Personal Assets (Texas Nights) (11 page)

“My house, tomorrow night,” he demanded. Darned if she didn’t want to kiss that frown right off his face. “And this time, it’s my game.”

If that was what he wanted to think, more power to him, but relief lifted Allie’s mood.

She was still grinning when she pulled into the parking lot behind her building, where Emmalee waited by the back door. Before climbing out of her car, Allie double-checked her halter tie and pulled at the wrinkles in her skirt.

She stepped out, and Emmalee rushed forward. “Oh, Allie. I’m sorry. After I called, I remembered you had plans. But I was desperate at the time.”

Allie wrapped an arm around Emmalee’s shoulders and led her inside. “If you need to talk, that’s what I’m here for.” She motioned Emmalee to the couch in the foyer rather than using her office. The more casual environment might help her calm down. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back with tea.”

“Don’t bother on my acc—”

“Emmalee, sit.”

She complied, but her lost look and slumped shoulders cracked a corner of Allie’s heart. This woman deserved some happiness.

She quickly gathered their drinks and returned to the foyer. She handed Emmalee a thick mug of fragrant green tea and settled onto the couch, but said nothing.

They sipped silently for several minutes before Emmalee blurted, “I lost it tonight, Allie. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your evening and we’ll make sense of it together.”

Emmalee talked for five minutes, the words rolling over each other like a landslide. “To say I was shocked at Charlie’s feelings is an understatement.”

“You had no idea he felt this way?”

“We’ve been friends, just friends, for so long.”

“You’ve never experienced that little spark of excitement telling you he might be the one?” Or at least the one right now, as Cameron was for Allie.

“No, I...well, I...I mean...” Emmalee flapped her hands. “That says it all, doesn’t it? I have no idea what I know anymore.”

“Be honest with me, Emmalee. Even if you haven’t been honest with yourself.”

“I’m not blind. Charlie’s an attractive man. But it seemed wrong to be attracted to him so I convinced myself I wasn’t.” She covered her eyes with her palms and shook her head. “Allie, I don’t know how to do this.”

Allie stroked the older woman’s back. “Yes, you do.”

Emmalee laughed, a tinge of hysteria bleeding through. “They say it’s like riding a bicycle. My God, I haven’t ridden anything in so long I don’t even know if I’d recognize the proper equipment.” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

This woman needed to embrace her feminine power and realize she deserved emotional affection and physical satisfaction. Allie couldn’t remember Emmalee being involved with a man since her ex-husband left. Everyone in Shelbyville had known he was a drunk, but as with many things in a place this size, no one had discussed it in public. Fifteen years was too long for a woman as beautiful and caring as Cameron’s mother to go without companionship. That had been her choice and Allie respected her for it. Up to a point.

“I’m sure Charlie doesn’t want a relationship to frighten or confuse you. He’s not going to push for anything you’re not ready for. You come first, and his feelings come second. You do have feelings for him, right?”

“I love him as a best friend.”

Ouch for Charlie. “Friendship is the best foundation for a romantic relationship.”

“I never thought about it that way.” Emmalee set her tea aside and faced Allie. “I don’t have any experience with a healthy relationship with a man. What if I let him down?”

Compassion for Emmalee waved through Allie and she took the older woman’s hand in hers. “What if you don’t?”

Emmalee embraced Allie in a hug and, for a moment, she remembered the comfort of her own mother’s arms, strong and loving and understanding. It made her wonder what it would be like if people never tried to control the ones they loved.

* * *

Cameron strode into Robert Shelby’s expansive office on Monday morning. Shelby was already on his feet, hand out, coming around a desk the size of Montana. They shook, and he gestured Cameron toward one of two uptight-looking upholstered chairs facing the desk like soldiers standing before an enemy firing squad.

Which chair had his mom sat in the day she asked Shelby to reconsider foreclosing on their house?

“Cameron, thanks for making the time to see me today.” Shelby smiled, but his cheerful demeanor didn’t sit right. Something—desperation?—undercut the man’s words. “Would you like coffee? It’ll only take Mildred a few minutes to bring some in. Or perhaps something else?”

Tea and crumpets, maybe? “No, thanks.”

