The Greatest Risk

  Stellan thought this was wise.

  Then again, Susan was the opposite of dumb, and that was not the only reason he was as devoted to her as she was to him.

  Within moments she assessed his mood had changed, tossed a hand toward the palm fronds and orchids, and remarked, “So I can now assume those aren’t from your Ahsweepay in an all-new but never improved effort to apologize yet again for being a gargantuan ahsweepay.”

  Ahsweepay was the name she’d given his father, a moniker that originated from a skit from Saturday Night Live, and although phonetically correct as per the skit, it was actually spelled much differently.

  “I believe upon his announcement of his engagement to his latest there and gone, I made it clear how I felt about him continuing to consider me a part of his life,” Stellan replied. “So no, the flowers are not from him.”

  She walked right up to his desk and leaned a thigh against it, not hesitating a second to reach out and grab the card.

  Stellan’s lips turned up.

  “What’s a Flamma?” she asked.

  “A sexual gladiator,” he answered.

  Her hazel eyes shot to him and got wide.

  When they did, his smile did the same.

  There was nothing Susan did not know about him. Nothing he hid. Nothing that was not hers to have.

  She reciprocated that gesture.

  Which meant she was his assistant.

  But although he paid her (handsomely) to be all she was to him in the office, missing only the blood ties, in his life she was something else entirely.

  And she felt the same.

  “A present for a woman I’ve started seeing,” he explained.

  “You gave her a … person?” she asked, her voice pitched high.

  And an auditorium where she could command that … person, though he didn’t sign over the deed.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  She burst out laughing.

  Stellan smiled at her indulgently as she did.

  “Only you,” she muttered toward the card, then looked to him and shook it in the air before she plopped it on his desk. “And who is ‘S?’”

  “Her name is Simone.”

  “Pretty,” she murmured.

  “She is,” he replied.

  Her gaze slid to the bouquet then back to him. “She’s got class.”

  “Her father was a drug dealer.”

  Susan blinked.

  “He was killed in a turf-war massacre that also killed her mother,” Stellan continued. “A mother who shared the profession of distributing narcotics.”

  “Oh my God,” she whispered.

  “Unsurprisingly, this was not a loss, in either instance,” he shared. “What was unfortunate was that she witnessed it. They brought her with them to meet their supplier. She was one of only two people in the room to survive. That room contained nine, four of those the rival foot soldiers of the supplier who instigated the incident. She was twelve.”

  He watched her pale.

  “Stellan,” she said softly.

  “She was then raised by her uncle, who was also a drug dealer, and the succession of women in his life, all of whom were junkies, some of these underage junkies not much older or even the same age as Simone.”

  She shifted, moved slowly back, and lowered herself to the edge of one of the minimalist, backless, black leather chairs behind her.

  His office was beautifully appointed.

  But except for him, it was not meant to be comfortable.

  He was there to work, not socialize, and that was the message he conveyed with the two chairs opposite his desk.

  Susan, of course, could spend as much time as she liked with him, and if she needed to be comfortable doing that, she stretched out on the modern, white-leather-with-chrome-arms sweep of a lounge chair at the other end of the office. And she did … often.

  Which was good, since he wouldn’t own it if it wasn’t to give it to her.

  “She used her natural intelligence, firmly ingrained survival skills and familial criminal contacts to become what’s known as a fixer,” he told her.

  “As in, what Olivia Pope does on Scandal?” she inquired.

  Really, Susan needed to stop watching so much television.

  “What does this person do on this show?” he asked.

  “Fixes jams people get in, mostly politicians.”

  Stellan nodded and didn’t lie, precisely, since Simone fixed “jams” people found themselves in, those people were just not politicians.

  “Mostly, but not entirely.”

  “Do I want to know all that entails?” she queried.

  He gave her the truth.

  “No.”

  This answer didn’t make her happy. She also didn’t hide that.

  “Are you … unsafe … being with her?”

  “Not at all,” he assured.

  She fell silent, and did this examining him closely.

  Then she said in an awed voice, “Oh my God, you’re in love with her.”

  He shook his head. “I’m infatuated with her, Sue. She’s fascinating.”

  “If she’s like Olivia Pope, I can imagine.”

  He raised his brows. “Does this Olivia wear a lot of leather?”

  She grinned. “Not unless you count her Prada handbags. And why am I not surprised your Simone wears leather?”

  His Simone.

  This made Stellan return her grin. “It cuts deep, honey, that I’m such an open book to you. I much prefer to be thought of as the brooding, mysterious boss.”

  “You can be broody, case in point, the last two days before these flowers showed. And just to make you feel better, I’m the only female in your offices that doesn’t find you mysterious. The rest twitter about you around the staff room and in the john all the freaking time. And to further soothe your ego, all of them want to jump your bones. Even Darby.”

  “Darby?”

  “She’s one of your recorders. She’s set to retire in August. She’s sixty-seven.”

  It was Stellan bursting out in laughter at that.

