Stripped Down (20 page)

“Ms. Jameson? Should I have them delivered or would you like to come pick them up?”

“Keep them,” Cass whispered.

Numb, she resumed the trek through her apartment, all the while trying to ignore the devastating feeling Marcus had been telling her the truth.

About all of it.

15

C
ASS STOOD IN
the Caston Building’s parking garage fighting to breathe. She hadn’t had a full-blown panic attack in more than two years, but this little band-around-the-chest-I’m-having-a-heart-attack feeling promised to be a doozy.
Stupid, fracking Marcus. It’s all his fault.
And it was. If he hadn’t worked her up about Dalton, she’d be fine—or at least able to breathe.

Chewing her bottom lip, she absently picked at a cuticle, a nervous habit. She forced herself to stop. She couldn’t go into the presentation with ragged fingers. That would be just fantastic—she put so much effort into looking like the Ice Princess she’d been dubbed only to have her rough fingers relay her nerves loud and clear. Right. Fantastic.

Taking several deep breaths, she shook out her hands and did a quick assessment. Skirt was zipped. She ran her hands around her waist and hips. No strange bulges where her shirt was tucked in. Except... Crap. There was always one part of her shirt that wadded up and needed to be smoothed at the last minute. Opening her car door, she half crouched behind it and ran her hand up her skirt, fishing for the shirttail. Fear that someone would see her was a far second to her fear that somehow Marcus was watching. As always, her father had found a way to influence her life.

Stealth proved useless. She stood and twisted herself into an approximation of an origami swan as she bent and pushed and pulled to get everything just right, then had to fix her bra as a result. Pinpricks of sweat dotted her brow when all was said and done.

“Damn it.” The low epithet was issued softly and for her benefit only.
Words. Simply words.
But they allowed her to vent a little of the building pressure.

“Stressing out?”

Cass spun around so hard and fast she bounced her hip off the neighboring car. “Damn it!” This time the epithet was yelled. “Don’t do that to me.”

Gwen shrugged. “Look. I’m getting married in seventy-two hours. I’ve got so much more stress on me right now than you do, there’s no way you’re getting any sympathy.
Capisce?
”

Heart in her throat, Cass nodded. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s only...”

Gwen moved close and hugged Cass. “This deal isn’t about you besting your father. It isn’t about you one-upping him in the real estate world or showing him you’ve arrived or anything else you might be thinking.”

“I can’t help but feel like I’m aiding and abetting the enemy. I found out how my father always seems to know my movements. I’m scared he’s going to somehow use me to win the project back from Sovereign.”

“What? What happened?” Gwen demanded.

So Cass explained, all about Marcus, from him following her to his crazed pursuit of her.

Gwen ran a hand up and down Cass’s arm and stared up at her, eyes solemn. “You should’ve called me. I would’ve come over so you didn’t have to face this alone.”

That was part of the issue. She could’ve called Gwen, but she hadn’t. She’d wanted to call Dalton, had even gone so far as to pick up the phone. But she hadn’t called him, either. Scared he’d come down on her for making something out of nothing, that he’d sound like her father and ruin what she felt for him, had terrified her. And, if she was totally honest, Marcus had succeeded in planting a kernel of doubt in her heart where Dalton was concerned.

Gwent laid a hand on her arm. “Cass?”

“I’m fine.” She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. Listen to me,” Gwent said, an undercurrent of rage fueling her words. “You could’ve handed the project to your father if you’d wanted to. You could’ve made it impossible for Sovereign to possibly gain the EPA’s approval, and then turned the project over to your father. You didn’t. You let the process go through each phase, respected the rules of the system and let the bidding fall as it would. The developers could have chosen another environmental firm to handle the runoff issues. They liked our proposal best.

“And as for your assistant? We’ll deal with her when this meeting is done.”

“But—”

“No,” Gwen snapped. “Stop it, Cass. You’re going to second-guess every move we’ve made and go in there with doubts. Stop it.” Gwen paused, considering Cass intently. “You’ve always been the stronger of the two of us. Where’s this coming from? What’s going on?”

Cass rolled her lips in to stop herself from picking at her fingernails again.

