Ready for the final details to seal the sports center deal, I’m at the office early, making phone calls, while Emily and Jessica arrange the delivery of the executed documents to the entire group of investors. By three o’ clock, and just before Emily and I leave for her medical checkup, it’s officially done: the deal is not only funded, Brandon Enterprises has been paid and paid well. Between the pharmaceutical and transportation branch sales that we managed to turn a healthy profit on, and the brokered sports center deal, we’re sitting on better financials than we were a year ago. And that’s not including the hedge fund operation.
Ironically, considering my father’s obnoxious need to know everything yet again, he chose today to skip the office job, and in an effort to avoid yet another of his incessant phone calls, I buzz Jessica. “Call my father and tell him we’re done.”
“As in completely done?”
“Done is done,” I say.
“Actually, that’s not always true.”
I end the connection, my hand going to my silver tie, which I’ve paired with the gray power suit I bought to celebrate winning my first case, a story I shared with Emily this morning. My lips curve as I remember her excitement that had followed, as well as her insistence, that I wear it for good luck today. I shake my head and wonder how the hell I’ve gone from a man who wanted women only in bed to smiling at the idea of Emily picking out my clothes? But then, it’s rather appropriate, considering she’s now running a fashion line. A role it’s time to make official in all ways.
With that thought, I stand up and grab my briefcase, as well as the file on my desk that I’ve been saving for Emily. Crossing my office, I flip out the light, and considering Jessica’s recent long hours, I exit my office and say, “Go home,” as I walk past her desk.
“We must really be done,” she calls after me, and I shake my head at her smartass comment, holding up my arm to point toward the lobby just before I step inside Emily’s doorway.
The instant she sees me, she pops to her feet and grabs her purse from her drawer, sliding it over her shoulder and looking every bit the executive she is in a navy-blue dress suit. “I’m ready,” she says.
I step inside the room and shut the door. “Let’s sit and talk about work for a few minutes first,” I say, choosing my words carefully as to not to alarm her over her brother.
“Okay,” she says, sinking into her chair, her brow furrowed.
I cross the room, set my briefcase down, and then choose the seat across from her, my intent to give her the position of power that she’s earned. The folder in my hand then goes on the desk in front of her. “Look at the numbers inside.”
She flips it open and studies it for about sixty seconds before her gaze jerks to mine. “What is this, Shane?”
“A survey of salaries for executives in your role in the fashion and beauty industry, inclusive of experience and time served. As you can see, you’re being grossly underpaid for your new role.”
She shuts the folder and slides it toward me. “I’m not doing this for money.”
“When you planned to go to law school, did you plan to make money?”
“Well, yes. Of course.”
“The kind of money that would allow you to buy your own Bentley?”
“Shane—”
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“And you think now, starting a major fashion brand, that your work and efforts mean you should earn less?”
“You’re trying to compensate for the loss of my legal career,” she says. “You didn’t take that from me; my brother did. And, Shane, I love you for this. I do, but no.”
“Anticipating that comment is exactly why I had human resources provide that data.” I open the folder again and pull out page two, setting it in front of her. “This is your new compensation package, which includes bonuses for profits.”
She glances down at it and her eyes go wide. “No.”
“Yes. It’s done.” I stand. “Let’s go get you cleared by the doctor.”
She doesn’t move. “Shane.”
I walk around the desk and turn her chair to face me, my hands pressed to the arms. “You earned this. This business endeavor is your brainchild, and it was you who found the acquisition. And now you work to get it off the ground. Stop convincing yourself this is about anything but your success.”
She inhales and lets out the breath. “This isn’t you trying to make me feel better?”
“This is me feeling lucky as hell I have you running this operation.” I help her to her feet, my hands at her waist. “Be happy.”
“I am. More than I thought possible a few months ago.”
“Then let’s go get your medical clearance and go home and celebrate.”
