth even as a tear rolled down her face. “Today I saw that, despite everything, she’s still his favorite. I don’t mind that, I really don’t. It’s just… I can’t even get him to give me a ‘well done’ hug.”
Another gnawing bite of the chicken as she sobbed. “I’m trying so hard to be the perfect daughter, Ísa, and it just struck me today that none of it matters.” She gesticulated wildly with her drumstick. “I will never be well-behaved enough, never ever follow the rules well enough, never see my father’s eyes light up with pride. I’m fucking killing myself toeing the line, and it doesn’t fucking matter!”
In all their years together, Ísa had only heard Nayna swear maybe five times. So she didn’t hug her best friend—she could tell the other woman was as furiously angry as she was sad. Instead, she said, “I know you don’t like to
talk about it, but part of the reason you went the whole arranged-marriage route was to make your parents happy. Are you rethinking that?”
Nayna put down the drumstick. “This isn’t just about my father. There’s also my grandmother. I want her to be happy—she never got to have the big wedding for her granddaughter that she dreamed about while we were growing up. I want to give her that.”
Ísa scowled. “Your grandma loves you unconditionally, you egg.” Ísa had been hugged by those same soft arms, her impression of Nayna’s grandmother a fusion of textures and scent—the softness of the white sari that was her daily wear, the hint of incense that clung to her because of her early-morning prayers, the fancy perfume she loved and that Nayna gave her for her birthday every year.
“She’s had a lot of pain in her life,” Nayna countered. “A lot of loss. I want to give her this one bright, shining moment.”
“You really think she’ll be happy when she realizes how unhappy you are?”
Nayna stared at her empty plate. “I should’ve bought ice cream when I got the salad.”
“Please,” Ísa muttered. “Like I’d ever run out of ice cream. But read this in the meantime.” After pulling up Michelle’s messages, she handed her phone to Nayna. “It’ll make you feel better.”
Nayna was laughing in open glee by the time Ísa returned with the two-liter tub of rocky road ice cream and two spoons. “If you ever find the man who did this to Cody’s face—and to Suzanne’s precious wedding,” Nayna said, her eyes shining, “you need to offer him a blow job at least. It’d only be polite.”
Ísa’s face went hot red between one second and the next.
Of course Nayna caught it. “You know who it was!” she accused. “Tell me!”
“I’m not sure.” Ísa thrust the cold container of ice cream into Nayna’s lap.
Not the least distracted by the cold of the ice cream, Nayna waggled her eyebrows. “Anyone to whom you’d be happy to offer a lusty sexual favor?”
When Ísa’s breath turned shallow, her face even hotter, Nayna’s smile cracked her face. “It was him, wasn’t it? The hot gardener? The one you went skinny-dipping with at the party? I knew he couldn’t be an asshole, not with the way he looks at you! And oh my God! He avenged your honor!”
“I’ll tell you when I know.” Ísa pointed her spoon at her grinning best friend. “And I thought you were depressed.”
“Hearing about Slimeball Schumer’s comeuppance has had a reviving effect.” Having opened the container, she put it between them and dug in.
One spoonful later, she said, “Ísa, seriously—if Mr. Sexy Blue Eyes punched out Cody for you, he might be a keeper.”
Ísa stabbed her own spoon into the ice cream. “He’s twenty-three.” And definitely, absolutely not anything like the kind of man for whom Ísa was searching. Even if he haunted her in her dreams. Even if she kept seeing that image of him on the stairs, a maturity to him that belied his age. Even if she kept hearing him whisper “spitfire” in her ear while promising to lock her up using handcuffs.
* * *
AFTER FINALLY GETTING HOME AT eight that evening, Sailor dug out a frozen meal. He showered while it was cooking in the microwave, then pulled on a pair of low-hanging shorts and, taking the meal to the kitchen table where he did most of his theoretical work, sat down to fine-tune the plans for Fast Organic.
Jacqueline’s assistant had sent him a message to say that a representative from the company would be meeting him tomorrow at three at the first Fast Organic site to go over the details. She hadn’t sent him a name, noting that she’d send through final details tomorrow, once this new project was integrated into everyone’s schedules. Given Jacqueline’s driven nature, the rep had to be someone equally intelligent and competent; they’d no doubt have countless questions.
Sailor wanted to have all the answers ready.
After he finished this, he’d have to get to work on his taxes. The problem with being a one-man shop was that he had to do everything. Which didn’t leave a lot of time for extracurricular activities. He played rugby during the season, ran for exercise during the off-season, but that was about it. Today, however, he decided that he needed to add “flirting with a cute redhead” to his schedule.
When he was around her, he felt young in a way he hadn’t felt since he was fifteen and had set himself the goal that drove him every single day. She made him realize that he’d put part of himself into deep freeze a long time ago—but there was no ice around her and never had been. His redhead had hit him straight in the gut from the first night he’d laid eyes on her.
