Читать книгу A Christmas Proposition - Jessica Lemmon - Страница 11

Two

Emmett Keaton had been Chase Ferguson’s close friend, arguably his best friend, since college.

He could say with authority that Chase rarely allowed his feathers to ruffle. But today his feathers weren’t only ruffled, they were scattered to the four corners of the earth.

Since it was Emmett’s job to keep the mayor’s office safe, he’d have to assume the role of “the calm one” today. As the scandal currently wreaking havoc had to do with Stefanie, he found it challenging to bank his own anger.

The youngest Ferguson had a talent for finding trouble.

“When I get my hands on that sniveling weasel,” Chase grated out through teeth that were welded together, “I swear on everything holy—”

“Chase.” Penelope—wife to Chase’s brother, Zach—stood in front of Chase’s desk, arms crossed. She was dressed in a white pantsuit, her long blond hair pulled into a neat twist at the back of her head. Her stance broadcast one undeniable truth: she wasn’t intimidated by power. She’d handled many a powerful man as a public relations specialist over the years, and had become a trusted friend when Chase hired her to care for Stef the first time she stepped in it with Blake fucking Eastwood.

Because Chase trusted her, Emmett did, also.

“I’ve got this,” Pen said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

A muscle in Chase’s jaw ticked but he gave his sister-in-law a curt nod. She returned it with one of her own and spun on one very high-heeled shoe to leave.

Once she was out the door, Chase glanced at Emmett with irises so dark they bordered on black.

Chase punched a button on his phone. “Cynthia. Get my sister on the line.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sure you want to do that, boss?” Emmett asked.

Chase didn’t answer.

A moment later, the desk phone rang.

“Where the hell are you?” Chase barked into the receiver. A brief pause and then, “You have thirty seconds.” He slammed the phone down on its base and glared at the only target in the room. Emmett took the blow without flinching. “She was already on her way.”

“Good.”

Chase needed to redirect his anger? Fine.

It was better than him unleashing it on Stefanie.

The door burst open almost exactly thirty seconds later. Stefanie strode into the office in a short red designer dress, tall boots with dangerous-looking heels and a painted pout in siren red.

“I saw Pen on my way in.” Stef tucked her cell phone into an oversize handbag. “She warned me that you weren’t in the best mood. I’m assuming you’re mad at me.”

Nostrils flared, Chase pulled in a deep breath through his nose. When he spoke, his words were carefully measured. “I’m not angry with you, Stefanie. I’m—”

“Don’t say disappointed.” She dropped the handbag onto the leather chair in the corner of the room and sent Emmett a derisive glare.

Typical.

She hated him for reasons he’d yet to discern. He’d only ever offered assistance when she’d needed him—whether she’d asked or not. If memory served, she’d never asked.

“I’m concerned,” Chase said, and her head swiveled back to her brother. “Your Christmas retreat is soon, yes?”

“Yes.” A smile of pure delight crested her red mouth.

That smile lit her face like a string of holiday lights. Emmett had never seen someone so in love with the idea of Christmas. Loving the holiday was as foreign to him as understanding anything else about the lush lifestyle his best friend’s family led. In spite of his own amassed fortune, Emmett had no desire for frills of any kind. And he certainly had no desire to celebrate an occasion that brought forth bad memories and worse consequences.

“Where is it this year?” Chase asked.

“San Antonio.”

“Cancel it.”

Her face morphed into tortured shock. “What? Never. Absolutely not.”

“That wasn’t a request. There was no question mark at the end of my sentence.” Chase pointed at her, his quaking arm revealing his anger. “Because you don’t have the sense to stay away from Blake Eastwood, my campaign is suffering from the fallout.”

Emmett’s hands balled into fists at his sides.

He was rarely in disagreement with his friend, but in this case, Chase’s comments were out of line. Stef had been briefly involved with Blake—whom Emmett would love to go a round or two with, bare-knuckle—but the accusation that she was to blame was harsh.

“Whatever you have to do in San Antonio with your girlfriends can be done from Dallas just as easily. You’re not leaving the city, and if you do go out, you’re going to be chaperoned. Do you understand me?”

Her stricken expression faded into a laugh of disbelief. “You can’t ground me, Chase. You’re not my father. And even if you were Dad, he can’t ground me, either. I’m thirty years old!”

“Then why are you acting like a spoiled teenager?” Chase roared.

“Hey!” Emmett’s outburst was so unexpected that both Fergusons faced him wearing shell-shocked expressions.

He took a step closer to Chase, instinct more than decision driving him. “Let’s keep the blame where it should be. On Blake. Stefanie’s been through enough. She doesn’t need you piling on.”

Chase’s lips pressed into a thin, frustrated frown. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath and leaned both hands flat on his desk.

Emmett flickered a glance over at Stefanie, who, for the first time in her life, regarded him with something akin to gratitude. He wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“I’m asking, Stefanie—” Chase addressed his blotter before sitting in his chair and meeting his sister’s eyes “—for your cooperation.”

“Penelope is amazing at her job. There’s no reason she can’t—”

“I’m asking,” Chase repeated, his voice firmer.

“I look forward to this retreat every year. I can’t cancel an event that happens in four days.”

“Why not?” Chase’s forehead dented. “Can’t you and your girlfriends drink champagne and talk about fashion another time? Mail them their gifts. Hell, invite them here. You can host at my mansion.”

“I...can’t do that.” She regarded her impractical boots, appearing tormented by the idea of canceling.

