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Absolute Power (Absolute Power Duet Book 1)

Page 9

by Jeana E. Mann


  It’s Sunday and the store is closed, thank goodness. Em and I sit on the couch in our living room and brainstorm ways to repay Cash. A Lifetime movie plays on the TV, but neither of us is watching. Rain patters against the windowpanes. I draw a knit throw over my bare feet to drive away the chill, but I know the weather is only partly responsible for the icy dread in the pit of my stomach.

  Em moves to the armchair and curls up with one foot tucked beneath her. A pair of glasses is perched on her nose. She taps her notepad with the eraser of her pencil. “This is hopeless. There’s no way you can repay that much money without some kind of divine intervention.”

  “I know. Mr. Mercer will be back at the store soon. He’ll want to go over the inventory and the accounts.” When he finds out, he’s going to be so disappointed in me. I clutch my head in a desperate attempt to gather my composure. “What am I going to do?”

  “I can’t lie to him, Jag.” Em’s oval-shaped face tightens.

  “You won’t have to.” My resolve to protect my two favorite people grows. Em and Mr. Mercer both have such good hearts. Neither deserves this.

  “He might press charges. You could go to jail.” The realization brings tears to her eyes.

  “No one is going to jail.” My words carry false confidence. My little Chihuahua, Lucy, leaps into my lap, sensing my distress, and bumps my hand with her paw, demanding attention. When I don’t respond quickly enough, she flops onto her back and kicks her legs. I rub her soft puppy belly, taking comfort in her unconditional joy. The thought of jail always seemed like a distant improbability, but now I can see how foolish I’ve been.

  “You could take out a mortgage on the building.” Emeline’s voice lilts hopefully.

  “It’s only worth about a hundred thousand, and my credit’s not so good anymore.” The store hasn’t turned a profit in the last year. Most of my disposable income has been spent on a new roof, furnace repairs, and leaky plumbing.

  The doorbell interrupts our conversation. When I open the door, a florist and her assistant bring in four dozen blood red roses. “We don’t usually do Sunday deliveries, but your boyfriend was very insistent. You must be one lucky lady.” She winks at me.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I reply and close the door behind her. They line the flowers along the length of the breakfast bar, offer a clipboard for my signature then leave.

  Together, Emeline and I stare at the gorgeous crystal vases. She shakes her head. “I’m confused.” The heady scent of fresh flowers fills the room. “He extorts and blackmails you then sends you roses. Is he trying to kill you or date you?”

  “Date me? That’s ridiculous.” To emphasize my feelings on the subject, I roll my eyes. Despite my denial, I have to admit his actions muddy the waters of our already complicated relationship.

  With a heavy heart, I take out a high-interest mortgage on my house and the store building and come up with about half the money owed to Cash. I know it’s not enough, but it’s the best I can do under the circumstances. All I can do is hope that we gain enough new business through the upcoming trade show to raise store profits and cover the installment payments.

  To make matters worse, Mr. Mercer’s health isn’t improving. After a series of small strokes, he moves to a nursing home where he can get continuous care. I take time away from work to make sure he’s settled. Most of the time he’s sharp and loveable, but when I visit later in the week, he calls me Hattie.

  “He’s been like this all day,” the nurse says in the hallway when I leave his room. “Don’t take it personally.”

  “I won’t.” Although I manage a rueful smile, emotion burns my eyes. He’s been my rock for the past two years. If I lose him, his absence will leave a hole in my heart that might never heal.

  I’m swiping my eyes on the way to my Honda when I hear a familiar masculine voice. “Hey, girl.”

  My pulse stutters. Cash leans against the front fender of my car with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. A tight black turtleneck hugs every dip and swell of his muscular chest. I slow my steps, seeking time to gather my thoughts. Why now? It seems like I can never catch a break.

  “How’s your friend?” he asks, his tone casual. I could almost—almost—believe that he cares.

  “Not so good.” Despite my best efforts, my voice breaks. I dig through my purse for my keys, hindered by the blur of tears.

