Hard Deal
“Stay by the door,” he said. He walked around the perimeter of the room, his hands trailing along the edge of the shelves so he knew where he was. “And don’t turn that light back on.”
Silence. For a second there was nothing. Then his hands brushed something warm. Bare skin.
“Found you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “My, my. The Prim Miss Hargrove knows how to play a game of truth or dare.”
“Just dare,” she said. He stepped closer, his hand brushing her bare skin again. The area felt flat, possibly her stomach. God, he wanted to touch all of her. “And I play to win.”
She stayed stock still as his hand travelled up. There was a curve, something hard beneath her soft skin. Rib cage. Then his fingertips brushed over something soft and textured. Lace. The swell of her breast filled his palm perfectly—firm and round. His thumb grazed over a hard nipple and his cock shifted in response.
Imogen made a soft, strangled sound and it was like an arrow of excitement straight through him. How many times had he thought about doing this with her? How many times had he wondered what her soft, curvy body would feel like under his hungry grasp? It would be so easy to back her up against the door and lift her leg over his hip.
“See,” she said, though her voice trembled as his thumb brushed her nipple again. “Told you I’m not all talk.”
Caleb opened his mouth to respond when a loud knock came down on the other side of the door. The thud was so hard it seemed to rattle the door in its hinges. “Hello? This is Jim from security. Everything okay in there? We saw the lights go out on the security monitor.”
Fuck. He hadn’t thought anyone would be watching them.
“We’re fine!” Imogen’s shrill voice made Caleb wince. Then she shoved him away from her with one hand. “Just testing some new glow-in-the-dark promo items.”
A second later the light flicked back on and Imogen was buttoned up as if their game had never taken place. She yanked the door open and gave the security guard a charming smile. “Sorry, we should have warned you. We needed to test that the items glowed properly and the rooms upstairs don’t get dark enough.”
The security guard raised a brow as though he didn’t really believe the story, but she didn’t give him a chance to ask any more questions before marching out of the room, leaving both Caleb and the security guard in her dust.
* * *
Caleb pulled into the sweeping driveway of his parents’ Albert Park mansion with his head still spinning from the incident in the archive room. He needed to put it out of his mind, though, because it was family dinner night. And that meant being on his A-game.
It looked as though Jason had already arrived, since his brother’s black BMW was parked out front. It sat next to his mother’s gunmetal Mercedes and his father’s silver Audi. God, it was like someone had done a photo shoot of the world’s most boring vehicles.
He pulled his candy-apple-red Alfa Romeo into the empty spot next to the Merc. Like most things about Caleb’s life, it didn’t fit in with the rest of his family. In his world, he wasn’t the black sheep. More like lime green with purple polka dots.
“About time,” his brother called from the front door. “I thought we’d have to start without you.”
“That would make a change. Since when am I the last to arrive?”
Caleb and his mother often jokingly made bets about who would be later to dinner—Gerald or Jason. They were two peas in a pod, unable to tear themselves away from work even with the promise of a home-cooked meal. Well, a meal cooked in their home, anyway. No one had cooked in that house but their personal chef, Luis, since they moved in a decade ago.
“I went to the finance town hall and it finished up a little early. So, I stayed for a drink and then came straight over.” His brother slapped Caleb on the back as he entered the house. “Thought it might be nice not to hold up the show, for once.”
“And Dad’s here already?” They walked through the foyer and into the open-plan dining and living room. His parents were already seated, a bottle of wine open between them.
“Yeah, the negotiations turned out fine.”
Of course they did. There weren’t many people who could face down Gerald Allbrook and come out on top. His father had intimidation down to a fine art. The only difference between him and a mob boss was that he didn’t need henchmen. Or a gun.
“What held you up?” Jason asked.
“Had to get something from the archive room.” Caleb grinned at the memory. “Since you and Dad were gone, I had to get a key from Imogen.”
“You still don’t have a key?” Jason raised a brow. “Get Imogen to cut one for you.”
The whole key issue was representative of Caleb’s relationship with his father. Gerald had made a big song and dance about only wanting three keys and it turned out the old man trusted his assistant more than his youngest son.
