Shift Happens Page 2

  He smirked. “I can tell.”

  A flush burned her from head to toe at the implication. She wasn’t skinny or particularly beautiful, but damn, couldn’t he show a bit of interest? She had big boobs, after all. What man didn’t like big boobs? Unless he was—

  She glanced at him. Nope. Definitely not gay.

  Wait. What was she doing? Did she want him to show interest?

  Oh God, she did.

  “Is there a place we can go to talk?”

  She plucked a piece of lint from her smock and flicked it away. “Here’s fine. Say your piece. I’m a busy woman.”

  Another smile crossed his face, soul-shattering because this time it was directed at her. “I like you, Ellie Reynolds.”

  Something was wrong with her knees. Had to be. They kept giving out on her. Was twenty-five too young to have arthritis? Was it even possible for her to have it? Suddenly she wished she’d paid more attention when her mother taught her about her shifter heritage, if only for medical purposes.

  In an effort to maintain control of the conversation, she borrowed one of her Nana’s favorite expressions. “Stop blowing smoke up my ass and get on with it.”

  The tolerant light in his eyes extinguished. She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it herself, but his entire demeanor transformed, becoming the man she recognized on the cover of business and financial magazines, the man who bought and sold property for a living. “I want to buy Polished.”

  Shock held her immobile. “What would a savvy businessman like you need with a small-time salon?”

  “I have an investment opportunity, but I need your building to complete the transaction. I can’t go into further details. Contract negotiations, you understand.”

  Actually she didn’t. She’d bought Polished, scoring a hell of a deal when the previous owner died and the son agreed to take a low-ball offer. “I see. How much are you offering?”

  Not that she would consider it, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

  “Two million dollars.”

  She choked on her spit. “Come again?”

  His green gaze was serious. “Say yes, and I’ll have my lawyer draw up the paperwork immediately.”

  “Oh, I know what’s going on.” She leaned back and looked around him. “Where are the cameras? I’m being punked, aren’t I? I should’ve known. Did Antoinette put you up to this? I’m painting her nails baby-poop green the next time I see her. Wait and see.”

  Jackson stepped forward and took her cheeks between his warm palms. “Ellie, focus. I want to buy your salon. I’m not dicking around here.”

  “This is real? Your offer is real?”

  Fucking A. Jackson Lawrence was touching her face. Jackson Lawrence smelled like cedar and mint. Jackson Lawrence had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

  The animal within her purred with satisfaction.

  Hold the phone. She didn’t purr. Yet honest to goodness mewls continued to escape her throat.

  The tips of his fingers pressed into the curves of her cheeks before gentling into a caress. “You can be rich, Ellie. Think about it. All you have to do is say yes.”

  The money was tempting, but nothing held a candle to the man before her. She’d probably strip naked and walk through Buckhead to please him, but Polished was her life’s work. She’d done it for Nana. No way could she sell her Nana’s dream.

  Stepping back from temptation, she shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not selling.”

  Surprise registered in his striking, feline-tinted eyes. Odd eyes for a wolf shifter to possess. Did he have a cat ancestor she hadn’t read about in the shifter gossip blogs? “Two million dollars is a lot of money, Ellie.”

  A shit ton of money to be exact. “I know. I thank you again, but no deal.”

  His lips twitched. “Is that your final offer?”

  Dang it. She was trying to be a serious businesswoman, for heaven’s sake. “I think you should go.”

  His eyes narrowed, the emerald and hunter green shades swirling into a mesmerizing pattern. “You don’t mean that.”

  No, she didn’t, but she needed to. She glanced at the clock, cursing the elderly Mrs. Sussman. “I’m a busy woman, Mr. Lawrence. I—”

  Her words were drowned out by the sound of shattered glass. She instinctively covered her head and ducked. “What the hell?”

  “Get down!” Jackson shouted.

