Stripped Down (2 page)

When she’d founded Preservations, she’d been so concerned about being singled out as Jameson’s daughter she’d gone into business under her mother’s maiden name—Wheeler. She’d also kept her name buried in the company directory, not touting her partial ownership. Distancing herself from both his name and his expectations had been a matter of self-preservation. She hated him for making it a necessity. She hated him more for continuing to steal moments like this from her.

“Cass?”

Running a hand around the back of her neck, she took a deep breath before looking at Gwen. “I’m working on it.”

“You need to have fun, let your hair down, dance on a few tabletops now and then. You’re not fooling me.”

“I know. Just...update my online dating profile
after
you tell me what the email says, okay?”

“Oh! Can I really update your profile?” Gwen grinned and did a little hip shimmy on the desk.

Cass sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes for a second. “Why do women who are about to get married always want to hook their friends up?”

“Because it makes us happy to think said friend, singular, is not destined to end up alone with subscriptions to multiple trashy tabloids that she reads aloud to the twenty-seven cats she lives with in an apartment that smells like tuna salad and vapor rub.” Gwen never stopped smiling. “Now, if you promise me I can update your profile, I’ll tell you what you want to know, since you’re not brave enough to read it yourself.”

“I promise,” Cass said between gritted teeth.

“Deal. The EPA cleared us straight across the board. We’re green-lighted to present the solutions to Sovereign Developments and its backers.”

“Straight across the board. They accepted everything.” Cass whispered the questions, but her intrepid spirit wound through the words so they came out with concrete assurance. Clearing her throat, she rose to her full height and squared her shoulders. The invisible fist that had been strangling her instinctive emotional response relaxed and, without warning, she erupted in a hip-shaking boogie dance, pumping her fists in the air with a scream. Yanking Gwen off the desk, she spun the woman in circles. Shouts and cheers rose outside the office door. Months of hard work and long hours had paid off. “Grab your partners and—”

“If she cries out ‘do-si-do,’ I’m outta here,” someone shouted.

“Funny guy,” Cass shouted back, laughing. “Grab your partners and meet us at Bathtub Gin tomorrow night. We can officially afford to say, ‘It’s on us!’”

Another cheer went up in the hallway, shouts and laughter weaving through the raucous group as everyone took a deep breath.

Cass realized she’d been clutching Gwen’s hand hard enough to mottle the woman’s skin. Releasing it, she stepped back. “Someday I’m going to get through this without you.”

Gwen shut the office door to a chorus of laughter as the group moved off. Turning, she leaned against the nearest bookshelf. “I hope you always need me, Cass.”

“I didn’t mean...” She ran fingers through her hair, disrupting the smooth chignon. Tucking the loosened pieces in place, she moved to stand over Gwen. In heels, it was easy to dwarf the petite blonde.

“You’re looming, love.”

“I know.” Cass leaned down and kissed the woman’s cheek.

“Does this mean I get a rose and you ask me to stay on your island?” Gwen demanded, hands on her hips.

Cass laughed, that kernel of dread morphing into something effervescent and pervasive, something suspiciously akin to hope. It spread through her limbs and left her feeling light and impossibly encouraged. “We now officially have two things to celebrate,” she said, letting a slow, seductive smile spread over her face.

Gwen stepped back, smacking into the door. “I know that look. That look says you’re going to get me in trouble with Dave. I’m getting married next Saturday, Cass. I can’t exactly return the dress, and I want that damn cake. We got a layer of peanut butter and jelly.” She slid along the door as Cass stalked forward.

“You’re the one who said to live a little.”

Gwen shook her head. “
You.
Not me.
You
live a little. I’ve lived. I’m tired of living. That’s why I’m getting married.” Her brow furrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Cass, Dave has specifically forbidden me from getting in over my head, and the expression on your face says you’re throwing me in the deep end in a total sink-or-swim, survival-style move.”

“Yep.” A feral grin tugged at Cass’s lips. She adored Dave, but no one would ever truly be good enough for Gwen. It just wasn’t possible.

“Swimming?” Gwen tugged at her collar. “I didn’t bring my bathing suit.”