Disappointment, Emmett could understand. Torment didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense.

Stef loved her family above all else. Over the years, Emmett had witnessed the special bond she and Chase had—she respected her brother. And she would never lie to him. So why was Emmett getting the distinct impression that she was trying hard not to do just that? Why couldn’t she party here in town? Why did she have to travel to San Antonio?

She wasn’t lying—not yet—but she was definitely keeping from saying too much.

“Plans can be changed. I’ll foot the bill for it, if you like,” Chase told her. “I’ll grease some palms and find you a last-minute venue in Dallas. You can’t leave town with this mark on your back. I forbid it.”

“What mark? Do you think I’m going to be kidnapped by Blake’s henchmen or something?” Stef let out an exasperated laugh. Emmett didn’t find it funny. His back went ramrod straight, his senses on high alert at the idea that any harm would befall her.

He forbade it.

“You do things without thinking,” the mayor said. “Who knows what could happen?”

“Chase, that’s enough.” Emmett took a step closer—to Stefanie this time.

His friend was right to watch out for his youngest sibling, but he was handling this wrong. Not that Emmett had much experience with sensitivity—he had been raised by Van Keaton, after all. But Emmett knew Stef and he also knew the situation. He couldn’t keep from stepping at least one toe in her corner.

“You can stand down,” Stef snapped. “I don’t need your protection from my stupid brother.”

“You need protection from yourself,” Chase interjected.

This conversation was getting nowhere.

“I’m going to San Antonio tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few days. I’m sure your precious campaign will be intact when I return.” She grabbed her handbag and slung it over her shoulder as Chase rose from his chair, his face a beet-worthy shade of red.

“I’ll drive you,” Emmett blurted.

Again he was faced by both Fergusons. But only one of them looked upset by his offer. The cute blonde one.

“Yes. Great idea.” Chase nodded. “Emmett will be your escort.”

“I don’t want an escort!”

“I don’t care!”

“Knock it off.” Emmett bodily moved himself to stand between Stefanie and Chase. “I’ll drive you to San Antonio. Book me a room wherever you’re staying.”

“It’s a bed-and-breakfast and it’s full.” She raised her chin, her aquamarine eyes flashing in warning.

“I’ll sleep in my SUV.” Emmett tipped his head in challenge. “It’s either this or you don’t go. Your brother’s right about it being dangerous. Your image is plastered all over social media. I’ve seen you in the spotlight before. Paparazzi chase you, Stef.”

She was beautiful and young and easily the most famous female billionaire in Dallas, if not the state of Texas. The combination of her it-girl reputation and a rumor that she was going to marry the mayor’s sworn enemy made for tempting media fodder.

She opened her mouth, probably to argue.

Emmett lifted his eyebrows, silently communicating. Give me a break, okay?

Miraculously, rather than arguing, she gritted out, “Fine.”

“Great. Get out,” Chase said. “Both of you.”

So, his best friend was prickly. So what? Emmett wasn’t one for being handled with kid gloves. His rhino-tough hide had been hewed at a young age.

“Come on,” he told Stef, opening the mayor’s door for her to exit. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

Emmett held open the passenger door of his black SUV, a gas-guzzling, tinted-windowed, way-too-big-for-a-road-trip vehicle.

“You can’t be serious about taking this beast to San Antonio. We’ll have to pull over every fifteen miles to refill the tank.”

“Get. In.”

She glared up at his chiseled jaw and perfectly shaped head beneath very short, dark brown hair. He wore it cropped close and rarely was it more than a few inches long on top. He was bedecked in what she’d come to think of as his “standard uniform.” A crisp white shirt open at the collar and dark slacks. His brawn and bulk and attitude were better suited for a T-shirt and sweats, but his job title required a dab of formality.

She tossed her purse inside and grasped the SUV’s door handle and the front seat to climb in. Emmett’s warm, broad palm cupped her elbow to steady her, and she nearly jerked away in shock. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was the first time he’d ever touched her.

It was...alarming.

And not in the get-your-damn-hands-off-me kind of way. His touch had felt...intimate.

Once she was inside he dropped his voice and leaned close. She ignored the clean leather smell of him. Or tried to, anyway.

“Heads up. There’s a suspicious cyclist over there.” He shut her door and walked around to the driver’s side.

She scanned the immediate area outside her brother’s office twice before she spotted a casual-looking guy on a bike with a cell phone conspicuously propped on the handlebars and pointing at the SUV.

Damn.

As much as she hated to admit it, Chase might have had a point about media attention.

Emmett settled into the driver’s seat and turned over the engine, sending her an assessing, stony gray stare. Typically, his eyes held a note of blue, but today they mirrored the cloudy skies above.

“What?” she barked. “Do you want me to congratulate you because you’re right?”

He smirked. “Buckle your belt.”

“Let’s get one thing straight, Neanderthal,” she said as she jerked the belt over her torso. “You may believe a woman’s place is in the passenger seat. Or that I can’t handle anything on my own without one of you big strong men to help me out, but FYI, I am not yours to command.”

Though some foreign tingly part of her suggested that Emmett might be the perfect specimen to take commands from.

She swallowed the rest of her speech about being an adult and handling her own problems, mainly because they both felt like stretches of the truth. In all of her attempts not to involve her family in her life, she’d somehow managed to tow them in. Her parents, Chase, Penelope, Zach and now Emmett.

Angry with herself more than her driver, she stared out the window in silence as the SUV pulled away from the curb.