Damage Control

by Lisa Renee Jones

  He quickly adjusts himself, looking at me with this kind of stunned appreciation that I pretty much love. “Now, you can go back to work, Mr. Brandon,” I say, turning to the door, but right when I would open it, his hand comes down on the surface above my head.

  “Don’t ever do that to me here again.”

  Stunned, I face him and he laughs, those gray eyes filled with mischief. “That was the biggest joke I’ve ever told. Well delivered, if you believed it.”

  “I did and it wasn’t funny.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was sure you knew I couldn’t be serious.” He reaches down and runs his hand down the material of my dress. “One side was still halfway up your hip.”

  My eyes go wide. “Oh God. That would have been bad.”

  “Yes. It would have. And now, you can go to work, Ms. Stevens. But buzz me if my father is in.”

  “I will,” I say, and this time when I turn, he flattens his hand on my belly, and says, “You are so damn sexy,” before he releases me and steps away.

  Smiling, I open the door and exit, while Jessica gives me an arched eyebrow, which turns into a huge grin. “How about lunch?” she asks.

  “Yes I … ah no. I forgot I’m having lunch with Shane’s mother.” I lean on the desk. “I didn’t tell him. Can you mention it? I don’t want to go back in there.”

  “Of course, and be careful. She’s—”

  “I know. You warned me and you were right. I can handle her.”

  Approval lights her pretty blue eyes. “Yes. I believe you can. I’ll tell him. Coffee later though.”

  “Yes. Good.”

  I push off the desk and start toward the hallway at the same moment Derek appears in his doorway, his tie once again red, his eyes once again hard. They are also inappropriately honed in on me, following my every move in a far too intimate way, making it nearly impossible for me to keep a steady pace. Nearing him, I am forced to acknowledge him, and I wave. “Good morning.” But just as I would turn to my escape, he stops me.

  “Wait just one moment,” he says, stopping me in my tracks, my heart suddenly thundering in my chest.

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like you to come join me in my office, Ms. Stevens.”

  My heart falls to my feet with the use of my formal name emphasized, when Shane just teased me with it. Shane’s office must be bugged. “I really need to go check in with your father.”

  “You had time for my brother. Make time for me.”

  I am officially trapped but Shane’s warning plays in my mind: Don’t take risks with Derek. I cannot go in his office. I will not run to Shane for help. I need to just handle this man.

  “Well, Ms. Stevens?” Derek presses. “Are you coming or not?”

  “Get to your desk, Ms. Stevens.”

  At the sound of Brandon Senior’s voice, I look right to find him standing in the hallway I wish I’d already traveled down. “Mr. Brandon,” I say in shock.

  “Get to work,” he snaps, and when I don’t immediately move, he adds, “Now, Ms. Stevens.”

  For once, his cranky commands are welcome, and I dart past him, all but running to the lobby, where I force myself to slow, and greet the receptionist. From there, I welcome the hallway leading to the private alcove that is my desk in front of Brandon Senior’s office. Nearly collapsing into my chair, I feel as if I’ve run a marathon and the day is barely starting. I press my hand to my face, angry at myself for not having a comeback to manage Derek. I knew he could pull a stunt like that. I should have worked through scenarios in my mind, like I had when preparing for mock trials in school, and been ready with solutions. I can’t be this unprepared ever again because I saw the look in Derek’s eyes. He has me in his sights. I am a target.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SHANE

  The minute my father heads for Derek’s office, I follow, and the ways I want to get Derek the fuck out of this company, and Emily’s life, are too many to count. Standing in my doorway and giving her room to deal with him, as I know she would want, rather than rescue her, had about killed me. But that would have also made her look weak and set her up as more of a target for brother dearest.

  My father disappears into Derek’s office and shuts the door. I pass Derek’s secretary, wondering if she knows he’s fucking Adrian’s sister as well as her, probably in the same day. I don’t look at her. I walk on by and open my brother’s door and enter, shutting it behind me. Derek laughs. “Did I offend your little girlfriend? Are you here to protect her like my father?”

