Nash Security Solutions

by Lola Silverman

  “Dammit,” Ralston muttered. He looked over the data stream he had been using. It was still there, uncorrupted. And yet he felt as though he could not trust what he was looking at. Had someone compromised him without his knowing it? It would take a lot of sorting through the code to decide if his system was safe or not. That meant a long day ahead. Great. Not like he had anything else to do anyway.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ralston was still sitting at his computer terminal, bleary eyed, at nine thirty the next morning. He got up and stretched. His shoulders were cramped and his legs felt like noodles. At least he wasn’t still lamenting his stupidity with Analise. His brain was simply too tired for that. There was no more processing space for that sort of emotional turmoil. For now, he could let it rest even though he knew he would have to figure things out with Analise one way or another.

  The doorbell was a surprise. Ralston frowned and rubbed a hand through his messy blond hair. A glance at the security camera monitor made him groan. Chelsea? Now? What the hell for?

  The bell rang again, and he knew there was absolutely no way to avoid whatever was coming. He racked his brain for answers as to why she would be here. Had his father decreed they had to show up somewhere? Was there a meeting? It was Friday morning, right?

  He glanced at the calendar app displayed on one of the monitors in his office before descending the stairs toward the front door. Yes. It was Friday morning. He did not have to be at work today. Not firmly anyway. No doubt Chelsea probably had his work schedule memorized because that was the way stalkers worked, right?

  The bell rang three times in quick succession. Ralston resisted the urge to shout something rude through the door. It would not help matters any. So, he pasted a smile on his face instead, unlocked the door, and threw it open.

  “Chelsea.” His voice came out a little raspier than he was comfortable with. “What can I do for you?”

  “Seriously?” Her jaw dropped open, and she put her hands on her hips right there on the sidewalk in front of his building. “You don’t remember? Oh my God! That is so typical!”

  Ralston rubbed the back of his neck. Apparently, he had agreed to something. Great. He had to tread carefully. “I’m sorry, I had a very serious issue last night with the servers. So my brain is a little fuzzy. Can you remind me what it was we were doing today?”

  “We have brunch with my mother in an hour!” she whined. “You’re not even ready!”

  Shit. He noticed that she was wearing a short yellow skirt, a white top that was so tight that her boobs were nearly busting out of the neckline, and a pair of boots that went almost all the way to her thighs. She looked like she was getting ready to work a corner downtown, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. Her dark hair was styled within an inch of its life, and her smoky eye makeup shouted nightclub instead of morning brunch.

  “It will take me ten minutes to get ready,” he promised. Stepping back from the doorway, he ushered her inside. “Come in and make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

  Thankfully, his nervous system provided him with a second adrenaline infusion. It allowed him to rush into his bedroom, throw on a pair of slacks and a dress shirt, and slide his feet into his favorite pair of loafers. He hit the bathroom and decided a shave wasn’t required. He could still pull off cute and scruffy at this point. By this afternoon, that ship would have sailed. He splashed some water on his face and ran his wet fingers through his hair to try and tame it just a little. In less than ten minutes, he was standing in his living room ready to go. Unfortunately, Chelsea was standing in his living room holding a pair of panties in her hand.

  It did not bode well for Ralston when his first thought was that he did not recall Analise wearing panties the previous night. He needed something better than that. So, he gave Chelsea a bored look of confusion and a nonchalant shrug. “I threw the bodyguard out last night when she came back to report. I fired her. She got her things and left. I’m guessing that was either accidentally left behind or deliberately left just to poke at you.”

  There. Let Chelsea make what she would out of that. He had sort of cornered her. She could either accuse him of something or she could get mad, both of which would be possibly playing into some trap that—hypothetically—had been set for her by another woman. Ralston kept his fingers crossed that Chelsea had at least enough sense to “rise above” the bait.

  “What a bitch,” Chelsea said disdainfully. “I mean, to think a woman like that could ever imagine you would want to be with her. It’s disgusting. Sort of like screwing a hooker.”

