ASHFORD (Gray Wolf Security #5) (58 page)

“Roland, let people see you,” I urged. “The more time they spend with you, the less they’ll notice your…scar.”

He scowled immediately and shook his head. “The scar is a distraction,” he said. “It would be all they would see.”

“Then do something about it,” I insisted. “Be the leader you were meant to be. If you’re not willing to let people ogle it, get surgery. There have been wonderful advancements and Dan…well, your brother mentioned in passing that you’d refused consultation with a plastic surgeon after…after the wreck.”

Roland made a harsh sound in his throat, and I wondered, as always, if I’d overstepped my bounds again. If we were to a point where Roland and I could share uncomfortable truths with each other, though, this was one he needed to hear.

“If you really think that your brother might be a liability, then you need to reassert control over leading the company,” I continued, a little more tentatively. “That means meeting people in person, letting people see whatever face you choose to present to them, and doing something about your scar if the face you have now isn’t the face you want the world to see.”

“I haven’t been outside of this building since I got out of the hospital after the wreck,” Roland said, finally looking away from me, his blue eyes unfocused, far away. “I have everything brought to me here—food, clothes, everything I need—and I conduct my business without anyone ever seeing me except for a couple of security staffers, one cleaning lady, my brother, and you. In a physical sense, my life has shrunk since that wreck. And that’s fine with me.”

“You didn’t kill them,” I said. “Not my parents, not your fiancée, not the driver who hit you. None of them. It wasn’t your fault.”

Roland looked at me again, and I was again on the brink of telling him the truth. He didn’t kill them because I did. That was the truth—the most uncomfortable truth. I could tell him and end all of this.

“Why don’t you hate me?” he demanded. “Your parents would’ve never been there if we hadn’t been stopped on the side of the road. You would still have them; you would’ve finished college; and you would’ve been somewhere else—anywhere else.”

“What if…”—tears prickled the back of my throat, and I didn’t know what was true anymore—“What if…this was where I was supposed to get to?”

What if I was supposed to go through my penance for causing the wreck in order to reach Seattle and help piece together the only other person who’d come out alive from the incident? What if I was supposed to help save him from his brother and himself?

Roland was standing in front of me and all of a sudden I was standing, too, and there was nothing except for the depths of those blue eyes, staring into mine. There were flecks of gray in them, I noticed, that I’d never seen before simply because I’d never been this close. Yet, they were visible even in the dim light of the office.

And how could lips that still displayed so many traumas be so soft? Our mouths grazed each other soft, tentative, until Roland captured my lips and kissed me deeply. My body melded into his, eager for comfort, and he held me tightly, his hands strong on my back.

“You were supposed to hate me,” he whispered hoarsely, urgently, upon breaking the kiss. “You were supposed to hate me, after I told you what I’d done, so I wouldn’t fall in love with you. I’m not supposed to have love anymore. Nobody can love this face.”

I covered his mouth with my hand, emotion swelling inside of me. “It isn’t a face I’m falling in love with,” I murmured. “It’s a mind. A heart. A person.”

And there it was. The swift realization of the fact made me realize it was true. I was in love with the man I was hurting the worst with my cowardice, and I was helpless to do anything about it.

I wanted nothing more than to continue to kiss Roland, the tangle of wrongs inside of me be damned, but it was too sweet for me to deserve it. I had to pull away or risk losing everything. I couldn’t do this to him. I couldn’t betray the love that was rearing its head inside of me.

“I should go,” I said, laying my hand on his cheek, my heart dying a little when he almost flinched away from my palm on his scar but forced himself to stay still. Why did he trust me so much? Couldn’t he see what was happening? This was going too far. The feelings I had for him were real, but so was the betrayal. Now that we knew we loved each other, nothing could be the same. Each time I reported back to Dan would be even worse than before.

“I wish that you would stay,” Roland said uncertainly. “But I know why you think you need to go.”

How many more pieces could fracture off of my heart before I didn’t have one anymore, just a bunch of broken shards stabbing me from the inside out?

“If this is real,” I said slowly, “then we’ll know it.”

“It’s real,” he whispered.

“Then let’s take our time about it,” I said, forcing my trembling lips into a smile. “We’re not going anywhere. There isn’t any hurry, is there?”

“I guess there’s not,” Roland said softly, pushing a strand of my hair behind my ear, caressing my earlobe. “I just…I supposed I’m afraid you’re going to go to sleep tonight and wake up and have second thoughts. Which is fine…it’s fine, if that happens. I just…I just hope it doesn’t.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I told him, stepping back a little. “Not for me anyway.”

“You think I’m going to wake up and feel any differently?” he asked, scoffing. “Okay, maybe I’ll wake up and find I love you a little bit more. That would be the only change I could foresee.”

