The Player's Club: Finn (4 page)

Which basically described Finn to a T. “How did you find out?”

“George told me.”

“George told you,” Diana repeated, making sure that doubt colored her words. She knew better than to challenge her boss’s perception—Thorn wasn’t a fan of subordinates confronting him—but she wanted to say:
You’re trusting your feckless, conniving nephew George, the leering, kiss-ass weasel?

Thorn got the hint, and still frowned angrily. “I know George was in a bit of trouble a while back,” he said. “But he and Finn used to be very close…especially when George was in college. Finn admired him, almost worshipped him, in fact.”

Which would also explain a lot of Finn’s problems, but no way was she hinting at that one.

“Right now, George is having a disagreement with his parents, and my brother-in-law is taking a hard line with him, although they won’t tell me why. All I know is, George asked me for a job, hat in hand. His boss tells me he’s working very hard. Which is more than I can say for my son.”

Diana squelched the sigh. Thorn’s disappointment in Finn’s lack of interest in the business would cue a different long-running rant, and one that would definitely absorb another hour of her life. “So George says he’s a member of this Club,” she said, writing down
Player’s Club
on her pad. “What do you need me to do, Thorn?”

Thorn’s eyebrows jumped up. “Get Finn out of it, of course!”

She let out a quick snort of laughter before she could stop herself. “You want me to find a supersecret, near-mythical underground club of rich kids, and get your son—who won’t listen to anything his own family says—out of it. The son who routinely loses any private investigators you’ve hired to follow him.”

Thorn’s green eyes flashed. “By any means necessary,” he spat. “Unlimited budget, and do whatever you have to. But he’s out of that damned Club before they kill him!”

“Ah.” Diana nodded, her mind processing even as her heart sank. “All right, guidelines. Do you want him kidnapped and taken to a reprogramming center? Or simply impressed by an outside threat that joining the Club is not in the best interest of his future health?” She frowned. “I think I’ve got a couple of people who could ensure that he did exactly what he needed to, with no permanent physical damage.”

She was jotting those down as possible solutions when she glanced up and saw Thorn staring at her openmouthed. “Are you serious?”

“You said by any means necessary,” she reminded him.

“I didn’t say kidnap my son!” Thorn blurted. “And I certainly didn’t suggest, what, hiring thugs to rough him up!”

She didn’t smile as she crossed those options off her list. They’d served their purpose—showing her boss that he was being irrational. “I don’t see that there are a lot of other choices here,” she said. “I’ll do some brainstorming, but I—”

“You’d really do those things, though. Wouldn’t you?”

She shrugged. She hadn’t been lying necessarily. As she’d grown up, her family had been involved in drug dealing and various other criminal pursuits, and she knew people who would happily break somebody’s legs just to get a few Benjamins. But she also knew that Thorn, infuriating hard-ass that he could be, was not a jerk. In a lot of ways, he was a soft touch. It was one of the main reasons she’d put up with his high-handed behavior from time to time.

“Damn. You
are
the Hammer, aren’t you?” Thorn’s expression gleamed with pride, and for a second, she sat straighter, smiling back, basking in his admiration. “They thought I was crazy, promoting a thirty-year-old to lead counsel. But in the past five years, you’ve proven yourself tougher than all my other employees and most of my competitors. If I told you to blow up a mountain, you’d probably ask for a time frame.”

“And a cost analysis,” she added dryly.

“You know, I never did ask how you got those pictures on the guy who was trying to extort money from me,” Thorn said, his voice leading.

She fell silent.

After a few minutes, Thorn gave in. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” He shook his head. “But I’m serious, Diana. Short of kidnapping him and roughing him up, I want my son out of this Player’s Club before his luck runs out and he winds up dead. He doesn’t see how it’s tearing his mother apart, but I’ll be damned if he keeps it up one more year. So you pull some of your ruthless magic, and make my boy straighten out.”

Diana nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“No,” Thorn said. “You’ll get it done. Period.”

Which she’d basically said, she thought, but let him put his foot down. “Where is Finn now?” she asked.

“He’s still at the hospital.”

“I’ll talk to him, see if maybe he’ll just make this easy for me,” she said, tucking the pad back into her briefcase.

“It’s Finn,” Thorn said, with a dry, humorless laugh. “How likely will that be?”

“Not likely at all,” she admitted, straightening. “But I’ve got to start somewhere.”

“MR. MACALISTER, WHERE DO you think you’re going?” The nurse in the faded sea-foam green uniform demanded of Finn.

“All I have is a concussion and a boatload of bruises, so I think I’m going to rest someplace a little more comfy,” he said, winking at the woman. He immediately wished he hadn’t—the resulting thumping in his head was like the world’s worst hangover. “Not that you haven’t been a ray of sunshine, but if I’m going to be in Hawaii, I’d rather be somewhere near the beach. Now, could you be a love and get my…ah, there’re my clothes.”

“I’m going to talk to the doctor,” the nurse muttered ominously, and left.

“Knock yourself out,” he replied, and stripped out of his hospital gown, groaning slightly. He had his back to the door, so he didn’t notice anyone stepping in until he heard her voice.

“Finn, I need to talk to you....”

