Page 48 of Just a Little Crush

“What’s Mark’s last name?” I asked Valerie, prepared to have Remy find out whatever he could on this guy to use to my advantage before I paid him a personal visit myself.

“Branson,” Valerie said.

That brought me up short, and I stared at her in disbelief. “Branson…as in The Branson Group?”

She nodded. “Yes. I used to work there. That’s how I met Mark.”

Holy shit,I thought, putting the pieces together in my mind. Mark Branson…the son of Grant Branson, the CEO of The Branson Group, a financial investment firm I was well acquainted with. The leverage I needed had just fallen into my lap in the most karmic way.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Stevie walk into the main living area, wearing an old T-shirt and a pair of pink, well-worn sweatpants. Her hair was damp, and her left wrist was encased in a black brace. When she saw me, she sighed in resignation.

I immediately jumped up from the couch and approached her, my eyes checking her out from head to toe, just in case the doctor missed anything. I didn’t bother to ask if she was okay, because I knew I’d get a very pat, “I’m fine”, response.

“Are you in pain?” I asked instead, also seeing the red scratches on her palms. It took everything in me not to pick up her hands and hold them in mine, or just touch her in general. But I heeded her body language, which was extremely guarded.

She shrugged. “My left wrist is a little uncomfortable. I took a few ibuprofens so I can sleep.”

I frowned at her weary expression, at the fatigue I could see in her eyes. There was no telling how many aches and pains she’d be feeling by morning. “Maybe you should stay home from work tomorrow.”

Her chin lifted a fraction, and she gave me one of those “you’re not the boss of me” looks that would have made me laugh under different circumstances. “I have a presentation tomorrow and I’m not calling in sick.”

“The team can handle the presentation,” Jack offered. “Samantha and Brandy would certainly understand.”

“No, I’ll be there,” Stevie insisted, stubborn as ever.

“Okay, but if you wake up in the morning and don’t feel up to it and change your mind—”

“I won’t,” she reiterated, then shifted her gaze back to me, a slight smile on her lips as if to soften her next words. “I’m really tired and I’m going to bed. Thank you for coming by and checking on me.”

I gave her a nod, when all I wanted was to take her home with me, tuck her into my bed where she belonged, and watch over her. But that clearly wasn’t an option. “I’m taking care of the Mark situation first thing in the morning.”

Her eyes went wide with surprise. “How?”

“I know his father personally.” That’s all the information Stevie needed, because I knew she wouldn’t approve of what I had in mind.

A small frown formed between her brows and I knew she was considering telling me to stay out of it.Not a chance, I thought, but I waited for her reply. Finally, she sighed in what seemed like acceptance.

“Well, I hope whatever you say to him works better than a restraining order.”

Thank goodness common sense had won out. I didn’t want to argue with her tonight. “Oh, it will,” I promised.

Uncaring that the two other people in the room were watching, I finally gave in to the urge to reach out and lightly caress my fingers along Stevie’s cheek. She instinctively softened at my touch, andalmostleaned into my hand before she caught herself and slowly pulled back.

So, I did the same. For now. “Get some rest and I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

***

The next morning,I strode into The Branson Group and up to the receptionist’s desk. Brittany, who I was well acquainted with since she’d been there for a few years, greeted me with a smile.

“Hi, Mr. Kane,” she said, then tipped her head in confusion as her eyes seemed to go over a document on her computer screen. “I don’t have you on the schedule for a meeting this morning. Is Mr. Branson expecting you?”

“No,” I said amicably. “This is a visit on a personal matter. Can you let him know it’s urgent that I speak to him?”

Yes, it was presumptuous of me to show up and demand to see the CEO of the firm, but when a company retained tens of millions of my dollars, I had every right to be confident of my ability to command an impromptu meeting with Grant Branson.

Sure enough, after a brief conversation on the phone, Brittany flashed me another smile. “He’ll see you in his office,” she said, not bothering to get up from her seat to escort me since I’d been there dozens of times before.

“Thank you.” I headed toward the suite of executive offices, to the one with a panoramic view of New York City.

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