  He leaped, frigging leaped, over her counter and hooked his arm around her shoulders, dragging her behind the insubstantial protection of her receptionist-type desk. Ellie landed in an awkward position, curled against his chest with her legs bracketed by his. Her nose bumped into his chest and the scent of cedar teased her nostrils. Damn, he smelled really good.

  “Stay down,” Jackson commanded. He reached behind his back and withdrew a deadly looking gun from his waistband.

  She gaped at the weapon. A gun? Why in the hell was Jackson Lawrence holding a gun? “What is happening? Is someone shooting at us?”

  His gaze flicked to her. “What did you think shattered your windows?”

  “Kids throwing rocks. Hell, I don’t know.” She eyed the gun like it was a dangerous snake. “I’m not acquainted with the sound of gunfire, especially in the middle of my shop!”

  Jackson smirked before placing a hand on her head and pushing her lower. “Stay down. Try not to get shot.” With an ease she imagined must’ve taken years to perfect, he knelt and took aim, firing off a round of shots that threatened to burst her eardrums.

  “Dude, this isn’t kosher at all.” She held her hands over her ears until he stopped shooting.

  Jackson ducked beside her and reloaded. The popping sound of more shots being fired startled her. She peered between the wooden slats of the desk. “Why is someone shooting at us?”

  “Not us,” Jackson corrected. “Me.”

  “Excuse me if I don’t recognize the difference.” A cloud of plaster dust lifted after another round of gunfire. Ellie heard a creak and watched in horror as the crystal chandelier crashed to the ground. The scattered crystal and popping wires sent anger thrumming through her veins. “You’re replacing my chandelier, by the way. It cost me a fortune.”

  He chuckled. “I’m buying the place, aren’t I?”

  “No!” she snapped. “I’m not selling, and even if I did, you wouldn’t get the chandelier.”

  “Send me an invoice then,” he answered. He continued his army sniper impersonation. She watched his expertise with the gun, squinting to see if she could tell where he was aiming, but all she saw was the concrete of the building across the street. She didn’t have to worry about the jammed lock anymore. The door was splintered in half from the gunfire. “What are you shooting at?”

  “Not what, who. And I’m not sure yet.” Jackson joined her behind the desk once more. A bullet pinged the metal desk leg near him but ricocheted in the opposite direction.

  She covered her ears again and shouted over his return fire. “Is it normal for you to get shot at?”

  Jackson ducked again and reloaded. “We’re sitting ducks in here. Time to leave. Is there a back door?”

  She shook her head. “Only a window in the bathroom.”

  “It’ll do.” He took her hand and tucked her close to his side. “Stay beside me. Keep low. Run as fast as you can.”

  She tugged her hand. “I can’t leave. My clients will be here soon.”

  “In case you missed it, your front windows are shattered. The cops will be here soon to declare this place a crime scene, and I don’t plan to stick around and play Twenty Questions.”

  She wiggled her fingers. “Then go. I’ll deal with the cops.”

  His eyebrows lowered. “They’ve seen you with me. I can’t leave you here. You have to come with me. It’s the only way I can protect you.”

  “Protect me from what? You don’t even know who you’re aiming for!” Her day had gone to shit with a vengeance. “I want to know why someone is shooting at us
.”

  “Me,” he corrected. “They’re shooting at me.”

  “Whatever.” She waved her hand. How did he know she wasn’t important enough to get shot at? “But I’m not abandoning my work.”

  He locked gazes with her. “If I leave you here, they’ll come and get you. They’ll assume you know something. I can’t take the chance.”

  A sinking sensation in her stomach tripled her pulse. “What have you gotten me mixed up in?”

  “Nothing that should’ve been dangerous,” he muttered. Fire flashed in his eyes, gone so quickly she could’ve imagined it. “I have something people want, and apparently they’ll stop at nothing to get it.”

  “So you decide to come here and risk my life!” Her voice lifted to a shriek. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  His expression turned deadly serious. “I didn’t know. It’s the first time they’ve shot at me. Now are we going to stand here all day, or can we leave?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Explain the gun then.”

