Jared snorts. “Tell me you didn’t just ask me that,” he says, extending the crystal flute toward me. The glasses were a housewarming gift from our parents. They were very astute with their present, no doubt foreseeing many occasions that would be cause for future celebration.
I take the champagne while he takes a seat opposite me. “I didn’t just ask you that.”
“Good,” he replies as I bring the glass to my lips. “Because I figured you’d need the drink after having an epic bout of sex in my downstairs bathroom.”
Fizzy alcohol sprays from my mouth. It showers the desk and my rumpled blouse. I set my flute on the desk and grab for a tissue to dab at the mess. “Jake and I were merely taking some time to resolve an issue.”
His brows soar sky high. “Well, clearly you resolved the shit out of it.”
There’s only one thing I can do and that’s to roll with it, so I give my brother a cool stare. “I’m a Valentine. I do what it takes to get the job done.”
Laughter explodes from my brother. Loud and infectious, it rings out across the room. My lips twitch, and I can’t help the responding chuckle.
When his amusement dies down, he shakes his head and looks at me.
“What?” I ask.
“I should’ve known there was no embarrassing you with that statement. You’re tough as nails, Mac.” Jared looks at me with a mixture of pride and admiration. “Nobody pulls one over on you.”
“Like you were just trying to do now? What was your plan? Blackmail me into forgiving you?”
“Blackmail?”
“You know what Jake and I did. What were you going to do, use it as leverage?”
Jared sets his beer on the desk and lets out a breath. “What, like running to Mum and Dad?”
He’s done it before. “It’s not beneath you.”
Jared shrugs. “Like you said, we’re Valentines. We do what it takes to get the job done.”
“Touché,” I reply over the rim of my glass. “But I think we’re a little old now to go running to our parents and tittle-tattle.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll ever be too old for that.” Jared picks his beer up with a wry grin and takes a sip. Then he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, staring at the bottle as though it holds all the answers to the universe. “You’re my sister, Mackenzie. And I love you. I can’t have you angry with me anymore.”
I nod, rubbing my lips together. “Well, you’re my brother, Jared, and I love you too. The truth is I’m not angry. Not anymore.”
Jared exhales. It’s a deep sound of relief. When he looks up, his eyes are sad and heavy with guilt, and I realise what’s going through his head. It’s not just the betrayal. It’s the car accident. He was the driver and blames himself for my miscarriage. “I’m still hurt over what you all did, but the car accident was exactly that,” I tell him. “An accident. Maybe you should try forgiving yourself.”
“I’m not sure I can. The truth is…” he begins and pauses, swiping a hand across his jaw “…the truth is that …”
I say what he can’t say himself. “You and Evie are having a baby.”
His eyes search mine. “You know.”
“Of course.” My heart gives a painful thump, but I force my lips to curve. “I’m a Valentine, remember? It’s my job to know everything.”
Jared gives a shaky laugh, taking my teasing tone as a sign that his news hasn’t caused me any hurt. “Sometimes you scare me, Mac.”
I hold my champagne cocktail toward him for a toast. He clinks it with his beer bottle and after we both take a sip, I say, “Sometimes I scare myself.”
MAC
We have too many live commitments to cancel after Frog’s injury. Thankfully Grace has agreed to stay for a full eight weeks. She’s going to cover his place with Jamieson until he’s healed and able to play again.
Three weeks into her stay, I make the time to visit Jamieson & Valentine Consulting. I dress carefully for the occasion. Of course, I’m only lifting a file, but I’m doing it inside an office environment so I feel compelled to look the part. Dressed in a sharp black suit, deep red lipstick, and matching Louboutins that bear a stiletto so sharp it can stab a troublemaker in the heart at fifty paces, I step out of my brother’s vintage Porsche. Jared isn’t working today and because he’s playing nice lately, I’ve taken advantage and asked for the use of his car. I need to buy my own, but the last thing I ever feel like doing during what little down time I have is stroll through car yards trying to find a car that’s the perfect fit for me.
