Page 4 of Snake

Chase relished moments like this. He leaned back in his throne-size chair and put his hands behind his head. “Right. Refresh my memory. You had a catchy name, right?”

“Heartland Homesteads. For the past decade or so of our small-town initiative, we’ve established dozens of properties, and we’re gaining purchase in those communities for further development, but it’s a constant fight with the residents. We’re spending too much on lawyers and PR just to get to the point where we can break ground. I think the problem is we’ve been using an outmoded idea of what kinds of developments small towns want. They don’t want fast-food franchises and auto-parts chains. They already have cheap restaurants and shops, owned by locals, and the owners and workers of those businesses feel threatened by our developments. My proposal is to develop what we call ‘lifestyle centers’ in urban and suburban areas, but with a more rural vibe. The kinds of shops that foster—”

“You’ve already given the presentation, hon. I don’t need it again.”

Autumn hated being cut off, and she detected some impatience in Chase’s tone. Shoot. He’d asked her to ‘refresh his memory’; now she understood he’d meant that as a power play. Was he turning her down?

“And where do you want to pilot this plan?” he asked.

She’d laid all that out in the presentation he’d just told her not to give again. “Signal Bend, Missouri.”

She stopped there. In the presentation, she’d given all her reasons it was a great pilot location: a historic town that had gone through a long cycle of decline, rebounded, and now was vibrant and bustling, with an impressively curated schedule of homey events through the year, and with some sightseeing cachet as both the shooting location of a major movie a couple decades ago and the actual location of the true events that inspired the movie. They had a quaint kind of retail, antique shops and the like, but residents had to drive twenty miles or more to reach other stores and services. It was a nearly perfect location for her project.

(There was one possible complication: her research indicated that the same motorcycle gang that had been at the center of the situation the movie was about was still calling the shots in Signal Bend. But Autumn wasn’t worried. If she could manage the corporate elite of a major city, she could handle a few ignorant biker apes.)

She was not about to give Chase another opportunity to cut her off and tell her she was repeating herself, so she didn’t ‘refresh his memory’ again.

Chase wanted his employees to be wholly committed to and deeply enthusiastic about all things MWGP. He often said if employees wanted his respect, he needed to see that they bled green and blue (the colors of their logo). He also wanted those employees to know—and to feel—how far above it all he himself was.

He sat in his leather throne and studied Autumn long enough to make it awkward. Understanding his ploy, she did not shift or fidget. She sat serenely still and watched him watch her. She’d sit exactly as she was for the rest of her life before she’d give the slightest impression that she was in any way uncomfortable.

Chase broke first. “Well, I didn’t promote you just because you’re such a lovely decoration. So let’s see what you can do. Go forth with this Homeland whatever, and let’s see what you can do.”

The jerk already knew what she could do, and not even Charlton Isley III would put someone in the executive suite because he wanted to have sex with her. She let all that roll past and smiled. “Thank you, Chase. I won’t let you down.”

His affable affect slipped from his face like a discarded Halloween mask. “If you do, you won’t get a chance to do it again.”

Chapter One

about six months later

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Cox felt his nape draw tight, the way it did when somebody was behind him.

Everything on the inside drew tight as well. The reaction wasn’t fear or worry; there wasn’t anything to be afraid of—he was at work, and no stranger would make it all the way to the Signal Bend Construction warehouse unimpeded. No, the feeling clenching his sphincter was irritation. Fuck, how he hated being interrupted when he was in the zone.

“What?” he snarled without stopping his current task: cleaning his socket wrenches.

“Fuck, man,” Mel chuckled. “Are you ever in a good mood? After near twenty years knowing you, I can’t say I’ve seen it.”

Now Cox put his wrench and his damp shop cloth down, but he didn’t turn around. “You’re saying twenty years, you only see me in a bad mood?”

“Yup.” There was laughter in Mel’s voice. There was always laughter in that asshole’s voice. His skin was like Kevlar; everything bounced off.

“Y’ever think maybe you’re the common denominator there?” Cox pointed out. In truth, Mel was more right than not. It was unlikely anyone would ever find him in a good mood, because it was people that put him in a bad one. Only in solitude did he ever feel okay. Not good, mind you, but not murderous.

He’d been in solitude three minutes ago. One of the main perks of being the head mechanic at SBC was the ability not to have to hang around with people all goddamn day. Though he had two mechanics under him, once the crews were out on the job site he could arrange his day to be on his own more than not.

Checking his watch, he saw it was a lot later in the afternoon than he’d realized. Shifts were over; no doubt the clubhouse was filling up already.

Mel outright laughed. “Nah, man. Can’t be that. Everybody loves me. Even you.”

Cox stuck a hand back and put up his middle finger.

“Aw, so sweet. Anyway, Badge is calling us into the Keep. That’s what I came out to say.”

“Why?” Surprise pushed the question into the air, and Cox instantly regretted it. He’d find out in the Keep. Asking Mel only prolonged the chitchat.

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