  “Gut feeling,” he snapped. “I’m sorry, OK. I didn’t mean to drag you into this, but you’re involved now whether you want to be or not. We need to get out of here.”

  Thank goodness Mrs. Sussman had been late and missed the fun of dodging bullets. It would’ve been hard for an eighty-year-old to crouch behind the desk.

  Ellie took a deep breath. “I’m ready. The bathroom is down that hall.” She pointed to the brightly painted, green door.

  Jackson took her hand—causing shivers once more—and set off at a sprint. He kept his head low and his arm draped around the upper half of her body. With every step, his hip bounced against hers. Her traitorous body responded to the surge of adrenaline and endorphins. How had her dreary morning gone from boring routine to a bullet-ridden escape? The beast inside her let out a contented sigh.

  Bad beastie, she chided the animal inside her. We want normal, remember?

  Maybe you do, her other half replied.

  A bullet whizzed by her head, and Ellie instinctively ducked. The metal lodged into the wall before her and another chunk of plaster slid to the ground. “I wonder if my insurance covers gunfire.”

  Jackson chuckled beside her. “You’re different, Ellie. That’s for sure.”

  They reached the bathroom, and Jackson shoved open the door, using his body as a shield for her to enter. The black and white tiles were cold beneath her feet. She glanced down and realized she’d lost her wedge sandals at some point during the mad dash.

  Jackson shut the door and flipped the deadbolt. He scanned the tiny room and held up a hand. “Is that the window you expect us to escape through?”

  Ellie shrugged. She’d fit…hopefully. She was more worried about the thick layers of paint sealing the window shut than its small, porthole size. “I don’t think well on my feet. You asked for an escape route and this is all I have.”

  Jackson’s lips tightened. “It’ll have to do.”

  She stepped back to give him access to the window. He lodged his fingers beneath the pane and pried it open. The wood cracked and slivers of dried paint floated to the floor. She watched him, admiring the flex of muscle beneath the black sweater. He must work out. A lot. No one got triceps like that without tons of arm work, despite the fantastic shifter genes.

  “Come on, Ellie.”

  It took her a moment to realize he’d shoved the window open and motioned for her to climb through. She ignored the basket he made with his hands and pulled her upper body to the ledge. Tucking her legs, she launched through the small space and landed on her feet in the alleyway. She stepped out of the puddle of water and shook her feet to rid them of the chill. “Whoa. Good job.” Jackson appeared in the opening, and his expression was a mixture of pride and amazement.

  She may be plump, but she was limber. One good thing she had going for her. “Hurry.”

  His large body took more maneuvering to fit, but soon he landed beside her, again taking her hand and pulling her along. “My car is parked a few blocks over, but we’ll need to take yours. They’ve obviously been tailing mine.”

  She gulped. “My car?”

  He shot her a quick glance. “You do own one, don’t you?”

  She did, but the thought of the abandoned fast food sacks and magazines cluttering her floorboards made her grimace. “Of course. Follow me.”

  She turned to the right and headed toward the parking garage where she left her car. “Oh shit. I don’t have my keys. I left them on the counter.”

  “Lucky for you, I do think well on my feet.” Jackson held up a set of keys. The pink heart keychain let her know they were hers.

  She narrowed her eyes and snatched the keys. “Show-off. But I’m driving.”

  “Good idea in case I have to shoot again.”

  “I sincerely hope not,” she muttered beneath her breath to which he thankfully didn’t respond. Giving him a chance to fire his gun again hadn’t been her primary motive. It was a bit more elemental than that. She didn’t know him, one, and two, he wasn’t covered on her insurance.

  They reached the single level parking lot, and she pressed a button on her keychain. The screech of an alarm filled the air. “Sorry,” she muttered and pressed the key to silence it and used the correct button to unlock the doors.