I reach inside the car and collect the box from the passenger seat before carefully locking the borrowed Porsche. After dropping the keys in my Mimco tote bag, I stride along the cement path leading toward the building.
The drilling, clanging, and whizzing sounds of various electrical tools render the air from the construction site across the street. A sharp wolf whistle rings out, cutting clear through the noise and busy street traffic. My nostrils flare. “Pervy assholes,” I mutter beneath my breath, ignoring the insult.
With my hair pulled into a sleek bun at the nape of my neck and my game face on, I stride up the steps and press a palm flat on the entrance door to my brothers’ offices, ready to push it open.
“Hey, Mac Attack!”
I know then that it’s Casey Daniels who wolf-whistled. It’s his special nickname for me. I turn and literally choke on air.
Both Casey and Jake stand on the opposite street corner. They’re waiting at the traffic lights, holding matching takeout coffee cups. They both wear sleek pants and sharp-collared shirts—Casey’s is deep purple and Jake’s a rich navy blue with dark grey pinstripes. The only difference is that Casey wears a tie.
The light turns green and the vision of them walking toward me is a figurative punch to the eyeballs. For a brief second I imagine being in a naked sandwich between the two of them. Stand down, you dirty whore, I order myself, but it’s an effort because Jesus Christ, the thought of them naked and all for me is enough to make me weep.
Grace is one lucky bitch but when my eyes cut to Jake, I know that I’m luckier. His collar is open and shirtsleeves rolled up exposing tanned, tattooed forearms and thick veins. Today he’s clean-shaven and the short buzzed hair has grown a fraction. He’s forgotten about his weekly cut. The ends are a rich sun-kissed gold and silky to the touch. His stride isn’t smooth like Casey’s. It’s powerful, giving him a dangerous edge. He’s the epitome of the Big Bad Wolf when he chooses to let it out, and there’s nothing sexier than when he lets it out with me.
When my haze of lust lowers a notch, it hits me that Jake is here when I’m about to instigate my plan. Hell. Just weeks ago I was telling Quinn she needed to rein in her man, and I can’t even keep track of my own.
I’m slipping. But it’s not really like he’s my man, is he? Or is he? I don’t know what we are anymore. It changes day to day.
“Princess,” Jake mutters when they reach me. Touching a hand to my side, he leans in and kisses my cheek. “You look dressed to kill.”
“Funny you should mention that. I happen to have a list handy of people who need to die today.”
I don’t but it sounds good, and it’s advantageous to keep people on their toes, regardless of whether they’re friend or foe.
Casey grins and gives my cheek a quick peck too. “I hope I’m not on it,” he quips.
“Neither of you are on it,” I tell them. “But that could change at a moment’s notice, so watch your backs.”
Jake’s eyes crinkle. “You think you could take us?” he asks, putting an arm around my shoulders and drawing me closer.
My girl parts tingle. I have to school the amusement because I know he means his comment in a completely different context to the one in my head. Still, I answer honestly. “I know I can.”
Casey nods, mockingly impressed as he takes a sip of coffee. “Then we’ll be sure to watch our backs.”
My expression turns scathing. “Don�
�t patronise me, hotdog.” The nickname had been bestowed on Casey by Evie because of his hotdogging moves on a surfboard. I like it and use it liberally. Casey is a cocky bastard. The nickname knocks him down a peg or two. My eyes shift to the disposable cup in his hand. “Having trouble controlling your office boy? Times must be tough when you have to get your own coffee rather than send Tim out to get it for you.”
It’s common knowledge that Tim has an ongoing dispute with the barista across the road. Because of it, Tim refuses to tip his services. So now every time he orders a coffee, the barista makes it weaker than piss. Casey seems to be the one suffering the consequences what with Tim delivering him the bought coffee each morning. By the looks of it, Tim has no plans on ending the feud anytime soon.
“Tim’s not in today,” Casey tells me as the three of us walk up the steps to the office.