Gwen crossed her arms and stared at her with a fierce glare that spelled trouble. “Spill, woman.”

“I’ve been with Dalton.”

“I know.” The petite blonde waggled her eyebrows. “You’ve been tight-lipped about things with him since you met him.”

Cass closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe around her heart that had firmly lodged itself in her throat. “It’s more than just being with him, Gwen.”

“Hey. What’s going on?”

No way was Cass ready for this conversation. She just couldn’t. It was all too raw, too
real
to deal with right now. “We can talk about it after the presentation.”

“We’re almost forty-five minutes early. We can take fifteen minutes to talk,” Gwen said gently. “C’mon.” Grabbing her wrist, Gwen pulled her to the back of the Preservations’ truck that Cass had driven this morning. Dropping the tailgate and hopping up, she crossed her legs with a deliberate scissor kick and gestured grandly for Cass to join her.

Cass couldn’t help but smile. “This is your version of a therapist’s couch?”

“A woman must use the tools available to her. That means this is my confidential office and, by default, this is, indeed, my couch. Now, pull up a butt-crushing metal cushion and tell me what’s going on.”

Slipping onto the tailgate, Cass crossed her legs and leaned back on her hands. Instinct had her surveying the area for Marcus. She couldn’t believe he’d simply leave her be. Not after this morning. Gwen needed to know what was happening no matter how much it humiliated Cass.

She reached up to run her hands through her hair and remembered she’d put it up in a tight chignon. Fidgeting with her skirt hem instead, she sighed. “Let me sum it up for you. I’ve had the best six days of my life, and they started when Dalton walked through my apartment door. Yes, there’s been sex—
amazing
sex—but that’s not it. Or, at least, it’s not all of it.” She stopped fidgeting and brought her fingertips to her lips, smiling. “We laugh and talk way too late into the night, though we’re still dancing around some of the finer points of our lives. No skeletons out of the closet, I guess. Just talk. There’s no pressure on me about being a Jameson. He doesn’t want me for any reason other than because I’m me.
Me,
Gwen.
Just
me. My family isn’t part of some sexual negotiation. It’s just us in that bedroom.

“And then? The other day? We went to the Market and he bought me wildflowers before we got takeout and Two-Buck Chuck and went back to his place to eat, drink and watch
Phantom of the Opera
in bed.”

“
Phantom,
huh? He’s pulling out the big guns.”

“He knows I love musicals, and he likes them, too.” She shifted onto her hip and, propping herself on one hand, said what she’d been so afraid to say. “He fills this part of me I didn’t even realize was empty, Gwen. It’s as if he’s the only thing in life I was missing, and it scares the hell out of me. I don’t know that I need him, exactly, but I want him. Desperately.”

Gwen slid off the tailgate and stood, offering Cass her hand. When she hesitated, Gwen wiggled her fingers. “Come here.”

Cass went to her feet and took Gwen’s hand.

“When I met Dave, there was this...this...
connection.
He plugged into a hollow part of me and I was suddenly energized. Things were better because he was with me, no matter what they were. Oh, I would have been fine without him. I could have lived and been happy. But now I’m happier. Life’s just better with him than it is without.”

“Exactly.” Cass nodded vigorously.

Gwen stroked a thumb over Cass’s hand. “You’re still you—independent, strong, goal-oriented. You’re just finding more strength in being with him than in being without. And you’re a fool if you walk away from that out of fear.”

The fear comment made the skin on the back of Cass’s neck crawl. “I think a little fear is justified. Marcus dropped a vague warning about Dalton. I didn’t get it, and I didn’t stick around to ask questions.”

Gwen’s eyes narrowed as she smiled. “I want to stick that asshole in a tiny cage with a very angry, male-hating, extremely hungry lioness with only half her teeth so she can gnaw on him awhile.”

Cass nervously nodded. “You scare me a little.”

“I’d rather scare him.” The petite blonde sighed. “Marcus Assholius aside, you mentioned fear. You don’t have to be so afraid of falling in love, sweetie.”

“I’m not f-falling...” She stuttered to a stop. Love? No. This wasn’t love with Dalton. Not yet. It was very intense like and electric chemistry, yes. But love? Love took time.