“All good, mate,” he said loud enough for his father to hear. “It’s never a hardship to visit Dad’s lovely assistant.”
Gerald grunted from the table. His mother jumped up and enveloped Caleb into a hug—her earrings made jingling sounds as she squeezed him tight. The familiar scent of her perfume immediately lifted his mood.
“What’s that about Imogen?” she said. “Oh, we should have invited her for dinner.”
The Allbrooks were big fans of Imogen Hargrove. There’d been some chatter among staff that when Gerald had promoted her from the general assistant pool to be his dedicated executive assistant that it’d been due to her pretty face and shiny blond hair. But that rumour was quickly dispelled when it became evident that Imogen ran a tight ship and, despite being younger than almost everyone who worked at the company, she didn’t take shit from anyone. Not even Gerald himself. A fact that endeared her to Caleb greatly.
“I’m sure she’s got friends to hang out with.” Jason shook his head and pulled two beers from the fridge. He popped the caps and handed one bottle to Caleb. “Or her own family.”
“Oh, I know. But it would be nice to see her.” She waved a hand in the air, a stack of gold bracelets clinking with the movement. Caleb smiled. His mother was like a one-woman band with all the noise she made—she was always humming or wearing something that chimed when she walked. “Maybe we’d see her more often if you asked her out on a date.”
“Not sure how Dad would feel about that.” Jason’s eyes shifted to their father, who grunted. “Good assistants don’t grow on trees.”
Caleb’s stomach revolted against the idea. It was stupid. Outside their quick grope in a darkened room, they were hardly an item. And Jason and Imogen were about as perfectly matched as two people could be. They were both driven, serious types set on conquering the world. But the moment he even thought about his brother’s hands on her, it was like Caleb’s brain went into meltdown mode. An unfamiliar roar of jealousy surged through his body, squeezing his muscles and tightening his hands into fists.
“If either of you do anything to make her leave, I’ll have your hides,” Gerald replied, his gaze drifting purposefully toward Caleb.
“What the hell did I do?” He took a swig of his beer, the taste bitter on his tongue.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what happened with Neila.” Gerald pierced him with a gloomy stare. He and Jason had the same irises—light, nearly colourless. Eyes that gave nothing away. “She was a valued member of our team until you interfered.”
And by “interfered” he meant having a relationship with the woman, one that was supposed to be meaningful until he found out that she was using him to climb the ranks at work.
The memory shot through him like a bullet. He’d come back to the office to surprise her with flowers and a fancy dinner reservation. Neila’s voice had floated down the empty office corridor, her snide tone cutting him to the bone as she told someone he was her second choice. She’d wanted Jason because he would have given her a more solid foothold within the company. But at least Caleb was a good fuck. The way she’d laughed had shredded him into a million jagged little pieces.
Rather than admit that humiliation to anyone, he’d let his family assume he’d dumped her because he’d gotten bored.
“She didn’t have to leave,” Caleb drawled as he dropped into a seat next to his mother. “That was her call.”
As usual, his mother averted her eyes. Such was her role in every family argument. That was where she differed from Caleb. She’d let his father’s domineering personality water her down over the years. The boring car out front wasn’t her style, nor was their sleek modern mansion. His mother was a free spirit who loved colour and texture and clutter. But Gerald had pressed down on her until he’d squeezed the vibrancy out, until he’d moulded her into a version of his first wife—Jason’s mother.
But Caleb wouldn’t ever let that happen to him. He’d continue to bug the shit out of his father with his flashy car and too-loud socks and his refusal to be a carbon copy of Jason.
“You know what,” he said, leaning back and taking another long pull on his beer. “Maybe I will ask Imogen out. Practice makes perfect, right? Let’s see if I can get this one to last a whole month.”
His father glared at him. “If you don’t take anything seriously, how do you expect anyone to take you seriously?”
