The Player's Club: Finn (5 page)

Her expression was as determined as a Sherman tank.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not trying to be a jackass, here. I tend to joke when I’m feeling boxed in. You were trying to show me who’s boss, and that sort of thing inevitably makes me want to push buttons. Still, the naked thing—” he shook his head “—was inappropriate, and I apologize.”

She looked surprised. Then she smiled.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice warming. “It could’ve been worse.”

He paused a beat. “So it’d be wildly inappropriate for me to ask you out to dinner, wouldn’t it?”

“Finn, did you hear a word I said?” she said quietly. “Your dad’s given me a direct order to get you out of the Player’s Club.”

“You’ll still need to
eat,
though, right?”

She laughed. He liked the sound of it—low and rich, like a brush of mink against his skin. “My job is to make you quit the Club…and from what I’ve seen, you’re not going to just go along with it. So I’m probably going to be making your life a living hell until you do what I need you to do.”

He grinned. “You’ll try, anyway. But I’ve got some skills.” He winked again. “So you do your best, and we’ll see who wins.”

“I don’t play games,” she murmured, but he could see it, the light of battle in her eyes. The challenge.

He felt his heart rev for a second, his body tingling, just like it did when…

He smiled as awareness hit him.

Just like it did before his favorite challenges.

“I’ll be seeing you, Finn,” she promised, then she walked away, her determined stride still ruthlessly sexy.

“I sure hope so,” he said. “Let the games begin.”

3

TWO DAYS AND three thousand miles later, Diana thought with disgust, and her stomach danced nervously whenever she so much as thought of Finn…and considering Finn had become her topmost priority, she couldn’t help but think of him often.

It would help if you didn’t think about him naked, though.

She closed her eyes, resisting the urge to put her head down on the steering wheel of her BMW. She needed to have sex. Why else would she be so distracted by a superhot, superrich, superspoiled pretty boy, who had never worked a day in his life?

Without warning, a vision of him, nude, his body cut like a Greek sculpture, popped to the forefront of her mind, and her whole body flushed with desire.

Yeah, why would you be attracted to that?

She got out of her car and slammed the door with unnecessary force. Even if her current task was to ruin his fun-filled life, he wasn’t her type.

And God knew, she wasn’t
his
type. Although she wasn’t quite sure what that type was, now that she thought about it.

And he was Thorn’s
son.

And he was five years younger than her.

And it was utterly, completely impossible.

Whatever the reason was, there was no chance of acting out any of the fantasies currently sneaking their way into her subconscious, so she needed to nip this attraction in the bud. Immediately.

Now that you’ve eliminated all hope of ever getting that hottie in bed, why don’t we try focusing on the matter at hand?

By the time she made her way along the hallways of Macalister Enterprises, she felt more in charge, more herself. Quickly, she navigated through the maze of cubicles on the second floor to a small office in the marketing department.

Before she could figure out a plan to deal with Finn, she had to know more facts. She needed to start from the beginning.

Diana bypassed the departmental assistant outside George Macalister’s office and went right to the source. George was chatting away on a cell phone. When he noticed her, he sent her a leering smile. “I’ll call you back,” he told whoever was on the phone with him, then he clicked the phone shut. “Well, well. If it isn’t the Hammer. I haven’t done anything that merits a visit from my uncle’s enforcer, have I?”

What a goof.
She smiled politely, then closed the door behind her, even though it was a bit like sitting in a walk-in closet. Despite the nepotism, obviously Thorn had intended George to start at the bottom, or close to it.

“I need to talk to you privately,” she began, only to have him interrupt.

“How privately are we talking?” He leaned forward.

She ignored the innuendo and sat down in his guest chair. “I need to know how you found out Finn is in the Player’s Club.”

His eyes widened, then he shrugged. Nervous, she noted, and wondered if perhaps he wasn’t making the whole thing up to try to discredit Finn. She’d heard that the two cousins used to be close, but in the eight years total she’d been with Macalister Enterprises, she’d never witnessed anything that suggested it. Of course, she tried not to keep track of the young Macalisters as the older ones kept her busy enough.

“I know because for a while we were both involved in the Club.”

Her eyebrows went up a fraction. “Really.”

He scowled. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“Why don’t you convince me,” she said, instead, then held up a hand when he looked ready to launch into another one of his lame sexual references. “Tell me everything you can about the Club, give me any type of information or proof you have.”

“We were all sworn to secrecy.”

“That’s touching,” she said. “And yet, I don’t care. What proof do you have?”

“I don’t have, like, photos or anything,” he protested. “I almost had video, but the bastards—including Finn—broke into my house and took it. He
helped
them.”

“I’d heard your house was broken into and that you were getting help from the chief of police,” Diana said. “So if you know who broke into your house, why isn’t Finn under arrest?”

