Chapter 7 #2
Unbidden, my hand reaches up and pushes a lock of dark hair off his forehead where it threatened to tangle in his lashes. But the touch freezes both of us for a long moment where I don’t breathe or blink. He recovers first, pulling my hand down and pushing it back toward my own lap.
“Court, so what do you know about the investor meeting Ross and I had?”
I get the feeling that sentence—the way he said my name—began one place and ended somewhere very different.
“No details. You and Ross have been bragging about it for weeks, though.” I smile, trying to get us back to the normalcy we had before I went and touched him.
We always have common ground in giving Ross a hard time.
But Kaede doesn’t smile. “Did it go well?” Still no response. “Oh, no, did it fall through? You two will be okay without it, right? I know how financially careful you and Ross both are.”
Kaede laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Rather, it’s more of a gallows, mirthless laugh. He runs his hands through his hair, pulling at the strands, and I’m a witness to how his hair got that sexy, messy look. “No, it didn’t fall through, exactly, but it sure as fuck didn’t go according to plan.”
“Definitely seems to be the day for plans going awry. Tell me what happened.”
He scrubs his hands over his face, the five o’clock shadow making a scraping sound against his palms. Under his breath, he mutters, “How in the fuck? Just get it over with. Out with it, McWarren.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s nervous. But he is Kaede ‘K-Dawg’ McWarren, fighter of monsters, eater of obstacles, and conqueror of challenges. He’s the utmost example of calm, cool, and collected . . . always.
Except right now.
Kaede clears his throat and looks at the ceiling, not me. In soft, sexy baritones, he tells me about the meeting he and Ross had at Jeffrey Sanders's estate and the undercover researcher who took a liking to him.
“That’s good, though. What’s not to like?” I say, teasing out what’s upset him so much.
He cuts his eyes to me, spelling it out. “Sanders implied strongly that he’d like to keep the investment ‘in the family’ with his daughter-spy, so to speak.”
“Oh, shit! That’s seriously fucked up!” My jaw drops and my blood pressure spikes about fifty points, ready to go to battle for Kaede. Ross too, but mostly Kaede because that’s some serious Middle Ages marry my daughter crap.
“There’s more. The researcher? It’s Missy.” He lets that set in the air like a silent fart, waiting for me to smell it.
“Wait . . . that Missy? She’s . . . wow.” I haven’t seen her much, but even I’ve heard guys talking about her. It’s hard not to when she’s walking around like a half-naked glamazon, leaving thirsty ass men following her around like puppies on a leash. “She’s his daughter?”
“Yeah, Jeffrey tried to hook us up.”
“Oh,” I say flatly, more than a little jealous. Is this where Kaede asks me for relationship advice or something? “Well, if you need the name of a place to take her, I’d say—”
“I needed an out,” Kaede blurts out, his face blushing a little as he looks at me. There’s a new intensity in his eyes now.
I nod, my heart doing a little stutter step in my chest. “Rock and hard place, got it. What miracle did you work?”
He’s good at the business game and probably came up with something that would’ve taken me days to piece together. And honestly, I’m so relieved to hear that he wanted out of a date-slash-basically arranged marriage with Missy that my inner sex-starved self is tap dancing a happy jig.
“You.”
My brows furrow. “Me? What do you mean, me?”
“It means that I told them I was seeing someone, but it wasn’t enough. So I said I was engaged, and they asked to whom.”
His eyes implore me to understand, and though I’m usually pretty quick on the uptake, it takes me an impossibly long time to understand what he’s saying. “Me?” I laugh like there’s no way that’s what he possibly means. “What?”
Out of roughly three billion women in the world, when push came to shove and he had to name a fiancée, my name is what popped into his mind. Does that mean something? Or am I making a mountain of wishes out of a molehill of convenience?
“I felt like he’d backed me into a corner,” Kaede explains sheepishly. “I could read between the lines. Missy gave a glowing report to her ‘Daddy’ because she wants me, and she wants to be able to take control of the gym. I . . . brain farted.”
“You have never had a brain fart in your life. You’re as methodical and analytical as I am, and you know it.”
“Courtney, I’m sorry to put this on you,” Kaede says quickly, “but I got stuck in some shit. I don’t think Sanders is going to back out if One Life makes him money, but if he finds out I was lying before we get off the ground .
. . I don’t know, do you mind playing along? It’d probably just be a few dinners.”
