“Yes. Please. Thank you, Shane.”
“Let’s go home, get naked, and order room service after we work up an appetite.”
“I have work—”
I kiss her, a long slide of tongue against tongue before I say, “Let’s go home. Okay?”
“Yes. Okay. I need to get my purse.”
“Actually, give me fifteen minutes to call Seth and wrap up a few things.”
“Yes. That’s good.” She walks to the door, pausing as she’s about to exit. “I put an envelope on your desk that your father wanted you to have.” She exits and shuts the door behind her, while I remove my cell phone from my pocket and walk to my desk, where I sit down and dial Seth, who answers in one ring. “That documentation you said you’d have ready tonight? Where are we on it?”
“It’s done. I plan to bring it to you in a few hours.”
“Bring it to the apartment. We need to talk about a few new developments, but nothing that requires your immediate attention.”
“Understood.”
I end the call and grab the envelope my father sent to me, removing a document. My eyes narrow at a proposal to invest in the basketball stadium, which is actually a good investment, but something tells me this is a request from Mike, maybe even a payoff of some sort. It’s time Mike and I have a chat. I reseal the envelope and reach into my pocket to remove the digital recorder I’d used for my conversation with Derek, hitting play and fast-forwarding to the part about Martina’s sister that I plan to use to force Derek back to our side.
“You’re just pissed I fucked her first,” I say of Emily, “but then, I hear random fucks are off the table for you, since you’re basically engaged to Adrian Martina’s sister.”
“What can I say? She’s a good fuck.”
“You don’t just fuck the daughter of a kingpin, or the sister of the heir to their dynasty. Because when you stop, you end up dead.”
“Adrian Martina cares about money, not me fucking his sister.”
I punch the off button and curse. It’s not enough. I need the kind of ammunition that makes Adrian want to kill my brother.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EMILY
I sit at my desk and close my eyes, willing myself to get a grip. Shane was right. Derek is not going to lead the Geminis to me or Shane. Even Seth and his people couldn’t find out who I really was until I told them. Inhaling, I open my drawer and grab the phone I’d used to talk to my brother, and go to throw it in the trash, and then kick myself for even considering such a thing in an office where everyone is in everyone’s business. Instead, I stick it and its battery in my purse. For reasons I can’t explain, Derek really got to me. I press my fingers to my temples.
Why is he getting to me?
Unbidden, my brother’s words come to my mind: What the hell are you doing here? And then, Derek’s words: Righteous like my brother.
It’s then that my mind goes back to the night of my stepfather’s death.
I gape at my brother in disbelief, a streak of blood down his cheek, trying not to look down at my stepfather.
“What the hell am I doing here? Why are you not calling an ambulance?”
“He’s dead. I checked his pulse.”
I start to shake. “Call the police.”
“I killed him. If I call the police—”
“Call the fucking police!” I reach for my purse and suddenly, Rick’s hand is on mine and I can feel the wet stickiness on my skin.
“We are not calling the police or we will end up dead.”
“We? We didn’t do this.”
“He stole money. We fought. I was protecting myself.”
“Tell the police that.”
“If we go to the police, we become a liability to the Geminis. We die.”
I am trembling inside and out. “The Geminis that I’ve been trying to get you to get out of for years?”
“Don’t turn on the righteous bitch routine, Reagan. I’m the only person who’s going to keep you alive.”
My cell phone buzzes, snapping me back to the present. I grab it and pull up a text from Shane: Meet me at the Bentley. You go first.
Because we’re trying, and failing, to keep our relationship a secret, which fits about everything else in my life. It bothers me, but I’m self-analytical enough to know my reaction is not about Shane. It’s just me trying to get to that acceptance stage about the loss of my brother, and a girl named Reagan. I type a return text message: Wait 5 to leave. I need to give the receptionist my number to reach me if necessary.
His reply is instant: See you soon.
Considering my mood, I have no idea why, but that reply makes me smile, and the tension in my spine noticeably lessens. Standing, I survey my desk for anything that needs to be attended to, and walk to Brandon Senior’s office to flip out the light. Then with my coat over my arm, I start for the front office, some of that tension returning with the prospect of running into Derek. Steeling myself for the possibility, I enter the lobby to find the receptionist juggling several calls.
Grabbing a piece of paper and writing down my number, I wait until she pauses between calls, almost ready to leave, when she finally looks up.
“This is my number. If anyone needs me or Mr. Brandon, call me. Do not call him. He’s in a very important meeting.”
She takes the piece of paper. “Got it. Call you.” She points to her mouth. “No gum.”