She crossed her arms. She was one of the Macalister family lawyers, in fact, she was head counsel. She knew when things were going on. The fact that George had done something to get the chief of police mad at him had not escaped her attention—nor the fact that George’s family had sold the sumptuous house George once used to live in, which meant they’d essentially kicked him out. The breaking and entering charge had been dropped hastily.

If George thought he could manipulate her, he was even dumber than he looked.

George reddened. With his pale skin and red hair, the flush was unattractive. “I didn’t have enough proof.”

“Ah. Well, I’m not the police, George. I don’t need to make a case for the prosecution.”

“What
do
you need?”

“I need to get Finn out of the Club,” she said. “If that doesn’t work, then I could just make sure the thing is out of commission. No Club, no Finn problems. So why don’t you tell me what you
do
have, and I’ll go do my job. All right?”

He looked to be concentrating on something.

A thought occurred to her. “George, are you afraid that somebody in this club might hurt you?” Wow, what
had
Finn gotten into? “If you break your silence?”

She saw the incredulousness on his face and, a split second later, it evaporated. Putting on an overblown mask of concern, instead, he said, “Not scared, just…nervous. When I joined the Club, I thought it was going to be fun—parties, rowdy stuff. But the guy running it, Lincoln—he’s got a past. Lots of secrets. He’s a dictator, likes to be in charge, wants everybody to do things his way.”

“Is he forcing Finn to do these dangerous challenges?”

“Are you kidding?” George said dismissively. “That’s pure Finn. He’s forcing
other
people to do stuff, more and more life threatening. He’s taking the philosophy, and he’s…
twisting
it.” George was all but pleading with her. “I don’t even know him anymore. I think…he might hurt himself. Or…someone else.”

Her crap-ometer went into the red, and she sighed. George wasn’t going to be winning an acting award anytime soon. He was trying to discredit Finn, pure and simple. Perhaps it was time to do a little research into George’s activities, as well.

“Do you know where they meet? How many of them there are?”
Anything useful?

“The meeting location changes all the time. There’s about thirty members, but I got out with a lot of other people when Lincoln took over.” His expression turned crafty, and he grabbed a piece of paper. “I can give you a few names, but that’s the best I can do. Please, don’t tell anyone I gave you this information.”

“I’ll be discreet,” she said, forcing herself not to roll her eyes as he furtively handed her the folded paper. She stood up, eager to get out of the cramped office and away from George. “If I have any further questions, I’ll call.”

“You know,” he said, standing up, as well, “it’s almost lunchtime. Maybe we could have something to eat. I could tell you about some of the adventures I had when I was a Player.”

Ugh, gag. “I’m not hungry, and I have a ton of things to do today,” she replied, keeping her voice neutral.

“Maybe some other time,” he shifted the point easily. “Or how about dinner?”

“I don’t date clients.”

“I’m not your client,” he countered, and got into her personal space.

She yanked open the door, shoving him a little with her elbow until he jumped away. “Technicalities. Keep up the good work, George.”

George was up to something, she thought. Fortunately, he seemed to lack follow-through, and right now, he was the lesser of her problems. As she headed to her office, she opened the piece of paper George had handed her. There were only a few names, but the one he’d written at the bottom was underlined.

Lincoln Stone,
she mused. She’d start with him.

GEORGE LEFT WORK EARLY, heading for his favorite hangout, a bar about ten minutes away from Macalister Enterprises—close enough, but not so close that he’d run into other people from work. He got his usual booth and his usual order—a dirty Stoli martini. Then he sat and waited.

Victor, one of the aspiring accountants toiling away beneath Macalister’s chief financial officer, showed up, managing to look equal parts scared and irritated. He was tall, stick-thin, with mouse-brown hair and a receding hairline, somewhere in his early forties. “I got here as soon as I could,” he said, slipping into the booth. “Couldn’t we have met somewhere more private?”

“He’s not trying to shag you, Victor,” another voice said, low, with a distinct British accent. “Are you, George?”

George grinned, even as Victor looked uneasy when the newcomer, “Jonesy” St. James, neatly boxed him in on the other side of the booth.

“Just water for me,” ordered Victor. George saw sweat beginning to bead on the man’s forehead.

“Double Johnnie Walker Black, neat,” Jonesy added, dismissing the waitress. “What’s going on, George?”

“Diana Song came to see me today,” he said, and was gratified to see Victor white as a ghost.

“What?
Why?
” Victor squeaked.

“Wait a minute,” Jonesy interrupted. “Who’s Diana Song?”

“She’s the lead counsel for the family. Sort of like my uncle’s
consigliore,
to use a mob expression,” George said, leaning back against the upholstered seating. “She’s also his fixer—the one who makes sure things run smoothly.”

“She’s onto us,” Victor said, and quickly motioned for the waitress to return to their booth. “I’ll have a Cosmo.”

“You will
not,
” Jonesy said, with a laugh. “God, man, have you no shame? Do you carry a purse, as well?”

“Relax, Victor,” George said. “She was asking questions about the Player’s Club. And here’s the beauty part—Uncle seems to have assigned Finn to her.”