  The surprise in his taunt isn’t the taunt itself, but the reference to my father, who I look at now, arching a brow.

  “I don’t have time to hire a new secretary and Emily has a mind of her own,” he snaps. “I’m not counting on your bedroom skills to keep my secretary.” He cuts a look at Derek. “Leave her the fuck alone.”

  Derek gives me an amused look. “Your turn. Defend her honor. Get it over with.”

  “Actually, Emily’s the kind of woman who’ll grab you by the ball sack and get a hammer. Please. Keep agitating her. I want to watch.”

  “I do like it rough,” he says, successfully making me want to punch him, but that would empower him, not me.

  “We need to move past getting laid to staying out of jail,” I say, leaning against the door and crossing my arms in front of me. “Not only did Brody Matthews die, but he did so with our pill bottles in his medicine chest.”

  “And you know this how?” Derek demands.

  “Because I know a hell of a lot more than you think, Derek. Brody’s ex ran her mouth at Eric’s plastic surgery office. I did damage control, but it might not be enough. The Feds are looking into a connection between a drug they call Sub-Zero and professional athletes. If he has a bottle left over, with pills in it—”

  “He won’t,” Derek says.

  My gaze jerks to him. “Did you kill him?”

  “He had a car accident.”

  “That you arranged?” I ask.

  He leans on his credenza, arms folded in front of him. “No one made him drive his car into a tree.”

  “So Adrian Martina arranged it,” I say. “Same thing.”

  My father says nothing, asks nothing, which tells me he’s far more in the “know” on this than I had hoped. I look at him. “You know about all of this, don’t you?”

  “Be specific,” he instructs, his noncommittal answer his standard formula, but the fact that he sits down as if he can’t stand, taking a submissive role, is not.

  “All right,” I say. “Let’s be clear. I’ll tell you what I know. I’ll tell you what I expect.”

  “Save your breath,” Derek says. “Because this endeavor is worth a lot of money.”

  I focus on my father, speaking to him, setting him up to remember this conversation when the raid takes place. “Our drug Ridel is being used to package Sub-Zero. The Feds are looking into a connection that led them to Brody’s accident last night. Should they find Ridel bottles, they will test what’s inside. Furthermore, Brody’s wife was ready to tell the police he’d been using Ridel and acting weird. I paid her off, and it wasn’t cheap, and she’s agreed to leave the country. Now, I have to keep her silent throughout his funeral, when grief drives people to do things they wouldn’t otherwise do.”

  My father shows no reaction. “Is this where you threaten to walk?” No denial. No concern. “Because considering what you’ve done to cover this up, I think it’s too late to abandon ship and not go down if it sinks.” The edges of his mouth quirk ever so slightly.

  And there it is. My father, the master game player. I’m trying to set him up, and he’s trying to turn the tables. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. She hasn’t been paid. You or Derek need to issue the payment off your employee account. Personally, I’d say you have the least risk.”

  Ridiculously, my father’s look transforms to one of pride, and I’d be flattered, but I know him. I’ve simply extended the game he wants to play. “How much?”<
br />
  “Three hundred and moving expenses,” I say, “so make it four.”

  “Cut the check, Derek,” my father says.

  “I didn’t make this deal,” Derek says. “It could be a setup. I’m not cutting the check.”

  “He’ll cut the check,” my father assures me.

  “We sidestep one problem with this,” I say. “This will not end well for us if don’t get out of business with Martina.”

  “This is where you threaten to get out,” Derek says.

  I push off the door and look at him. “No. This is where I threaten to get you out if you don’t get Adrian Martina out.”

  “We were already in a war,” he says.

  “But I haven’t drawn my blade. I let the word ‘brother’ matter. But one man is dead now. That changes everything. That makes you a murderer and no one I recognize or wish to call family.”

  “Am I supposed to be afraid?”

