Risky Business

But time passed and people forgot about it in favor of the latest media storm. And since then, Americana Land and I have had nothing but positive scores on every analysis Jayme runs.

She nods, her mind on her new client and the firestorm she’ll have to put out, apparently. “Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

Jayme taps a button on her earpiece and then smiles as though she didn’t just cut some suited, power hungry asshole down to size. “Hey, babe, how was work?”

“Not as good as yours, I’d bet. You get the Rollins deal straightened out?”

She wrinkles her face cutely. “Yeah, kinda wish he’d decided to let Patrick send someone else, though. It’s going to be a pain in the ass.”

I press a kiss to the top of her head. “People want the best, and like you said, that’s you.” I take both of her hands, pulling her up from the chair, and take her earpiece out, laying it on the table. “We have dinner plans with your parents tonight, remember? We need to leave by five.”

She groans. “Can we stay home and order out? We can get Korean barbecue, and you have that new bourbon to open.”

She’s negotiating hard, dangling all my favorites in front of me . . . her, barbecue, and liquor. But not tonight. Instead, I spin her in place so that I can’t see the pout on her lips or the disappointment in her eyes and push her toward our bedroom. “Nope. Go get ready. Maybe wear that new dress you bought?”

She peeks back over her shoulder coyly. “You like that dress?”

The dress is a backless, swoopy sundress that falls to her ankles. It also comes completely undone with a quick release of a single tie at the waist that lets me open the dress like wrapping paper on the best present I’ve ever received—Jayme.

I let my eyes trace down over her back to her ass, imagining her in the new dress instead of the still-hot pencil skirt and blouse she has on from her meetings this morning. “Fucking love it. I’ll fuck you in it when we get back. Just that dress and—” I freeze, knowing I almost spoiled the surprise I’ve been working on for weeks.

“And?” she prompts. I lift a wry brow and she smirks. “Can’t blame a girl for trying, can ya?”

I pop her ass with a solid smack, and she whoops out in laughter as she scampers toward our bedroom to get ready.

We take the elevator up to the roof level at four fifty-eight. I heard the rotors of the helicopter several minutes ago as it landed and had hurried Jayme along, mostly so we actually made it out of the house with her in that dress. I shift from my right foot to my left, trying to get my cock to relax. But damn, she looks good in that dress. I stare at the numbers instead of Jayme, gritting my teeth. Dinner is going to be torture.

When the elevator doors open, we step into a safety area until we get the all-clear. The co-pilot holds open the helicopter door and waves us forward. I hold Jayme’s hand, helping her, and then I step up into a luxurious cabin that’s clearly designed not only for comfort but also to impress—the dark leather seats, each of them embossed with a scripted B, the wood accents, even the soundproofing that reduces the roar enough that I don’t have to scramble to yank the headset down over my ears just to preserve my eardrums—all of it subtle nods to the wealth and power at the fingertips of the Brooks family.

“Welcome aboard,” the pilot says through our headsets. “Beautiful flying tonight. Should reach our destination shortly.”

I reach over and take Jayme’s hand, tracing the length of her fingers, especially her empty ring finger. If everything goes to plan, it won’t be naked much longer.

“Do you know who all’s coming tonight?” Jayme asks me.

We’ve done the monthly dinners at her parents’ numerous times now, but it’s always a bit hit-or-miss on who’s there, depending on travel schedules, work, kids’ bedtimes, and more. But not this time.

Tonight, the whole Brooks family is going to be there.

I shrug. “Who knows? Hell, your dad might be skipping out in favor of work.”

Jayme laughs, knowing Jameson Brooks would never do such a thing. He looks forward to the monthly dinners as much as Leah does.

The flight is smooth and the landing gentle, with barely a bounce. We tell the pilot thank you and take our headsets off. The co-pilot opens the doors for us once the rotors stop, and we exit the helicopter.

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to coming to the Brooks home. Or imagining Jayme growing up here.

The property is a deep green valley surrounded by the giant protective natural barrier of the mountains on two sides. Forests of trees spread for miles in every direction, only broken by a peek at the stark white of the fencing surrounding the homestead area, which is still nearly fifty acres. The bright beacon of the Brooks home stands tall and proud in the center of it all. It’s truly more of an American-style castle, large and with so many wings and floors that you can get lost inside. Or at least, I have . . . several times.