No, he might wake up and realize that I was the reason he almost lost business in Nigeria. That was what I was afraid of; both afraid of and wishing it would happen at the same time. If Roland realized the truth, he could end all of this before it went too far. It was already too far. However, if he arrived at the truth himself, and soon, it would be better for both of us.

I just wasn’t strong enough to give it to him.

“Good night,” I said, smiling at him. “Thank you again for the wonderful dinner.”

“You’re cooking next time,” he reminded me.

“Wrong. The crockpot is cooking next time.”

Roland laughed, and I realized it was my favorite sound in the world. It was my favorite sound, and I was in a sweet, living hell of my own making.

The next few days were a true struggle, and worse than ever before. They were wonderful where Roland was concerned—wonderful edged with terrible. His morning coffee and newspaper now came with a lingering kiss that made me tingle for a whole hour afterward. I felt as light as air working just outside his door, struggling to focus on the tasks at hand while knowing full well that he was probably watching me through the camera positioned above my desk.

I liked the idea of his murky blue eyes on me.

It was during one of these distracted afternoons when I was trying to catch up on my digitizing—the task I let go first if I was falling behind in other areas—and made a stunning discovery that allowed a few of the puzzle pieces still rotating in my head to fall into place.

It was a string of memos I was scanning into the system, which wasn’t atypical, of course, except for the names on the memos: Sam and Dan. Some digging in the box I was working through turned up several more, and after a quick perusal, I realized she’d been Dan’s assistant at one point in time.

That was interesting. With as much as she liked to talk, I was surprised that Sam hadn’t brought it up before.

I set aside the memos and walked across the office, stopping to lean on her desk at the front of the room.

“Doing anything for lunch?” I asked. “I’m in the mood for something greasy from downstairs if you are.”

“Poor thing, hungover again?” she asked, smiling salaciously. “You’d been good for a while, always bringing your lunch and working at your desk.”

The truth was, I’d been spending most of my lunches with Roland, inside his office, talking about both business and social topics, but I was glad the office gossip didn’t know that.

“I’ve really got to back off of the drinking,” I laughed, shrugging. “Hangovers now aren’t those painless things I had back in college. These are real.”

“They only get worse,” she confided. “I swear, I had one after two glasses of wine the other night.”

“No,” I hissed.

“Let’s go right now and put you out of your misery,” she said. “Anything to wrap up before we head down?”

I glanced across the office, back toward my desk. Roland would expect me for lunch, as had become our habit, but I was sure he’d understand.

“No, please, let’s get a cheeseburger immediately,” I moaned, and we were off to the cafeteria.

Once we were down there, away from Roland’s cameras and the ears of our quieter coworkers, I got straight to the point.

“So I was scanning in some interesting memos today, you know, as part of the whole digitization process,” I started, but Sam snorted and waved her hand in my face.

“Boring,” she complained. “I want to hear about what you did last night to get hungover today.”

“That’s just the thing; the memos weren’t boring,” I continued, refusing to be derailed. “They had your name on them.”

“So?” She laughed. “Do you know how many damn memos my name is on?”

“Yes, but these memos were from your time as assistant to one Daniel Shepard, our handsome young vice president,” I said triumphantly.

Sam paled and, for once, had nothing to say. I blinked, surprised at the reaction.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, setting my cheeseburger back down on its plate. “Have I said something wrong?”

“No,” she said faintly. “You’re new here, and really, not many people know about it. I’d like to keep it that way, if it’s all right with you.”

“Of course,” I said quickly. “Whatever you want.”

“I was Dan’s assistant, but he wasn’t very nice to me,” she said. “He wanted to be president of the company, and he was always trying to get me to do things, like eavesdrop on people. That’s originally why I started working as the receptionist there on the beast’s floor—I mean Roland’s—Mr. Shepard. But then I told HR that I’d prefer to stay there as receptionist, not Dan’s assistant anymore, because he’s kind of crazy. It made me uncomfortable, and they smoothed it all out, and that’s that.”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” I said. “Really, Sam. I thought it was strange that you’d never told me, especially since I’m Roland’s assistant. But I guess I know, now. I won’t tell anyone else.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Now. Enough about that little bit of silliness. Tell me all about your wild night.”

One fake story of bars and debauchery later, and I was marching into Roland’s office.

“Dan’s tried to get control of the company from you before,” I said upon closing the door, carrying my laptop under one arm. We were about to have a conference call with contacts in Australia and New Zealand—the expansion into Oceania that Dan had wanted. We were both excited, but I had to figure this out.

“And a good afternoon to you, too,” he said, his eyebrows raised. “Where is this coming from?”

“I had lunch with Sam,” I said. “I didn’t know that she was Dan’s assistant, but then I saw it on some old memos I was digitizing, and she confirmed it. She said that he was always telling her that he wanted to be the president instead of you. Do you think he might ever try to do it again?”

