—Al Capone
CHAPTER TWENTY
SHANE
A full minute after leaving Emily in the garage, I can still smell the floral sweetness of her perfume, every muscle in my body tense with the effort it had taken to keep my hands off her. I reach the elevator, and step into a car, the steel doors sealing me inside, and I feel more caged animal than man right now. I need a release. A run. My fist in my brother’s face. Emily naked. Seconds and floors tick by like hours, until finally I exit on the higher level, my gaze landing on the Brandon Enterprises logo, honing in on the lion. It’s becoming clear that sharp leadership might not be enough to save this company. I might have to rip a few throats out to get the job done. And at this point, a few throats versus total annihilation of the brand, and my family, seems a fair trade-off.
Entering the reception area, I quickly make my way toward the end of the hallway that forks to my office and my brother’s, noting his door is still shut, before traveling to my own. Jessica stands on my approach.
“Not now,” I say before she starts explaining herself. I’m really not in the mood. I walk straight into my office and resolutely shut the door.
I’ve barely sat down when she buzzes in on the intercom, proving she is forever dogmatic about just about everything. “I’ll defend myself when you’re a little less intense. But since ‘intense’ only makes you a better negotiator, the bank is on the phone about the Cherry Creek apartment and there’s an attorney for a class-action lawsuit on the phone.”
“What class-action?”
“It’s related to BP Pharmaceuticals.”
I scrub my jaw. “Of course it is.” And while this kind of thing is common with drug companies, it hits one of about ten raw nerves. “Put the attorney through.”
From there, my work snowballs and it’s nearly six when Seth calls to report in. “Tell me something good,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
“If you define ‘good’ as me having no bad news, then I can. My news amounts to not much. For now, all is quiet, and Nick’s team has widespread eyes on our watch targets.”
“What I want is conclusive evidence that Sub-Zero is not in my manufacturing facility.”
“Nick’s men entered BP on the pretense of a conveyor belt repair, and managed to install a few added camera angles we didn’t have on the security feed. I’ll be watching real-time surveillance tonight to see if we triggered any unusual activity when we spooked William.”
“Sounds like titillating viewing. Is it mobile?”
“On my laptop. Why?”
“I need out of this place almost as much as I need a drink. If you meet me at my place and supply the movie entertainment, I’ll provide the expensive booze.”
“Sold at expensive booze. I’ll see you then.”
Happily ending the call to get the hell out of here, I buzz Jessica. “I’m headed out,” I say, already stuffing files in my briefcase. “You do the same.”
Almost instantly, there’s a knock on the door that’s clearly more of a formality than a request, since Jessica immediately enters and shuts the door. “You can’t leave without telling me what’s going on.”
I drape my briefcase strap over my shoulder, ignoring the question for what’s really on my mind. “I hope like hell you didn’t encourage Emily to pull that stunt.”
“How can you even think that? She was just telling me what happened when you showed up in the garage. But she had to have been sideswiped by being pushed away and told to quit when you’d decided she could stay. What changed?”
“Nothing you need to know,” I say, rounding the desk and crossing to stand in front of her. “Is she still here?”
“Your dad sent her on some errands and then I think she was headed home.” Her lips tighten. “Shane—”
“Nothing you need to know,” I repeat.
She inhales and lets it out. “This is one of those times I need to know my boundaries, right?”
“You always know your boundaries. You simply choose to ignore them and that would not be a good decision right now.”
“Shit,” she says. “You don’t shut me out, so whatever happened must be bad.”
“It is,” I confirm, “which is why I need you to color in the lines I give you, for once.”
“Not my greatest skill, but I’ll manage.”
I give a quick nod and take a step toward the door.
“Wait,” she says, surprising me by grabbing my arm. “Sorry,” she says, releasing me, “but I just needed to say this. Emily really cares about you. And that isn’t based on what she’s said. It’s in her eyes.”
I feel that bittersweet observation like a punch in the gut, and my response is low, vehement. “And I’m doing my damnedest to make sure she doesn’t regret that,” I say, stepping around her to exit the office and I don’t stop until I’m at my car, about to climb inside, pausing at the sight of a note on my windshield. Brows furrowing, I snatch it, recognizing Emily’s handwriting even before I read: Confucius says—A tie can speak a million words. I laugh, the tension in my spine sliding away, and once again, Emily has made me smile without even being present. I slide into the car and turn on the engine, more determined than ever to do whatever it takes to win this war. Or rather, end this war.
Three hours later, Seth and I are sitting in my living room, our ties and jackets gone, along with several pizzas, and a fair share of cognac. “I have to tell you, man,” I say, indicating one of several laptops we have open on the coffee table, “the movie entertainment you provided just plain sucks.”