by Silver James
Her phone went dead and Roxie felt as if all the blood had drained from her body. She thought she was breathing but she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t think. No matter what, her father and brothers would always drag her down into the mud.
“Damn, Cash. And I thought Uncle Cyrus was a piece of work.” Cash’s colleague scrutinized Roxie before he smiled and extended his hand. “Bridger Tate. And you would be the infamous Roxanne Rowland.”
Eleven
Cash was exasperated as texts from his security team filled the screen of his phone. Dexter Rowland had slipped through his fingers again but what infuriated him was the look the jackass had put on Roxanne’s face. He’d hurt her feelings and threatened her, but then she got angry and wasn’t that a sight to see. Now she was sputtering at Bridger, and Cash inhaled deeply to center his temper and calm down.
“Infamous? Infamous! Are you freaking serious? Gah!” She threw her hands in the air and stormed around his office like she was looking for something to pummel.
Harley raised his head, huffed out a growly groan, stretched and thunked his head back on the carpet. If her dog wasn’t upset, she must melt down like this periodically. He wisely stayed out of her way and motioned for Bridger to do the same. They retreated to Cash’s desk and both of them leaned against the front, their legs stretched in front of them, arms crossed over their chests as she ranted.
“I hate him. I really and truly hate my jerk of a brother. If I hadn’t opened the boxes...” She managed a fair imitation of her brother’s voice. “So that whole mess in Virginia when I was a kid was my fault? I can’t believe these people. They ignore me all my life and then they think they can just snap their fingers and I’m going to heel? I’m not a dog.”
At that word, Harley raised his head again and grumbled.
“No offense, Harley.” Seemingly satisfied, the dog lowered his head but now his expressive brown eyes tracked her every move.
So did Cash. Her rant continued, replete with sweeping gestures and voice extremes. He especially enjoyed it when she walked away from him. Her hips swayed in time to her marching stride. He’d always been a butt man. And legs. Hers were curvy and muscular. Breasts were nice, too. He liked the way hers fit the palms of his hands. His fingers curled at the remembered feel of her nipples pressing against his skin.
Bridger cleared his throat and then elbowed Cash. He focused on Roxie. She stood about four feet away, cheeks glowing, eyes sparking, hands fisted on her hips, lips pursed and damn if he didn’t want to kiss her. He uncrossed his legs and stood straight in hopes of hiding the evidence of his misdirected thoughts. They had a situation—one that negatively impacted his family and their resources. The last thing Cash should have been doing was standing there mooning over this woman.
“You are such a guy, Cash!”
He blinked, having no real reply for that. He was a guy, and being typical of his gender, he replied, “Yeah, and?”
Roxie took two long steps and thumped her fist against his chest. “I know where your mind went. We don’t have time for that.”
Unable to resist, Cash curled his mouth into a grin and hooded his eyes. “There’s always time for that, Red.”
Coughing now, Bridger backed out of the way. “I think my work here is done.”
Cash cut his eyes to his cousin and stopped him with a look. “Actually, she’s right. We need to discuss what just happened.” He refocused on Roxie, too aware of her closeness and wanting to shift his feet to make adjustments for the increasing discomfort behind his zipper. Duty, he reminded himself, and sidled away to avoid her, ducking behind the relative safety of his desk. Settling in his chair, he scooted forward so he could put his arms on its top and keep everything from the waist down hidden.
Bridger, taking the unspoken hint, dropped into one of the guest chairs. Roxie continued to pace the room. Cash gave her a couple of minutes to calm down. When she didn’t, he called her to task.
“Roxie. Sit.”
“Sit? I repeat, I am not a dog. I do not come when I’m called—”
Choking back laughter, Cash lifted a brow, giving her an “oh, really?” look.
Flustered, Roxie sputtered a series of incoherent words in protest until she managed, “Shut up, Cash.”
He lifted his shoulders in a smug gesture. “The truth is my defense, Red.”
“And stop calling me that.”
“If the name fits...”
“Argh!”