  “Hey, hey. Slow down. Look at me.” When I don’t react, he takes my purse, sets it on the hood of the car, then tilts my chin up to him. His brown eyes are reassuring. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

  I glance to the garden beyond the parking lot, wanting to hide my emotions from him. “Why should I confide in you? You never tell me anything.” Anger boils beneath the surface of my calm expression. Life is so unfair. I need to lash out at someone—anyone—to release the pressure of always being strong.

  “I tell you what you need to know.”

  “Wrong answer.” I try to step around him, but he blocks my path with his broad shoulders.

  “I’m reaching out here, Jag. Trying to open up a dialogue about more than gems and money. You say you want to know me. Well, I need to know you, too.” The naked honesty in his voice brings my startled gaze to his. “I’m trying to do better. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t care.”

  “If you care so much, why are you putting me through this hell?” I give his chest a shove, ignoring the startled glance of an employee heading into the building.

  “Because I see potential in you, baby girl.” His fingers wrap around my wrist. “Without pressure, a diamond is nothing more than a lump of coal.”

  His declaration soothes the raging inferno inside my chest. No one ever thought I would amount to anything. Not my parents, nor my grandma, nor my teachers. Even Callie. She always looked upon me as a burden, someone to be sheltered and protected. As if I wasn’t capable of making my own decisions in life.

  “I’m so worried about him. He’s the only person who believes in me.”

  “I believe in you, too, Jagger. Or I wouldn’t be here.” With a sweep of his little finger, he brushes the hair away from my face. “Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”

  He settles back against the fender, arms crossed over his chest, and listens while I tell him the whole story of Mr. Mercer, his kindnesses, and his mentorship. Cash doesn’t react, but he listens—really listens—to every single word. When I’m done, his strong arms wrap around me in a hug. I hold onto him, my face buried in his shoulder, breathing in his clean scent. For a brief moment, I feel safe and protected. His lips brush the top of my head. “Sounds like he needs you as much as you need him. You’re gonna need to be strong for him.”

  “I know.” After a minute, I disentangle from his embrace. No matter how good his arms feel, I can’t allow myself to misinterpret his pity for affection. I clear my throat. “I’m fine now. Thanks.”

  “All right.” He returns his hands to his pockets. I back up to reclaim my personal space. His mouth twitches like he’s amused by my desperate attempt to stay in control. “Let’s talk business then. You got my money yet?”

  “Seriously?”

  He shrugs.

  “I don’t have it with me.” I snatch my purse from the hood and resume the search for my keys. “It’s at my house.”

  “Great.” Two delicious dimples bracket his mouth. “Let’s go get it.”

  Eleven

  Cash

  I’ve been dying to get an inside glimpse of Jagger’s crib since we met, and it doesn’t disappoint. The kitchen smells like chocolate chip cookies, evoking childhood memories of my grandmother’s kitchen. My family had been happy back then. Before Dad became obsessed with money and power and keeping secrets. Appliances clutter the counter, but the surfaces sparkle. A round rag rug covers the worn hardwood floor. I drink up every square inch of the space for clues about her likes and dislikes. Lots of books suggest a love of reading. A dog bed in the corner for the yapping ball of fur at our feet. Everything here has meaning
for her. I could spend hours analyzing her choices.

  She tosses her purse on the breakfast bar, pats the dog then goes to the cabinet above the fridge, and pulls down two cereal boxes. She places them on the counter and slides them toward me. “Here. Half the money. You can count it.”

  I peek inside. Stacks of hundreds are wrapped in rubber bands. “I trust you.” I draw out fifty thousand and slide it back to her.

  “What’s this?” Her forehead furrows.

  “For you.”

  “I don’t understand.” She stares at the money.

  “You need the money, right? There you go. Consider it a bonus for your hard work.”

  Anger flashes across her sculpted features. “You extorted me, and you’re giving the money back?”