He spun—another bad idea—and missed grabbing the bunched dressing gown at his feet. “Um, hello? Knocking?”

Then he got a good look, and he broke into the first real smile since he’d landed in the hospital.

Diana Song, just as cool and collected as she always was, in a pale gray suit with a crisp white blouse. Her black hair was done up in one of those twist things, not a wisp out of place. Her onyx eyes were wide as she took in his nudity.

She never seemed surprised, he noticed, and his smile stretched as he saw her staring at him naked, obviously trying
not
to look below the waist—and, equally obviously, failing miserably.

“See anything you like?” He wiggled his hips a little, pain be damned. He was going to celebrate this moment.

He couldn’t help but notice that she swallowed hard, just before her face turned into the expressionless mask she typically wore.

“That’s some bruising you’re developing,” she said, softly. “You’ll end up looking like a patchwork quilt.”

He kept smiling, and reached for the gown. “You should see me when—”

“You’ve got to quit the Player’s Club.”

He felt the weight of the shock, and realized she wasn’t there to give him flowers and flirt. If Diana Song was anything, it was the job. Still, he forced a grin, refusing to let her see she’d shaken him.

“What Club?”

She crossed her arms, staring at him impatiently. He stared back.

After a few long, silent minutes, she nodded at him—and for no reason that he could understand, she looked impressed. She also decided to take a different tack. “Surfing the Pipeline. That’s not brave, that’s stupid. You know that, right?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Don’t they all,” she murmured. “Your parents are concerned that your next bright idea might be your last, and they’re concerned that your involvement in this Club might be contributing to the quality and quantity of your well-being in a negative way…these excursions in extreme brainstorming, shall we say, have to end now.”

“Those are some big lawyerly sounding phrases there,” he answered. “Intelligent girls are soooo sexy.” Which was true, actually, but he mostly said it to annoy her.

If she was annoyed, it didn’t show. “Your father has asked me to persuade you to see the error of your ways and choose a less-dangerous group of enthusiasts to join.”

“Again with the sexy intelligence. I’m notoriously bad at being reasoned with. Ask anybody. I’m not the type to listen to logic.” He repositioned his gown, giving her a slow once-over with his eyes. “No, I’m sure your best shot would have to be manipulating me with seduction and your feminine wiles.”

“Duly noted. I was thinking more along the lines of lead-pipe cruelty, but it just goes to show that there are several avenues we can explore to achieve the desired results.”

He suddenly wished he had his clothes on. Even though he’d been joking about her seducing him—sort of—it was tough to match wits when you weren’t wearing pants.

“No offense, Diana, but you’re the family lawyer,” he said. “You’re brilliant, but at the end of the day, what can you really do to me? Write me a strongly worded memo? Subpoena me within an inch of my life?” He leaned close to her, whispering conspiratorially. “Good God…are you going to
sue me to death?
”

He saw it—just for a split second, the way those sexy pillowy lips of hers curved into an unwilling smile.

“Come on, you know you wanted to laugh,” he coaxed, wanting to see what she was like when she wasn’t all buttoned-up in business mode. “That was a good one.”

“How you missed your calling as a stand-up, I’ll never know. Perhaps you could quit the Player’s Club and pursue that instead.”

“I’m unappreciated, it’s true,” Finn said easily. “But seriously, what does my father expect you to do?”

“Whatever’s necessary to get the job done.” Her voice, though low, rang like a hammer on a steel blade, strong, true and somewhat ominous.

With anyone else, that sentence would’ve been a meaningless platitude, like
there’s no
I
in
teamwork, or
we give a hundred and ten percent!
But with Diana, there was something else. She’d put up with his father’s insane expectations for years, and had been able to survive in a corporate environment where lawyers were as disposable as toilet paper, and treated very similarly.

That meant that Diana was tough. Driven. Probably not to be messed with.

Which meant, perversely, that he now
had
to mess with her. He really had no choice.

“You’re going to stop me, then,” Finn mused. “No matter what.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.”

He couldn’t help himself. He let go of the dressing gown and stood, naked, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at her sternly.

“Are you threatening me, Ms. Song?”

She stared into his eyes, as still as a statue. “Are you trying to impress me, Mr. Macalister?” she countered. “Or perhaps going for another cheap laugh?”

He chuckled. “Now
that
was just cold.” He stuck his tongue out at her, then turned, to tug on his shorts.

He’d miscalculated. His muscles screamed at him, and he grimaced at the pain. “Damn it.” His shorts caught on his thighs. This was getting awkward. He looked at her. “I don’t suppose you can help with this? I’m a little injured, here.”

She sighed deeply, but walked over to him, putting her hands on his waistband.

“This is so odd,” he remarked, trying to feel less helpless by joking. “Normally, most women would be trying to get these off.”

“I’ll just bet,” she responded, and tugged the pants up the rest of the way, to his waist. “But I’m not most women.”

He stopped her, putting his hands lightly on her forearms, keeping her close to him.

She was beautiful, he thought. A mix of Amerasian, Chinese, maybe a little Hispanic. Her eyes were deep brown, so dark they were almost black, and her hair black and glossy. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes almond shaped, her lips like plump, luscious raspberries.