  “I hope you aren’t, because people who don’t feel fear are always the first to fall.”

  I turn and reach for the door, and he says, “Then you’re afraid.”

  I suck in air and let it out, turning to face him. “I felt fear in my gut before every trial and negotiation I ever won. And you know what I feared? Losing. Which is why I don’t let down my guard and I always win.”

  I give him my back and exit his office, making my way past his secretary again without a look, my gaze going to my secretary’s empty desk, which can mean only one thing. She’s with Emily, which isn’t a bad thing. I respect Jessica and I believe she’s a friend to Emily and me, when Emily, I know, needs to feel a sense of family that mine doesn’t even give me. Cutting down the hallway, I cross the lobby and take the path leading to Emily’s desk. Rounding the corner, I bring her into view where she sits at her desk with Jessica squatting by her feet.

  Emily whirls around to face me while Jessica pops to her feet, and I close the space between us, leaning forward to rest my hands on Emily’s desk.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Of course, I’m fine. I’m no wimp but I’m pissed off at myself for not being more prepared for him.”

  “She blamed herself,” Jessica supplies, going on to prove why I think she makes a good friend to Emily by adding, “I told her Derek’s the problem, not her.”

  “Jessica’s right,” I agree, “and I know you know that.”

  “I should have been prepared for him. I knew he could have—” She pales and faces Jessica. “I need you to leave.”

  She gives a mock look of dismay. “That’s just rude.”

  Emily grabs her arm. “Oh God. I’m sorry. That sounded horrible. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  “No worries,” she says. “I’m no wimp, either.” She gives me a wave and heads for the lobby, while Emily twists back around to face me.

  “Derek called me Ms. Stevens,” she says softly, “and he emphasized Ms. Stevens. Do you know where I’m going with this?”

  “My office is wired. Considering I have it checked frequently, that’s new and poorly timed.” I soften my voice. “Sorry, sweetheart. What’s between us should stay between us.”

  “It’s not your fault, Shane, though what is also poorly timed is the lunch with your mother I forgot about. I’m going to be wondering if she knows, and considering this is your mother, she’ll just tell me.”

  “You don’t have to do the ‘make nice with my mother’ thing.”

  “Have you told your mother that?” She holds up a hand. “It’s fine. Declining your mother’s invitation will only ignite the chase with her.”

  “You figured her out pretty fast.”

  “She’s not hard to figure out, but I should probably go get my coat.”

  “I’m going to go to the apartment to work for a little bit until I clean my office of bugs. What time are you leaving? I’ll bring it to you before you leave.”

  “One, but I can walk down with you.”

  “I’ll be back long before you leave.” I study her for a few beats, amazed at how cool and collected she is, considering everything that has happened this past week. “But again, you don’t have to play nice with my mother.”

  “You said that. And contrary to the example I just set, I can handle myself just fine. And I’ll be ready for Derek next time.”

  I want to grab her and kiss her, but instead I say, “Call me if you need me.”

  “And you call me if you need me.”

  “Sweetheart, I was already needing you sixty seconds after you left my office.” I wink and push off the desk at about the same moment my father rounds the corner, the two of us stand toe-to-toe.

  “Did you look at the paperwork I had Emily bring you?” he asks, as if the encounter in Derek’s office never happened.

  “Is that a bribe or an offering to Mike?”

  “In my office,” he says, and he starts to walk around me.

  “I’m not following anymore,” I say. “Not to your office. Not to hell.”

  I suck in air and he levels me with a stare. “In my office, son.” He turns and walks into his office, and that’s when the hacking ensues. Deep, gut-wrenching hacking. I can feel Emily staring at me, willing me to follow him into the office. Damn it. I walk forward and find him standing almost in my face, anger burning in his bloodshot stare. I shut the door and he blasts me. “We don’t talk this kind of business in front of others. Even if you’re fucking her.”

  He’s volatile in a way I do not know him to be. Vile, yes. Rude, yes. But not volatile.

