Two
Emmett Keaton had been Chase Ferguson’s close friend, arguably his best friend, since college.
He could say with authority that Chase rarely allowed his feathers to ruffle. But today his feathers weren’t only ruffled, they were scattered to the four corners of the earth.
Since it was Emmett’s job to keep the mayor’s office safe, he’d have to assume the role of “the calm one” today. As the scandal currently wreaking havoc had to do with Stefanie, he found it challenging to bank his own anger.
The youngest Ferguson had a talent for finding trouble.
“When I get my hands on that sniveling weasel,” Chase grated out through teeth that were welded together, “I swear on everything holy—”
“Chase.” Penelope—wife to Chase’s brother, Zach—stood in front of Chase’s desk, arms crossed. She was dressed in a white pantsuit, her long blond hair pulled into a neat twist at the back of her head. Her stance broadcast one undeniable truth: she wasn’t intimidated by power. She’d handled many a powerful man as a public relations specialist over the years, and had become a trusted friend when Chase hired her to care for Stef the first time she stepped in it with Blake fucking Eastwood.
Because Chase trusted her, Emmett did, also.
“I’ve got this,” Pen said. “You have nothing to worry about.”
A muscle in Chase’s jaw ticked but he gave his sister-in-law a curt nod. She returned it with one of her own and spun on one very high-heeled shoe to leave.
Once she was out the door, Chase glanced at Emmett with irises so dark they bordered on black.
Chase punched a button on his phone. “Cynthia. Get my sister on the line.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sure you want to do that, boss?” Emmett asked.
Chase didn’t answer.
A moment later, the desk phone rang.
“Where the hell are you?” Chase barked into the receiver. A brief pause and then, “You have thirty seconds.” He slammed the phone down on its base and glared at the only target in the room. Emmett took the blow without flinching. “She was already on her way.”
“Good.”
Chase needed to redirect his anger? Fine.
It was better than him unleashing it on Stefanie.
The door burst open almost exactly thirty seconds later. Stefanie strode into the office in a short red designer dress, tall boots with dangerous-looking heels and a painted pout in siren red.
“I saw Pen on my way in.” Stef tucked her cell phone into an oversize handbag. “She warned me that you weren’t in the best mood. I’m assuming you’re mad at me.”
Nostrils flared, Chase pulled in a deep breath through his nose. When he spoke, his words were carefully measured. “I’m not angry with you, Stefanie. I’m—”
“Don’t say disappointed.” She dropped the handbag onto the leather chair in the corner of the room and sent Emmett a derisive glare.
Typical.
She hated him for reasons he’d yet to discern. He’d only ever offered assistance when she’d needed him—whether she’d asked or not. If memory served, she’d never asked.
“I’m concerned,” Chase said, and her head swiveled back to her brother. “Your Christmas retreat is soon, yes?”
“Yes.” A smile of pure delight crested her red mouth.
That smile lit her face like a string of holiday lights. Emmett had never seen someone so in love with the idea of Christmas. Loving the holiday was as foreign to him as understanding anything else about the lush lifestyle his best friend’s family led. In spite of his own amassed fortune, Emmett had no desire for frills of any kind. And he certainly had no desire to celebrate an occasion that brought forth bad memories and worse consequences.
“Where is it this year?” Chase asked.