Shelby took the other visitor’s seat. “Since you agreed to chair the EcDev committee, I wanted to bring you up-to-date on its activities.”

Cameron’s rigid muscles relaxed marginally. So this wasn’t about him having his hands all over Shelby’s daughter. Over. Around. Inside. The memory of Allie’s heat and cinnamon scent had him shifting in his chair. Damned hard to find comfort in a chair someone had forgotten to stuff with padding.

“Chikkalo Bill’s has shown interest in Shelbyville as the location for their new biscuit bakery and distribution center.”

Whoa. Chikkalo Bill’s was the restaurant chain that had combined boneless chicken wings and buttermilk biscuits. Their “Hot Wings, A Real Man’s Breakfast” slogan was spreading across the country with every franchise they opened. He’d read in the paper they were heading into Asia, as well.

Their economic impact on a community Shelbyville’s size would be big shit.

But their CEO and founder was notoriously conservative, swerving somewhere to the right of right.

“Dylan Marfa himself wants to visit the area, get a feel for our culture and...morality.”

Even bigger shit. As in shit meeting an industrial fan.

“I would imagine you’ve heard about my daughter’s...counseling practice and her friend’s little sex-peddling shop.”

Heard about it? He was pretty sure he’d been a beneficiary last night. Cameron simply nodded.

“So you can clearly see we have a potential problem.”

If he’d been standing, Cameron would’ve staggered back with the force of that fan, now turned on him.

So this was why he’d been recruited to head up this business committee. Because no one else knew how the hell to reconcile Allie Shelby with Dylan Marfa. “Sir, you obviously have some agenda here. Why don’t you throw your cards on the table? I don’t like playing games in the dark.”

“Fair enough.” Shelby slumped back in his chair as if the world’s weight pressed on him. “I love my daughter, but I can’t pretend to understand her. What compelled her to counsel women on their—” his volume dropped, “—sexual issues.”

“You’re worried Marfa won’t choose Shelbyville when he catches wind of Personal Assets and Red Light.”

“So you understand our predicament.”

Ours? Yeah, it had become Cameron’s when he agreed to what he thought was a prestigious community position. Committee Chair? They should’ve named the position Economic Development Sucker. “What is it you expect me to do?”

“From your proximity in age and the Chamber meeting, I assume you know Allie.”

Yeah, real damn close to biblically. “We’re acquainted.”

Shelby glanced out the window overlooking a wooded area behind the bank. “She won’t listen to me, hasn’t from the day Elizabeth died. I certainly can’t persuade her.”

“Persuade her to what?”

“Either settle down and abandon this female sexual power nonsense.” He looked back at Cameron, his expression filled with fear, regret and resolve. “Or move her business to another town.”

* * *

Allie glanced at the Escalade’s clock. 11:34 a.m. She should know better than to schedule her appointments with only a fifteen-minute cushion in between, because she never had the heart to push a woman out the minute her session was over. Now she was late to an appointment with her father. Again. Not acceptable.

Thou Shalt Not Be Late was one of Robert Shelby’s Ten Commandments.

If she were breaking rules, she’d much rather be in the backseat of Cameron’s car. Her skin heated at the memory of his hands on her breasts and her mouth on his—

She missed the first bank entrance, but wrestled her SUV into the second, still cruising thirty miles an hour. Her tires squealing garnered cross looks from the exiting customers. She glanced in her rearview to make sure she wasn’t being followed by a cop car and blew out a breath. Whew. No Beck Childress. As much as she liked the chief deputy, she didn’t have time to chat with him today.

She had three clients this afternoon before she could break away to get ready for her date with Cameron tonight. This time, there would be no interruptions from his mom because Allie was leaving her phone at home.

Allie cut the engine and straightened her shoulders inside her navy pinstriped business suit to calm the Mexican jumping beans in her stomach. Her hair was smoothed into a low ponytail and she’d even worn pantyhose. To heck with impressing her father, but her intuition told her she needed full battle armor for this meeting.

As soon as she opened the ornate front door gracing the entrance to Shelbyville Bank and Trust, bank employees and customers greeted her by name. Some chatted about the weather or normal small town news, but Allie took the time to listen. Ironic because when she’d left Shelbyville to attend college, she couldn’t get away fast enough. The town had squeezed her tighter than a new pair of Mary Janes at Easter. Now, she appreciated that people offered her summer tomatoes from their gardens and reminded her about the upcoming July Fourth celebration and annual softball game.