He’d wanted that at one point—willed it to happen by working as hard as he could in everything from soccer to biology to Scouts. But nothing had ever been good enough. He’d always be tarnished with the label of “unwanted.” Unplanned. He was the son who wasn’t supposed to exist. A product of the trophy wife who’d stepped outside of the bounds of their agreement by refusing to terminate her pregnancy.
“I take myself seriously, Dad. That’s good enough for me.”
An awkward quiet settled over the table as Luis delivered the food. The clack of cutlery against porcelain echoed against the house’s high ceiling, highlighting how little they all had to say. Caleb kept his expression neutral, even as his mother patted his arm out of sight of her husband.
Show no weakness, that was his motto. People like his father would only win if they got to see how much their words stung. And no matter what happened, Caleb would rot in hell before he gave them such satisfaction.
CHAPTER THREE
IF IMOGEN WAS going to do something as outrageous as gate-crashing the Carmina Masquerade Ball, then she was going to make sure she’d thought of everything. Each step of her plan had been meticulously combed through. Including how she’d convinced the head of the catering company to let her and her best friend, Lainey, pose as staff members to gain entry, in exchange for putting the company on the “preferred suppliers list” at work. She’d even studied the venue, Patterson House, by taking the online virtual tour to better understand the layout of the heritage-listed estate and ensure that she and Lainey would have a place to slip out of their catering uniforms and into their ball gowns without getting caught.
This was how she’d come to be walking along a secluded path, wearing a borrowed gown with a mask covering her face.
Tonight was exactly the distraction she needed after the incident with Caleb in the archive room. Any time her mind veered in the direction of what might’ve happened if they weren’t interrupted, she’d bring her focus back to “Operation Catch a Cheater.”
Everything was in place. Her dress was dark and vampy with panels of black lace and glossy black silk, allowing glimpses of bare legs, arms and back. It was sexy with a capital S and impossibly removed from her usual style, which was exactly why she’d chosen this dress over the dozens of others that were more muted or quietly elegant.
Her jewelled mask disguised her identity by covering the top half of her face from hairline to nose, and she’d opted for a dark plummy stain on her lips. Even her nails—which she always wore bare—were painted in an inky polish that shifted from navy to onyx in the light.
The devil is in the details.
Imogen walked carefully along the path that ran the length of Patterson House, where the Carmina Ball was hosted each year. The stately old building was something that would have made her stop and stare on any other day. But this evening was a different story.
Pausing at the corner which would lead her to the courtyard, she turned to look back at her friend. Lainey’s disguise was perfect—she’d recently dyed her hair a bright flame red. That coupled with her mask made her look like a totally new person. She had her own reasons for wanting to sneak into the ball, and had begged Imogen to let her tag along. Trouble loved company, right? Or was that misery? Imogen flashed Lainey a thumbs-up and got one in return. This was it. Time to get the show on the road.
Imogen fussed with the front of her dress, checking all the areas she’d stuck down to her skin with special skin-safe adhesive tape. The last thing she wanted was to accidentally flash anyone.
In fact, despite the sexier-than-sin dress she didn’t want to stand out at all. There were two reasons for that. One, she didn’t want to talk too much and risk Daniel catching her out. Two, she didn’t technically have an invite.
Okay, so that wasn’t a technicality. She didn’t—and would likely never—receive an invite to this event. The Carmina Ball was for rich people who could afford the five grand ticket price. For people like her future brother-in-law and his family, who enjoyed attending events which excluded the average person, like Imogen and her sister.
Penny hadn’t received an invite, either, and yet Daniel was going to be here. Why? That was what she was going to find out.
The thought of catching Daniel cheating on Penny made her stomach churn. It was one of those cases where finding out she was right wouldn’t make her feel any better. But for her sister’s sake, she had to know. There was no way in hell she’d let Penny go through that experience.
Imogen cringed as the memories assaulted her—the ghosts of old feelings like shame and despair that came back to life whenever she thought of her ex.
Not now. This isn’t the time for pity.
Sucking in a breath, she walked into the courtyard with her shoulders squared and her head held high, like there was no question of her belonging.
“Relax,” she said to herself. “All you have to do is blend in with the crowd. You’re good at that.”
