He’s silent a moment. Then two. “I hate him, you know.”
“Your father’s a hard man.”
“Shane. I hate Shane.”
“Oh,” I say, fighting a defensive, protective response. “He doesn’t hate you.”
“You know why I hate him? Because he always gets everything he wants. He got you.”
“But you didn’t want me.”
“But I wanted Teresa.”
“I know. I do. And it hurts right now. It’ll—”
“Get better? Would it get better for you if it were Shane?”
My throat thickens. “No. No, it would not. Derek—”
“You know what really sucks about Shane? I love him as much as I hate him. I mean, he’s just so fucking good at everything. Does he have to be good at everything?”
“Let’s have lunch. Can you do lunch?”
“I don’t know.”
It’s not a no, and so I push for more. “Please.”
“I’ll think about it.” The line goes dead.
I sigh and stick my phone back into my purse, looking up as Shane rounds the corner, looking tall, dark, and gorgeous in his gray suit. His face chiseled. His dark hair just long enough to be a bit wild when I run my fingers through it. And the light in those gray eyes right now, just plain mischievous. He stops in front of me, hands settling on my shoulders. “That surprise I mentioned. I wanted to wait to tell you, but I just got off the phone and I really want to tell you now.”
“Okay. I’m going nuts here. Tell me.”
“I made an offer on the fashion company you want.”
“We did? We made an offer?”
“We did. Days ago.”
“Days ago? When? How? What did they say?”
“It’s yours, sweetheart. You are now CEO of a fashion line. I’m delaying the signing of the paperwork to ensure we get this Mike stuff behind us, but—”
I wrap my hand around his neck to bring his head down to mine and kiss him. “Thank you. I’m going to make this so good for the company. For you. For us. It’s going to be huge. Amazing. I think I’m going to cry.” I swipe at my eyes. “I mean. My law degree. My brother. And now I have you and this, and how did that happen?”
He turns me to the counter, and his big legs frame mine in that wonderful, brutishly sexy way they often do, and he says, “I got lucky when you drank out of the wrong coffee cup.”
“I got lucky.”
“We got lucky.”
“Yes.” I smile. “Can we do the Jessica line?”
“This is yours. You can do what you want. You can even give her a small slice of stock if you want.”
“We can?”
“Of course.”
“We should take her to dinner tonight and tell her.”
He strokes hair from my eyes. “If I’m correct, Mike is going to strike today, and I’ll have my hands full. But why don’t you take her if I can’t make it? We’ll celebrate this weekend when I give you your second surprise.”
“I can’t handle another surprise.”
He kisses my forehead. “You’re going to have to. Now, forget the coffee. I need to get to work and be ready for Mike.” He steps away from me and I grab my purse, following him to the door, Derek back on my mind.
“Derek called me,” I say as Shane reaches for the door.
“And?” he asks, turning to face me, hope in his eyes that says he is a brother who hasn’t given up on his brother, and I’m not going to let him.
“We might be having lunch soon. He’s just hurt and healing. He’ll be okay.”
“Okay,” he says. “Well. I guess that’s better than not okay.”
He opens the door and we step outside, his arm sliding around my shoulders, together, when Derek is just so very alone.
SHANE
I’ve barely sat down behind my desk when I hear Jessica call out. “Hey! What are you doing? Shane!” My intercom goes off. “Mike Rogers—”
“Is here,” I supply as the brute of a man steps into my office in his typical uniform of jeans and a pullover sports shirt, and he’s not alone. Beside him is a twentysomething man in an ill-fitting shirt and tie.
“Do it,” Mike orders, waving the kid forward.
The man steps forward, sets a piece of paper on my desk, and says, “You’ve been served,” before turning and leaving the office.
“I told you that was coming,” Mike says. “I’m not letting the kids run the ship.”
“And when my father returns?”
“He won’t return.”
“You’re wrong, but it really doesn’t matter.” I open my desk and slide a file forward. “We no longer wish to do business with you. This is a proposal to split the company and have you, and whatever investors you’ve gathered to take us over, buy out Brandon Pharmaceuticals.”
He laughs. “Why would I settle for less than all?”
“Because you fucked my mother.”
The door shuts behind Mike and he rotates as we both take in the sight of Derek standing at the door in a perfectly pressed blue suit. He is the picture of professionalism. “And I’m not the attorney here, my brother is, but I don’t think juries favor people who fuck their best friend and business partner’s wife while he’s fighting for his life. And since my brother is one of the best attorneys in the country, I’m certain he must know a law or two that breaks.”
“I do know a law or two or ten,” I say. “And I have to tell you, Mike, I love a good day in the courtroom.” I tap the file in front of me. “I put some pictures in there for you. Examples of some of the evidence I’ll present in discovery.”
Mike steps forward and snaps up the file, flipping it open, his jaw clenching at the sight of the photos inside. His gaze jerks to mine. “You wouldn’t show the court naked images of your mother.”
“She fucked you,” Derek says. “She’s not our mother anymore.”
“You have until Monday to withdraw your lawsuit or the deal is off the table,” I say. “Because my time to reply to your legal action is valuable. Once I start working on it, it’s game on, as you basketball lovers say.”
Derek steps aside and opens the door. Mike stares at me, his eyes as cold as ice, but in their depths, there is just a hint of fear. He turns and starts walking. The minute he’s out of the room, Derek shuts the door and walks to the window, leaning a fist on the glass. “I think that went well,” he says.
I stand and hitch a hip onto my desk. “It did. Not well enough though. He’ll need extra incentive, which I plan to give him.”
He glances over at me. “Adrian?”
“Yes. And if I play the hand right, I get the drugs out of our operation and a promise for your safety as part of the deal.”
“I don’t know how you plan to do that, but knowing you, it’ll work.” He faces me, folding his arms in front of his chest. “You’re just so fucking good at everything.”
“That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“I’m good too. The problem is that I try to be your kind of good. I’m better when I’m my kind of good, and I haven’t been that in a long time.”
“What are you saying?”