A man would have to be very stupid to walk away from that.
Sailor wasn’t stupid.
He was also very, very determined.
The cactus was just stage one of his plan to lure his redhead into his lair.
* * *
ÍSA RAN INTO HER LEAST favorite person in the entire world the next morning after she parked her car in the Crafty Corners parking lot. She hadn’t slept well, tormented by dreams of a man with devil-blue eyes who teased her body without ever offering relief. What she needed was a tall black coffee. What she got was a tall, blackhearted swamp creature.
“Hello, Trevor,” she said with a tight smile and tried to walk past him.
“Hey.” He put his hands on her upper arms. “Is that any way to talk to your stepbrother?”
Not about to put up with unwanted contact, Ísa deliberately stepped back. If he touched her again, she’d break out the painful little-finger twist she’d learned in a self-defense class. “I don’t think it works that way when parents marry after their children are adults.” It wasn’t the first time she’d made the point.
Trevor laughed, his perfect white teeth gleaming in his perfect square-jawed face with its perfect salon-tousled blond hair. He was like a living, talking, walking magazine model. It was creepy. “Are you going in to see Jacqueline?” he asked. “I was hoping to have a word with her.”
“I don’t know if she’s in yet,” was all Ísa said. She had no desire to know what Trevor wanted to discuss with Jacqueline, though she could guess. Trevor had been angling for a senior position at Crafty Corners ever since his father Oliver had the good fortune to marry Jacqueline.
While Oliver Jones was a somewhat vague professor who, oddly enough, seemed to “get” Jacqueline in a way none of her previous husbands had, Trevor Jones was very much a smooth operator out to line his pockets. He’d quickly figured out that getting into Jacqueline’s good books was in his best interest.
Unfortunately, good-looking, charming men were Jacqueline’s weak point.
Except in business, of course. Nothing distracted Jacqueline in business. Not even “a nice piece of ass.”
Trevor had, so far, managed to walk the fine line between being a charming man whose company Jacqueline enjoyed and a calculating operator who wanted to wheedle his way into her business empire. Ísa wondered how long that would last. Jacqueline might have a weak spot for charming men, but she also had a razor-sharp intellect—sooner, rather than later, she’d figure out that Trevor was muscling in for a piece of the family pie.
That might’ve intrigued Jacqueline had Trevor been up to her standards, but Trevor wasn’t even on Jacqueline’s radar as someone she’d employ. While he was apparently a competent lawyer, he wasn’t a shark who could rip the competition to shreds without ever losing his smile. Jacqueline’s entire legal team was made up of sharks—which occasionally made for interesting office politics, but when it counted, the sharks worked together as a team.
They’d chew Trevor up and spit him out without so much as pausing in their work.
“I hear Jacqueline’s made you acting vice president.” Trevor’s smile was so dazzling that she half expected to see a glint off one pearly white. “Congratulations.”
Ísa settled the strap of her satchel and gave him the same tight smile as earlier, hoping he’d get the message. “It’s only for the summer,” she said. “I’m su
re she’ll find someone permanent during that time.”
“Oh, don’t be modest, Ísalind.” Trevor’s smile rang hollow. “We all know you’re a genius. You’ve got your mother’s instincts.”
Now what the hell was he up to? “Um, thanks,” she muttered. “I’d better go in. There’s a lot to do.” She had an evening class to teach tonight, the reason why she’d arrived at Crafty Corners so early. She wasn’t about to do extra hours for Jacqueline, but neither did she plan to shirk on her part of the blackmail bargain.
Trevor fell into step beside her. “I don’t want to keep you. I know how important this is to Jacqueline. She looks to you as her successor you know.”
That was hardly a state secret.
“I want you to know,” Trevor added in a tone that dripped sincerity, “that if you ever need a hand, I’m here. Being thrown into the vice presidential position at only twenty-eight has got to create an immense amount of stress on you. I’ve got the legal know-how to give you backup anytime you need.”
It was a good thing no one from Crafty Corners’ in-house crack team of sharks was present to hear Trevor’s offer—she wouldn’t have given him high odds of survival in that situation. “Thanks,” she said, deciding to take his words at face value. It was possible he was genuinely trying to be helpful and nice. Maybe she shouldn’t think of him as a blackhearted villain just because he checked all the boxes.
Probably she should feel bad about mentally naming him Trevor the Creeper. But just like ivy crept over a wall until it smothered it, Trevor was on a campaign to creep all over Jacqueline and Crafty Corners.
He touched Ísa on her lower back.
She elbowed him hard enough in the gut that he spluttered out an “oof” of breath. “You shouldn’t startle women,” she said calmly instead of apologizing, because she was Jacqueline Rain’s daughter and her mother had taught Ísa never to apologize to men who were attempting to force their way into her space.