* * *
An hour later I sit in the lobby of the hospital where my brother died, while Emily completes a scan, emotions I don’t want to feel clawing and kicking inside me, demanding to be heard. It’s almost like Derek’s here with me. I feel him. God. I really do feel him. I stand up and walk to the reception desk. “I’m going around the corner to the coffee shop. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” I don’t wait for a reply, exiting the waiting area and entering a familiar hallway I walked often while Derek and Emily were here. Memories start chattering in my head, and I flash back to Mike visiting the hospital, the reason I was out of the room when those alarms went off. I can see myself the moment they sounded. The next as I started running toward them. I can feel all over again how certain I was that either Derek or Emily had died.
I shake off the memory, rejecting it, and enter the coffee shop. The line is short and I order two coffees, one for me and one for Emily, and I’m not only back in the waiting room in a few minutes, I’m the only person occupying any of the two dozen or so chairs, leaving lots of empty space for my mind to fill. I hold my coffee, but I don’t seem to be able to stomach it. I set it aside and rest my elbows on my knees, memories chattering in my head again. Inhaling, I straighten and fight the urge to pace, when I never pace. Pacing isn’t about control. Pacing is about losing control.
I lean back in my seat and rest my head on the wall, shutting my eyes, the memories of the past refusing to be ignored. I’m back to those moments when I’d run toward the alarm.
I reach the doors of the hospital suite Emily and Derek are sharing, staff members blocking Emily’s door. “I need inside!” I shout. “I need inside!”
A nurse turns to me, but right now I can’t think of her name. “Shane—” she begins, but I cut her off.
“What’s happening?”
“Emily’s fine. She’s absolutely fine.”
Relief and heartache hit me in one breath. “My brother.” It’s not a question.
“They’re working on him now,” she assures me. “But we need you to wait outside the room.”
“Emily needs me. She might wake up.”
“She’s still unconscious,” she says. “It takes time for her to wake from the coma, which is normal.”
“Shane!” I turn at the shout to find Teresa walking toward me, tears streaming down her face, her pain so damn palpable, it’s like there’s a living, breathing beast in the room.
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I want to go to her, but it’s as if my legs are now frozen. The world is spinning around me, and I watch as Teresa falls to her knees. Adrenaline surges through me and I am moving now, rushing toward her and screaming for help. Once again I’m pushed back by medical staff and I hear the word “shock.” I’m not sure if they’re talking about her or me.
Cody appears from I don’t know where. He’s speaking to me. Telling me about the sudden crash Derek has had, but I barely hear him. He’s like a silent movie. His lips are moving, but no words are coming out. He’s still moving his mouth when the doctor walks out of Derek’s room and scans the hall, his gaze falling on me, the look on his face telling me what on some level I already knew: Derek is gone.
I inhale and return to the present, aware that I’ve replayed that memory with a version of me that was much calmer than the day it happened, by at least 50 percent. I’d been shouting and demanding. I’m pretty sure I shoved a cart at some point. I’d been a crazy person who resembled nothing in myself I know. That I’ve blocked that now, well, I’d like to think that’s my mind’s way of telling me I’m halfway to sanity again.
The doors to the treatment area open, and I’m on my feet by the time Emily exits, a huge smile on her face. “I’m clear. Today is a good day,” she announces, wrapping her arms around me.
“Yes,” I say, stroking hair from her face. “It is.” And as I stand there, drowning in her pale blue eyes, I’m reminded that the day I lost Derek was the day Emily came back to me. We talk about a new beginning, but the truth is, that day was the real new beginning.
* * *
Hours later Emily and I have long ago changed into jeans and T-shirts to enjoy a night at home, which included takeout from the restaurant we’d gone to the night we met. We’ve just cleared our plates after finishing a meal of brown butter ravioli, making room for the Macallan collector’s edition box my father gave me. “Now we celebrate,” I say, setting it in front of us, along with two glasses.
“It’s almost too pretty to open,” she says, running her hand over the shiny black finish. “Shouldn’t we collect a collector’s edition?”