  Ralston raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t help it. For Chelsea to make that comment about Analise while dressed like a streetwalker was the height of irony in the worst of ways. Sometimes Ralston could not help but wonder if the universe had a sick sense of humor and a penchant for torturing humans.

  *

  “Tell me again why we need to go to this stupid brunch thing?” Analise whined irritably. “I need to book a flight out of Logan Airport. I don’t need brunch.” Then she reconsidered. “Although I have to admit that I could totally go for some sausage links. Right? Do you think they’ll have sausage links?”

  Ava laughed as the car rounded the last corner between them and the trendy corner restaurant in the historic Beacon Hill district where—apparently—everyone who was anyone had brunch on Friday mornings. “I’m sure they have sausage links. Although usually we’re talking fruit, yogurt, crepes, quiche, you know, that sort of thing.”

  “Girl food,” Analise muttered. “That was the good thing about being in the marines. They fed you. Real food with real calories so we didn’t die of starvation and protein deficiency out in the field.”

  “I cannot even imagine what that must have been like.” Ava turned to look at Analise. Was that admiration in her eyes? How odd. “The fact that you survived and thrived in that environment says a lot about your character, Analise.”

  “Thank you.” Analise felt uncomfortable with the compliments. She hadn’t done any more or any less than the other marines in her unit. She wasn’t special. She was just a soldier. “But it’s just the way things are.”

  Ava laughed as the car pulled up to the curb to let them out. “Sometimes people spend too much time avoiding the way things are instead of just accepting and moving on. So don’t sell yourself short on your accomplishments.”

  Analise didn’t have any answer for that one. She followed Ava out of the car and into the packed restaurant. Analise felt her stomach shrink in horror as she contemplated how long they were going to have to wait for a table with all of these women milling about the foyer. Then Ava raised her hand and waved at the hostess.

  To Analise’s shock, the little hostess brightened at the sight of Ava. “Ms. Ava!” she gushed. “Come this way, right this way!”

  So, for the first time in Analise’s life, she got to sail right past all of the people waiting for service in order to be escorted to a prime table in the center of the room where she could see everything. Ava and Analise took their seats, and the little hostess gave them each a menu.

  “Shall I order your usual mimosa, Ms. Ava?” The hostess raised her eyebrows expectantly.

  “Of course, Deja!” Ava said eagerly. “Bring us two to start.”

  “Mimosa,” Analise said uncertainly after the hostess retreated. “Orange juice and champagne for breakfast?”

  “Brunch,” Ava said distractedly. She seemed to be fixated on something across the room.

  Analise followed Ava’s gaze and found herself staring at Ralston. “Holy hell,” she whispered. “Is that why you dragged me here? To see that?” Analise was incensed. “That’s downright rude, Ava.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ava said with a sigh. “It sort of is. Except I dragged you here—as you so nicely put it—so that Ralston can see you. I want him reminded every single second he has to sit with that woman and her mother that he could be over here having a grand time with us.”

  Analise could not really
fault the other woman’s logic. “That’s kind of mean,” Analise mused. “I have to respect that. Really. It’s downright devious.”

  “I can be rather devious at times.” Ava’s expression was pure mischief. “See, this restaurant used to belong to my family.”

  “Really?” Analise looked around. The place was bistro style with perhaps fifty tables. It was no small place, and the decorations were as scrumptious as Ava’s own home. “It’s nice. Why would you sell it?”

  “My uncle made the mistake of letting Stedman invest in the restaurant,” Ava said regretfully. “It wasn’t my uncle’s only business. He was in finance as well. This place was his hobby. Stedman used to rave about this little place and say how he wanted something like this someday. My uncle thought he was being genuine. Once my uncle passed away, Stedman sold it just as quick as a wink in order to get the cash.”

  “The guy seems to have a driving need for liquid assets,” Analise observed darkly.

  Ava made a low noise of agreement, but their mimosas arrived before she could respond. Analise took a long swig of hers and found it to be a delightfully fruity combination with just a hint of the sweet-tasting champagne mingled in the citrus goodness.

