weaving through the raucous group as everyone took a deep breath.
Cass realized she’d been clutching Gwen’s hand hard enough to mottle the woman’s skin. Releasing it, she stepped back. “Someday I’m going to get through this without you.”
Gwen shut the office door to a chorus of laughter as the group moved off. Turning, she leaned against the nearest bookshelf. “I hope you always need me, Cass.”
“I didn’t mean...” She ran fingers through her hair, disrupting the smooth chignon. Tucking the loosened pieces in place, she moved to stand over Gwen. In heels, it was easy to dwarf the petite blonde.
“You’re looming, love.”
“I know.” Cass leaned down and kissed the woman’s cheek.
“Does this mean I get a rose and you ask me to stay on your island?” Gwen demanded, hands on her hips.
Cass laughed, that kernel of dread morphing into something effervescent and pervasive, something suspiciously akin to hope. It spread through her limbs and left her feeling light and impossibly encouraged. “We now officially have two things to celebrate,” she said, letting a slow, seductive smile spread over her face.
Gwen stepped back, smacking into the door. “I know that look. That look says you’re going to get me in trouble with Dave. I’m getting married next Saturday, Cass. I can’t exactly return the dress, and I want that damn cake. We got a layer of peanut butter and jelly.” She slid along the door as Cass stalked forward.
“You’re the one who said to live a little.”
Gwen shook her head. “You. Not me. You live a little. I’ve lived. I’m tired of living. That’s why I’m getting married.” Her brow furrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Cass, Dave has specifically forbidden me from getting in over my head, and the expression on your face says you’re throwing me in the deep end in a total sink-or-swim, survival-style move.”
“Yep.” A feral grin tugged at Cass’s lips. She adored Dave, but no one would ever truly be good enough for Gwen. It just wasn’t possible.
“Swimming?” Gwen tugged at her collar. “I didn’t bring my bathing suit.”
“Naked swimming, Gwen.”
A sheen of sweat dotted her friend’s upper lip. “N-Naked?”
“As in, without clothes. Yes.” Cass reached out and grabbed her best friend’s wrist when she reached for the door. “Nope. No bailing. Dave will be fine with this. He’s no doubt getting the same treatment. You’re not leaving my side until the night’s over.”
“A bachelorette party?” Gwen gasped.
The sound of surprise struck Cass particularly hard. “You didn’t actually think I’d let you get married without a party, did you?”
“What happened to the emotionally suppressed pessimist? I want her back.”
“Too bad. You’re the one who told me to dance on a few tables. Besides, we still need to have my and Dave’s names tattooed on your ass. He gets left and I’ll always be right. It’s more poetic that way.”
“Tattoos?” Gwen squeaked, edging toward the door again.
Cass coughed to cover her laugh. “Truth?”
The smaller woman nodded, wide eyes never leaving Cass’s face.
“Nothing’s going to happen tonight that you don’t want to happen. Period. I’ve got your back, as always.” She arched a brow and slapped a cuff on Gwen’s wrist, fastening the other around her own before the other woman could react.
“You let me go right now, Ramona Cassidy Jameson, or I’m calling your father and informing him you’re a sexual deviant.”
“Stomp your foot and I swear I’ll dump your new Mac in the Sound.”
Gwen watched her for a minute and then smiled wide. “You would, too. That’s one of the reasons I like you so much. You don’t take shit from anyone, ever, and you always come out on top.”
“Because I fight to get there.” Cass grinned down at the vixen latched to her wrist. “Tonight? What you do, I do. That’ll keep things from getting too wild.”
“Too wild?” Gwen glanced up, biting her bottom lip. “How wild is too wild?”
Cass dragged a superficially reluctant Gwen out of the office to yet another round of cheers. As they waited for the elevator, Cass rattled their joined wrists. “How wild is too wild?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Fifty bucks says we find out tonight.”
* * *
ERIC REEVES WALKED through the office, navigating cubicles, stopping here and there to exchange a word of encouragement or thanks, sometimes a laugh, with his employees. Sovereign Developments, the real estate development firm he’d founded on dollar bills and a dream, was on the cusp of a huge deal. After securing the rights to develop the Chok Resort on Lake Washington in a battle with David Jameson, an established developer, that had, at times, been brutal, they were waiting for the EPA to approve the environmental engineer’s plan. More importantly, they were waiting for the board to agree to fund the plan. In the meantime, he’d had to forgo his salary to make sure Sovereign could pay its bills, and he was working a second job to pay his own bills.
When the contracts between the parties were signed and Sovereign was officially the development firm of record, Eric would breathe again. Until then, he had a metric crapload of work to do, not the least of which involved long hours at his second job.
“Hey.” Eric’s assistant, Gretchen, fell into step beside him. “You’re on your fifth lap around the office. What’s up?”
“I’m not making laps. I’m managing,” he answered, smiling absently as he watched an engineer manipulate a drawing on his computer.
“Managing, huh?” She held out a clipboard with several papers attached. “Well, I need you to manage this while you wear the soles off your shoes.”
He took the clipboard and scanned the forms. Payroll. Shit. “How deep are we in it this time?” Gretchen’s studiously blank face was answer enough, but Eric wanted to hear it before he saw the numbers. “Prepare me, Gretch.”
“Let’s just say we’re going to be pushing the limits of our line of credit this pay period.”
His stomach tightened as bile rose in his throat. Still, he nodded and let one corner of his mouth curl up in a half smile. “Once we’re officially cleared on the Chok Resort, you’ll be able to stop hovering over the line of credit like a financial mother hen over her little brood of dollar signs.”
“I don’t hover,” Gretchen huffed. Her lips twitched. “Much.”
“Right. And I’m actually a leprechaun.”
“You’re too tall.”
He glanced over and arched a brow as he crossed his arms over his chest. His suit pulled at his shoulders. “Are you disparaging my people because I’m a physical anomaly?”
Gretchen laughed out loud, drawing several glances from around the room. “Eric says he’s a leprechaun,” she announced.
“Where’s my pot of gold?” someone shouted.
A discussion ensued regarding leprechauns and what people would do with the gold if they had it. Eric signed forms, keeping one eye on the clipboard and one ear on the chatter. The underlying energy in the room hummed along his skin like a small electrical current. He fed on it. It kept him moving forward, kept him focused and encouraged. As the owner and CEO of Sovereign, he had to ensure the company’s financial security and longevity, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to make sure that future was as secure as it could be.