I limp over to the couch. Finn’s doing pull-ups on the doorframe.
God, he’s hot. I hate it. He’s got an intricate sleeve of tattoos on one arm, and I can see through his t-shirt that it continues onto his chest. His broad chest, that tapers into a lean waist. Ugh.
“Sleep well?” he asks, not looking at me.
“No,” I say.
Better save the lying for when it counts.
“That’s too bad.” He doesn’t break a sweat as he continues to do pull-ups. “There’s coffee in the kitchen.”
I need to stop staring at him. Coffee is a good distraction. I walk slowly into the kitchen. Like I said, damsel in distress doesn’t seem to play to Finn’s appetites.
The coffee’s a dark roast, full-bodied and delicious. It’s probably the best coffee I’ve ever tasted. I settle into a chair and pick at my nail polish. His feet hit the floor, and he joins me with a cup of coffee.
“This coffee is incredible. Another business perk?” I ask. I need to push him just enough and back off.
His smile turns predatory for a moment and then eases into something more generic. Perfect.
“No—my father has shit taste in coffee. He’ll drink the instant stuff to save time if he has to. Absolutely no palate, that man. How’s the ankle?”
“Fine.”
“If it’s anything like those bruises on your neck, I doubt it.”
My hands fly up to my neck. It’s tender, but not even in the top ten of my catalog of injuries now.
“No need to be self-conscious,” he says, his mouth turning up in a wry smile. “No need to be a hero, either.”
I hate him so much.
“I have an idea. A compromise of sorts.”
I can’t bring myself to look at him.
“Something that allows you to save face at work—it’s clear you need to keep your job—and keeps my father happy too. Let me know the name of the staff person who got this all started.”
“No!” I snap, pulling my gaze up suddenly. “Finn, your father will…”
He shrugs. “He’ll fire them, unless you can convince them to quit first. You can let them know we found out. The staff decides it’s too dangerous to organize, and they can leave too if they want. My father is happy. Everyone goes on their merry way. No one gets hurt. Easy.”
Do I tell him about his father being served? His plan will work either way, but this’ll throw one hell of a wrench in it. The labor board will be watching firings and departures with much more interest now. James Carney is powerful, but there are always people who love to take powerful men out.
Not necessarily because it’s the right thing to do, but because powerful men have powerful enemies.
“Don’t get hung up on pride,” he says, reaching for my hand. I should snatch it away but letting him touch me is one way of letting him think he’s winning. His fingers skate across the back of my hand pausing when he hits the scar on the back of my wrist. The tips of my fingers are sickly white, the blood draining from them.
“What is it?” he snaps. “You’re scared. What aren’t you telling me?”
Jesus Christ. My body is always ratting me out.
“Don’t make this worse for yourself or your family,” he warns, his grip tightening on my wrist. It doesn’t hurt, but I let out a whimper despite my best effort not to. He seems to remember himself and drops my hand. I pull it to my chest.
“This isn’t a game,” he says, his voice calm again. “I can’t help either of us if I don’t know what’s happening.”
Like he has any desire to help me.
Still, I’ll pretend this is my ace. There are more up my sleeve.
“It’s a moot point, Finn. We filed with the National Labor Relations Board. They’ll be serving your father Monday. It’s a legal matter now. The election’s going to happen.”
I’m giving him a head start on bullying the staff, but they knew they were in for a battle.
His expression is one of pure rage for just a moment, but then he blinks, smiling serenely at me.
How does he put on his mask so quickly? Must have a lot of practice.
“Thank you for telling me. I need to talk to my father. I’m going to ask that you stay here since you’re hurt. It’ll be safer than going home.”
“But my family,” I say, grabbing his arm.
He stares at my hand. It looks small on his forearm. His skin is warm under my cold fingers. He’s a powerful man that I barely know. It would be a mistake to forget it.
That predatory smile returns to his face. He leans forward and traces a finger down my temple, over my lips.
“Don’t worry, love,” he says. “I’ll let them know you’re okay.”
No.
“Finn. No, please!” I’m clutching his arm desperately.
He kisses me on the forehead.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m sure they’ll love me. Parents always love me.”
He shakes off my hand, stands up, and grabs a button-down shirt from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “You can still tell me who’s your lead at Trinity,” he says, doing up the buttons. “Just as another good faith gesture?”
Fear coats the back of my throat. What will this man do to my baby brother? I have to believe he won’t hurt him at this point. I can’t give up Jamilah. How has this gotten so out of hand?
“No?” He pulls on a gorgeous charcoal-colored pea coat. It’s perfectly tailored to his body. “Think about it, love.”
He strokes my hair, and then writes a number down on a piece of paper. “Text me if you change your mind. I’ll tell your brother you said hi. I’d lock the door behind me. You’re a pretty girl, and P.J. seemed more than a little interested.”
“Finn, please. Don’t…” My voice is a whisper.
“You’re the one making this hard on yourself,” he says, tipping up my chin. “When P.J. said I had to take care of this problem, what do you think he meant?”
Hot tears fill my eyes and my hands shake. I know damn well what he meant.
He runs a thumb under my eye, wiping the tears away.
“Just one name, Sasha. And all of this will go away.”
“What do you have to lose by standing up to your father?” I stammer. “Why are you really keeping me here?”
He smiles softly at me, stroking my cheek with his knuckle. “I’m keeping you here so my father knows we’re working together. Otherwise he’ll have you or your family killed, and that’d be a shame. As for me? My father and I don’t exactly see eye to eye on a lot of things, but when it comes down to it, he’d dispose of me too if it suits him. Better that it doesn’t.”
I look at the scar on his eyebrow and suck in a deep breath. How am I going to get out of this?
“You won’t hurt my brother?” I whimper.
“No. I won’t. I just want to let him know not to expect you. It’d be better if you don’t contact him right now. It’s safer this way, Sasha. Can’t you see that? It’s not just your life hanging in the balance here.”
How should I even respond to that? He’s right, but it’s not like he’s helpless in this situation. Maybe I’m not entirely either, but I have far less power and resources.