by Luke Steel
Dirty in Charge
Luke Steel
Contents
Copyright
1. James
2. James
3. James
4. James
5. Emma
6. James
7. James
8. James
9. Emma
10. James
11. Emma
Hungry Boss
Copyright © 2017 by Luke Steel
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
One
James
“I’d kill you if I didn’t think you’d kick my ass. Again.” My brother Joe’s voice is lower and deeper than when he used to whine when we were kids, but the tone is still there.
We’re in the back of my car, heading to Blake House en route from New York. The glass between the driver and the rear cabin is up. I’m on a conference call with my assistant from my office, while Joe slouches in the limousine seat diagonal from mine, barely conscious.
The voice on the line is tinny and professional. “…and negotiations will be wrapped up by Thursday for the lawyers to divvy the spoils. You have an awards reception next Friday at Peak Gallery, I’ve emailed the location and…”
The droning continues both on the phone and across from me.
“Everything hurts—my abs, my calves.”
“Your pride,” I offer, holding a hand to the speaker, then go back to my secretary as she continues to run through a week’s worth of notes and updates. I grin at him, but all Joe seems to have the energy to do is glare back at me.
My assistant continues, “And finally, everything is set for this evening. We’re expecting a hundred or so guests tonight, and then your remaining houseguests and visitors arrive tomorrow. The decorating crew should be finished ahead of schedule. Although the vans will likely still be there when you arrive today. We’ve asked that they pull them to the left of the driveway. We have a note that the floor of the foyer is–”
I cut in. “Thanks for the summary, Kenzie. Email the bullet points and we’ll call it for today.” When I realize she’s about to launch into some final thing about arrangements, I cut the call short. “Save it for the bride, please. I’ll get back to you when we’re at the house.”
Beyond the car windows, the sun is shining. It’s a crisp late-October morning in the valley and my brother and I are heading to Blake House for a wedding. His wedding. My brother Joe is marrying his fiancée, Lena, at a week-long house party at the newly rebuilt and renovated estate.
Blake House has been in our family for years. When we were kids, my immediate family even used to live in a smaller guesthouse at the edge of the property. In its former life, it was one of the great family houses along the bay, similar to the famed Gold Coast of Long Island. All old money and wealthy robber barons. But, like many others, the giant estate fell to near ruin after the Great Depression. Over the years, my grandparents kept it in the family by the skin of their teeth, but eventually, the main house fell into disrepair and the later generations moved to the outer edges and sold off some of the land. Blake House has been a kind of obsession for my family for years, the idea being that if fortune smiled on any of us, that person would restore the house to its former glory. A few (well, more than a few) start-up business ventures after college later, I was the one who eventually had the money to restore it. The wedding, itself an occasion for the family reunion, is my gift to the happy couple. I promised Lena her dream wedding, and somehow the event bloomed into a week-long family affair capped off with the ceremony on Saturday.
My brother is a sad mess in the corner of the car right now, but it’s not because of wedding jitters, though there are those, too. I keep a pretty intense workout schedule and little brother decided he wanted to join me—to keep in shape for his big day. Weights, cardio, and then some boxing. OK, a lot of boxing. And we’re brothers, so we don’t go easy on each other. What he didn’t know (and I didn’t tell him) is I’ve been working out for over a year now with a new personal trainer, a former boxing pro. Which meant Joe took a bit of a beating today, though I was careful to keep his face pretty for his big day this Saturday. Still, by the look of him now, I have a feeling I’m going to get an earful about beating up on my baby brother when our mother hears about it tonight.
We’re still in warm-up clothes from the gym, the only clothes either of us had energy enough to crawl into after the morning’s shellacking.
“Was it really that bad, Joseph? Come on.”
“Yes, James, it was,” he says, opening one eye and glaring more. “I feel like I’ve been run through a meat grinder.”
“More like a tenderizer,” I say, in full on big-brother mode now. “I beat you like a steak.”
“Yeah, yeah… well, I don’t feel so bad about you paying for my wedding now. So there.”
I laugh about that, too. “Happy to do it, Joe. You know that.”
Joe closes both his eyes and his head falls back in the seat again, but I can see him smiling.
We’re both quiet for a while until the house comes into view as the car glides through the gates of Blake House. When Joe opens his eyes to look, I know it’s his first time seeing the house in person since the renovations were complete.
“Oh man, Jamie,” he says, trailing off. He looks at me, then back to the house. “It’s just like great-grandma Esther’s old pictures!”
I sigh and smile, nodding. “That was the frame of reference.” I’m trying to sound modest, but I am very proud of the work we were able to do. It’s completely restored, from the foundation to the roof.
“It’s like a dream come true. Seriously. The whole family is going to go crazy.”
“Yeah. Wait ‘until you see the inside. I thought I was going to go crazy.” The project took years of money and effort, all of it meticulously recreated to match the reference of the time, while also making allowances for modern comforts and materials for plumbing and heating. Whole walls ripped out and replaced when possible for the electrical.
“You didn’t like doing it?”