Cash had set her off again and he watched in amusement as she circled the room in what could pass for a stomp dance. After several circuits she stopped in front of his desk. “Okay, fine. I can tell you have questions. So ask.” She dropped into the empty chair and stretched her legs out, her butt perched on the edge.
“You have an interesting way of handling your brother.”
Roxie rolled her eyes. “I bet you do, too.”
“My brothers aren’t the issue here. Yours are. How did you know he’d call you?”
“I didn’t. It was a calculated risk. While I don’t spend any time with my family, they do drift in and out of my life periodically. And Dex is the next oldest. He’s the youngest of the boys.” She tilted her head and eyed Cash speculatively. “Just like you. He has a chip on his shoulder. Do you?”
He ignored his instinctual response to the gibe and said, “We aren’t talking about me. He wants to prove himself so he acts the major jerk, especially with you.”
“If the boot fits,” she said under her breath.
Cash didn’t appreciate the sentiment. “Stay on target, Roxanne. Why did you try to piss him off?”
“Ha. Shows what you know. I don’t have to try to piss off my brothers. I do that just by existing, especially Dexter. But knowing what he’s like—and knowing he has to get in the last word and be all up in my face about being the boss of me—I knew I’d get him riled if I jerked his chain. You should be happy about this.”
* * *
Roxie resisted the urge to prop her feet on the front edge of Cash’s desk. It was that or fist pump. While she wasn’t quite sure how to read his expression, she knew she’d scored some sort of point.
“I should be...happy? Care to explain?”
“Sure. I just guaranteed that they’ll include me in whatever they have going on.” She had the entire focus of both men, and a small part of her brain curled up. These men were wolves and she was a bunny. Roxie opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. She cleared her throat and still no words. She gazed at her feet. “Um, can you guys not stare at me like that? It makes me nervous.”
She peeked up from under the sheet of hair covering the side of her face. They were exchanging looks. “Hey, not my fault you guys are so scary. For some reason my father wants me involved in this deal. I have no clue why. I have no clue what I’m supposed to do. That whole deal in Vegas? Yeah, that was an unmitigated disaster. I’m still not sure if I was set up to take the fall again. It’s not exactly like I was raised in the family business, you know.”
“Why do you think they’re after the Crown Casino?”
She cut her eyes to Bridger, fully cognizant that Cash’s gaze remained fixed on her. Roxie could admit to herself that despite sleeping with Cash—and having the most mind-blowing sex ever—he still intimidated the heck out of her. “Look, you want intel on what they’re doing, right?” They nodded and she sat up a little straighter. “Well, since I’ve spent most of my adult life avoiding their schemes, if I suddenly got all on board with this deal, do you really believe they’d trust me?”
Cash and Bridger exchanged another look. This one she read more clearly.
“So I have to play hard to get. Eventually, they’ll need to tell me what’s going on. Hopefully, with enough time, you people can be ready to catch them. If not, then I hope you guys can roll with it because we may be improvising out the wazoo.”
“We?” Roxie was amazed at how much unhappiness Cash could pack into that one syllable.
“Well, unless
one of you two is dressing up in drag, I pretty much need to be there.”
Harley picked that moment to stand up, do a downward-dog stretch and start sniffing the furniture. Roxie catapulted out of her chair. “No! Don’t you dare, Harley. Bad dog.” She snatched the leash on the coffee table near the couch and attempted to hook it to his collar. Harley dodged her and trotted over to lay his head on the arm of Cash’s chair. She blew air out with enough force to tousle her side-swept bangs. “Uh, a little help here? He needs to go out. Like now.”
Cash ruffled the fur on her dog’s head, and checked his watch with a lazy arrogance that grated on her nerves. “We’ll break for lunch.”
“Roof?” Bridger looked far too nonchalant for Roxie’s peace of mind.
A slow smile spread across Cash’s face and she almost shivered. The man had devious written all over him.
“What?” She asked the question in her mind out loud and wished she could have called it back. There was clearly something going on.
“Definitely roof. You take Roxie and grab a table. I’ll deal with Harley.” Cash pushed the Newf away so he could stand. He snapped his fingers and her traitorous dog fell into perfect heeling step with the man.