  “I asked you to repay a debt, and you did. Take the cash, Jagger. It was more about honor and principle than money.”

  “I had to apply for mortgages to get that money. You have no idea what I went through.” Her shout echoes off the tile backsplash.

  “On a building and house that you bought with cash stolen from me.”

  I face her, toe-to-toe, our noses an inch from touching. We glare at each other. I love the way her nostrils quiver when she’s angry. The lines of her body come alive. One of these days, I’m going to fuck all that anger out of her, and it’s going to be everything.

  After a few seconds, her shoulders lower. “Okay. Fair point.” She drags the money toward her and scoops it into one of the drawers. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “Sure. What you got?” While she runs through a list of beverages, I peek into the adjoining living room. Pink and white pillows cover the blue sofa. Her TV is small, nothing like my enormous flat screen, and the furnishings are worn but comfortable.

  “Cash?” She calls to me from the open refrigerator.

  “I’ll have a bottled water. Thanks.” I walk over to where she’s standing. There’s a picture of her and Emeline on the refrigerator. I pull the photo free from the magnet holding it in place. “Where was this taken?”

  “Um, Philadelphia.” Her nose wrinkles adorably as she glances at the picture. “We lived there for a while. That’s the Liberty Bell behind us.”

  “Right.” I return the picture to the refrigerator and take the water bottle from her extended hand. “You like to travel?”

  “Sure. Don’t you?” She leans against the counter, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Love it.” Seeing her here, in her home space, makes her even more attractive. I’m dying to know what makes her tick, how to please her. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

  “Santorini. Athens. Crete.”

  “Greece? You like old shit like the Parthenon and the Acropolis?” I take a drink from the bottle then set it on the counter and inch toward her. I can’t be near her without wanting to touch her.

  “Yes.” Her dark eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. “Don’t you?”

  “Sometimes.” I take her water bottle from her hand and set it next to mine. “Why don’t you go?”

  Her lips part as I approach. The swell of her breasts rises and falls. “Because I owe some dick a lot of money and can’t afford it.”

  Laughter bursts from my throat. This girl—she’s so full of fire and sass—and I love that about her. I draw my fingertips down the side of her face. “Maybe I can help you out.”

  “Right.” She scoffs and tries to look away, but I take her chin in my hand, forcing her to look at me.

  “No, I’m serious.” For reasons I don’t want to explore, I feel guilty for the hell I’ve rained upon her. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want to wake up feeling safe. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder, wondering who’s behind me.” Tears glimmer in her eyes, but she’s too proud to let them fall.

  “Is someone bothering you, baby girl?” A surge of protective rage sweeps through me. The thought of anyone harming her unleashes the beast inside me. If she was mine, I’d make sure no one ever touched her but me. I’d make love to her every night, buy her nice things, and show her the world.

  “You mean, besides you?” The corner of her mouth twitches with a suppressed smile.

  “Have I ever hurt you?” I’ve never raised a hand to a woman. Not once. And I never will. A fact she doesn’t need to know. Fear can be a powerful motivator.

  “No, but you make threats.” The stubborn jut of her chin brushes my palm.

  “We talked about this.” I sweep my thumb over her lower lip, thinking about how sweet her kiss will taste. “I use pressure to get what I want. Pressure makes diamonds. You are a diamond.”

  The temptation overpowers my self-control. I lower my mouth to hers. Her lips are velvety soft. One of her hands curls around the back of my neck. This kiss is tender, slow, and savoring, with only a hint of tongue. I close my eyes to concentrate on the sensations. It would be so easy to lose myself in her, but that’s a luxury I can’t afford. I pull away before I forget who I am. As I like to remind her, I’m the bad guy, and bad guys never get the girl.

  “I need to go.” I push away from her and rub the back of my neck to erase the lingering touch of her fingers.

