Risky Business

“Hello, gentlemen,” a female voice sings from right behind me. I flinch reflexively, but it’s Jayme who places her arm around my waist. “Oh! Archer, so nice to meet you. I’ve heard quite a bit about you. I’m Jayme Rice.”

She extends her hand out in greeting, and part of me wants to stop her from shaking his hand. I don’t want Archer to even touch her, as if my brother’s poison will somehow infect her. But I swallow the growl trying to climb my throat in favor of some vestige of manners.

Archer’s confusion is obvious as he looks from Jayme to me and back before he takes her offered hand. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, as I’ve heard nothing about you.”

He means it to be a dismissive barb, but Jayme’s already gotten what she wanted . . . a calmer, quieter exchange between the three Steen men. Everyone’s attention is slowly starting to wane now that there’s not a fight brewing. She’s a fucking miracle worker.

I want to take time to appreciate how beautiful she looks, but with this Archer situation still on a tenuous edge, I can’t. But I get a quick impression of a blue on white print dress with a short hem and a floaty train. Mostly, that’s because when I glance down, I see that Jayme’s tanned, toned legs are visible down to her white strappy heels. Her lips are blood red and smiling at Archer in an ominous way that makes me eager to hear what’s about to come out of her mouth. I’m not one to let anyone fight my battles for me, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that Jayme needs zero help and is particularly skilled in arenas like this. So I let her work her magic while staying very close and watching carefully, ready to jump in if need be.

She laughs as if Archer’s told a joke. “Of course you haven’t heard a thing about me. Why would Carson or Ben tell you anything? You’ve been gone for nearly . . . what’s it been . . . ten years?”

Archer clenches his jaw, gritting out from behind his teeth, “Five, almost six.”

Jayme scans his face, frowning. “Hmm, it looks as though it’s been longer.”

“You bitch.”

In a flash, fury rises in my gut and my fists clench. I’m nanoseconds away from punching my brother in the nose for daring to speak to Jayme like that when she pinches the shit out of my waist where her hand was resting so gently a moment before. “Ouch,” I hiss, reflexively jerking the chunk of skin she’s got ahold of out of her reach.

And then she steps in front of me. I want to push her behind me protectively, but I realize that in moving between Archer and me, she’s effectively protecting me. Not from Archer, but from my own reactions and the repercussions they would have.

Her face flat and no-nonsense, Jayme tells Archer, “What we’re not going to do is get in a dick measuring contest here. Because news flash . . . I’ll win.”

The absolute weirdness of what she just said makes all of us blink, and I remind myself to ask whether she did that on purpose. I wouldn’t put it past her because she’s too smooth as she continues on. “Not in actual dickage,” she clarifies. “I don’t have one of those weak, sensitive but fun to play with appendages. I’m talking nature, soul, Archer. You’re right, you don’t know me, but I know every little thing about you. Even things dear old Dad and your brother over here don’t know.”

The veil on her threat is damn near as transparent as loose-weave gauze, and Archer raises a brow as he takes Jayme’s measure, realizing for the first time that he might’ve misjudged her. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he spits out. When Jayme stands stoic and strong, not showing an ounce of fear, nor any sign of answering, Archer turns to the one person he thinks he can manipulate best. “Dad, are you gonna let Carson’s latest whore talk to me this way?”

Dad chuckles. “Jayme is many things, but she’s no whore. And she’s earned the right to speak to you any way she’d like.”

Archer definitely didn’t expect that. He sputters, eyes wildly clicking from Dad, to Jayme, to me as if he’s not sure who to aim at next.

“You should go,” Jayme tells him quietly.

As a last-ditch effort, Archer lifts his chin proudly, nose in the air. “What about my donation? If you think I’m giving to the hospital after this treatment, you’re dead wrong.”

It’s Jayme’s turn to scoff. “You were never going to donate anything, and we all know it. Hell, I know how much is in your checking account right now.” Archer flinches, and even Dad and I side-eye each other behind Jayme. Does she really know that? “Did you have to borrow money to buy a ticket? Consider it refunded.”