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“No, wait, Adam.”
Stephen stepped aside to let his siblings barrel by, a bemused smile aimed at Parker. “Another Sunday in paradise, I see.”
Parker shook his head. “For this, I gave up work.”
Stephen laughed lightly and gave his brother a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Spoken like a true Garrison, bro. But I bet the old man isn’t up in heaven saying, ‘I should have spent more days at the office.’ “
“What do you mean? You’re as much of a workaholic as I am,” Parker said as the two of them headed toward the back of the house, drawn by the scents of Lisette’s cooking and the possibility of a relaxing, private moment together.
Out of habit, they went straight through the bank of French doors to the veranda. A cool breeze blew the dozens of queen palms that lined the limestone patio, exotic scents of tropical flowers wafting from the planters that surrounded an Olympic-size pool that no one actually used.
Stephen ambled to the marble-topped wet bar and poured two fingers of Dad’s single malt into cut-crystal tumblers.
“In honor of the old man,” he said, giving one glass to Parker and holding the other in a mock toast.
“We’re as bad as mom,” Parker said drily.
“Nah. This is my first and it’s five o’clock.”
Parker acknowledged that with a nod. “Yeah, yeah.” But he barely sipped the hot, amber liquid, clunking the glass down on the bar. “It’s been a helluva week.”
Stephen pulled out a leather bar stool and settled next to his brother. “Tell me about it. The bastards are up to no good again.”
“Jefferies? What happened?”
“Remember that photo spread in Luxury Traveler I negotiated for the hotel?” Stephen said. “Fourteen pages of priceless coverage in one of the top travel magazines in the world?
I worked with the editorial director, schmoozed him, wined him, dined him, let him stay in the penthouse with a young woman who was definitely not his wife. Remember?”
“Of course,” Parker said. “That editorial coverage will be equivalent to a hundred thousand worth of ad dollars for the Grand.”
Stephen snorted. “Not anymore. He’s changed his mind and is waiting for Hotel Victoria to open. He’s using that as the background for the photo shoot and story about the latest hip and hot hotels in South Beach.”
“What?” Parker slammed his hand on the counter. “How did the Jefferieses swing that? No one even knew that story was in the works.”
No one, he thought as the whiskey turned bitter in his mouth, but the woman who sat outside his office. Maybe some others, but he distinctly remembered Anna knew about the deal because the editorial director of Luxury Travel had called him on more than one occasion.
“I’m royally ticked,” Stephen said. “But since it’s not paid advertising, my hands are tied. He said it was strictly an ‘editorial’ decision.”
Parker swore softly.
“We got a hole in the dam,” Stephen said. “And we can’t ignore it any longer.”
Parker took a deep drink of the scotch. “I think I know who it is.”
“You do? Who?”
He hesitated, but only for a moment. This was Stephen, and they had no secrets. “Anna.”
“Anna Cross? Your secretary?” Stephen stabbed his fingers through his hair in disbelief. “Is that why you’re dating her?”
“It didn’t start out that way, but then she said and did a few things that made me suspicious. Anyway, I’m not dating her. She wants to keep it all business.”
“Sure, so she doesn’t get fired and can keep her hands in your files.” Stephen sounded disgusted. “What are you doing about it?”
“I’ve tried a misinformation campaign, but that isn’t working. They didn’t bite on anything this week.”
“Then you’ll have to use a James Bond technique,” Stephen said, a half smile threatening. “Screw the truth out of her.”
A tremor of heat warred with distaste. Not screwing, not with Anna.
“She’s keeping me at arm’s length,” Parker said.
Stephen looked unconvinced. “Come on, ace. You can do this. You’re a master.”
“I really like her.” The admission sounded a little lame, but felt amazingly good. He did like her. Wasn’t that at the bottom of all his angst? It certainly explained the sudden desire to listen to the overture from Camelot.
“She’s using you.”
Was that even possible? She was so guileless. “I don’t know that for a fact.”