  “That proposal,” he continues, “offered you good, clean business the way you like it.”

  “But what you’re using it for isn’t good and clean, now is it?”

  “Why will it matter once I’m gone?”

  “That’s not a no,” I say. “And it matters because whatever deal you’re using it for will still exist. Besides, a deal that big will take investors.”

  “Just sign the damn paper.”

  “Does Mike know about this?”

  “No one knows about this but you, and it needs to stay that way.”

  “You think Mike won’t approve.”

  “I don’t care if he approves.”

  “You want to own him and his vote.”

  “Just sign the damn papers, Shane.”

  He walks to his desk and when he faces me again, I say, “I’m not doing anything to give you all of the power.” I face the door, my hand going to the knob.

  “I have investors to do this on my own. I will do it on my own.”

  The meeting with the bankers that never happened. He’s bluffing and I’m done being a token in his game. I exit the office and shut the door. Emily looks at me, and the moment she sees my face, disappointment fills her. I think she’s fallen into the same trap I always have. The one where I think my father will change but he never does. I give her a nod. The door behind me opens and I start walking, but right as I round the corner, I hear my father ask Emily, “How much influence do you have over him?” and I stop dead in my tracks.

  One hell of a lot, I think, but she replies, “Seriously?” as if he’s crazy, before laughing and asking, “How much do I have over you?”

  “Some,” he says thoughtfully, “or I wouldn’t drink that damn tea you bring me.”

  “You ask for that tea,” she points out.

  “Because you made me drink it the first time, and no one but Maggie makes me do anything. So I ask again: How much influence do you have over my son?”

  “I couldn’t make Shane drink the tea.”

  She knows damn well I’d drink the tea if she wanted me to try it, but her loyalty to me shown in this response is golden in ways no one else in my family is. And my father is no fool. He knows she’s loyal to me, not just because she told him she is, but because it shows in her actions and words. And yet, curiously, he wants her by his door. I cut through the lobby and exit, quickly grabbing an elevator alone, repeating that thought. He wants Emily by his door. It speaks of him pro
tecting me, but my father protects no one but himself. “What are you up to, Father?”

  Exiting the elevator, I punch in Seth’s number, and he answers on the first ring. “You need to sweep my office,” I say.

  “I swept it yesterday.”

  I enter the elevator to the garage. “Well then, it got bugged last night,” I say, punching my floor.

  “I won’t ask how you know,” he says. “But I can’t get there anytime soon. Right now, I’m meeting with the team we discussed last night, but I have another situation. I don’t have a certain woman under control. She’s not taking my calls. I’m hoping she’s sedated from the stress. Once I finish this meeting I’m headed there.”

  “Keep me posted.” We end the call and I enter the garage, already dialing Mike’s office, but I hang up before I get an answer. There is more to the story with Mike Rogers than meets the eye, though the man is a damn ghost as of late. That in itself is a signal of a bigger picture. I slide into the car, and dial my mother, who doesn’t answer. I don’t leave a message. I’m not sure why I don’t leave a message. Something is bothering me that I can’t quite nail, and when I get these feelings, there is always a winning play within reach.

  EMILY

  The energy Brandon Senior brings to the office when he’s in poor health makes me wonder what this place must have been like when he was in his prime, and certainly explains how it became a big success. The morning plays out with him barking orders, and the phone ringing off the hook with what feels like a million questions about the board meeting, as well as me juggling yet more changing arrangements. Come noon, I try to get lunch for Brandon Senior, concerned that he refuses to eat considering his blue suit and yellow tie look like they were made for his big brother. The man is dying and I have gut-wrenching moments when I think about how soon he may be gone from this world, and Shane’s life, that always seems to trigger memories of my own father.

  It’s almost time for Shane’s mother to arrive for our lunch, and I dart into Senior’s office despite him being on the phone and set the file he’s been demanding on his desk. I’m about to head back to my desk when he ends the call, and surprises me. “Is that a new dress, Ms. Stevens?”