  When he was done, Susan’s expression had changed.

  She didn’t make him ask after it.

  “So this is just an infatuation?”

  “We’ve known each other for years, but Tuesday evening was our first date.”

  Both her brows stretched high. “And you gave her a person … on your first date?”

  “I like to make an impression.”

  She shot him a huge smile. “I’ve no doubt you did, but you probably would have done that even if you hadn’t gifted her with a human being.”

  Stellan shrugged.

  Her head tipped slightly to the side. “And she gave you all that history on a first date?”

  “No. I had her investigated.”

  Her face shut down and her lips mumbled, “Uh-oh.”

  “It’ll be fine,” he assured.

  She leaned toward him. “Stellan, she’s a … a … fixer.”

  He felt his lips twitch before he said, “Sweetheart, you don’t even know what that means.”

  Her shoulders straightened. “Well, I do know what it means to be a woman, and seriously, no joke this time, women don’t want to seem broody, but we absolutely do like to be mysterious. We like to be the ones who share all our inner secrets and past histories. And I can only assume a woman who’s also a fixer feels that more than just your average chick.”

  “I’ve already told her I looked into her.”

  “Looking into her and investigating her are two very different things.”

  Stellan made no reply to that because unfortunately, she was right.

  Her gaze narrowed on him. “You’re more than infatuated with her.”

  This was absolutely true.

  “The week is winding down, but there’s still work to get done,” he noted, his message not vague, his hopes she’d read it also not high.

  And as suspected, they were dashed.

  “That tric
k done left the building, boss man,” she declared. “My kid has spit up more on you than he has his own father.”

  “That’s not true,” Stellan murmured.

  “Okay, than he has his own grandfather.”

  “That wouldn’t be hard. You haven’t spoken to your father since fruitlessly telling him the news Crosby was coming.”

  “I mean Harry’s father, Stellan,” she snapped, losing patience.

  “Of course,” he muttered.

  “And he’s a good guy,” she went on.

  “The man lives in Texas.”

  “He’s still a good guy with his first grandson and he’s retired, so the man’s at my house more than he’s in his fishing boat.”

  “Honey, please don’t take out your frustrations that your in-laws are far too in your business on me. Especially Harry’s mother, which is what this is really about. As I’ve said before, all you have to do is find a way to tell them to back off, or better, find a way just to let it go. Betty does not know better when it comes to Crosby. Let her speak her piece, then just do what you do. She’s got no choice but to let you do what you do since you’re the boy’s mother. In the end he’ll grow up to be the only thing you and Harry can make, a good man, and it’ll all be fine.”

  “Stop manipulating the conversation around to my problems,” she demanded. “Are you falling in love with this woman or not?”

  He looked her directly in her eyes.

  “Yes.”

  Those eyes he was looking into started getting wet.

  So Stellan turned his to the ceiling.

  “Oh my God, this is so awesome,” she whispered.

  He looked back at her.

  “Sue,” he said quietly, “we’ve had one date.”

  At a gladiator pit.

  Where she climaxed on contact.

  In other words, the perfect first date.

  “But you’ve known her for years,” she said.

  “I have.”

  “And she’s a fixer. She’s not a dud, like, I don’t know … a socialite or something. She’s exciting. She’s Olivia Pope in leather. I love that for you.”

  Jesus.

  “If I see one bridal magazine anywhere near your desk, I’m sacking you,” he warned.

  “Can I pick out her engagement ring?” she requested.

  He was offended she’d even ask.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  Her entire body twitched.

  Then she burst into tears.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Susan was a crier, but this …

  “Are you pregnant?” he demanded to know.

  She was sniffling, her breath hitching, her eyes leaking, then her head started bobbing.

  “Y-y-yes.”

  Stellan’s chest grew light.

  “You’re expecting?” he whispered.

  She nodded. “But I’m still, like, super happy you’re falling in love.”

  “Who knows?” he asked.

  “Well, Harry, obviously.”

  He smiled and murmured, “Obviously.”

  “And you.”

  Stellan had no reply to that.

  He just held her watery gaze.

  “That’s all,” she whispered.

  And that was when Stellan’s throat grew tight.

  He also shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief.

  He tossed it across the desk, and she reached out, picked it up and dabbed her eyes.

  She got herself together and focused on him.

  “Just so you know, Harry’s still not over the trust fund you set up for Crosby,” she shared.

  “How far along are you?” he queried.

  “Almost three months.”

  “Then he has just over six months to get over it because another one is coming.”

  “Stellan—”

  “I take care of the ones I love,” he said softly.

  She closed her mouth, and more wet hit her eyes.

  “I’m happy for you,” he shared. “You and Harry and Crosby. I’m so fucking happy for you, sweetheart.”

  She took in a broken breath and snapped, “Stop making me cry.”

  “If the last one was anything to go on, you have just over six months to cope with that because your pregnancy hormones run havoc with your tear ducts, and I have nothing to do with it.”

