A Cutthroat Business

by Jenna Bennett

  “The receptionist said you’d been there,” I said.

  Tim shrugged elegantly. “Sorry, darling. What would I be doing in Brenda’s storage unit?”

  “Picking up the contract for 101 Potsdam Street? Because you assumed Walker would give the listing to you?”

  I saw something flash in Tim’s eyes — anger, maybe, at being passed over, or something more sinister, if my questions were getting to him — but it was gone a second later. “The receptionist must have been mistaken. I haven’t been to Brenda’s storage unit in months.”

  “How about Clarice’s storage unit?”

  “I didn’t even know she had one,” Tim said easily. “In case it escaped your attention, Clarice and I weren’t on the best of terms.”

  “You must be glad that she’s gone, then.”

  Tim smiled tightly. “I won’t tell you I’m not, darling. Although I certainly didn’t plan for it to happen like this.”

  I opened my eyes wide. “You mean you had something to do with it?”

  He shook his head, causing the pale blonde hair to flop over his forehead. “Oh, no. No, no. I didn’t have anything to do with her death. Nothing at all. I just wanted her to leave the company now that Brenda was gone. That’s all.”

  “I see,” I said. “The receptionist probably just made a mistake, then.”

  Tim nodded. “If I remember correctly from the last time I was there, she’s quite old. She probably saw someone else blond and terribly good-looking and thought it was me.” He winked at Rafe, who grinned back. I smiled sweetly.

  “Thanks, Tim. Say goodnight.”

  Tim made a moue. “If you’re going to be that way.” He offered Rafe a limp hand and another melting smile. “So very nice to meet you, Rafael.” From the position of the hand, one might almost assume he wanted Rafe to kiss it.

  Rafe gave it a squeeze. “Same here, Tim. Enjoy your dinner.”

  Tim swung around on his heel and, facing me, mimed feeling dizzy and fanning himself vigorously with his hand to show me just how stupendously hot he thought Rafe was. I smiled politely and managed to hold my tongue until he had swayed off to a table on the other side of the restaurant, romantically situated between a palm tree and a tinkling fountain. Somebody was waiting for him there, but with the tree blocking my view, I couldn’t see anything beyond a charcoal gray sleeve. I turned back to Rafe.

  “Sorry about that.”

  Rafe shrugged. “Can’t fault a man for looking.”

  “I can,” I said. He grinned.

  “That why you’re wearing those clothes? So I wouldn’t look?”

  I opened my mouth, but before I could deny that such a thought had ever crossed my mind, the waiter appeared. He whisked Rafe’s plate away. I gave him mine, too. I’d eaten as much as I decently could without looking like a glutton.

  “Would sir and madam like some dessert?”

  He looked from one to the other of us. Rafe turned to me, questioningly. I shook my head. “None for me, thanks. Though you may want to try the chocolate raspberry cheesecake. Todd had it yesterday, and it looked good.”

  He nodded. “One of them, then.”

  I added, “And some coffee, please. Black.”

  The waiter took himself and our used plates off, and Rafe returned his attention to me. An arched brow invited me to pick up where I’d left off. I said, reluctantly, “As a matter of fact, Todd asked me not to wear anything revealing.”

  “You told him about tonight? Afraid you wouldn’t make it back home again?”

  I shook my head. “It was yesterday. Last night, after you left. He said he didn’t like the way you looked at me, and would I please not wear anything provocative in front of you again.“

  “You think he’d approve of that getup?” His eyes wandered over me, what he could see above the table.

  “It’s not provocative,” I said. He grinned.

  “That depends, darlin’.”

  “On what?” What was provocative about a long sleeved, primly buttoned blouse and a chignon so severe my eyebrows were elevated, for goodness’ sake?

  “I s’pose on what’s underneath. And what it’d take for someone to get to it.”