“Then find out.” Stephen stood to make his point. “Forget misinformation or seduction. Set her up and catch her in the act. Then you can fire her and we can stop this infernal leaking of proprietary information.”
Parker lifted his glass and swirled the remaining whiskey. “Seems kind of underhanded, don’t you think?”
“And spying on us and feeding information to Jordan and Emilio Jefferies is aboveboard?” Stephen tapped him on his shoulder. “What do you think your father would do?”
John Garrison would have set her up and taken her down in a heartbeat. Business before personal feelings. Business before anything.
“Hey, if she’s innocent,” Stephen added, “then you find that out, too. Then you can seduce her for real.”
“Seduce whom?” Brittany strolled onto the veranda and sidled up to her two brothers. “Who’s your next victim?”
“No one,” Parker said dismissively.
His brother was right; they had to know the truth. The thing was, if he was wrong, and Anna realized he suspected her, he’d never have a chance with her. Ever.
But if he was right, then he’d be doing the very thing the patriarch of the family should be doing: protecting the Garrison brand.
When it came down to that, he really had no choice.
Seven
By five o’clock on Monday, Anna thought she’d jump out of her skin. Or jump onto her boss’s. She’d spent every moment at work next to Parker, at times so close you couldn’t slide a hair between them. He seemed to need—or want—her for everything. He had her in his office reorganizing files, requiring her to stay in the room during his telephone conversations so she could take down pertinent information.
He brought in lunch and while they ate, he discussed the possibility of launching an ad campaign for the brand, an idea she’d certainly heard him reject in the past.
Forget the ad campaign. Forget the sudden outpouring of business issues. When he reached over and took her pickle off her paper plate, grinned and asked seductively, “You don’t mind sharing, do you?” Anna almost melted into his plush leather sofa. Which she had no right sharing with him, but that was where he’d set up lunch… like some kind of impromptu picnic.
Every overheated cell in her body ached from the torture of being so close without being able to touch, her senses bombarded with the pleasure of seeing him lean over a piece of paper to sign his name, that lock of hair nearly kissing his brow exactly the way she wanted to. Slack-jawed and weak-limbed and awestruck, she watched him shed his jacket at two, loosen his tie at four and unbutton his cuffs to reveal his powerful, broad wrists at five-thirty.
One more minute and she’d start on his belt buckle.
How long could this go on?
“Anna,” he chided when his PDA dinged softly. “We forgot the business council meeting tonight.”
“We did? I did?” She shuffled through the papers for his calendar. “I don’t have a business council meeting on your schedule.”
He started lowering the cuffs and buttoning them, sending relief and disappointment colliding through her.
“This meeting was added at the last minute by the board to discuss the next election,” he told her.
“That must be why I didn’t know about it,” she said. That or the fact that she’d gone way past distracted and had slid right into useless ever since they’d gotten back from London.
Maybe she was trying to sabotage her job; if she didn’t work for him, then she could act on all the chemistry she was absolutely certain she wasn’t imagining.
If she didn’t work for him, she could meet him here late at night and… Her gaze drifted to the leather sofa where they’d eaten lunch, her mind already imagining the stamp of his body on hers; the heat of his hands under her blouse; the wet, warm feel of his lips suckling her breasts—
“But it has to be done by tomorrow morning, so I’m afraid you’ll have to finish it tonight.”
What in God’s name was he talking about? “Which will entail…?” She scanned his desk for a clue to what he’d just told her to do.
“The usual, complete the spreadsheets. It won’t take you long. I’m sorry you have to work late. You didn’t have plans did you?”
Not unless jogging off nine hours of sexual frustration and then spending the rest of the night fantasizing herself right back into that blissful state constituted plans. “No, not tonight.”
“Good. To make it easier on you, I’ve left the data on my computer, so you can just input the spreadsheets right here.” He indicated his desk. “You don’t mind that, do you?”
Yes, she minded. She had to sit in his chair, his spicy aftershave lingering in the air, his computer under her fingertips. But what she really minded was that she had no idea what he was talking about.
