Masked Page 28

  Inevitably, the police unearthed Nick’s scheme. But when they came and raided the house, Margaux pulled a shocker by covering completely for us. Nick repaid the favor to Margaux on a convenient installment plan, faithfully rendered on the first of every month. He repaid the favor to me by getting my best friend pregnant six months later. I was also stuck with the cleaning bill for the comforter he’d been screwing Darcie on, plus Margaux’s oh-so-intact evidence against us both, backed up to the Cloud in all its well-inside-the-statute glory.

  As a graduation-day present, Margaux had assured me that the evidence would never leave the darkness of her computer files. Continuing my pinhead streak, I’d believed her. I’d even felt safe enough to accept the position offered by her mother a year later.

  But as I said…I’m a pinhead.

  The situation wasn’t worth dwelling on, even now. Forward, not backward. Plenty of hard work lay ahead as therapy and redemption, reminding me of all the perfect reasons why my personal life would always take a back seat to career. Some people simply weren’t meant for happiness in love, and the Montgomerys were such a clan. I should have learned that from the loneliness I saw for so many years in Dad’s eyes, but I didn’t. I went ahead and jumped into the relationship fire as well. Gave my heart fully to a man. Nick had returned it burned to a crisp.

  It wouldn’t be happening again.

  Happily Ever After was a phrase for little girls and movie stars. Grown women concentrated on their careers, maintained their dignity, and never let anyone inside their heart’s walls. Peace and safety on the inside, pain and weakness on the outside. Keep the line moving, folks. Nothing to see here.

  I blinked in horror when the lights flipped on. Andrea was done with her report, and I hadn’t heard a word of it.

  As the projector and screen retracted into the ceiling, Andrea folded her hands with the serenity of a nun and gazed to the man at my right. “As you can surmise, we all have a lot of hard work ahead of us, but I’m confident we can repair the damage.” She turned her regard to Trey, sharpening it to an ice pick. “The key at this point, Mr. Stone, is to help us stop the bleeding. That means no more stabs of the indiscretion blade. I trust we’re on the same page?”

  Trey barely lifted his eyes from his phone. “Take it easy, blondie. Little bro with the big mouth has already taken care of the lecture duties.” He snorted at Killian, who lifted his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

  Chad straightened his glasses and glowered at Trey. “Mr. Stone, the mandate includes complete restraint from texting, Tweeting, posting, and pinning. And for God’s sake, no sharing photos or videos with anyone. Think you can handle that for a week or so?”

  Killian’s fingers slid from his nose to his chin. Even that part of his face was carved and perfect. “Should he just shut down the accounts?”

  “No,” Chad replied. “That instantly implies guilt. Just don’t respond to any of it.” He stood, put both hands on the table, and pressed on the gleaming surface. “Including right now.”

  “Back off, Poindexter. Last time I looked, I wasn’t in jail.”

  Without a word, Killian stood. With three brisk steps, he made it to the space behind Trey’s chair. Inside of one swift yank, he snatched the device up and Frisbee’ed it across the table to Chad. Trey lunged for the intercept, but Chad bested him on reflexes. He pocketed the phone, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Problem solved,” Killian growled.

  “Says the tightest sphincter on the globe,” Trey snarled.

  Chad twisted his lips to stifle a chortle. I could tell he enjoyed the way Killian got things done. I couldn’t help a fast smile myself, feeling like my best friend approved of my latest crush. The moment also verified I was officially losing it. High school and I had parted ways a long time ago. I’d been without a new crush for nearly as long.

  Killian straightened as if Trey hadn’t spoken at all, immediately looking to Andrea again. “You’ll use this room as your command center for however long you need it. My office is down the hall. I want to be regularly apprised of progress.”