  He smiled, but the eyes that met mine were intent. I opened my mouth, but found I had no words. Rafe didn’t speak, either. Leisurely, his gaze snagged on my lips for a moment before moving south. As the seconds ticked by, the curve of his mouth softened and his eyes turned hot. I had a hard time catching my breath. I felt the way you do when you jump into cool lakewater and all the air gets slammed out of your lungs. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, and for the life of me, I couldn’t look away. The sounds around me receded, until all I could hear was a faint buzzing, as if from a bumblebee trapped in a jam-jar. The drumming of my own heartbeat sounded uncomfortably loud in my ears.

  The return of the waiter broke the spell, and I accepted my cup of coffee with hands that weren’t entirely steady. My voice wasn’t, either. “I don’t know why I ordered this. Could I have a glass of water, please? With ice?”

  The waiter didn’t react, but of course Rafe did. “Have the cheesecake, too, darlin’. You look hungry.”

  A choking noise came from the table next to us, and one of the women buried her face in her napkin. I opened my mouth to protest, but the waiter was already lowering the plate, and I didn’t want to argue in front of him. I waited until he was out of earshot before I hissed, “I told you I didn’t want any dessert.”

  “That was before,” Rafe said.

  “Before what?”

  “Before I got you so hot and bothered you ordered ice water to cool down.”

  “I am not hot and bothered!” I denied. “And I don’t want any cheesecake.” I pushed the plate away. For what might have been the first time in my life, cheesecake held absolutely no appeal. As a matter of fact, I felt sick. I got to my feet, a little unsteadily. “I... um... need to powder my nose. Excuse me.”

  He nodded cordially.

  I walked through the restaurant with my head held high, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, but without actually seeing where I was going. It was a miracle I didn’t knock one of the waiters over or walk right into some happy couple celebrating their anniversary. When I got to the ladies room, I wasted no time in splashing my face and neck with cold water, devoutly thankful for waterproof make-up.

  I was still standing there, dripping, looking at my pale face in the mirror, and trying to make sense of what had just happened, when someone knocked on the door. It’s not common practice to knock on ladies room doors, so I went to see who it was. I guess I expected Rafe, although I should have known better: he wouldn’t have bothered knocking. When I opened the door, I saw none other than my boss, Walker Lamont.

  “Oh, God!” I blurted. “What are you doing here?”

  He didn’t respond to my tone, which was nice of him. Instead he took the question at face value, and gave me a few seconds to pull myself together. “The same as you. Having dinner with a friend. Are you all right, Savannah?” He looked me over, concern in his eyes. I nodded.

  “I’m fine, thank you. I was just feeling woozy for a moment. Too much wine, I guess.”

  The single glass of Sauvignon Blanc wouldn’t have affected a child, but Walker didn’t know that. He didn’t look as if he believed me, however, although he was too polite to say so. Tim would have commented. My mouth made the connection before my brain had caught up. “Are you and Tim... um...?”

  “We’re having dinner. And discussing some business matters.” His tone was bland.

  “Oh,” I said. Walker nodded.

  “Tim tells me you’re here with Mr. Collier.”

  It was my turn to nod, a little nervously. “That’s not a problem, is it? I mean, is there a reason why I shouldn’t have dinner with him? Other than that my mother would ground me for life and all my friends would think I had completely lost my mind, that is? It’s not like I’m actually involved with him, you know. It’s
just dinner...”

  “You don’t have to explain your personal life to me, Savannah,” Walker said.

  “I don’t want you to misunderstand, though, and think there’s something going on between us when there isn’t. I’m sure there’s some kind of rule about getting involved with clients. See, there’s been a... um... development in the case.”

  Walker’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of development?”

  “Well...” I hesitated, “it’s complicated. And kind of personal, too. Although you are my boss, and the listing for 101 Potsdam is technically yours, so I guess it’s all right to tell you...”

  Walker was looking politely inquiring and just a little wary. I did my best to condense the story into a few salient sentences. “See, Rafe Collier is actually the grandson of the woman who owns... um... owned the house on Potsdam Street. His mother died recently, and he never knew his father... anyway, it’s a long story. Did you know that the listing agreement is for a net-deal?”