“We drink it with enough confidence to believe we deserve every drop and can afford to buy another bottle every damn week if we want to.”
“Confidence,” she says. “I like that.”
“Determination,” I reply. “One of several gifts my father did give me.”
She reaches over and strokes my sleeve upward, revealing my tattoo. “The eagle on the shoulders of the lion.” And then she repeats the meaning I once shared with her: “‘The eagle is knowledge, strength, and leadership.’”
I finish the description for her. “‘And the lion is cunning and vicious. He’ll rip your throat out if you give him the chance.’”
“And your father’s the lion.” She twists around to face me. “You’re both the eagle and the lion now.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Yes. It is. Because you choose how and when to be those things, with the moral compass your father is missing.”
My hand covers hers over my arm. “I’m a Brandon, Emily. You need to know that.”
“And you’ve changed what that means. You need to know that.”
“And what does that mean to you?”
“Everything.”
I lean in to kiss her as the doorbell rings. “For a place with security,” I say, “we get a lot of interruptions.”
She sits up, tension radiating off of her. “It’s about Rick.” She looks at me. “It’s about my brother. I don’t know why, but I just know it is.”
I stroke her hair. “Don’t work yourself into fear. This is probably nothing.” But as I stand and walk toward the foyer, her nerves become my adrenaline. I’ve lost a brother. I know the pain and do not wish this on Emily, and her pain is my fear. The doorbell rings again and I stop at the door, steeling myself for a blow, not because it’s logical, but because I can feel Emily behind me, waiting anxiously.
I unlock and open the door to find Seth standing in front of me, and the very fact that he’s in jeans and a black polo tells me this isn’t an expected visit. “I have news,” he says, and now it’s him with an envelope in his hand.
Backing up, I give him room to enter, and he joins me in the foyer, shutting the door behind him. His gaze immediately lands on Emily, as does mine, her face pale, expression tight. “I need to show you both something,” Seth says, flicking a look between us.
I motion toward the kitchen and he walks under the archway to his right, headed in that direction. I hold out my hand to Emily. She walks forward and places her palm in mine but says nothing as I guide her to the island where we stand side by side across from Seth. He opens the envelope and tosses down a photo. “We found your brother.”
Emily gasps and grabs the grainy photo, staring down at it and then looking at Seth. “Where was this? When was this?”
“In Germany. An hour ago.”
“How did you find him in Germany?” Emily asks.
“A hacker he knows and trusts, a woman he has a relationship with actually, who also occasionally works for us, found him.”
“He’s alive,” Emily breaths out. “Thank God, but … if you could find him, can’t the Geminis?”
“They could,” Seth agrees, “and he needs to be smarter to survive, but we’ve had our contractor create a scare for him and force him back underground. With us following him, of course, from this point forward. And knowing that he’s in another country and pushed underground, we can be certain that our efforts to close the books on Reagan move forward without fear that he’ll involve himself.”
“So it’s done,” I say. “He’s safe and he won’t become a problem for us.”
“He can’t get to Emily without us knowing,” Seth assures us. “This book is not closed, but we’re the ones turning the pages.” He sets the envelope on the table. “There are a few more shots inside that I’ll leave.” He turns to leave, but I pursue him, catching him at the door.
“Seth.”
He turns to face me. I give him a nod meant to be a thank-you. He returns the nod and exits. I lock up and return to Emily, finding her still at the island, looking through several photos. “How do you feel?” I ask, joining her and turning her to face me.
“Relieved. Happy. He’s not dead, but he’s no longer the trouble for us that I feared. It’s surreal. This is it. This was what we wanted and needed. This is me without security guards and—”
“Not quite yet,” I say. “Let’s allow everything to settle into place, but yes. We’re almost there, as close to our normal as we’re ever going to get. Tomorrow when we wake up, we start that new beginning. And now we celebrate.” I scoop her up and forget the whiskey. I carry her upstairs to our bedroom, and already in my mind, I’m planning what I hadn’t dared until now. How and when to ask her to be my wife.