Stripped Down (11 page)

“That’s only because you’ve never seen me in the boardroom.”

He laughed, hugged her and headed for the bedroom door. “I’ll leave my cell number on your fridge. If you’re free before one, come by the club. Otherwise, give me a call and we’ll connect. Okay?”

The butterflies in her stomach told her there was only one answer that would suffice.

“See you tonight.”

9

S
LOGGING THROUGH THE
entire presentation for the Sovereign Development project had taken every bit of the nine hours at the office Cass had allocated. Checking and double-checking geographical surveys, evaluating habitat impact and the viability of the natural conservation area the resort would sponsor, recalculating estimated slope post construction to ensure everything was right—it all took time.

In the end, though, she knew Preservations was ready. The owner of Sovereign would actually be at the meeting, and she was a little worried about that. She’d heard he was a real hard-ass about cost savings, but the solutions she and her team had proposed were the right ones. Maybe not the cheapest, but the EPA clearly agreed they had identified the best options. And with the resort’s location on Lake Washington, the right solution would carry the development a long way with local environmental groups.

Rolling up the final set of plans, she tucked them into the cardboard tube and laid them next to the others on her drafting table. Everything was ready for Monday. She could take tomorrow off and spend it with Dalton.

A digital bell sounded. Grabbing her bag, she dug through it and retrieved her cell, thumbing to the text message.

Dinner has been moved to 7:00, same location. Marcus.

Glancing at the clock, she realized she wouldn’t be able to make it there by seven. Her father abhorred tardiness. By bumping up the dinner plans, he’d made it impossible for her to arrive on time.

“Jackass,” she muttered, shoving her cell in her bag and fighting the urge to run for the door. No matter what she did, she was going to be late. He’d set her up to fail, putting her off balance before she even arrived.

Anger surfed the waves of nausea cresting in her stomach. This was so typical of him. He couldn’t just
tell
her what he wanted. No, he had to set up a situation where the dinner table became the boardroom and nothing was what it seemed. Every comment would hold innuendo and every response would harbor repercussions.

The garage door slammed behind her, splitting the silence of the vacant parking garage as she stalked to her car, the sharp staccato clip of her heels loud in the low-ceilinged space.

Nothing about tonight held much promise. At least Dalton would be there at the end. Although how they would meet up again was another minefield. Having him come to Bathtub Gin would only invite gossip, and going to the strip club was out of the question.

Maybe she could get him to meet her at her place.... Fingers pressed against her lips, she smiled. All day she’d been trying—and failing—to keep her mind off his kiss, his taste, his tongue. A shiver ran through her and she rubbed her thighs together.
Man, that tongue.
He’d been amazing, the most thorough and attentive lover she’d ever experienced.

And there was more to it than just a one-night, casual fling. He’d held his own with her. He’d been compassionate but not soft, generous but not overbearing. He’d also seen through her, cutting through to the source of her anxiety and making her feel safe. How he’d known what to say, what to do, to alleviate the worry still dumbfounded her. No one,
no one,
read her that well except Gwen, and that had taken years for her friend to perfect.

A soft mist fell, growing dense enough to require intermittent wipers by the time she made it to the restaurant’s valet parking. Waiting in line for an attendant, she dug out her small makeup kit, touching up her powder and applying fresh lipstick. It would have to do.

Annoyance stabbed at her temples when she saw Marcus step out the front doors to greet her. Wherever her father was lately, Marcus followed. Tall and decidedly handsome in a cultivated, moneyed way, she had to admit he was easy on the eyes. That didn’t mean she wanted to spend her mornings waking up to his face. The sooner he accepted that fact, the better.

Dalton’s sleepy grin flashed through her mind. He’d been so sexual and raw, primal even, when he woke up this morning. She bit her bottom lip. Cursing softly, she scrubbed the fresh lipstick off her teeth with one finger.