  “I know,” she agreed. “Sucks. I burst into tears at the YouTube video of the ‘Sad Cat Diaries.’”

  “Christ, why would you watch something like that at all?” he asked.

  She shook her head, a tremulous grin on her lips. “It’s supposed to be hilarious. And it is. They just picked a bunch of cats who look sad to illustrate the hilarity. You totally have to watch it. If you’re not pregnant, which you’ll never be, it’s a scream.”

  “And I totally am not going to do that.”

  She kept shaking her head. “Stell, my man, you need to enter the age of social media.”

  “On my gravestone it will say, ‘His proudest achievement: He never tweeted.’ And if I manage that colossal feat, it will indeed be my proudest.”

  She dissolved into laughter again.

  And Stellan again looked on indulgently.

  When she sobered, she said, “I suppose I should go back to work.”

  “That is why I pay you.”

  She shot him a fake annoyed look that didn’t work due to the massive smile on her face.

  She also got up and started the long walk to the door.

  She stopped halfway there.

  He braced.

  She turned back to him.

  “If you give it to her, she better be worth it,” she declared.

  “She is, or I wouldn’t give it to her,” he returned.

  “One date and you’re sure?”

  “No, but I am sure I want to explore if I can be sure.”

  “You’re handsome and you’re rich and you’re exciting and you’re generous and you’re kind and you’re funny and she wears leather and has ugly history and is a fixer. I’m not trying to be offensive. What I’m trying to say is that you deserve the best, someone who gives all that, or something else worth just as much, right back to you.”

  “Sometimes, Susie,” he said gently, “love is not about give and take. There are loves that are only about giving. And with Simone, who was born with nothing and to protect herself carried on keeping it that way, it might be high time she had the opportunity to take all she can get.”

  “Then she found the perfect man,” she replied, suddenly not sounding happy about it.

  “Perhaps,” he allowed.

  “Definitely,” she retorted, slightly lifting her chin but absolutely straightening her shoulders. “Even with what you just said, I’ll say it again. If you give it all, Stellan, she freaking better be worth it.”

  Delivering that, considering she was a last-word type of woman, something he and Harry had commiserated about over drinks on more than one occasion, he knew she needed it to be done.

  So Stellan made no reply as she turned and walked the rest of the way to and through the door, closing it behind her.

  four

  Sangria

  SIXX

  Sixx drove up the wide semi-circular drive to the large, two-story, sprawling, southwestern-adobe home that could be defined as nothing other than a mansion.

  Not a McMansion.

  No, it was older. Unique. Settled. Refined. And time had made it at peace with the landscape around it.

  It was also bigger.

  There were a number of cars in the sweeping drive.

  This was because she was late. Only by twenty minutes, but she was still late.

  In normal circumstances, it was not rude to be late to what amounted to a pool party. People would come, they would go, and fun was to be had whoever was there, or not.

  But she had a feeling Stellan would not be pleased she was late.

  She reached to the passenger seat and nabbed the black handles of her w
hite Henri Bendel weekend duffle.

  She did not intend to spend the weekend, however pool time to dinnertime in a Phoenician mansion required sitting at a table for dinner in something other than the t-shirt dress you’d arrived in or the bathing suit and sarong you’d spent the afternoon in.

  So she’d come prepared.

  And although she was highly apprehensive about what was happening with Stellan—most especially imminently after not calling as he’d told her to and showing late—he was Stellan, and although she’d never in her life dressed to impress anyone but herself, it was worth a repeat.

  He was Stellan.

  She felt slightly ashamed, slightly elated about the fact that she’d even gone shopping.

  Frigging shopping.

  For Stellan.

  This, she told herself, was why she didn’t chicken out. If she did, and considering the fact she wasn’t going to haunt the Honey anymore, where would she wear her new threads?

  She also didn’t chicken out for the sole reason that she was not a woman who chickened out.

  In other words, she’d waged an internal battle up to and through the last minute.

  And now she was late.

  But she’d come prepared.

  She also nabbed her Valentino Rockstud clutch and shoved it under her arm as she hopped out of her car.

  She weaved her way through the other vehicles, taking in the copious barrel, saguaro and ocotillo cacti intermingled with olive and palo verde trees of the landscaping, the impressive three-tiered fountain the cars were parked around in the center of the drive, and the log-festooned veranda and recessed entryway decorated by brightly colored Mexican pots overflowing with healthy succulents.

  That was, she took this all in until she realized in the shadowed entryway one side of the front double door was open.

  And leaning against the jamb wearing faded jeans and a white linen, long-sleeved shirt, his feet bare, was Stellan.

  God, God, Gawd.

  The man could be adorable.

  And he wore jeans.

  She’d never seen him in jeans.

  He looked …

  Edible.

  She hit the tile of the veranda, wondering why he couldn’t be in board shorts, or something that made him look just normal (something she suspected was an impossibility), her sunglassed eyes adjusting from the bright sun to the shadows, and it was then she saw he also looked ticked.