Charlie Pfeiffer, one of her dad’s golf partners and Emmalee’s source of romantic stress, walked toward her. He was attractive, with his salt-and-pepper hair and easygoing smile. Emmalee deserved this man.

“Morning, Charlie.”

He gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Here to see your dad?”

She forced a smile. “Yes.”

“Be careful, Allie. He’s in a mood.” He patted her on the shoulder and left.

It took ten minutes, but Allie finally made it across the lobby and into the executive suite. As she hurried down the carpeted hallway, a movement from an open doorway to her right caught her attention. The office belonged to Nelson Bramhall, one of the bank’s two vice presidents.

“Allie.” He rose from his ostentatious leather chair. “What’s your hurry? Come in. I’d love to visit with you.” The way he said
visit
made it sound like something illicit and sexual.

Not in this lifetime. She’d gone out with him twice when he moved to Shelbyville three years ago, and those two dates were more than enough.

Nelson was SB&T’s vice president for commercial loans. He wanted to be the bank’s next president and was arrogantly up-front about his goal when her father wasn’t around.

“Can’t, Nelson, I’m late for an appointment with my dad.”

“Hope that goes well for you.” His lips curled into an I-know-something-you-don’t smile, and apprehension swept over Allie.

She approached the reception area and greeted her father’s longtime administrative assistant. “Good morning, Mildred. How are you today?” How had this woman put up with her father’s demanding personality for the past twenty years? Allie made a mental note to nominate her for sainthood. Could she nominate someone for sainthood when neither of them were Catholic?

“I’m lovely, dear. Your father, however, is in a bit of a snit.” Mildred gave Allie a sympathetic smile and patted the tight auburn curls she had styled religiously once a week at Bitsy Miller’s place. “He only scheduled fifteen minutes for your meeting. He’s with someone else now, so you’ll have to wait.”

Allie checked the wall clock over Mildred’s L-shaped desk. Now she was exactly sixteen minutes behind schedule. She took a calming breath. Nothing she could do about it now.

She flipped through
Business Week
, but articles about interest rates and small business closures held little interest. Not when she kept hearing Cameron’s hot words about wanting to touch every part of her body last night. What would’ve happened in that backseat if Emmalee hadn’t called? Leather. Skin. Heat. Allie’s inner thighs clenched.

“Allie!” Mildred called.

Shoot, she must’ve said Allie’s name several times. Tucking her slim leather portfolio under her arm, Allie shot to her feet and adjusted her jacket.

“Mr. Shelby will see you now,” Mildred said, as if Allie were a regular bank client, not the president’s daughter. A warning that whatever her father wanted to discuss, it was, as he’d said on the phone, serious. The nerves in her body snapped and tingled in an internal electric storm. Always a bad sign.

She set her shoulders and strode toward the double doors leading into her father’s office. She could handle whatever he confronted her with today.

One heavy wooden door swung open before she could reach it, and Cameron walked out. Her breath stalled in her lungs. Why was her lover...okay, her almost-lover...meeting with her father? He spotted her and his expression tightened. Lord, if her stomach had been jumping earlier, it was now sloshing like the morning after a wild Cinco de Mayo party.

Maybe, like her, he needed some extra business funds. That had to be it.

“Hey, Allie.”

“Cameron.” She nodded cordially rather than jumping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist the way she wanted to. As they passed one another, she pitched her voice low. “Are we still on for tonight?”

“Sure.”

Did he sound hesitant? Or guilty? Or was he just trying to keep things on the QT like they’d agreed? “Great.”

When she finally walked into her father’s office, Allie’s face was set with the polite-yet-resolute smile she used on door-to-door salesmen. She stopped a foot in front of her father’s desk, stared at his sterling-silver letter opener, a long-ago gift from her mother, and waited.

After one hundred twenty-two seconds—she knew because she counted every one of them—her father raised his head.

He scowled down at his watch and then at her. “Alice Ann, you are twenty minutes late. Your disregard for punctuality means this crucial conversation will be short and to the point.”