Marcus said something to the valet supervisor, slipped him a few bills and pointed at her car. The man nodded and started toward her. Several other drivers shifted irritably to see what was going on, who she was to merit immediate attention. One man went so far as to roll his window down and say something sharp to the valet. The young man nodded and replied, but he still skipped the three cars in front of her to help her out of her car before issuing a claim ticket and slipping into the driver’s seat.

A firm hand settled on her waist and pulled her into an equally hard body. “You look amazing.”

Closing her eyes, she took a moment to center herself. “Please remove your hand from my hip, Marcus.”

“You don’t need to be so cold, Cass. I’m simply guiding you to the restaurant. I’ll take you wherever you want to go,” he murmured, infusing his words with suggestive sexuality that crawled over her skin.

“You mean that big building right in front of me, well-lit and overflowing with activity? I’m relatively certain I can find it myself, thanks.” Her words were as hot as his response was cold.

“You certainly weren’t averse to having a man’s hands all over you earlier.”

She stepped out of his reach and whipped around to face him. “Excuse me?”

“I saw you with him, you know. The view was great from the lobby.” He considered her briefly. “But why would you send a man up the side stairs instead of bringing him through the main entrance with you? Ashamed of him?”

Fury, both at being spied on and at the truth in his statement, made her lash out. “That had nothing to do with you. Learn to take no for an answer already.” Wrapped in anger, she spun and started for the restaurant doors.

He kept pace with her. “You came in from the rain, eyes bright and lips swollen. Don’t play the objecting female with me, Cassidy.” He seemed to pull himself together as he opened the front door and gestured her in. “Your father is waiting. After you.”

She nearly leaped away, putting enough distance between them that he couldn’t touch her without it being awkward. Heart lodged in her throat, she wanted to run. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to verbally slice him up. Nothing would come together for her, though. All she could do was half walk, half jog to the front doors and slip inside, where Marcus was less likely to touch her again.

The coat check representative took her Burberry and issued yet another claim ticket. Slipping it inside her clutch, she paused in front of the maître d’. “David Jameson’s table.”

Marcus took her by the elbow and steered her around the podium. “We’ve already been seated. Right this way, Ms. Jameson.”

One more thing to throw me off balance.
She let him direct her toward a quiet table in the back, but she yanked her arm free before she slipped into the chair he pulled out for her. Her father didn’t bother to rise.

David Jameson picked up his signature bourbon and took a generous sip, considering her over the rim of the glass. “You’re late.”

She squelched the urge to apologize at the last second. Instead, she ground out, “You made it impossible for me to be otherwise.”

“I push you to be better, to anticipate. What you do, or fail to do, is on your shoulders. Not mine.”

A thread of hurt wove through the fabric of her emotions, malignantly eating a hole in her self-righteous anger. She clung to that anger, though, refusing to yield. He wanted to goad a response from her, and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

Snapping her napkin out and laying it across her lap before the waiter had a chance, she glared across the table. “You taught me to have broad shoulders.”

He paused, highball glass halfway to his lips, and waited.

Cass shrugged. “Broad shoulders were the only way I could ensure I had plenty of room to carry the disappointment you constantly heaped on me.”

David Jameson’s eyes glittered dangerously.

Bracing herself, she waited.

His gaze shifted when the waiter appeared at her shoulder and asked for her drink order.

“Michelob Light in the bottle,” she answered, daring her father with a stare to comment on her “common” drink choice.

He said nothing.

Until the waiter left.

Leaning forward, he set his glass down with the same calculated precision he seemed to do everything. Everything but love her. Forearms on the table, he laced his fingers together. “I understand your little engineering venture received EPA approval for the Chok Resort.” A slow blink. “Tell me about your runoff solutions and cost estimates for implementation.”

The waiter returned and set her drink down in front of her. He offered to take their dinner orders, but Cass stopped him. “Could you give us a few minutes? I haven’t even looked at the menu.”

“Of course.” With a nod to the men, the waiter left.