“Beauty, please remember that you’re getting your intel from the woman with the biggest mouth in this entire building,” Roland said, making a show of rolling his eyes. Yet, one of his hands gripped the arm of his chair, the tips of his fingers turning white with the pressure.

“You’re paying me to use my brain, aren’t you?” I asked. “I’m asking whether Dan might attempt a coup again. You know he was behind the debacle in Nigeria.”

“With Mason?” Roland frowned. “I got all of that sorted out.”

“I know you did,” I said. “But it was Dan, right?”

“He’s just trying to assert some control,” Roland said dismissively. “He wouldn’t try to…if he had tried that in the past, he would have better sense than to try it again.”

Or he’d wait until he’d found the perfect weapon before trying it again—me, a person who had intimate access to all of the knowledge he needed. The burger didn’t feel good inside my stomach at all.

The phone rang and Roland held out his hand to the empty chair across from him. I assumed the position and opened my laptop, trying to fight off the roar of panic in my head as Roland made the customary introductions and explanations with the executives across the world, trying to distract myself from the idea that Dan was trying to remove Roland from power. I focused on each and every word that was spoken, concentrating on getting it right as I typed. I didn’t want to think about what it made me to have the role that I did in this power play. I had been the most powerful piece to Dan’s arsenal.

We’d been in the conference call for perhaps fifteen minutes before disaster struck.

The door popped open and Dan walked in unceremoniously, not bothering to shut it behind him, the bright light from the office beyond cutting into Roland’s dimly lit space like a knife.

“We need to talk,” Dan announced needlessly. He’d already made such an entrance that the desire to share discourse with his brother could’ve been left unsaid.

Roland didn’t even say anything to the people on the other ends of the conference call. He simply pushed the button to end his connection and looked at me pointedly.

“You should go,” he said. “I can tell this isn’t going to be one of our friendlier family discussions.”

“I can’t say that I remember having a friendly family discussion with you, big brother,” Dan said, grinning, his tone mocking. “And I think Beauty here should stay. Maybe she’ll offer you some of that famous advice.”

I froze halfway out of my seat, clutching my laptop. I really, really didn’t want to be here for this, for whatever was going to be said.

But Roland heaved a huge sigh. “Fine,” he said. “But close the door.”

“Beauty?” Dan held his hand out.

I got up to get the door, but Roland lashed out.

“You don’t tell her what to do,” he snapped. “You’re the one who came in here on a mission. You close the fucking door, you little shit.”

“It’s really not a problem,” I said, my voice shaking. The fact was, Dan did tell me what to do. He told me what to do all the time. I took orders from him, but Roland didn’t know that. “I can get the door. And I’ll just leave you two to discuss whatever you need to talk about.”

“Stay!” they both commanded at the same time.

I sank back down into my seat, bewildered. Dan snorted at Roland before going to close the door to his office, and Roland raked a hand through his hair before shaking his head apologetically at me. I really, really didn’t want to be here. I had no idea what Dan wanted to say to his brother with me as a witness. Nothing good could come of it.

“Say what you’re here to say,” Roland said, as Dan walked back across the room. “You interrupted a very important phone call.”

“What, to your contact in Africa?” Dan scoffed. “We’re never going to be successful in Africa, Roland. It’s a fool’s dream. It just isn’t the right market. If you’re doing it to invest in a continent, you’d be smarter investing in the Red Cross or Doctors Without Borders or something. Shepard Shipments isn’t going to do a single thing for Africa.”

Roland frowned. “I don’t know who your contact is, Dan, but you’re wrong. Africa is poised on the brink of an economic explosion, and if Shepard Shipments got in now, it would be beneficial to both that economy and our company. But I don’t have to explain it to you. It’s none of your business, at this point.”

“You’re wrong there. It is my business because I’m the vice president of this company.”

“And I’m the president,” Roland said, placid. “Which is the way it’ll always be. You don’t have the contacts, experience, or attitude to make the kinds of decisions this company needs its president to make.”

“And you don’t have the face,” Dan retorted, angry. I flinched at the personal attack, but Roland seemed to brush it away as easily as if it were a pesky fly.

“The company is ready to expand, and it’s going to expand into Africa,” he said. “You didn’t need to know that, but now you know. It’s a done deal.”

Roland seemed so adept at shutting down his younger brother that I wondered just how often he had to do it. Dan’s eyes, darted around, searching, until he launched into his next diatribe.

“If that’s your defense for Africa, then what do you have to say for yourself on Asia?” he demanded, surprising Roland yet again. “That’s right. I have eyes and ears, Roland. I know what’s happening around here.”

“What’s happening is that you probably have your claws in some poor girl in Japan or Nigeria or South Korea and you’re pumping her for information,” Roland answered calmly. “It’s disgusting, Dan, really.”