All He Ever Wanted

She groaned and dropped her chin into her palm. “I’m in over my head. I should have known better than to try to go up against a Cain.” She looked up at Brandon. “I’m going to get crushed, aren’t I?”

“You make it sound like you’re facing Dalton on the field of battle.”

“Well, in my experience, any dealings with the Cains are like war.” Brandon gave a snort. “You wouldn’t agree?”

Brandon took a long sip of his wine, rolling it on his tongue as though he was quite the connoisseur—or like he was carefully considering his next words. She’d shared enough wine with him to know he wasn’t a connoisseur.

“Come on, Brandon, you know me too well to mince words. If you have an opinion, spit it out.”

He swallowed. “Okay. I think you’re rushing this.”

“You think I’m in over my head?”

“No. It’s not that. It’s just—” He took another gulp of wine, and this time it went down fast. “You’ve got all these opinions about the Cains. Opinions that you formed when you were still a kid. And—”

“You think I don’t know the Cains?”

Brandon held up a hand to stave off her annoyance. “I think you know Hollister Cain. He’s exactly the conniving, back-stabbing bastard you say he is.”

There was a but dangling on the end of Brandon’s sentence just as loud as a shout. “But you think I’m wrong about Dalton.”

Brandon shrugged. “Ever since he took over, the company atmosphere has been different. He’s still ruthless. Still aggressive as hell when it comes to business, but he’s not sneaky and manipulative like his father was. Hollister Cain was the kind of guy who’d steal corporate secrets right out from under your nose and then if you tried to come after him, he’d sue you for infringement of his intellectual property. Then he’d buy off the judge to ensure he won the case. Then he’d take the money from the settlement to buy up your stock and bury your company.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Just what Laney needed—a reminder of how ruthlessly Hollister would go after Gran if he ever found out about the money she had stolen. True, it sounded as if Hollister was on his deathbed, but she didn’t believe for a minute that he would let something as trifling as his own mortality keep him from prosecuting someone who’d done him wrong.

“Dalton isn’t like that.”

“Well, maybe it’s just harder to buy off judges now than it was thirty years ago.”

“No. I don’t think it’s that.” But Brandon still chuckled as he shook his head. “Both times I went up against him, there was no sneakiness. No manipulation. If he wants your company, you know he’s coming for it. Everything out in the open. So honest and fair it’s almost ridiculous. It’s almost like he’s trying to redeem the company’s reputation.”

Laney could feel herself frowning. Suddenly she was aware of how closely Brandon was watching her. Disconcerted, she set her glass down. “So you think I’m wrong about Dalton Cain?”

“I can’t guarantee that he’s not trying to screw you over.” Brandon pushed the document across the table toward her. “But I’d be very surprised if he was.”

Laney nervously tapped her nail tip on the stem of her glass. If Brandon was to be believed, Dalton was not the corporate predator his father had been. In fact, he may actually be a decent human being.

What was she supposed to do with that?

If Dalton really was on the up-and-up, she couldn’t take his money. Sure, the Cains probably donated this kind of money all the time. And, sure, the Woodland Theater was a worthy cause—the kids she worked with desperately needed the extra attention. But she’d still manipulated him into donating it and that felt wrong.

Better to know all this now than after all the papers had been signed.

She lifted her glass in silent toast to Brandon. “Thank you. And thank goodness you were willing to work for cheap wine. I could never afford to hire a lawyer.”

“I’m not saying it’s ironclad or anything,” Brandon said hastily. “If the guy wanted to back out, I’m sure he could find a way. How much do you trust Dalton?”

She considered the question, but since she had no real answer, she was forced to hedge with an indecisive waggle of her hand. “Enough, I suppose.”

“I thought this guy tormented you in high school.”

Dalton had been such an arrogant ass back in school—not brash and pushy, the way jocks always were, but just ice-cold and dismissive. As if he thought the janitorial staff should have put out traps for students like her. His attitude had always pissed her off, so she’d been the brash, pushy one—the one always in his face, refusing to let him forget that even though she was poor they’d once been friends.

“Torment is sort of subjective, don’t you think?” she asked.

Brandon’s eyebrows crept up under his bangs. The silent question was clear on his face.