“I don’t need to be bribed to do my job, Shane.”
“Consider it a reward for doing it well.”
“Oh God. How bad is this day going to be?”
“Bad. The board, remember?”
“Why exactly are they calling?”
“My father’s been accepted into a cancer trial. He’s leaving for Germany.”
“How effective is the trial?”
“He’s terminal. This is his last chance. That’s the stat that matters.”
“I’ll read into that the way you’d assume I will. And why are the board members calling you, so I can be prepared? Are we giving them dates he’ll be gone, or—”
“I’ll be acting as CEO until he’s at full capacity again.”
She gapes at me and closes the space between herself and my desk. “And if he doesn’t return to full capacity?”
“I’ll have six months until a vote will be required to keep me in the role.”
“And your father picked you over Derek?”
“I picked me over Derek. I wrote the amendment that made this mandatory.”
“Of course you did. How’s Derek taking it?”
“He’s at breakfast with Mike Rogers and most likely plotting my undoing.”
“That will be interesting to see. Are you sure you don’t want whiskey instead of coffee? I do.”
“Coffee. Lots of it. I didn’t sleep last night.”
“I won’t ask—now. Later I will.” She turns and starts walking.
“Jessica,” I call out.
She rotates. “Yes.”
“I like the hair.”
She doesn’t beam or glow. She just says, “Me too,” and turns again, disappearing into the hallway.
I haven’t even had time to sit down when Seth appears, and since he now has on a blue suit, tie and jacket in place, I assume he too managed to shower. He’s followed by a tall, muscular man in a simple white T-shirt, tat sleeves lining his arms, who I assume to be Cody.
“I hope like hell you don’t bring bad news about Ted,” I say as Seth shuts the door and walks toward me.
“No news on our end,” Seth says while the two of them cross to the front of my desk.
“Cody Rodriguez,” the newcomer says, extending his hand.
“Shane Brandon,” I say, sliding my palm to his and giving it a firm grip. “I understand you met Emily this morning.”
“Indeed,” he confirms, his hands settling on his hips. “I met her, and I have to say, she knows how to make a lasting impression.”
I arch a brow and claim my seat, motioning for them to sit, which they do. “How so?” I ask, assessing Cody, who at this point reads as strong and confident to me.
“I took a call from one of Nick’s men at the wrong time,” Seth interjects.
“In other words,” Cody says, “he didn’t warn her I was about to introduce myself. So here I am. Mexican, in a hoodie, and approaching her in a hallway by a bathroom the night after Martina showed up at your apartment.”
“She thought you were with him,” I assume.
“One would assume that was her assessment,” Cody confirms. “Bottom line, I spooked her and she was pissed. And she didn’t mind letting me know.”
“Or me,” Seth inserts dryly.
“She’s tough,” Cody says, “but more so, she was alert and aware of her surroundings. That’s good, but it’s not enough. I’m going to tell you what I told her. I know the cartels and how they operate. I know how to protect her, but I need to be given the freedom to do so.”
“I’m listening,” I say. “What do you need me to do?”
“For starters,” Seth interjects again, “you and Emily need to decide if he’s going to openly watch over her or operate in the shadows.”
“Which is the safest answer?” I ask.
“Openly shadowing her is going to make Emily and everyone around her nervous,” Cody says, “which can become complicated and stir up questions you might not want to answer from your staff and board of directors. But hiding in the shadows slightly decreases my response time if she gets into trouble. I’ll feel better about that if she carries a gun and knows how to use it. Does she and can she?”
“If she doesn’t, we can remedy that,” I say, eyeing Seth, who answers without me asking.
“I’ll get her an appropriate firearm this afternoon.”
“A Taser as well,” Cody adds, “and Mace.”
Unease slides down my spine. “You think the visit from Ramon is more than Martina trying to get in my head?”
“When you visited Teresa,” Cody says, “you decided to play Russian roulette with a Mexican who doesn’t mind pulling the trigger and really wants the bullet to end up in your head.”
“I might not know cartels, Cody,” I say, “but I read people really damn well. He needed to know he couldn’t cow me. He needed to question what I really might do.”
“And what are you willing to do?” Seth asks.
I cut him a look, not sure either of us is ready to hear me answer that out loud just yet. And I don’t need to right now anyway. “It doesn’t matter what I’m willing to do,” I say. “It matters what he thinks I’ll do. I evened the playing field again.”
“And you got Ramon’s attention in the process,” Cody says. “A man who has a known interest in Teresa and a hell of a lot of anger that, because he can’t have her, he takes out on everyone around him and her.”
“Martina wants this partnership with me,” I say. “Any wrong move by Ramon will destroy that and put Ramon in Martina’s hot seat.”
“That sounds logical to you and me,” Cody says. “But my studies show him to be a wild card who’s gone rogue more than once.”
“Then I need you both to find a way to get him out of the picture,” I say.
“Out of the picture?” Seth asks. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t care if you send him back to Mexico in a wooden box. Get him out of the picture before it’s my family who ends up dead.” My office phone buzzes and I grimace, punching the button long enough to say, “Take a message from whoever it is,” before releasing it.
“Even Mike Rogers?” she asks
I grimace. “No. Not Mike Rogers. Put him through.” The line buzzes again and I pick it up, speaking before Mike has the chance. “If it isn’t the ghost of the man called Mike Rogers himself,” I say. “What did I do to finally merit communication?”
“From what I hear, you took over a company I’m vested in.”
“You heard wrong then,” I say. “My father is still very much in control as the document sent out this morning states. I’m simply on standby to fill in should he need a little recuperation time.”
“You really think he’s going to live?”
“Are you really hoping he’s going to die?”
“Friends don’t wish friends dead, but stockholders need straight answers.”
Rarely do I have to bite back my choice words, but I do now. “What do you want, Mike?”
“Let’s meet.”
A chance to look into this man’s eyes has appeal. “When?”
“Tonight at six for drinks.”
Not about to do this on his terms and with sleep deprivation weighing on me, I counter. “Seven in the morning,” I say, testing his loyalty to my father by adding, “the coffee shop here and my father can sit in.”
“Caribou on Sixteenth Street and just you.”