I think about his question for a minute before answering. As the car rolls up the drive, we pass stone arches and sculpture.
“I did it for the family, of course, but halfway through I started to really wonder at the sheer level of detail. Maybe I’m not a builder at heart. It all just seemed so indulgent to me. They had all this money to make an estate for one family that a small village could live in. Hard to see the point.”
Joe nods slightly but then turns back to the window. “I know, but all the art and beauty of the thing. This is history. Family history, the history of the country even.”
“So it’s a monument?”
“Yeah, in a way. But…wait until you see how happy everyone is going to be. I haven’t even been inside yet, and I’m so proud of it. And Lena! She’s going to freak!”
The car pulls to a stop in front of the grand stone arch at the house’s entrance.
A massive staff is required this week, even more than the regular crew of folks it takes to keep a house like this going. It’s all bustling and activity as we arrive, more like a hotel than a private house. I don’t even live here, though the house is technically mine; I keep an apartment in the city.
As we climb out of the car, I watch skeptically as Joe lurches out and makes a show of dragging his sorry ass to the door.
“Dude, Mom’s not here. Save the performance for her!”
Like the little brother he will forever be, he grins back at me with all his teeth, then pre
tends his arms are hurt reaching for his suitcase. I slap his hands away and grab the bag for him, waving off one of the valets with a slight smile. I still open my own doors, carry my own bag and jacket. I do, though, hide a wince as I straighten up with the suitcase. Little brother got a few good hits in today, too. In my head I’m already up and past the high sweep of stairs that lead to my bedroom suite, making a mental beeline for the closest shower and hours of hot water.
“Holy… what is this, a movie set?” Joe’s voice echoes back from just inside the doors.
I follow after him…and into something out of Never Never land. A version of it, anyway. The front foyer of Blake House is a giant Art Deco hall, with curved staircases winding up on either side, or the vaulted ceiling rising high. Impressive all on its own, but now the whole thing has been transformed. Rows of towering columns line the long front hall, each with inset shelves covered with ivy and books. When I step in and the door closes behind me, the light of the morning is cut out completely and we’re in the mouth of a half library, half wooded fairyland. I wouldn’t know I walked into a house at all if I didn’t own the damn thing. A fairy cave, maybe, but not my own house.
Thick ropes of vines and flowers hang around the columns, wound like tentacles along the ceiling, walls and down to the floor. And the marble floor is covered with something that looks like gold speckled leather.
I take a few more steps into the place. Joe hangs back, checking out one of the columned shelves. I lean closer to a statue on a shorter column, with a naked fairy nymph statue on top of it.
“Noooooo!”
A shriek splits the air. For a moment I think the sound came from the statue.
There’s a rush of air and pounding footfalls behind me. Ahead of me, I see Joe look past my shoulder, eyes wide at the oncoming sound. I hunch down and turn to face the threat just as the attacker moves in. Crouching low, I snatch the attacker’s left wrist in a punishing grip and then pivot backward, using the momentum to swing the assailant out and off balance in front of me.
Later, I can’t decide if it’s the feel of creamy soft skin in my grip or the lightness of the body as I swing her around, that breaks through my initial rush to defense. When I see it’s a woman, an entirely different instinct kicks in. My body switches from offense to protector and I snatch her close to my chest before she can fall. Off balance, she grabs my shoulders and hangs on.
Everything stops then. Everything. I am chest to chest, hip to hip with a woman I don’t know. She’s clinging to me. Bright green eyes are wide and looking straight into mine behind a pair of hipster horn-rimmed glasses. Through my warm-ups, I can feel her panting. The friction this causes is like a match striking a kerosene lamp. I’m so close, I can feel her breath on my face. The vanilla smell of her, combined with the feel of her breasts crushed against my chest, provoke another aggressive rush. I still have her in my arms at an angle, her feet have no purchase on the floor, but she doesn’t struggle. Too stunned? Like me?
We’re kissing distance away, but she doesn’t speak. She’s not screaming anymore, though. A plus.
I give us both a small shake. “Who are you?”
It takes another tiny shake before she finally stammers, “Emma.”
I jerk back. Holy shit, what am I doing? Holding her gently but firmly by the arms, I help her to stand upright and then I step several feet back, my arms up and in front of me to show her I mean her no harm.
“Hey. I’m stepping back. Sorry, sorry.”
“Uh,” she says. “Yeah. No, I’m sorry. I was…I’m crew…the floor…” she stammers. She’s still looking up at me, panting, and I feel a weird rush in my chest.
“The what?”
Before I can speak again, my brother Joe steps between us. I’d forgotten all about him. He towers over Emma, and she steps back again in alarm. I put a hand on his arm, tugging at him.
“What the heck were you screaming about, lady?”
Emma puts a hand to her long brown hair, sweeps some of it out of her face. She’s blinking behind the glasses and I give my brother a little shove to get him further out of her face.
“Joe, I think she’s one of the event staff.”
“Ok, but why was she running and screaming at us like that?” Joe grits out. “And why,” he asks, pointing down at her feet, “are you barefoot?”