“
Naked
swimming, Gwen.”

A sheen of sweat dotted her friend’s upper lip. “N-Naked?”

“As in, without clothes. Yes.” Cass reached out and grabbed her best friend’s wrist when she reached for the door. “Nope. No bailing. Dave will be fine with this. He’s no doubt getting the same treatment. You’re not leaving my side until the night’s over.”

“A bachelorette party?” Gwen gasped.

The sound of surprise struck Cass particularly hard. “You didn’t actually think I’d let you get married without a party, did you?”

“What happened to the emotionally suppressed pessimist? I want her back.”

“Too bad. You’re the one who told me to dance on a few tables. Besides, we still need to have my and Dave’s names tattooed on your ass. He gets left and I’ll always be right. It’s more poetic that way.”

“Tattoos?” Gwen squeaked, edging toward the door again.

Cass coughed to cover her laugh. “Truth?”

The smaller woman nodded, wide eyes never leaving Cass’s face.

“Nothing’s going to happen tonight that you don’t want to happen. Period. I’ve got your back, as always.” She arched a brow and slapped a cuff on Gwen’s wrist, fastening the other around her own before the other woman could react.

“You let me go right now, Ramona Cassidy Jameson, or I’m calling your father and informing him you’re a sexual deviant.”

“Stomp your foot and I swear I’ll dump your new Mac in the Sound.”

Gwen watched her for a minute and then smiled wide. “You would, too. That’s one of the reasons I like you so much. You don’t take shit from anyone, ever, and you always come out on top.”

“Because I fight to get there.” Cass grinned down at the vixen latched to her wrist. “Tonight? What you do, I do. That’ll keep things from getting too wild.”

“Too wild?” Gwen glanced up, biting her bottom lip. “How wild is too wild?”

Cass dragged a superficially reluctant Gwen out of the office to yet another round of cheers. As they waited for the elevator, Cass rattled their joined wrists. “How wild is too wild?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Fifty bucks says we find out tonight.”

* * *

E
RIC
R
EEVES WALKED
through the office, navigating cubicles, stopping here and there to exchange a word of encouragement or thanks, sometimes a laugh, with his employees. Sovereign Developments, the real estate development firm he’d founded on dollar bills and a dream, was on the cusp of a huge deal. After securing the rights to develop the Chok Resort on Lake Washington in a battle with David Jameson, an established developer, that had, at times, been brutal, they were waiting for the EPA to approve the environmental engineer’s plan. More importantly, they were waiting for the board to agree to
fund
the plan. In the meantime, he’d had to forgo his salary to make sure Sovereign could pay its bills, and he was working a second job to pay his
own
bills.

When the contracts between the parties were signed and Sovereign was officially the development firm of record, Eric would breathe again. Until then, he had a metric crapload of work to do, not the least of which involved long hours at his second job.

“Hey.” Eric’s assistant, Gretchen, fell into step beside him. “You’re on your fifth lap around the office. What’s up?”

“I’m not making laps. I’m managing,” he answered, smiling absently as he watched an engineer manipulate a drawing on his computer.

“Managing, huh?” She held out a clipboard with several papers attached. “Well, I need you to manage this while you wear the soles off your shoes.”

He took the clipboard and scanned the forms.
Payroll. Shit.
“How deep are we in it this time?” Gretchen’s studiously blank face was answer enough, but Eric wanted to hear it before he saw the numbers. “Prepare me, Gretch.”

“Let’s just say we’re going to be pushing the limits of our line of credit this pay period.”

His stomach tightened as bile rose in his throat.
Still,
he nodded and let one corner of his mouth curl up in a half smile. “Once we’re officially cleared on the Chok Resort, you’ll be able to stop hovering over the line of credit like a financial mother hen over her little brood of dollar signs.”

“I don’t hover,” Gretchen huffed. Her lips twitched. “Much.”

“Right. And I’m actually a leprechaun.”

“You’re too tall.”

He glanced over and arched a brow as he crossed his arms over his chest. His suit pulled at his shoulders. “Are you disparaging my people because I’m a physical anomaly?”