  “Do you like it?” Ava asked with a warm smile. “I had a feeling that you hadn’t really experienced many of the drinks that are more along the girl spectrum.”

  “You would be correct.” Analise thought about the sort of shit she would get from Wrath, Carson, and Quinten if they ever saw her drinking this fruity mixture. “Men are pretty judgmental when it comes to alcohol. The harder the liquor, the more hardcore the drinker.”

  “Men are notoriously stupid,” Ava agreed. Then she suddenly reached out and touched Analise’s hand. “Don’t look now, but we’ve been spotted.”

  “So that’s Chelsea’s mother?” Analise tried to digest that. “She must really be trying to force him to marry her.”

  “I would guess.” Ava made a face. “That’s been their purpose for a very long time. Oh. Just look at that. Chelsea is coming over here. Fabulous. She’s one of my favorite people. Really.” Ava really laid on the sarcasm.

  Analise felt her blood rising as her territorial aggression started to rise. This woman—this piece of fluff—was a rival. And Analise detested that fact. It was insulting. So, when Chelsea put her finger in Analise’s face and opened her mouth to speak, Analise couldn’t help it. She leaned forward and snapped her teeth at the offending digit so hard that Chelsea snatched back her hand.

  Around them, the other tables were laughing at the interaction. Ava was laughing so hard that she had to wipe her eyes. “Chelsea,” Ava said dismissively. “I suggest you say what you’re going to say and then leave us in peace. You’ve got your hooks in my son because he’s apparently not as bright as I once gave him credit for, but you’ll never have my blessing.”

  There were several gasps from the nearby diners. Women whispered loudly behind their hands and stared at Chelsea. Ava’s speech apparently carried weight in this social circle.

  But Chelsea wasn’t done with Analise. “You tried to come between Ralston and I by leaving your cheap underpants on his floor last night. It won’t work. I’m better than that.”

  Analise nearly choked on her mimosa. There were so many ways that she could have responded to that little challenge. The least of which was to announce that she had fucked Ralston last night and that’s probably where the panties came from. In the end though, there was only one route that Analise wanted to take out of this situation.

  She cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows at Chelsea. “I’m sorry, little girl, but I don’t even wear panties. Maybe you should clarify with Ralston which of his lovers left them behind.”

  Chelsea’s face slowly began to turn red. Ava was struggling not to bust wide open, and Analise managed a very sweet smile before she waved her hand at Chelsea to shoo her away like a fly that had been evicted from the party.

  “Oh my,” Ava whispered as Chelsea flounced back to her table. “You’ve certainly waved a red flag in front of the bull.”

  “Bring it,” Analise said gleefully. “I could use a good fight.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ralston was in hell. Something like Dante’s ninth circle, or maybe stuck in the Malebolge or something equally horrific where traitors were doomed to roast for eternity. What was his mother thinking? How could she bring Analise here when she damn well knew that Chelsea and her mother were desperate to be part of the in-crowd in Boston’s highest social circle? And in Boston—especially for the female set—brunch at Chotzky’s was a must.

  Chelsea’s mother was a woman named Patricia. Patricia Ettinger was even more concerned about appearances and connections than her social-climbing daughter. Currently, Ralston was trying to look unaffected as Chelsea stomped her way back from whatever tete-a-tete she’d instigated with Ava and Analise, and Patricia was gawking at everyone in the room while emphatically waving and trying make sure that everyone saw her.

  “The nerve!” Chelsea flung herself back into her seat and angrily eyed her fruit plate. “I’m sorry Ralston, but you’re going to have to have a chat with your mother about her rudeness. It’s completely unacceptable.”

  “I’m sorry?” Ralston took a long swig of black coffee.

  He had ordered the strongest, blackest brew the place had to offer in hopes of waking himself up enough to avoid any further verbal promises to do something untenable. Like this brunch for example.

  “Your mother!” Chelsea actually reached over and pushed his shoulder with her fingers.