“He’s not in?” Good. That will make lifting a minor little file that much easier to do.
“Nope,” he says, holding the door open to let Jake and me through. “It’s his birthday.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here. But I didn’t realise he was having the day off.”
Tim’s birthday is the ruse I’m using to explain my appearance in the office. I glance sideways at Jake as the three of us walk around the sleek wood-grain reception desk and toward Casey’s office. “So what are you doing here?”
Jake and Casey share a mutual look as we step inside the spacious corner room where he works. “You didn’t tell her?”
“Tell me what?”
“No I didn’t tell her,” Jake says to Casey. “I was waiting until after our meeting with the bank.”
“The bank?” I echo.
Jake turns to face me. “Casey and I are investing in a car restoration business.”
My brow furrows. “Why are you investing in a restoration business? There can’t be any value in that. They’re just cars. They depreciate,” I point out helpfully.
Casey gives me a withering look as he sits down in the seat behind his desk. “They aren’t just cars.”
“Is that so?” I return his withering look with one of my own. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were investing in mechanical unicorns that fly you to outer space.”
Jake’s eyebrows rise at Casey as if to say and you asked me why I hadn’t told her. “They’re better than any kind of mechanical unicorn, Mac. These are exceptional pieces of machinery—either bought as original collectibles or vintage muscle cars that get restored to mint condition.”
“And they make a lot of money?” I ask.
“Some do, some don’t,” Jake concedes. “It’s more a labour of love that will probably take up a fair amount of spare time. Are you going to be okay with that?”
Jake and Casey both have a passion for restoring cars. It makes sense for them to share it with an investment like this. That they’re also able to get their hands dirty on the machinery is likely the bonus that has them signing on. Not to mention if Jake is talking cars with Casey, it means he isn’t talking cars with me. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate cars. They move fast and get you where you need to go, but my knowledge only extends to changing a tyre and filling the water for my windscreen wipers. That’s where I like to keep it. “Of course I’m okay with that.”
His eyes soften. Tucking a hand beneath my chin, Jake leans forward and presses a tender kiss to my lips. “You’re a sweetheart.”
“I thought we decided I wasn’t sweet,” I whisper, my heart doing flutters from his loving gesture. It’s seems today is a good day for us. A rare one that offers a glimpse of what we’d be like if we actually got our shit together.
“You are where it counts.” Jake drops his hand and glances meaningfully toward the juncture of my thighs. His dark eyes lift. “I’ve never tasted anything sweeter.”
My breath hitches. Wild thoughts of where we might find some private space so he can taste that sweetness right now run riot through my head.
The loud clearing of Casey’s throat cuts through my fog and reminds me we aren’t alone. Even Jake appears startled at his interruption. “If you two are finished having sex in my office, I’d like to get some work done.”
“If you think that’s sex, then you’re doing it wrong,” Jake quips.
“Har har,” Casey mutters as he lifts the lid of his laptop.
“Need to use the bathroom,” Jake says, already walking toward the office door. “If you aren’t going to be here long, I’ll take you out for lunch,” he calls to me over his shoulder before disappearing.
I turn to look at Casey. He’s tapping at his keyboard, his two fingers moving at a glacial pace. It’s like watching a chicken peck at the ground on a lazy Sunday afternoon. “Whatever you’re typing, it’s going to take all day.”
His blue eyes flick to mine before returning to the screen. “Well, you can either stand there and watch or do it for me.”
“Why would I do it for you? It’s likely something Tim should’ve done for you last week. That would mean doing him a favour.”
“And you know what that means?”
I arch a brow. “What?”
“Tim would then owe you one.”
“I like how you think.” I walk around his desk to where he sits. “Move.”
Casey doesn’t waste time vacating his fancy office chair. He stands and picks up a file from his in-tray as I set my box beside the computer and take his seat. My gaze goes to the screen as I unpin the button on my suit jacket. The man is apparently trying to transcribe his own handwritten notes into an email, and all that tapping has only gotten him so far as the salutation. I poise my hands over the keyboard before I tackle the correspondence. “You know what else this means?”