  “I discovered that fact when I took over the listing after Brenda’s death,” Walker said tightly. “How did you find out?”

  “I asked Detective Grimaldi if she had a copy of the listing agreement, and she faxed it to me. This morning.”

  Walker’s demeanor was making me nervous, and caused me to start babbling. “See, Alexandra Puckett told me that Brenda had met with someone at Beckett’s Bar to handle the details of the listing.” The guy that Alexandra thought had something to do with the medical field was probably from the Milton House, there to accept his cash. “Alexandra said that her mother had a habit of doing that when something wasn’t right about a listing. So I went to the office to look for it, but then Clarice showed up before I could find it. And I went to Brenda’s storage unit, but it wasn’t there either. I knew that the police had been there, though, so I called and asked if they had a copy I could see.”

  “Very industrious of you,” Walker said. “So the detective faxed you a copy of the agreement?”

  I nodded. “Rafe told me that Mrs. Jenkins’s share, the $100,000, is already on deposit with the nursing home where she lives. He’s obviously not happy about the fact that Brenda took advantage of his grandmother.”

  Walker nodded. He looked pale, but that might have been just the glaring light in the bathroom. “What is he planning to do?”

  “He isn’t sure. He doesn’t have the cash to buy the house back, and I doubt the board of directors at the Milton House would be willing to part with the money they were given. If there’s no other way to get the house back, I suppose he might sue.”

  Which would open up a huge can of worms, and involve every single one of us. Every transaction Brenda had ever taken part in would be dug up and scrutinized. Walker would lose his projected spot on the real estate commission. The agency would go belly-up. I’d have to go back to the make-up counter, and the whole story about Tyrell and LaDonna would come out. Brenda’s reputation would take a further hit, and Alexandra and Austin would grow up with a cloud hanging over them...

  “Would you do me a favor, Savannah?” Walker’s question brought me back to earth, and I nodded. “I have reasons for wanting this kept as quiet as possible. If I can get the situation resolved without any money changing hands, do you suppose your friend might be amenable to that?”

  I blinked. Rafe didn’t strike me as the type who’d accept charity, but it might depend on the situation. “It couldn’t hurt to ask, I suppose.”

  “Would you mind checking with him? Seeing as the two of you are so close?”

  His voice and face were bland, and it was probably just my imagination that supplied the sarcasm.

  “I don’t know about that,” I said, “but I’ll float the idea by him. And now I guess I’d better get back out there, before he comes looking for me.” Something I definitely didn’t want. Especially in the semi-seclusion of the ladies room.

  Walker drew his perfectly groomed brows together in a frown. “He isn’t giving you a hard time, is he?”

  “No more than usual. Don’t worry, I can handle him.”

  Walker smiled approvingly. I tried to look confident, although in my heart of hearts, I knew that my last statement was — pardon the language — crap, and that the only hope I had of handling Rafe Collier, was if he allowed himself to be handled.

  When I got back, he was making idle conversation with the three women at the next table. The cheesecake he had insisted on giving me was neatly packaged in a Styrofoam to-go box, and my coffee and water were shimmering in the candlelight. The sight of it all — especially Rafe — made my stomach twist unpleasantly, and rather than sit down, I placed a steadying hand on the back of my chair. “I’d like to leave now, if that’s OK with you.”

  “Sure.” He rose with alacrity and tossed a couple of bills on the table. They were more than adequate to cover the tab and the tip.

  “I didn’t mean that you had to leave. Just that I wanted to.”

  “What am I gonna do here by myself?”

  “You could join them.” I looked pointedly at the next table, where all three women were watching us — him — expectantly. He grinned.

  “You ain’t jealous, are you, darlin’?”

  “You wish,” I said. The grin widened.

  “You bet. So I think I’ll just take you home. Just in case you feel like giving me a kiss when I drop you off.”

  He gestured toward the exit. As I turned to leave, one of the women at the next table snagged my sleeve. “If you don’t want him, sister, I’ll be happy to take him off your hands.” She winked at Rafe.