Roxie turned to the couch to grab her jacket but Bridger shook his head. “You won’t need it. We won’t be eating on the patio.” He took her arm and tugged her toward the door Cash and Harley had just disappeared through.
She and Bridger caught up to man and dog at the elevators. If she hadn’t known better, Roxie would have thought Harley was a well-mannered, and obedience-trained, dog. The big double-crosser was sitting next to Cash, his nose all but pressed to the man’s hip, as pretty as you please. She curled her lip at the dog to show him she was wise to his shenanigans. The ride up to the fortieth floor was short. When the elevator opened, Bridger led her toward wide mahogany doors while Cash and Harley disappeared around the corner in the opposite direction.
“Where’s he taking my dog?” She was so busy looking over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the two, she tripped and had to grab the back of Bridger’s shirt to stay upright.
“Outside.”
“On the top floor of a forty-story building?” Okay, she didn’t mean to screech it. Not really.
“There’s outdoor space that direction. And the restaurant has a patio area they open in nice weather.”
“Restaurant? I didn’t know there was a restaurant in Barron Tower.” She racked her brain trying to remember if any advertising material had crossed her desk.
“It’s not open to the public. Only to Barron employees and the building’s occupants and clients.”
As they reached the massive double doors, one side opened to allow them entry. A rather austere man in a black suit offered a regal nod to Bridger. “Mr. Tate. Will Mr. Barron be joining you for lunch?”
“Yes, Bentley.”
“This way, sir.”
The maȋtre d’ led them to a round table overlooking the city. A girl in a black dress and starched white apron appeared at his elbow with a—Roxie sucked in a breath. The pitcher looked like real silver. The server filled crystal glasses with water and disappeared without a word. Rox was having a hard time reconciling the five-star atmosphere with a restaurant on top of a building in Oklahoma City. New York? Absolutely. Here? Not so much. Oklahomans were more about casual comfort and friendliness than the whole snooty mystique.
There were no menus. According to their waitress, a starched scarecrow of a woman, “Chef” prepared daily specials, each one unique.
“Beef, chicken, pork, fish or vegetarian.”
Cash dropped into the chair next to Roxie as Harley crawled under the table. A minute later, the water girl returned carrying a large stainless steel bowl and her silver pitcher. The girl placed the bowl on the floor and filled it. Then, just like before, she disappeared without saying a word. Cash glanced at Roxie. “I know you aren’t a vegetarian. She’ll have fish. Two beef for me, one rare, one medium rare.”
“Beef,” Bridger confirmed. “Medium.”
The waitress executed a perfect military pivot. Roxie reached for her. “Wait. Excuse me.” The woman looked at Roxie’s hand on her arm, then lifted her head for a haughty stare. “What sort of fish? What sort of any of these meats? How are they prepared?”
The woman gaped at her as if Roxie had lost what little of her mind was left. “Chef decides. It is always a delightful surprise when his dishes are presented.”
For a brief instant, Roxie wondered if Cash and Bridger were pulling a prank on her. The four businessman who were seated nearby made one-word orders to their waiter, so this wasn’t a joke. What sort of crazy chef ran this place? She never would have believed that Cash would put up with such nonsense.
“Ahem.”
Roxie looked up. She was still touching the waitress. Oops. She dropped her hand to her lap. “Okay. Fine. Fish. But I’m allergic to tomatoes. And strawberries.”
“I’ll make note of that, madam.”
Madam? Yeah, Roxie might as well crawl under the table and snuggle up with Harley. Before she could carry through with that urge, other patrons turned their attention to the front door as a man entered. Roxie recognized him immediately. The man scanned the room, his gaze stopping on their little group. Cyrus Barron took two long steps and then bellowed, “Cashion!”
Twelve
As the Barron patriarch stormed toward their table, Bridger leaned close to Cash and said, “Please tell me you pooper-scooped after the dog.”
Cash, without taking his eyes off his father, muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Was I supposed to?”