A group of men in tuxedos stood at the edge of the courtyard, drinking and laughing. Some had white jackets and others were dressed all in black. Their masks ranged from simple Zorro-style bands, with cutouts for the eyes, to more elaborate designs. Though none of them compared to the artistry adorning most of the female guests.
Imogen had asked Daniel if she could see his mask earlier that week—feigning curiosity about the event. He’d been only too pleased to show her the “one of a kind” gold creation that looked like it belonged in the Roman Empire. The design had a crest with two horses and some elaborate scrollwork, making it far more interesting than what most of the men were wearing. Which would also make it easy to spot in the crowd.
Imogen hovered at the double doors which opened into the ballroom. The scene was like something out of a movie—the old estate was grand and richly decorated, the people elaborately dressed. It was like being transported back in time to a royal kingdom where princes and princesses held fancy parties.
“Remember why you’re here,” she said to herself. “It’s time to catch a cheater.”
* * *
Caleb had never thought it possible for a human’s head to pop from sheer frustration, but he had a feeling he might be about to witness it.
“But he said it was one of a kind,” Daniel Godfrey spluttered.
“I assume things that are handmade are one of a kind, because they can’t be exactly replicated. But that doesn’t mean the design won’t be reused,” Jason replied. “And there are slight differences.”
“They’re basically the same.” Daniel jabbed a finger in Caleb’s direction. “From a distance, you wouldn’t even be able to tell them apart.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Caleb tilted his head, touching his fingertip to the gold mask covering his face. “I think mine’s a bit bigger.”
Jason shot him a look.
Daniel had been livid to discover that the designer who’d created his “one of a kind” masquerade mask had sold similar designs to other people attending the Carmina Ball, Caleb included. Since men’s masks tended to run on the boring side, Caleb had been immediately attracted to the outlandish style of this artist’s creations. It suited his anti-wallflower personality. But Daniel wasn’t as amused by the whole thing, since he’d banked on being the only one with such a unique design.
Which was Daniel in a nutshell. He made snowflakes look hardy.
“Look at this bit,” Jason pointed out. “The scrollwork along the edge is different as is the shape here.”
Caleb stifled a laugh. The masks were pretty much the same, and his brother was only placating his friend. Typical Jase, always trying to keep everyone happy. He had no idea why his brother chose to hang out with someone like Daniel. The guy was a spoiled brat.
“I guess it is slightly different,” Daniel conceded with a sour tone. “But I won’t be going back to that place. It’s highway robbery what they charge considering the designs aren’t exclusive. I’ll take my business elsewhere.”
Caleb turned to face the crowded ballroom as he rolled his eyes. At this rate, he’d die of boredom before anything interesting happened. The Carmina Ball was supposed to be a big deal, but Caleb had come every year since his eighteenth birthday and had yet to understand why people were foaming at the mouth to get an invite. It was nothing but a bunch of stuffy old blue bloods standing around in expensive outfits while they talked about the same shit they discussed every other day of the week. Golf, investing, who bought a bigger yacht. Yawn.
“Where’s Penny?” Jason asked.
“Oh, she decided not to come,” Daniel replied. “I was hoping to show her off but I guess that’ll have to wait for the wedding.”
Daniel Godfrey was getting married? Caleb buried his surprise by rubbing a hand over his jaw. It wasn’t the fact that he was entering into a marriage that’d shocked him, but rather the fact that someone out there was willing to put up with his droning voice and constant complaints. He had to assume that the poor woman was also unaware off the fact that he wanted to “show her off” like a bloody trophy. The more he hung around this guy the less he liked him—and there hadn’t been a lot of positive feelings to begin with.
“Have you got a photo?” Caleb asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
“Sure.” Daniel pulled out his phone and produced a photo of himself next to a petite woman with light brown hair. She looked vaguely familiar. Sweet face with a cute smile and bright eyes. Pretty. But no further recognition sprang to mind. “This is my darling Penny. We’re getting married in two months.”
“Congratulations.” Caleb nodded.