Gretchen laughed out loud, drawing several glances from around the room. “Eric says he’s a leprechaun,” she announced.

“Where’s my pot of gold?” someone shouted.

A discussion ensued regarding leprechauns and what people would do with the gold if they had it. Eric signed forms, keeping one eye on the clipboard and one ear on the chatter. The underlying energy in the room hummed along his skin like a small electrical current. He fed on it. It kept him moving forward, kept him focused and encouraged. As the owner and CEO of Sovereign, he had to ensure the company’s financial security and longevity, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to make sure that future was as secure as it could be.

Handing the signed forms to Gretchen with a word of thanks, he shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for the chief financial officer’s office.

Dan had been a financial whiz and good friend in college. Eric had recruited him fourteen months ago, spending a pretty penny to make sure Dan came on board. The guy could nearly project markets, could wring out the last cent from every investment and generally make a dollar go further than anyone else Eric knew. Beside himself.

Dan sat behind a beat-up desk, hammering away at his computer. He looked up as Eric came in and closed the door.

“Payroll. When will we be able to afford it?”

Dan swiveled back and forth, his old office chair groaning in protest as he rocked. “We’re pushing the financial envelope, Eric. The line of credit won’t support another payroll unless we supplement it with some kind of cash influx. The investors won’t come up with the cash until the deal is done, and we still don’t have a clear picture of how much Preservations’ plan is going to cost. If it’s too much, the board is going to balk. I have to have twenty grand just to make this week’s payroll, so if they postpone their decision, we’re screwed. Bottom line? We need your other source of income.” Dan spun a pencil between his fingers. “What is it that you do, anyway?”

Eric leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. “Whatever I have to.”

Or, to be more specific, whatever his alter ego, Dalton Chase, headline stripper for Beaux Hommes, had to do.

2

A
NXIETY RODE THE
hollow of Eric’s spine like a roller coaster, climbing to the top of his neck and crashing to his tailbone before climbing again. The club take had been dismal.

As he pulled up in front of the Harbormaster apartment building, he gave himself a mental shake. He still had the private party.
Either get in the game and make this pay off, or come up with another strategy.
The bachelorette party should be in full swing, and happy women were spenders. This was his chance to turn the night around. Reaching behind him, he grabbed his briefcase. The hostess had requested a businessman. Lucky him. It was the closest he ever came to mixing his day job with this one. In truth, it made him uncomfortable. He sold day and night. The only difference was the commodity on the table.

The valet looked over his age-scarred Honda with barely concealed disdain.

Eric’s free hand tightened into a fist. “Problem?”

“No.” Then the valet took in his tailored suit. “Sir.”

He tossed the guy his key and stalked away.
One hour, Eric. Shut your shit down for one hour.

The apartment lobby was immaculate, with a combination of marble floors and patterned blue carpet. He headed straight for the elevator bank, catching a car as a couple of guys exited. The elevator began its smooth ascension. When the car stopped and the doors opened again, Eric pasted on a smile and adjusted his tie.

Time to find out if luck really is a lady.

* * *

T
HE KNOCK AT
the door sent Cass’s heart into her throat.
Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap. It can’t be ten o’clock.
But it was. And that meant the evening’s entertainment was here. There was normally something to be said for a man who valued punctuality, but at the moment? It was the last thing Cass wanted. No doubt there were going to be questions from the guests, and she hadn’t drunk enough to answer them without blushing. Hell, there might not be enough alcohol in the building to save her face from going up in flames.

Grabbing Gwen’s hand, Cass wove through the crowd to the front door.

Gwen tugged on Cass’s grip. “What’s going on?”

“Someone knocked.”

Steeling herself, Cass yanked the door open. And stopped breathing. Completely.

Tall, probably six-three or six-four, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, the man wore a well-fitted business suit of dark gray with subtle pinstriping, complete with a solid, darker vest. A purple paisley tie and matching pocket square rounded out the look. His dark brown hair was damp and, cut in an executive’s cut, needed a trim. One broad hand smoothed his jacket. “Gwen Sivern?” he asked her. His voice was as fluid as hot caramel.