Hard Deal. Stefanie London

      “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,