Roxie panicked. In a furious whisper, she hissed, “Please tell me he’s not coming over here to yell at me about Harley.”
In almost one voice Cash and Bridger said, “He’s not coming over here to yell at you about Harley.”
“Probably,” Cash added.
As if hearing his name was a siren’s call, the topic of conversation emerged from beneath the table just as Cyrus Barron arrived. Roxie had moments to grab her napkin and muzzle the beast before he could shake his head. He’d drained the bowl and streamers of slug slime decorated with drops of water trailed from his jowls. She fell out of her chair, napkin flapping, and managed to get one arm around the dog’s neck. Too bad she was a fraction of a second too late.
To her horror, the scene unfolded in slow motion like that Tom Hanks movie with the drooly dog. Harley twisted his head from side-to-side, ears and jowls flapping and drool flying. Roxie could almost hear her voice distorted by time slowing down as she dragged out the words, “Ooohhhh noooo.” Mr. Barron stepped backward, a look of total disgust on his face. She caught the brunt of the flying slime but a few strands splatted on Mr. Barron’s tailored—and probably massively expensive—slacks. She held up her napkin before realizing it was covered in dog goo.
Mr. Barron harrumphed and focused his attention on Cash. Roxie wasn’t sure that was a reprieve. “We have things to discuss. Come to my office.”
Cash motioned for the waitress, who was carrying a loaded tray, to approach. “After I eat.”
“Don’t make me come looking for you, boy.” Mr. Barron did an about-face and marched out of the restaurant.
Roxie peeked over the edge of the table. Cash was rubbing the center of his forehead with the heel of his palm. She could almost see the headache forming and figured she was probably the cause. She felt awful for creating all the drama. In a muffled voice, she said, “Sorry?”
She caught movement from the corner of her eye—Bridger getting out of his chair to help her up while the waitress waited for them both to get seated before serving their meals. She shook off his assistance, regaining her composure while she glared at her dog. He didn’t look contrite in the least. In fact, he looked pretty darn proud of himself.
The waitress placed two plates in front of Cash. One looked like steak tartare, and the other was a crusted filet served with grilled new potatoes and asparagus spear
s, drizzled with a creamy white sauce that might be hollandaise, but Roxie suspected it was nothing so “mundane.” Bridger also had beef—small medallions braised with a thick, dark roux containing mushrooms, green onions and... She leaned over to get a closer look. Coffee beans? His sides consisted of potatoes, sliced paper thin and layered with Parmesan cheese and butter, and what appeared to be brussels sprouts lightly breaded and sautéed. Her own plate included a lobster tail, grilled and topped with an orange-colored sauce, a nest of julienned potatoes and carrots sprinkled with blue cheese and a side of snow peas.
The silent water girl appeared in the waitress’s wake, refilling glasses. Once the serving staff faded away, Cash bent over, snagged Harley’s empty bowl and shoveled some all-but-raw meat into it. The dog nosed in and ate with great gusto while the humans sitting nearby watched. Roxie should have felt too embarrassed to eat but her stomach rumbled and the food was too delectable not to enjoy. And she did. Every last bite. If there had been any of the delicious hot yeast rolls left, she would have mopped up the remaining orange sauce on her plate and called it dessert.
As she chewed and swallowed the last bite and reached for her water glass, she looked up. Her gaze collided with Cash’s and heat washed through her. He looked like he wanted to eat her for dessert. Feeling her skin flush, she swallowed hard and just avoided licking her lips because...company. She could hear Bridger making muffled noises behind his napkin.
When she returned her focus to Cash, he was lounging nonchalantly in his armchair. “Did you enjoy your meal?”
Ooh! He looked so smug and cocky, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. Despite her best efforts, she flushed more and her breathing quickened, because her brain recalled what that man looked like sprawled naked in bed with that same expression on his face. Roxie mentally shook herself. She could not let Cash get under her skin, even though he’d gotten in pretty much everywhere else. He was a player and she was a convenient mark. Once he caught her father and brothers, he’d be done with her. She needed to remember that, especially whenever she got starry-eyed about this whole situation.