Emma’s mouth drops open in a horrified “O.”
I look her up and down, the aches and pains of the morning completely forgotten as I take her in. With the glasses, she’s got a sexy-librarian thing going, her face framed by blunt cut dark brown bangs. Round hips, full, high breasts in a deep plunging vee-neck t-shirt. I see a peek of honey-brown skin and toned leg from the slit of her skirt. She’s hot. And–Joe’s right–she’s barefoot, her toes painted crimson.
“I’m…” she stammers again, before pulling herself together. “Staff. Crew. I’m with Renaissance Events. I am so sorry, but guests were told not to walk on the floors in the foyer. Didn’t they tell you?”
“We’re not guests. I’m the groom. What are you talking about?” Joe grumbles and looks at me. I shrug.
If anything, poor Emma looks even more horrified then, gawking. But she answers, “Everyone needs to stay off the floor panels so they can set. I am so sorry for startling you. Can we move over to the corner over there and I’ll show you?”
“Alright, alright.” I move between them. “Let’s go over here.” Careful not to touch Emma again, I corral her with my body to the left and back to the entrance of the room. Joe follows behind, still a little ruffled. I figure he’s just still cranky from the morning, and also jumpy ahead of the wedding.
But Emma seems rattled too. She keeps looking at me and I catch her eye. Keeping my hands up in full view for Emma to see, I ask, “Are you hurt, by the way? I know we scared you.”
“No, no, I’m sorry I came up behind you like that,” she says, and she looks down at her feet, then up again in a sweet and innocent way that strikes a nerve. “Really. It was all reaction—I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I have this strange urge to put my arms around her again.
At the entrance to the room, Emma turns and points to the floors for us. “We have leather panels set as covering over the marble with the bride’s wing design.”
“Wing design?” Joe repeats.
“Mmhmm,” Emma nods, adjusting her glasses. A muscle in my leg twitches when she does that. A little thing, but it’s sexy as hell. “The bride asked for an enchanted library theme for the week, and floors in the leather panels are inlaid with a gold hummingbird and fairy wing design. They’re dry, but they need to set.”
Joe and I look at each other. “Enchanted library theme?”
Emma nods again. “For the wedding. Renaissance Events is a fantasy event design company. We specialize in dream and fantasy design for weddings, parties and other special events.”
She says all this without a hint of irony, in that way women do when they explain fashion and weddings to men. I don’t understand what all of this means, but instinct tells me it’s ok I don’t know because I have testicles.
When Joe looks back at me again, all I can do is throw up my hands. “You’re the one marrying her.” His fiancée, Lena, is what folks like to call ‘artsy.’
Emma seems to have pulled herself together, but she’s dead serious. She faces Joe. “I am so very sorry about earlier. If you have any questions, or if you want to talk to my boss, Justine, I will get her for you immediately. Please accept my sincere apology.”
Joe holds his hands up and nods. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m, you know, getting married this week. Everything’s an emergency.” He looks out over the foyer. “It looks great. Enchanting even.”
I nudge him for being sarcastic, but Emma smiles brightly, and that thing in my chest flips again.
Joe walks to the edge of the entrance before the panels begin on the floor, and looks around at the decorations. As he wanders away, I step close to Emma.
>
“Beautiful,” I say, looking at her. When she turns to me, I correct, “The room. You guys are doing an excellent job, Emma. Emma—?”
“Whitman.” She ducks her head and seems genuinely pleased by the compliment. “Thank you. R.E. works hard to make things perfect for clients. Especially brides.” She looks out over the ‘enchanted library’ and says, “And the house is pretty special, too. That helps.”
“Will you be here all week?” I ask. I realize I’m holding my breath.
She doesn’t answer for a beat, but then she nods. And then offers, teasingly, “If they don’t fire me for yelling at the groom, sure.”
Crisis averted, we stand together another moment. It’s not awkward, exactly, it’s… this close to her, I find it hard to keep my eyes where they belong and not on her body. I can still smell a light vanilla and cream scent, and remember the feel of her skin in my palm. We’re standing close enough that if I lean forward a little bit more, I’d brush the edge of her chest. I’ve never stood next to a woman like this, someone I just met and had to literally remind myself not to touch her.
But I don’t think I’m imagining it when she turns in my direction and seems to sway, too. It’s slight, a moment, but we keep catching each other’s glance and the longer it lasts, I notice her eyes crinkle, the corner of her lips turn up. She breaks off the glance, but steps closer to me rather than away when she turns to talk to Joe.
“If you want to follow me, I can show you which door to use to head upstairs.”
Joe turns to follow her, but Emma’s eyes lower one more time as she walks past me, and it’s all the confirmation I need to know that this attraction is mutual.
I might have been a little worried about what we had in store this week, but things are definitely looking up.
Two
James
The calls started again almost the moment I got to my room.
“No, Kenzie. Tell them I’ll fly my own damn plane there myself. On Sunday. I’m not doing anything but seeing my brother get married this week.”