  “Of course.” Andrea dipped her head in a gesture of submission, something I’d never believe if my own eyes hadn’t witnessed it. “Though our retainer is for six months, I suspect things will go faster than that, if Wooten backs off his vendetta—and when we’re done with him, he will back off. Currently, we estimate two to three weeks for this news cycle to pass, a few more for revitalizing the family name, and four more for final cleanup. If we’re lucky, some pop star or activist will pull a larger stunt, making the world forget the name Trey Stone. This means Trey Stone himself has to keep his clothes on and stay antics-free.” Andrea bore a hole in the back of Trey’s head like a parent with an errant toddler. “Is the point clear, Mr. Stone?”

  “Yes, Mother.” He had the nerve to chuckle when he said it. No one at the table joined him.

  Killian leaned down again, bracing a strong arm on each side of his brother’s chair. “I suggest you start taking this very seriously, brother. If SGC’s stock continues to slide because of your stupidity, you’ll have enough party money for a blow-up pool in the backyard and some week-old cocktail weenies. Ms. Asher and her team aren’t fucking around. Neither am I.”

  Trey’s reaction was a strange mix of stunning and weird. He lifted his head, a smirk still on his face, though the discomfort vanished from his lips. In its place was a menacing confidence that actually scared me for a moment. He met Killian’s stare directly before issuing three quiet words. “Back off, Killy.”

  The silence between the two of them was thicker than incense in a church.

  “My goodness, where has the time gone?” Andrea turned on her charm a little strong, but nobody seemed to mind. “Tick-tock, everyone. Wooten’s press conference is going live in fifteen minutes, so take your comfort breaks and grab your popcorn for the spectacle.”

  With eager swiftness, everyone shuffled into action.

  Senator Wooten’s briefing went live at the stroke of six, ensuring plenty of sound bites for news outlets across the nation before network shows took over. Between the reporter’s salacious witch-hunt questions and Wooten’s blustery protective papa act, everyone had a bounty of material to pick and choose from.

  By the time we’d collated and cataloged the comments, the clock inched past eight thirty. Margaux and Andrea departed for the hotel first. Michael and Chad hung back to wait for me, but I wanted to look over a few of the emails that had come through while we were giving the presentation, especially the missive from Talia. She’d hit some snags on her own project, a movie star who’d gotten turned on to voodoo during a filming in New Orleans, and since the star was headlining the studio’s summer tentpole film, half of Hollywood was in a tizzy.

  I waved Chad and Michael off with a promise to turn off the lights and close up shop and then opened the first of Talia’s emails for a session of laughter and tears combined. My poor friend had a mess on her hands. Things had seemed under control until today, when her movie star had sneaked out to perform a sacrificial ceremony in the bayou—naked. Grateful for the silence that had descended over the SGC offices, I composed a detailed email to her. The thoughts flowed. I often did my best brainstorming alone, likely a result of spending so much time in solitude as a child.

  After sending off Talia’s message, I scrolled through the rest of my inbox, pausing at one message in particular—then wincing. Dad. I loved him with all my heart but dreaded having to respond. I had to pick and choose every piece of communication with him. What did you say to your father when he was bowled over by the seminarcissistic ice queen who’d given you the biggest break of your career, especially after she’d fallen for him in return and was planning for their wedding in two months?

  I pansied out and decided to compose the email from my hotel room. After a bath. And with a glass of wine nearby.

  Once I’d shut down my laptop and stored my things, only my phone charger remained to be packed. Michael had plugge
d the line in for me when we arrived, commandeering one of the outlets in the middle of the conference table since the easy-access wall outlets were snatched up. I’d let him, as my power situation was dire by that point due to saving myself from playing nice with rat girl during the flight. The upside? I’d never been more on top of my Plants vs. Zombies skills and had learned a hard lesson about packing my e-reader in my checked bag.

  As I’d dreaded, Michael’s gallantry returned to bite me in the ass. This was a big-ass conference table. The outlet was farther than I could reach without crawling under the table and coming up from the center or climbing and pulling it out from the top. Okay, tugging on the line would give me the cord but only with the USB connector at the end. I needed the whole set.

  “Seriously?” I added a growl simply because I could.

