The Billion Dollar Pact. Sheri WhiteFeather
He glanced around, taking in the decor, with its rich, dark woods, painted details and Native American accents. Garrett was a mixed-blood from the Cheyenne Nation, sired by an Anglo father he’d never known.
“You look like you have a lot on your mind,” Garrett said, reaching for his beer.
“Yeah, I do. I don’t know if I’m going to be much good today, finalizing the fund-raiser stuff.”
Garrett sat back in his chair. He was tall and broad, with deep-set eyes, short black hair and hard-edged features. He squinted a lot, just as he was doing now. “We can work on it another day.”
“Really?” Jake was surprised. His foster brother rarely pushed business aside. “You’d be cool with that?”
“I have things on my mind, too.”
Curious, Jake leaned forward. “Like what?”
Garrett didn’t respond. He didn’t alter his posture, either. He remained as he was, seated far back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. He looked like the hero of an old Western B movie, a half-breed cowboy, preparing to fight the bad guys and clean up the town.
Finally he said, “The woman who ripped us off will be coming up for parole this year.”
Ah, so that was it, Jake thought. Garrett had Meagan Quinn on his mind. The seemingly nice girl who’d embezzled money from them. She used to work for the accounting firm that Garrett, Max and Jake used, gaining access to their financial records and dipping her hands into the pie.
Jake was the most forgiving, of course. He knew what it was like to steal. “She’s serving her time. She’s paying her debt to society.”
“Yes, but she still has to pay her debt to us.”
That was true. As a stipulation of her sentence, Meagan had been ordered to pay restitution to her victims. The money she’d taken wasn’t an astronomical amount, at least not by their standards. But it was still a crime. And it had still pissed them off, especially Garrett, maybe even more than it should have.
Jake took another swig of his beer. “Doesn’t she have to get a verified job offer before she can get paroled? Isn’t that one of the terms of her release?”
“Yeah, and my do-gooder mother wants me to offer her a job, here at the resort.”
Holy cow. If Jake hadn’t been so shocked, he might’ve laughed. Regardless, he still cracked a joke. “Doing what? Working the front desk so she can get your guests’ credit card numbers and go on a shopping spree?”
“That isn’t funny.”
“Yes, it is. I mean, seriously, what the hell is your mom thinking?”
“She’s thinking that I’ll be able to give an ex-con a fresh start at a new life. Of course, the parole commission would have to approve her working for me, but since the restitution she owes would be going to our foundation, they’d probably agree to it.”
Jake nodded. An arrangement had already been made with the court for the money to be donated to their charity, instead of being paid to them. Garrett had taken care of that when he’d attended Meagan’s sentencing. Neither Jake nor Max had made an appearance. They’d trusted Garrett to represent them.
“Mom’s got it in her head that I need to do this, as much for the thief as myself.”
“A little forgiveness wouldn’t hurt.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see.” Garrett chugged his drink, then set the bottle down with a thud. After a moment of silence, he asked, “So what’s going on with you?”
Well, shit. Now Jake had to spill his guts, too. Only, he couldn’t admit that he’d slept with Carol. He’d promised to keep their affair on the down-low once they got home, and that included not blabbing to his foster brothers about it.
“I’m just worried about Carol,” he said.
Garrett’s expression softened. “Your assistant? How so?”
“She’s been sick this week.”
A frown appeared on Garrett’s face. “How sick?”
“I don’t know. She just seems run-down, I guess.”
“Then give her some time to recover.”
“Maybe I should stop by her place to check on her.”
“Sure, you could do that. But you should probably call first.”
“Or text,” Jake said, recalling the texts that had led to their first night together. “I just want to know that she’s going to be okay.”
“You’re really reliant on her, aren’t you?”
“She’s good at her job.” Hot and sexy in bed, too, he thought. And warm and sweet. Everything he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about. But he couldn’t seem to let those images go, no matter how hard he tried. “I’ll text her after I finish my beer.”
“I’m getting another one.” Garrett lifted his empty bottle and signaled the waitress.
Jake wasn’t having another drink. He wanted to keep a clear head for when he saw Carol.
* * *
Jake rang Carol’s doorbell and shifted the bag in his hand. In his text, he’d offered to bring her some soup. It was as good an excuse as any to con his way over here. Besides, he knew how much she loved the matzo ball soup from a nearby deli.
She answered the door, looking even more exhausted than the last time he’d seen her at work. Dang, he thought. He’d hoped that her condition would be improving, not worsening.
After she invited him inside, he held up the soup. “Do you want this now?”
“Maybe a little. Thank you.” Carol took the bag and went into the kitchen. Jake waited at the entrance of the kitchen, watching her move about. She opened the container and poured some of the broth into a mug, then spooned a matzo ball into it. “There’s a lot here. Do you want a cup, too?”
“No, thanks.” Jake studied her more closely. She was wearing sweatpants and a blousy shirt, and her typically tidy hair was pulled up into a rooster-style ponytail, the ends poking out at feathery angles. In a more relaxed situation, the chaotic style would have amused him. But he was in no mood to smile.
She motioned to the living room, and he followed her to the sofa, where he sat beside her.
She tasted the soup. “It’s really good. Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.” He paused before he continued, giving her time to eat a bit more of the soup. Then he asked, “Have you seen a doctor yet?”
She shook her head. “I wanted to wait until...”
Jake frowned. “Until what?”
“I was ready.”
That made absolutely no sense to him. “You’ve been sick for almost a week.”
“I’ll make an appointment if I need to.”
“I think you need to now.”
She put her mug on the coffee table. “Let me handle my own business, Jake.”
“I’m just worried is all.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She didn’t look fine. Not in the least. He’d never seen her in such a fragile state before.
“I started on the quilt I promised to make for you,” she said, changing the subject. “But it’s slow going.”
“You’ve been sewing?”
“No. But I cut the squares from the different fabrics. Or most of them. I still need to order a few more.” She glanced toward a basket in the corner of the room