The Real Problem

Dane

He and Delilah were staring at each other as he measured his options, when Dane faintly heard the elevator door ding out in the reception area.

Tank and Chris were here. He couldn't be talking about this when they walked in! He sprang from his chair so quickly Delilah startled. Circling his desk, he started for the door, then paused next to her chair. Without though, he placed one hand on the back of her seat, his fingers brushing lightly the material of her suit jacket. Did he imagine that she noticed? She hadn't twisted to follow him with her eyes, but her chin turned, her eyes on his hand. Her jaw tense.

She wasn't loyal yet. Dammit. He wanted to tell her, wanted to hear what she might think of it that hadn't occurred to him. That was her job, right? but the risk . . . if she was a plant. If she had been brought here because she was the problem . . . Why hadn't he seen this Becky woman coming? He gripped the chair tighter and Delilah's eyebrow rose. When he didn't say anything, she twisted in the seat and lifted her chin, craning her head back to meet his eyes as he loomed over her.

"Dane," she said, her voice clipped and professional. "My job is to help my clients avoid . . . problems. And to overcome the potential pitfalls of problems they already have. In order to do that I'm often required to receive information that is . . . unpleasant."

A little burst of adrenalin in his chest made him freeze.

She continued, with a warning look at him. "Your privacy, as my client, is my first priority—unless you are harming people."

He scowled. So she did listen to the rumors, then. And she thought—

"If you are hurting your clients, you should fire me now—before I know anything other than that you are a successful man, with a sketchy client, and a vendetta being played out in the media. Because right now I can honestly tell the world that to the best of my knowledge, you're a good man who doesn't deserve the attention he's receiving. But if I find out you're—"

"Nothing you find will ever tell you any other than that I have an obsession with keeping women safe," Dane muttered. He leaned down to meet her eyes. "I would never harm a client, even if they instructed me to," he said with more intensity than he'd intended to show her. She blinked, but didn't pull away. "But you should know, I'm not a good man. And if you breathe a word of this situation to anyone—anyone at all—before we've had a chance to find out who can be trusted, I will destroy you. You will not work in this city again."

She blinked again, but didn't break his gaze. He didn't move.

"Are any women being hurt by—"

"No," he snapped. He could hear deep, angry voices in the hallway outside now. "But I cannot tell you more than that right now. Because we need to finish this conversation when we won't have an audience. Can you keep quiet until I've dealt with my brother and Tank? Or do I need to fire you after all, Miss Farris?"

Her throat bobbed and for a split second his eyes dropped to the creamy skin, that little v where her collarbones met, the soft way wisps of her hair curled around her face and jaw. Then he blinked and forced himself to meet her gaze again.

Something passed behind her eyes—uncertainty. He gripped the back of her chair tighter. He didn't want to fire her yet. She might prove useful. But if he couldn't trust her to follow instructions . . . If she thought she was on some kind of crusade—

They both startled as the door flew open and the two strongest men Dane knew stumbled in—Tank, his biceps the size of Dane's thighs, laughing as Chris cursed and almost fell, because Tank had him wrapped in those massive arms. Chris was strong enough to do it--or at least, to make a good try at it. But, despite his obvious struggles, he wasn't willing to use any of the moves he knew would hurt his friend and colleague in order to get free. Dane had banked on that. So apparently Chris had been, quite literally, dragged into the office. Dane closed his eyes for a second. His brother was a problem he didn't know how to fix--but a different kind of problem. A problem he didn't have time for right now. He let go of a breath then started toward them.

But a soft warm hand caught his as stepped away and he jerked to a stop, turning his head to find her.

She licked her lips and shook her head. "No," she murmured, under the noise of the two men struggling. "You don't need to worry, or fire me. You can trust me to keep your secrets. From anyone."

Dane blinked. Did he imagine the softness in her eyes when she touched him? He didn't have time to wonder. "Good," he said, then tore his hand out of her grip as Chris cursed again, and Tank laughed. There was a thump as their combined weight glanced off the wall.

But he found he couldn't quite stop staring at her--and she stared back--both of them searching, for another half a breath. It was Dane who finally broke the gaze, nodding once.

And as he growled at his brother to stop acting like a twelve year old, he very intentionally ignored the fact that his skin tingled where she'd touched it.

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