“Weddings are such funny occasions,” Daniel said. “We had this quite extraordinary experience with choosing our menu...”
Kill me now.
Caleb flagged down a passing waiter and swapped his empty glass for a full one. In his experience, there was only one way to get through an event like this without completely climbing the walls. Make a drinking game of it.
“They suggested the chicken for the first course,” Daniel continued. “Can you believe it? Chicken! We already had that planned for the main. There was no way we could serve the same protein in two courses.”
Outrage over the most first world issue imaginable? Check.
Caleb took a swig of his drink. “Amateurs.”
“Oh, don’t even get me started.” Daniel huffed. “Then they wanted to use gold ribbons on the chairs when we’d specifically requested silver for the centrepieces. I mean, I’m no interior designer but even I know gold and silver don’t go together.”
Humble bragging. Check.
Stifling a laugh, Caleb took another sip. At this rate, he was going to be hammered before Daniel even finished his story. “I’m surprised you haven’t taken your business elsewhere,” he said, mimicking Daniel’s words from earlier.
“I should, but Penny really wants this venue. Apparently, it has special meaning to her.” He rolled his eyes. “And you know what they say about the old ball and chain—happy wife, happy life.”
Referring to his partner as a burden. Check. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the douchebag trifecta!
Before Caleb could raise the glass to his lips again, Daniel groaned suddenly.
“Oh God, my stomach.” He clutched his midsection. “My irritable bowel syndrome always acts up when I get stressed.”
Before anyone could comment, he darted off toward the ballroom’s exit. Jason sighed. “Did you have to wind him up?”
“He missed his calling in standup. Truly, the man is a comedic genius.” Caleb stifled a laugh. “How on earth are you friends with him?”
Jason shook his head. “Don’t start.”
“Do you not see what a pompous prima donna he is?” He raised a brow at his brother. “Let me reiterate so it’s clear.” He cleared his throat and puffed out his chest. “Oh, Jason, you simply have no idea how difficult the wedding folks are. The silver and gold clashes, my good chum. It clashes terribly.”
Jason’s lip twitched but he cleared his throat instead of laughing. “Stop it.”
“But, Jason, you don’t understand.” He’d gotten the “plum in the mouth” voice spot on. He even threw in a little of Daniel’s mannerisms to complete the picture—the rolling of his hand for emphasis, the jut of his chin into the air. Even the little head shake that punctuated his sentences. “Penny and I are delighted to be married and everything must be perfect for my darling ball and chain.”
This time Jason snorted. “Enough. I have to go to that wedding and I don’t want to be envisaging your performance during the ceremony, thank you very much.”
“Fine,” he said. “But you owe me big-time. If I have to spend another three hours with that man I’ll go certifiably crazy.”
“He might not make it back. Once the stomach troubles start he’s usually out for the night.” Jason sighed. “You pushed him too far.”
“By asking about his wedding?” Caleb rolled his hands around again. “But the silver and gold, Jason. Silver and gold!”
“I’m going to find Dad.” His brother laid a hand on his shoulder. “Want to come?”
Caleb knocked back the rest of his drink. “Hard pass.”
“Fine. But try not to make anyone else sick, okay?”
“No promises.” Caleb scanned the room as Jason walked away, a restless itch burrowing under his skin and causing him to shift from one foot to the other.
Next year he was going to find a concrete excuse not to come to this bloody thing. Nothing was worth standing around being bored out of his skull to keep his father happy. Why bother? It wasn’t like it would make a difference in the long run, anyway.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a woman looking at him. Putting on his most charming smile, he headed toward her. If the company wasn’t up to scratch, all he had to do was find new company.
CHAPTER FOUR
IMOGEN MOVED THROUGH the crowded ballroom, looking for the man with the golden mask. Was this how a glamorous spy in an old-school Bond movie felt? It was the most excitement she’d had for some time.
Excitement isn’t what you’re looking for, remember? You want reliability, security. Comfort.
She rolled her eyes behind her mask. It was a little disconcerting that her ideal life situation sounded like an ad for a Maxi Pad. Or a nursing home.