Gwen glanced at her watch. “We need to do a quick review before we go in there, give you a chance to get your mind back in the game. We’ll deal with your assistant and Marcus later. And, for what it’s worth...I know how it feels to be right there on the cusp of falling. It’s scary as hell. But the actual fall?” She grinned, her eyes bright. “There’s nothing like it.”

Fear wrestled with hope, a slippery, Jell-O tub fight to the bitter end in her mind. It was a visual mess. She let her eyes slip closed and thought of Dalton, of leaving his sleepy form in bed this morning. He’d smiled at her, tempting her to stay in so many ways. Everything about him made her want to be with him more, to have him in her life on a more permanent basis.

“But what if I’m not sure I want to fall? What if I’m not entirely sure whom I’m falling for? Like I said, no skeletons out of the closet yet.”

“Falling is only part choice, sweetie. But that choice requires bravery and faith,” Gwen said so softly Cass had to focus to hear her. “You’ve always been brave. As for the faith? If he’s captured the most elusive part of you? Find faith in him. Don’t lose him to cowardice and distrust.”

Toes curled over the edge of that terrifying precipice, Cass opened herself to the possibilities and leaped.

She was officially falling in love with Dalton Chase.

16

E
RIC PACED THE
length of his office. Less than an hour until the moment of truth that would either carry him away in a rush of success or roll over him and leave him as broken and disregarded as roadkill. He huffed. The roadkill analogy might be a little strong, he supposed. A negative outcome wouldn’t kill him, but it would undoubtedly drive him to wish it had. He couldn’t imagine telling his assistant, whose husband had just lost his job, that she too was losing hers. Or facing down his project manager and explaining to her that she’d have to sort out the unemployment process as well as the unexpected divorce filing by her husband. Particularly hard would be informing his development analyst, a friend he’d recruited straight out of college, that his first job reference would come from a defunct company. Not much to analyze in that.

On the next pass by his desk, Eric grabbed his roll of antacids and popped a couple. The chalky grit didn’t bother him anymore. Hell, these things were the equivalent of after-dinner mints to him now.

He stopped—stopped pacing, stopped chewing, stopped stewing—as his mind went to the conversation with Cass where she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable and he’d made some inane comment about after-dinner mints. Warmth bloomed inside him. She’d smiled at him then, laughed even, and it had spurred him down the reckless road that led him here, to this moment.

It dawned on him that the success of this meeting meant a great deal to the success of their relationship. If he could stop saving soda bottle caps for the freebies, stop fearing every check he wrote would bounce, stop freaking stripping, he could stop focusing on the immediate crises in his life and actually start looking ahead. Without that choice, there was no future for them. He couldn’t pay for the rare nice dinner in ones and occasional fives and not be reminded of how he’d almost made it. He couldn’t explain that in a few years, when younger guys took over as the premier dancers, he’d be job hunting with an outdated degree and no viable résumé. She’d understand the concept, but the reality would leave her bitter and resentful. That was something he wouldn’t risk. He’d cut her free first.

“What the hell?” he grumbled, giving his executive’s chair a hard shot to the backrest that sent it careening across his office and bouncing off the far wall. Snatching up his coffee cup, he lifted it but didn’t drink as he stared out across the plans for the modest business development. He hadn’t lost the deal, yet here he stood, sucking down shit for his stomach problems, mentally laying off staff and cutting Cass loose? “Get your shit together, Reeves. You didn’t get this far by being the chick who trips in the woods in every slasher flick. You’ve done the legwork. You’ve worked all the angles. You managed to outmaneuver David Jameson. You’ve proved your better than this. You’re smarter than this.” He snorted into his cup and muttered, “And by golly, people like you.”

He took a sip of lukewarm coffee and wondered for the hundredth time what Cass was doing this morning, how her meeting was going. Hopefully her prep work had paid off. He’d never seen a woman as driven to succeed. They hadn’t talked about their daily lives much. Not yet, anyway. There had been too much to learn about each other in every moment, too much to process about who they were without the bullshit of job titles and salaries and career tracks. And, if he were honest, he hadn’t wanted her to know about the very real possibility he might lose his shirt because he simply wasn’t good enough to hang on to it.