“What?” Casey asks, leaning against the side of his desk as he flicks through the loose papers in the file.
“You’ll owe me one too.”
Casey’s answer is a deep chuckle. “You’re a smart girl, Mac,” he says as I start typing. My fingers flash over the keyboard because I’m just that good. “Quick on the uptake too. If Jamieson doesn’t watch its back, I might just lure you over here to work for us.”
My fingers freeze, the words blurring in front of my eyes. Then I realise what he means and force myself to keep typing. “There’s not enough money in the world for me to consider becoming a secretary for my brothers.”
Casey bonks me on the head with his file before tossing it back in his in-tray. “I wasn’t talking about secretarial duties.”
I stop typing all together and swivel the tall leather chair to face him. “What were you talking about?”
“If you have to ask, then you’re not as smart as I just gave you credit for.”
That’s true. “Well, I have an idea,” I concede and fold my arms before saying coolly, “but what makes you think I want to become a member of the Badass Brigade?”
Casey winces. “You know we don’t actually call ourselves that, right?”
I shrug. “The moniker fits.”
With an exasperated sigh, Casey takes a seat on the opposite side of his desk. “There’s no stopping any of you with those ridiculous names you throw around is there?”
“Why would we stop? Besides, I heard Grace calling you Batman the other day. Granted, she probably didn’t mean it in a nice way considering how you accused her of trafficking drugs and smashed her phone against a wall, but still … you should be on board with that. It’s cool.”
His fingers tap irritably against the armrests of his chair. I chortle gleefully to myself. Any mention of Grace winds Casey up tighter than a spring. Their initial meeting got off to such a rocky start. When he collected her from the airport, he saw her hunted down by airport security and assumed the worst. The whole situation had me doubting my instincts until I saw the two of them together. Casey is the kindling to Grace’s spark. All that’s left to do is sit back and watch the fireworks.
“It’s better than hotdog,” I add.
“That’s true.”
&
nbsp; “And we’re getting off topic.”
“True again.” Casey eyes me speculatively. “The thing is, Mac, you have a flair for this kind of work. You’re a Valentine. It’s in your blood.” My lips quiver beneath the minor praise. “But the issue is that you have a tendency to go rogue. You’re like Maverick from Top Gun. You put yourself in danger unnecessarily to get the job done. That needs to stop.”
My expression pinches. “I’m not a maverick,” I snap.
His brows rise, and he nods as if to say you sure as hell are. “You’re also quick to temper.”
“I’m not perfect,” I counter.
“Anyone who claims to be perfect is a fraud. You’re the opposite of a fraud, Mac. You’re honest and direct, and you have an exceptional ability to read people and situations in a way that no one else can. So if you ever decide you want to join the team, I’ll put in a good word for you.”
My mouth falls open. “You would do that for me?”
“I would, because there’s something else I also happen to know about you …”
I give up the farce of typing Casey’s email. Reaching forward, I close the lid of the laptop that rests between us. “What?”
Casey leans forward in his seat and looks me dead in the eye. “I happen to think you’re worth it.”
Elation has me wanting to leap up and dance the boogie. I settle back in my chair with exaggerated casualness. “Oh, I know I am.”
Casey rolls his eyes. “Sure you do. Now tell me …” His eyes shift to the box I set down on his desk earlier. “What’s in the box?”
“Tim’s birthday present.”
His face pales.
“You didn’t get him a present, did you?”
Casey gives me a blank look.
“Dammit, hotdog. Tim is your assistant. How could you forget to buy him a gift? No wait.” I hold up a hand. “I know why.”
Grace. My machinations have a part in him losing his mind over her. Standing, I pick the box up and peel away the envelope that holds the card, tucking it inside my handbag. I walk around the side of the desk and place the box on Casey’s lap. “It’s Prada, but you’ll need to get him a birthday card.”
Give Me Hell Page 28