“Just a few dinners?” I parrot. Inside, my brain and some significantly more southern parts are singing . . . Dinner with Kaede, dinner with Kaede!
Kaede shrugs. “And the gym, if Missy is around,” he admits slowly.
“Or anyone else too.” At the jump of his eyebrows, I explain, “If this Sanders guy is sending in an undercover researcher, he’s ahead of you already and you’re playing catch-up.
Maybe Missy was the only one, but what if she’s not?
Who’s to say he doesn’t have people driving by your house?
Or checking up on you and Ross periodically? ”
“Fuck!” he growls. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Kaede stands up, stalking across the room to punch the speed bag in the corner. It slams back against the wall before rebounding.
He looks out the windows that overlook the training floor full of members who probably seem like family to him. But there’s an entirely new ominous pall that settles over his face like a fog.
“I’m sorry to spring this on you, Court, but please . . . help me.”
The desperate plea is my undoing, melting every defense I have against this man, breaking the ice I keep my own hopes and dreams locked behind and letting them float to the surface.
This is such an awful idea and it’s going to hurt so much to get the tiniest taste of what I want without getting everything. But for him, I’ll do it.
“Okay.” Two tiny syllables that seal my fate, his fate. Our fate?
“What?” he whispers. And then he swoops in and grabs me off the couch, picking me up and spinning me around. “Are you serious?” He’s getting louder, his face going from morose to brilliant in an instant. All because of me.
Well, and business. But I’m taking the win for the moment, memorizing the joyful look in his eyes, the wide smile, and the feel of his body pressed to mine.
He sets me down, our chests touching, and he cups my face in his large hands.
He looks at me in shock, saying earnestly, “I swear, I’ll be a gentleman.
We’ll do the dinners and play the part here for a while till Missy finds another sucker or Jeffrey is making so much money, he doesn’t care about being ‘in the family’.
Ross is my best friend, and I swear I’ll be bro-code all the way. I won’t do him wrong, or you, either.”
Fuck. Nothing like basically being called ‘the little sister’ to turn the water hose on my rising arousal.
“No worries, Kaede. I’ve got you. We can do this.”
I mean the fake engagement, I swear I do. I don’t mean each other, nope . . . not at all. Even though this is going to be the worst big, fat, fake disaster.
He falls back to the couch, relief visible in every relaxed muscle in his body now. “Fuck, Court. Thank you so much.”
I sit down beside him, testing the waters and getting the slightest bit closer because if we’re going to sell this, we have to look comfortable being cozy.
That’s going to take some practice given that my heart rate has skyrocketed just from being close enough to feel each of the places our skin touches.
“That is such a relief,” he sighs out. “You wanna tell me about your day now? It can’t be nearly as crazy as that.” He gives me the small smirk that drives me wild. It’s the one that says he knows how sexy he is and knows that you know it too.
He’s right. My day was craptastic, but it does seem slightly less crazy now, so I dive in and tell him about almost killing Ms. Crabtree with flowers during my first big presentation.
By the end of it, he’s laughing. Not at the horrible thing that happened to Ms. Crabtree but at my telling of the story and how my inner monologue was going off about the whole thing.
“You’ll fix it. You’re the brains of the family and I have the utmost faith in you.”
The compliment takes me by surprise, not because he thinks I’m smart. I am, and everyone knows that, me included. But there’s a softness, a sweetness as he says he has faith in me. That’s what hits me hard, right in the feels like a John Legend song.
“Thank you.” I know my cheeks are turning pink because I can feel the heat settling there . . . and lower, much lower. “Are you heading home now?” I realize a moment after the words pass my lips how that sounds and my eyes widen.
I think I see heat in his eyes too, but that can’t be right. It must be a reflection of my own.
“No, I think I’m going to hang around here for a bit. I want to look over our membership files a bit.”
“Smart man. Scout for the sleeper agents.” I tap my nose.
His nod is resigned. “Thanks again, Court.”
I stand up and we do this weird dance where I wave and he tries to hug me. I switch for the hug and he switches for the wave. In the end, we both laugh awkwardly and hug.
It feels . . . good.
“We’ll make it work. I’ve got you.”
But as I walk out of his office and out to my car, I purposefully skip the smoothie bar and hit the donut shop. Who gives a fuck what sugar and fried dough will do to my ass? Today, I need all the comfort that sweet yumminess can offer.