Turning her attention back to her father, she forced her hands to remain open and light in her lap. Neither man needed to see the stress winding its way through her. Her father, in particular, would assume he was affecting her. Of course he would. And he’d be right. But she refused to hand him the evidence.
To hell with him.

“You’re asking me to share proprietary information?” She took a slow sip of her beer.

“It’s not proprietary. You’re family. You have an obligation,” he responded so softly she was forced to lean forward to hear him.

“I have an obligation to my
client
to serve his best interests, and it’s in his best interest for me to keep that information confidential. I don’t owe the family anything.” The vehemence with which she delivered that last caught her off guard. She’d never voiced that particular sentiment. Oh, she’d
thought
it, had definitely believed it, but hadn’t
said
it.

Her father flattened his hands on the table and leaned forward, his voice containing the hard edge he used to intimidate his opponents. Too bad for him she’d grown up hearing it. “You listen to me, Cassidy Jameson. I received information this morning that the development company has run into funding problems. That means I have the opportunity to seize control of the project. We’re talking a seven-figure paycheck here, Cassidy. For the family. I’ll make sure enough business is funneled to your little engineering effort you’ll have to double staff just to keep up.”

She pulled the napkin from her lap, pushing away from the table and standing. Her breath came in short, shallow puffs. “You’re offering to pay me for information.”

Her father also rose, and Marcus followed suit. “I’m offering to pay you more than the competition to ensure the job goes to the most competent development company. Nothing more.”

“No. You’re
bribing
me. Color it any way you want, but what you’re doing is both unethical and illegal.” She dropped her napkin on the table. “I don’t work that way, Mr. Jameson, and neither does Preservations.”

He arched a brow at her. “Always so naive, even when faced with irrefutable facts. Your company does, indeed, work that way.”

Stomach going into free fall, Cass realized what he was saying—the information about the EPA clearance had come from a mole inside her company. Bile burned her throat and forced her to swallow convulsively. “Not naive, just disappointed, but that sentiment doesn’t change my answer. You’re not getting the information, not from me or anyone on my payroll.” Forcing herself to casually retrieve her claim tickets for her coat and car from her purse, she tucked her handbag under her arm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other obligations.”

“Don’t walk away from this, Cassidy,” Marcus said, his tone low.

“Never think you can tell me what to do.” She pushed her chair under the table. “Don’t ever come near me again. Either of you.” Moving with famed Jameson precision, she turned and strode toward the front of the restaurant, ignoring Marcus’s soft demand that she stop.

Her hands shook as she accepted her coat. They shook when she tipped the valet. They shook when she gripped the steering wheel in her car. They were still shaking when she reached Bathtub Gin for the company celebration.

She had a feeling they wouldn’t stop until she was in Dalton’s arms again.

* * *

E
RIC CUT HIMSELF SHAVING.
Twice. As pissed off as he was, he was lucky he hadn’t slit his throat. His brother had finally called him back—on his bus ride home. He’d explained he wasn’t eligible to reenroll at school until his tuition was paid via certified funds. Those were funds Eric didn’t have.

He nicked himself again.

“Keep this up and you’ll go on stage looking like you were shaved by Sweeney Todd,” he muttered with the last swipe of his blade.

Dabbing at the nicks and cuts, he cleaned himself up before grabbing a pair of jeans and a rugby shirt, slipping into the pants but tossing the shirt onto the bed. No need to bleed all over the collar.

Cass had a thing at Bathtub Gin tonight. He had to wonder if she’d show up at the club afterward. The thought made him a little ill. There was no shame in doing what he did for a living, but he didn’t want her to see him dance on stage or work the floor afterward. It was a far cry from dinner at the Metropolitan. Pacing, he let his mind wander while he waited for the deepest wound to stop bleeding.
What’s she doing? What kind of lingerie will she wear today? Is she daydreaming about me? About us?

The last thought made him laugh out loud. “I’m turning into the stereotypical woman in this relationship.” That word,
relationship,
still made his stomach do this lazy roll followed by an impossible twist, as if it was a member of the Mongolian contortionists’ troupe.