  The contact chased whatever cobwebs remained out of Ralston’s brain. Instant red rage clouded his vision, and he fought the urge to leap to his feet and walk away. Instead, he grabbed Chelsea’s wrist and flung it back into her lap. “You don’t touch me like that. Ever. Do you understand?”

  Chelsea’s gaze narrowed. Then her lower lip pouched out, and she gave him puppy dog eyes. “Don’t you care that your mother is disrespecting me?”

  “Honestly?” Ralston snorted. “No. Whatever issues you have with my mother, they are your problem. You have to make peace with her. I’m not getting involved in the petty politics of women. Especially not the ones here in Boston.” Ralston gestured to her mother. “When the two of you want so badly to be accepted into a social circle that you weren’t born to, you’re going to have to work harder than the bitches that were born to it.”

  Chelsea and Patricia both made sounds of outrage.

  Ralston didn’t care. He continued on anyway even though he had a feeling it was at his peril. “I’m not saying it’s fair, and personally, I don’t give a shit. But if my mother wants to make the two of you pariahs, that’s her business and you need to take it up with her.” Ralston stood up. He was so done with this shit. “But I’m warning you, messing with my mother is dangerous. Never underestimate Ava. My father did and it didn’t end well.”

  Without another word, Ralston turned to leave. Chelsea chose that moment to get to her feet and grab his arm. Before Ralston could pull away, she took a deep breath and gave a shriek of feminine outrage. “I am not going to put up with your infidelity any more, Ralston Hyde-Pierson!”

  Ralston raised his eyebrows. Well played. Every single eye in the place was on them, and most of those gazes were borderline hostile. If he wanted to salvage his plan to infiltrate his father’s organization, he had no choice but to apologize and smooth things over in the public eye.

  “And how is that you think I’ve been unfaithful?” Ralston asked patiently. From the corner of his eye, he spotted about half a dozen of Boston’s societal matrons watching with avid interest. This incident would no doubt wind up on the society page by the evening edition.

  Ralston’s stomach cramped as he saw the gleam in Chelsea’s eye. Then she pointed dramatically in Ava and Analise’s direction. “That whore!” Chelsea wailed. “You’ve been sleeping with that horrible woman right under my nose! Even worse”—Chelsea paused for
effect—“she works for you.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Ralston had to do damage control and fast. This was quickly getting away from him, and after a certain point there would be no hope of recovery.

  ANALISE CLUTCHED AVA’S hand beneath the table. “She’s trapping him!” Analise whispered hoarsely. “That bitch is making him look like the worst sort of player.”

  “It is a bold move,” Ava murmured. “But I don’t think Ralston is going to be led to slaughter that easily.”

  As if to prove Ava’s point, Ralston grabbed Chelsea’s hand and pointed toward Ava and Analise’s table. “Are you kidding me? That’s my mother! First of all, she isn’t a whore. Secondly, she doesn’t work for me. You’re being ridiculous. Let’s go have a chat with my mother and smooth all of this out. Shall we?”

  Analise looked around. The other diners were starting to return to their own conversations. The louder background chatter had died down, and there were even a few dirty looks thrown in Chelsea and her mother’s direction. Ralston had turned the tables on the little wench. Now the matter was whether or not he could hang onto the upper hand.

  “Mother,” Ralston said cordially. “Mind if we sit for a moment?” Ralston gestured to the two empty chairs.

  Ava shrugged with deliberate nonchalance. “You’re always welcome, Ralston, as you know, but I’m not fond of your companion so I would appreciate if you keep things short. The more time I spend in Chelsea’s company, the less I find I can tolerate her stupidity and all-around trashiness.”

  Analise bit her lip to keep from laughing. Chelsea’s eyes were bulging with pent-up outrage. It was plain that she wanted very much to respond, but Ralston had a white-knuckled grip on her forearm that suggested he was keeping her on a very short leash.

  Ralston sat and pointed to the chair beside him. “Sit,” he told Chelsea. “And make sure you don’t speak until you’re invited to do so. I think you’ve said quite enough.”