“Um, Parker, which spreadsheet again?”
He laughed softly. “You seem a little distracted today, Anna. You okay?”
“I… I just…” She smoothed her hair and squared her shoulders. “Missing the business council on your calendar kind of threw me.”
He waved it off and dragged the charcoal suit coat back on. “I’m referring to the monthly property report for the executive committee. All of the profits from Garrison companies are rolled into that report. My brothers and sisters will be in here tomorrow morning for the exec committee meeting and we’ll go over it first thing.”
“Oh, of course.” Still she frowned, not remembering a document they’d done like that in the past. Didn’t all the Garrisons bring their numbers to the meeting individually, and announce them that morning? Why were they doing it this way?
He slipped some files—she was so distracted, she didn’t even know what—into his soft-sided leather briefcase and gave her an unreadable look, almost as if he was a little disappointed. He probably was—she hadn’t really done her usual bang-up job this week.
Plus, she was getting far less adept at hiding her attraction. Maybe he knew she said one thing to him about their physical relationship, but dreamed of another. Maybe he could tell she was really regretting her decision to keep their relationship strictly professional. Because she was. Deeply. Daily.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Anna.” What was that expression on his face? Expectation? Hope? Uncertainty? Something was on his mind, but he wasn’t saying. Was he hoping she’d change her mind, or had he moved on?
No. She wasn’t imagining the sizzle between them.
“I’ll be in at eight,” she promised him. “And the meeting starts at nine.”
He came around his desk and paused in front of her. Inches away, she could feel the heat of him, the sense that he was trying to tell her something nearly buckling her knees.
“Is there anything else, Parker?” Did he hear that note of need in her voice?
“No. There’s nothing else.” He lifted his hand and brushed a single stray hair from her face, the featherlight touch sparking her skin. Had he noticed she’d been wearing her hair down? “I just… I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” She pulled back. “For what?”
“Sorry you have to work late.”
She let out a quick breath, almost a laugh. “I always work late,” she assured him. “And going to a business council meeting isn’t exactly a fun time for all.”
He smiled, cocking his head exactly the way he would if he were going to kiss her. Her heart walloped so hard, he had to have heard it. Had to have noticed her lips parting, her eyes half closing. He dipped a centimeter.
He was going to kiss her. Her fingers tightened on the papers she held; her gaze dropped to his mouth; her gut clenched in anticipation.
He was going to kiss her, and she was going to kiss him right back.
“Good night,” he said gruffly, jerking himself away and marching across the office to the door.
Anna stood stone still for a full minute after the door slammed; the only thing moving was her poor, overworked heart as it tried to redirect blood back into her brain.
Finally, she sank into a chair and took a breath.
She had all night to do his spreadsheets. She needed that run in the worst way. The way she felt right now, she could tear down Biscayne Boulevard, cross the MacArthur Causeway and throw herself into the Atlantic Ocean and it wouldn’t erase the fire and need in her body.
But she would try.
“I gave her plenty of rope,” Parker said, taking a sip of the draft beer Stephen had just handed him. Instead of hops and wheat, he tasted misery. And regret.
“You gave her all fake numbers, right?” Stephen leaned back on Brittany Beach’s comfortable couches as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
He didn’t, Parker thought drily. Stephen hadn’t just arranged an elaborate setup that could ruin a woman he respected. A woman he liked.
A woman he wanted so bad he could howl at the rising moon.
“Yeah,” Parker said. “Every single line item a lie.” He checked his watch, imagining his dutiful secretary entering made-up profits into a spreadsheet. Would she e-mail that file directly to Jordan Jefferies?
“And you’re sure she’ll do the work on your PC, not hers?”
Parker nodded. “I set it up that way.”
“And you’re sure you installed the software?” Stephen prodded. “The one that tracks every keystroke?”
“Yes,” Parker answered impatiently.
“Cool stuff, isn’t it?”