  Jackson shook his head but said nothing. Ellie opened her door and ducked inside, swiping up as much trash as she could and tossing it into the backseat. Jackson slid in beside her and buckled his seat belt. He adjusted the seat to accommodate his size and folded his long legs beneath the dash. He scanned the area around them, a slight frown creasing the area between his eyebrows. “I think it’s safe. Let’s go.”

  Once again, she realized she’d been staring at him and surged into motion. She cranked the car and headed down the street, driving in the general direction of the interstate. The morning rush hour was over and traffic was good, by Atlanta standards at least. She’d grown up in Shenandoah, a little bit south of Atlanta, and was still getting used to the bumper-to-bumper traffic.

  She cleared her throat. “Do you think you can put the gun away now?”

  “Makes you nervous?” He tossed her a grin, but he clicked the safety on and tucked the gun in his waistband. “You didn’t freak out back there. I’m surprised.”

  She weaved past a slow-moving delivery van and honked when another car tried to cut her off. “I generally don’t freak out.”

  “I’m impressed,” he answered.

  She swerved back into the right lane and gestured toward the next exit. “Well, this has been an interesting morning, but this is my exit. Where do I need to drop you off?”

  He turned toward her, and his smile grew wider.

  Uh-oh. Her stomach plummeted. “What?”

  She had a feeling she wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to say.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Half an hour later, Ellie stood in the middle of the most spacious condo she’d ever seen. She’d planned to drop Jackson off and retreat to her shop to survey the damage, but he’d refused to let her leave. Since she didn’t exactly mind being with him, nor did she look forward to explaining to the cops why her shop had become the object of someone’s target practice, she gave in to his demands. How often would she be in the company of a rich, single shifter who oozed sex appeal?

  Never. That was exactly how often.

  Jackson picked up a remote and clicked a few buttons. Blackout curtains slid away from the windows and revealed the skyline of Atlanta. Dark clouds lined the horizon, outlining the shiny steel buildings before her.

  “Wow.” Even though it wasn’t night, and there were no spectacles of light, the view was amazing. “I bet your HOA fees suck.”

  Jackson stifled a laugh. “They do.”

  Don’t ask how much, she chanted silently over and over again. In an effort to appear comfortable with the display of wealth, she strode through the living area and nodded at timed intervals as she encountered priceless vases and paintings. H
oly shit. Was that a Rembrandt? She spun around to face him. “What is it you do exactly?”

  Jackson remained near the door, watching her with a neutral expression in place. “Real estate primarily, but I also dabble in IT security. Firewalls and such.”

  She knew where the power button was on her laptop. That little nugget about summed up the extent of her computer information. “Profitable career choice apparently.”

  “And as of today, deadly.” With a shrug, he moved to a cut glass decanter. “Want a drink?”

  She peered at the amber-colored liquid and shook her head. “Do you have a beer?”

  “A beer?” He arched an eyebrow. “I would’ve taken you for a cocktail sort.”

  “You would’ve been wrong.” No need to tell him liquor went straight to her head. Despite her Irish ancestry, she wasn’t much of a drinker.

  “I do have a couple of beers in the fridge. Import OK?”

  Her first inclination was to curl her lip at the lack of domestic, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Sure.”

  Minutes later, she was ensconced on a leather couch across from Jackson and watching him peel the label from his bottle. The sign of nervousness set her on edge. He’d been cool as a cucumber during the shoot-out. Why would he get antsy now?

  She sipped on the beer with the weird-sounding name she couldn’t pronounce and grimaced. “OK, now tell me what’s really going on here. Why am I in your condo, and why did someone shoot up my salon?”

  “You’re here so I can keep an eye on you.” His voice, smooth and deep, lulled her into a sense of false serenity. “I’m sorry about your shop. I’ll reimburse you for any damage beyond my offering price.”

  She set aside the perfectly chilled beer and crossed her legs. “Still not for sale. Suppose you tell me why it’s imperative I stay here with you. You seemed pretty insistent in the car earlier.”

  He turned serious in an instant. “To protect you.”