  “Be my guest,” I said. “If you want him, you can have him, with my blessing.”

  Rafe grinned, but refrained from pointing out that he wasn’t actually mine to give. “She don’t mean it,” he said instead, putting a friendly arm around my shoulders and squeezing.

  “Sure I do,” I said — tried to say — but the words wouldn’t come. Rafe nodded politely to the threesome.

  “Nice to meet you lovely ladies. Y’all have a good evening.”

  “You, too,” all three women chorused; the one who had spoken earlier with an envious look. Little did she suspect that I intended to ditch him just as soon as I decently could.

  That proved to be a more difficult task than I had expected. My first attempt, on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, didn’t come off at all. “I’m not really dressed for a ride on the back of the motorcycle, so why don’t I just get the valet to order me a cab?”

  He smirked. “Nice try, but I ain’t sending you home by yourself.”

  “But there’s no sense in you coming all the way back with me when you could just go home yourself.”

  “Sorry, darlin’, but you ain’t getting rid of me that easy. I got you here, and I’m taking you home.”

  “But I can’t ride on the back of the motorcycle. Not in this skirt.”

  Rafe glanced down at it, and back up to my face. There was a wicked glint in his eyes. I took a step back, shaking my head. “Oh, no. I’m not taking it off. Nor hiking it up to my hips, either.”

  He grinned. “Relax, darlin’. You can keep your clothes on. For now. I had Wendell leave the Town Car in the lot down the street. Come on.”

  He put a hand against my back to steer me down the sidewalk. I let him do it, even if it took everything I had not to flinch from the touch.

  Neither of us said much on the ride back to my apartment. I don’t know what Rafe was thinking, but personally, I was planning what to say when we got there, and how I would handle the various scenarios that might present themselves. My first choice would be to simply say goodnight in the car outside the gate. Failing that, I’d say goodnight outside the door, without unlocking it. If he absolutely insisted on coming in — and I knew I couldn’t stop him if he did — I’d let him go in first and make sure he didn’t get between me and the door. If he did... But I’d deal with that situation if I got to it. Which I wouldn’t. Because I’d simply say goodnight in the car outside the gat
e; it was that simple.

  “I’ll walk you up.” He had the engine shut off and his door open before I even realized we’d pulled up to the curb.

  “You don’t have to...” I began, but it was too late; he was already out and coming around to open my door. “Really, I don’t mind going up by myself.”

  “That’s all right. I don’t mind, either.” He extended a hand and hauled me out of the car.

  Scratch Plan A. I let him walk me up the stairs to the second floor and tried again. I had barely managed to turn to him and open my mouth when he was already talking. “Keys?”

  “Wha… what?” I stammered.

  He grinned. “What if you can’t get in? Let me see your keys.”

  I dug the key chain out of my handbag and held it up. He arched an eyebrow and nodded to the lock. Scratch Plan B, too. I sighed and unlocked the door. “Happy now? You’ve walked me to the door and I can get in.”

  His eyes crinkled. “Ain’t you gonna ask me in for a nightcap?”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I said primly.

  “Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”

  “In your dreams,” I said.

  He smiled, but didn’t speak. It wasn’t necessary. I didn’t speak, either, because I wasn’t sure what to say. The idea that I was starring in Rafael Collier’s pornographic daydreams was more than a little disturbing.

  As I stood there, dumbly, his eyes dropped from my eyes to my mouth, and I felt a stab of abject panic. God, he wasn’t going to kiss me, was he?

  It looked like he was. His eyes flicked back to mine — deep and dark; the kind of eyes a girl could drown in if she wasn’t careful — and he leaned closer. I could feel my own eyes go out of focus, and I thought I was going to pass out from the sheer terror of it.

  He grinned and dropped a kiss, not on my mouth, but on my forehead. His voice was amused. “You’d think I was Jack the Ripper. You can let go now, darlin’.”

  I blinked and started breathing again. “Huh?”

  “My jacket. You can let go.”