Carter nodded in understanding but couldn’t shake the wary feeling smack in the center of his chest. He had to hand it to Kat; she didn’t appear worried at all. She looked beautiful and hopeful that he would say yes, but Carter wasn’t entirely sure he could.

“You don’t have to make a decision now,” Kat said, seemingly sensing his unease. “Think about it.”

“I will,” he promised. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course.”

Shadows of unspoken words clouded her usually bright eyes. Carter frowned. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was small. “I’m … I’m great. Really. I just want you to myself for a while. Can we go back to the house? Is that okay?”

Carter leaned across the bench and kissed her again. “I’m all yours.” He took her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

Austin Ford stared hard at his reflection in the gilded mirror of his office’s private bathroom and grinned at what he saw. He had to confess; he was a handsome son of a bitch. His hair was thick and dark with small flecks of gray that suggested sophistication as opposed to age. His face was firm, with laugh lines around his eyes adding warmth, and his figure was trim and fit, hugged fantastically by the Armani suit adorning it.

Overall, life was pretty damned good.

Yes, he still had issues with a family member who would forever be the thorn in his side. But that shit would be handled, too. With the friends Austin had and the favors he was owed, Wes Carter would soon be behind bars again. It was just a question of when.

A burst of auburn wavy hair and large green eyes flashed in the back of Ford’s mind.

Kat.

Austin had always considered himself a charming bastard, and to lose Kat’s affections to his shit-for-brains cousin stung more than he was willing to admit. What the hell did Carter have that he didn’t? Fuck if he knew. Besides, once her convict was back behind bars and she realized what a fuckup he really was, she’d appreciate having a strong shoulder to cry on, a knight to save the day. Austin’s pulse quickened and his palms perspired, but he reined his thoughts in swiftly. Now was no time for being anywhere but on the fucking ball.

He adjusted the large silk knot at his neck and took a deep breath.

Showtime.

He strode out of his bathroom and nodded sharply at Adam, who was, as always, looking like little boy lost.

“Get your shit together,” Austin snapped. He pressed the button for his secretary on the phone at the edge of his desk. “We need to own this.”

“Yeah,” came his brother’s reply.

“You can send him in,” Austin ordered.

Leaning against the desk, Austin looked squarely at his accounts manager and litigator, who both had straight business faces that would have made any normal grown man shit in his pants. Everything was perfect.

There was a sharp knock on the door before the handle turned and a tall blond man in a fabulous gray Gucci suit walked confidently into the office. Austin was a little taken aback by the obvious ease with which he entered, but he covered it with a commanding smile and an outstretched hand.

“Mr. Thomas,” he crooned. “Welcome.”

“Mr. Ford,” Ben replied.

* * *

Ben took Ford’s hand and shook it firmly, keeping eye contact the entire time. He wasn’t a pussy by any stretch of the imagination; he’d been in offices like this many times, and dealt with assholes like Ford on a regular basis, but what he was about to do was nothing he’d ever been involved in and, if handled badly, could be a complete and utter catastrophe. People he cared about were counting on him to keep his cool.

He swallowed and placed himself in one of the ridiculously luxurious chairs next to a huge glass table.

“Water?” Ford asked as he, too, sat down.

Ben’s mouth was dryer than the Sahara, but he wasn’t about to give Ford the satisfaction of seeing how uncomfortable he was. “No,” he replied casually. He opened his briefcase, keeping his eyes fixed on what he was doing. “I’m good. This won’t take long.”

He ignored the derisive snort that came from Ford. “Yes, I’m sure it won’t. But, alas, you were a little vague on the details when we spoke and arranged this meeting. Would you be so kind as to explain just exactly why you are here?”

“I am here on behalf of my client. Mr. Wesley Carter.” Ben’s gaze nailed Ford to his chair. He placed a folder on the glass table and watched as the color of arrogance and control slowly seeped from Ford’s face. “The reason I was vague about this meeting, Mr. Ford,” Ben began, while calmly steepling his hands on the table, “is because, as you can surmise, the situation is a delicate one.”

Ford remained stock-still. “How so?”

Ben smirked at the attempt at nonchalance and opened Carter’s file. “As you’re aware, your largest shareholder is Mr. W. Carter of New York, as was directed by his”—Ben looked up with a sparkle in his eyes—“your grandmother’s will.”

Ford sat back in his seat and crossed his right leg over his left, ready to pounce. “I’m very well aware of that, Mr. Thomas. What’s your point?”

“My point is that my client has on several occasions asked for his share within the company to be acknowledged with an appropriate salary and input on all company decisions, including those at board level.” Ben waited. He was met with nothing but stern, unforgiving eyes and silence. “He hasn’t been granted either.”

“Mr. Thomas,” Ford began in a careful tone. “Your client has been in and out of prison for the past twelve years on charges ranging from drug dealing to carjacking. As I’m sure you can appreciate, it isn’t in the company’s best interest to advertise such unsavory behavior.”

Ben smiled stiffly. “Of course, but still, regardless of the other shareholders knowing—more of which I’ll come to in a moment—do you not think it important to pay my client accordingly or at least offer a gesture of goodwill?”

Ford shifted in his seat. “And what exactly would a gesture of goodwill look like?”

“A sixty-percent increase on his current yearly income, input on all decisions at board level, and an assurance that his shares will not be diluted with or without the threat of blackmail.”

The air around the two men became stifling. One of the suits standing at the back of the room twitched uneasily. There was the sound of a throat being cleared.

“I’d be careful which words you choose, Mr. Thomas,” Ford warned. “Walls have ears, you know.”

“Oh,” Ben answered unwaveringly, “I know.” He dropped a handful of black-and-white photographs on the desk.

Ford, with eyes like granite, stared hard at him. “What’s this?”

“Insurance,” Ben answered smoothly. “To make sure that these requests are met without comeback on my client.”

“Comeback?” Austin repeated.

“Yes.” Ben placed a finger on the top photograph, which showed Austin smiling over dinner and shaking hands with Raphael Casari, a convicted felon known by the FBI for money laundering and drug trafficking. “As I understand it, Mr. Casari is not the kind of character one would have involved in a business such as yours, unless there were more, shall we say, dishonest things at hand.” Ben smiled.

“Pictures prove nothing,” Ford said indifferently.

Ben smiled. “True. Although these might.” He slapped another two folders down.

Ford’s eyes flickered over them. “And these are?”

“Statements.” Ben sat forward. “Monetary statements, which, for some reason, were harder to find than your others. Mr. Ford, does the word ‘embezzlement’ mean anything to you?”

With that heavyweight punch, Ben knew the ground under Austin Ford’s two-thousand-dollar loafers became unsteady. He glanced once more at the photographs and folder and pressed a palm down the front of his tie. He stared hard at Ben. The menace spreading through his features, pinching and sharpening, was truly terrifying. He was no longer the big dog. He had his ass against the wall, and he didn’t like it.