  For the sake of my dignity and Andrea’s reputation, I stomped over to the open doorway and peered down the deserted hallway. The building was still and quiet. The few SGC employees with offices on this floor were gone for the evening. The last person I’d actually seen was the janitor, over twenty minutes ago. His vacuum roared in the distance, around several corners.

  I turned back, glaring at the behemoth piece of furniture occupying most of the room. I really needed that charger. I’d packed for this trip faster than a soldier on emergency deployment and had only had time to grab the one unit.

  “Damn it.”

  I circled the table, thinking things would look less impossible from another angle.

  “Really, Claire.” I slammed my hands on my hips. “How does this shit always happen to you? You’re just lucky, hmmm?” With a huff, I continued, “No. This isn’t only about luck. It’s a curse. And now you’re talking to yourself about it, which is even worse.”

  While proving the sanity fairies had really skipped off with my brain, I stood at the side of the table, my back to the door and skirt hiked over my knees. There was no way around it. Up and over, Montgomery.

  After halfheartedly crossing myself, I climbed up on one of the chairs and started making my way across the table. Damn, this thing was slippery. What did they use for polish? Maybe the janitor could tell me. The shit yielded a really good shine.

  I was up on all fours and feeling fourteen kinds of ridiculous. But I took it slow. I had no choice. Rushing might result in a position more humiliating than this.

  A soft chuckle resonated in my head. I figured, like so many occasions, Mom was involved. She always found a way to look after me, especially at night. It made sense that the universe had turned her soul into a star.

  “You enjoying this, Mom?” I muttered. “Because I’m sticking with my original allegation. This vertically challenged shit is a— Damn!” Saltier words came to mind, but I bit them back as my knee slipped. “See? I’m right. It’s a curse. And I’ll gloat if I want to. Yeah, yeah. Dad says it’s unattractive, but he isn’t here, is he?”

  The last of it got muttered past my locked teeth due to securing the cord in them. Moving carefully, I started scooting back. God only knew what kind of trouble a full U-turn would’ve gotten me.

  “I’m not sure where your father’s logic lies. Everything from this vantage point is very attractive, if you ask me.”

  Killian Stone’s voice, lush and confident and unmistakable, filled the room.

  I froze. Hands and knees planted. Charging cord between my teeth. Skirt hiked above my knees. Ass jutted toward the doorway now dominated by the presence, so powerful and palpable, that turned my limbs numb and my bloodstream into a superhighway of heat.

  This cannot be happening.

  I shook my head and smiled. Of course it was. This was the story of my life, especially on a day like today.

  A huge hand came into view. Unmistakably his. The action was accompanied by the voice that left no room for argument.

  “Need some help?”

  Despite yanking the cord from my mouth, I gritted my reply. “I’m fine.”

  “Indeed you are. But there’s nothing wrong with accepting assistance.”

  “I’m. Fine.”

  His terse growl told me there’d be only one victor here and the name on that medal wasn’t Claire. I raised my hand and slid it against his, thinking if the earth ever had a desire to open up and swallow me whole, now would be a perfect time.

  Chapter 3

  Killian

  Damn.

  The woman wasn’t just gorgeous. She was nervous. As in truly nervous.

  The revelation struck me the instant her fingers touched my palm, trembling and a little chilly. For a moment, I didn’t know how to react, either.

  When was the last time I’d really put a woman on edge?

  Out of necessity, my life was lived behind giant doors, at the top of lock-key elevators. The females who made it past those barricades were sure as storm troopers in every step they’d taken to arrive. If they developed nerves it was an act, usually in thin disguise, to appeal to my protective masculine side. Within seconds, their thighs would be brushing my crotch, their fingers would be trailing my chest, and any shred of interest deflated from my cock. After that, beneath my own veneer of chivalry, I’d walk them back to the town car, the elevator, the stairs, the lobby, or any other alternative to permanently sideline their game. I didn’t have the time or patience to learn playbooks by anyone’s rules but mine, especially if pretense was involved. Life had already dealt me a shit ton of overtime where that offense was concerned.