  I leave her standing in the kitchen and exit through the back door. On my way to my Range Rover, I notice a rusty green pickup truck parked across the street. I’ve seen that truck before, but I can’t quite place it. The driver slouches down in the seat when I stare too long, revs the engine, and drives away. He’s gone before I can catch up to him, but I manage to catch a glimpse of the guy’s face. It’s the jerk who cornered Jagger at my club.

  Twelve

  Jagger

  On the day of the Las Vegas showcase, I’m forced to push thoughts of Cash aside. Today has to go well. Sales at the store have fallen to an all-time low. Mr. Mercer isn’t able to attend. Although his health is stable, he isn’t strong enough for the trip. Emeline stays behind to run the store. I’m on my own, and the pressure is killing me.

  Bright lights and glitter illuminate the hotel ballroom. My small booth is overpowered by the sleek, sumptuous displays of our competitors. The men wear tuxedos. The women wear expensive gowns. I borrowed Em’s red off-the-shoulder dress for the event. It’s a little tight around the hips but flatters my waistline and dark hair. At least I have that going for me.

  Because our booth is located in the distant corner of the room, only a few buyers give us a second glance. By the end of the day, my high expectations have been flattened. We haven’t made a single sale.

  “Nothing?” Em asks when I call her to commiserate. “Are our prices too high?”

  “From what I can tell, they’re on point.” I rub the exhaustion from my eyes, no longer concerned about smudging my mascara. “Maybe my designs aren’t as good as we thought.”

  “Don’t even go there.” Her unwavering confidence in my skills warms my heart. “Tomorrow will be better.”

  “Let’s hope so.” I wave goodbye to Ruth and Dean in the lobby. They’re going out for dinner and drinks. Even though they’ve invited me along, I need time alone to lick my wounds and recharge before tomorrow. I decide to get room service and turn in early.

  “Have a drink and take a long soak in that gorgeous hotel bathtub.” The soothing tone of Em’s voice eases my panic. “Call me tomorrow.”

  “I will. Have a great night.” I step onto the elevator, my head down as I search for my hotel key card in the depths of my purse. It seems like half my life is spent digging around my purse for keys.

  A man and woman follow me into the car, boarding just as the doors start to close. I have a quick glimpse of a woman’s feet in sky-high Louboutins, shiny black men’s shoes and the crisp pleat of black trousers. His arm reaches across my line of sight to press the button for the floor below me. My stomach drops at the black tattoo on the back of his hand.

  It’s him. Cash. And he looks better than any man has a right to in a black suit, black shirt, and tie. Diamond cufflinks
sparkle at his wrists. Probably a carat each. Cushion cut. Exquisite.

  “Having a good time?” His deep voice rattles the tattered shreds of my composure. He’s different tonight. His words are measured and sophisticated, devoid of their usual casual slang. Another facet to his already complicated persona.

  I lean back against the wall for support, too tired to care about things like civility. “What are you doing here?”

  The woman at his side is about my age, tall and blonde. She curls her fingers around the crook of his elbow. Her ears and neck are dripping in ice. His hand rests on the small of her back. They make a stunning couple. A wave of jealousy catches me by surprise. Of course he has women in his life. He’s too yummy to be celibate. For a heartbeat, I wish I were on his arm, heading back to his hotel room for a night of headboard banging sex. The thought of him on top of this gorgeous girl stirs up feelings I don’t want to acknowledge.

  “Just checking up on some investments.” His dark eyes travel the length of my red dress before returning to my face. An electric tingle travels to the space between my legs at the heat in his gaze. “Did you sell anything?”

  “Not as much as I had hoped.” I hesitate to divulge details, afraid he’ll demand another payment if he thinks we did well. Yet, I don’t want him to know how devastated I feel about the poor sales.

  “Well, I’m sure tomorrow will be even better. Have a nice evening, Ms. Jones.” The elevator arrives at the eleventh floor. He ushers his date into the hallway. I watch them until the doors close.

  His appearance dampens my already sour mood. What is he doing here? And who is that woman? Are they serious or did he pick her up for a one-night stand? The questions roll around in my head, repeating on a loop.

 

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