  As for the need left behind by those females? Those physical drives were easily handled with one or two phone calls. A number of the city’s most stunning bachelorettes, all requiring discretion for varying reasons, were only too happy to make the service entrance of their building, followed by their naked and willing bodies, available for my breach.

  In the end, it worked out for the best. Being crowned the Enigma of the Magnificent Mile was, after all, an honor of sorts. I’d managed to make the title work for me on a number of levels.

  But I didn’t want to make it work right now. There was a heavy ache in my chest, easily recognized as a physical plea to let go, to bask in how I did feel…just once.

  With a woman you just met, dumbass? A woman who looks at public reputation in numbers and statistics instead of your hard work and life?

  She stood upright again—in a manner of speaking. The stability lasted for two seconds before she tottered again, frantically seizing me for purchase. “Whoa there, San Diego.” I reached and braced both hands around her waist in an equal knee-jerk reaction—but as soon as I damned myself for it and tried to yank away, she squeezed back, spreading her slender fingers above my elbows.

  “Oh.” Her touch stretched across the bottoms of my biceps. “Oh, my.”

  There had to be a slick comeback to that somewhere in my head. I was a well-educated sonofabitch. Why was my mind suddenly a wasteland?

  Christ. I was losing it. I’d just capped my mental pen after writing her off as an employee—a temporary one, at that—yet I never wanted her touch to end. Her fingers were long and tentative, with nails filed into graceful ovals and groomed in a striking shade of navy blue that had a hint of sparkle to it.

  As soon as she noticed me gawking at her fingernails, she curled them under. Not that I complained. The little torque she gave my shirt with the move was insanely arousing. My mind instantly filled with a fantasy in which I guided her fingers forward and commanded her to remove the shirt. I wondered what those little nails would feel like against my bare chest, scraping my nipples, following the trail of hair down the middle of my torso…

  “I—errr—managed a dash to the salon on the way to the airport,” she explained. “I can’t do the French manicure thing but figured Andrea wouldn’t fault me for matching my shade with the SGC logo. I’ll change it if you insist.”

  “I insist that you don’t. I’m impressed by your originality.”

  Not smooth.

  Her fingernails? Seriously?

  I should have just told
her something nice about the stilts. Admiring a woman’s shoes, if done right, was a more subtle way of commenting on how gorgeous her legs were. And fuck, Claire Montgomery had beautiful legs.

  She reacted with a subtle blush and a tiny, captivating tilt of her lips. I was stupidly enraptured by the expression. While her combination of shy and saucy caught my dick’s attention once more, my body wasn’t done responding there. The weight on my chest suddenly lifted. My gut performed a back spring that I hadn’t experienced since high school.

  Christ.

  I should’ve been scared. I needed to wish she’d do something to give up her jig, to show me her sham and let me return to my own, feigning the courtier, keeping everything distant, respectful, and safe. But God help me, I didn’t want to be respectful right now. I wanted to flatten her on this conference table, spread her wide, and keep her that way until her thighs gripped my head, her sex trembled under my mouth, and her screams filled the air.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s me. The original one.”

  Her mumble pulled my attention back to her face. More specifically, the grimace putting creases into it. She—or someone—had assigned meaning to the words that added disturbed depths to her eyes. I scowled. Those shadows weren’t acceptable. They didn’t belong in the beauty of her features. Frankly, they pissed me off.

  But her gaze still amazed me. Aside from the matchless color of her irises, like honey crossed with amber, she retained the same soft curiosity that had arrested me during this afternoon’s meeting. Even now, despite distress, she maintained the open wonder that had driven me to shun the CEO’s chair in order to sit next to her during Andrea’s presentation. Those eyes made me think time had reverted instead of advanced, and soon I’d be simply a snail-wrangling boy in the garden once more, in those days before life took such a complicated swerve.

  I wasn’t indulging artlessness. Given what she did for a living, the woman wasn’t an innocent. But for some reason, the garbage of PR didn’t appear to stick to her. To get damn poetic about it, she seemed to float above it.