reputation of a playboy, in her three years of working for him, Lindy had never seen him liquored up like last night. She shook her head to clear it, wincing as the pain hit her forehead again.
The writing was on the wall. Fool, she cursed herself again as she pulled the door shut behind her. Time to find another job.
SHANE JACOBSEN STRETCHED, and then let his head fall back onto the soft down pillow. Darn, did his head hurt.
He blinked. The bright sunlight that was filtering in the blinds hurt his eyes worse than the chlorine in the pool. Tossing his arm over his forehead, he shaded his face from the harsh whiteness illuminating his room. Just what time was it anyway? Eight? No one should be up this early on a Saturday morning.
Or was it Sunday? He moved his arm and faced reality as he realized that, much to his surprise, he really didn’t know. His last vague memory was of burrowing his face into something soft, probably his pillow. He sat up, his head pounding from the movement as he tried to remember. Friday he’d turned twenty-five, and the entire event was one long blur.
He felt so over the hill.
He stumbled to the ensuite bathroom, his feet tripping over the cowboy boots he’d left on the floor. He stared at them for a moment. Why were those still there? Why hadn’t Cleo come in to clean yet?
Oh, yeah. Now he remembered. Cleo was off for the weekend because it was Easter. That was probably the excuse his father would use when he finally remembered to call. Despite himself, Shane wanted to laugh again at the bitter irony of it all. Good Friday and Friday, April 13, Shane’s birthday and that of his father, had been on the same day.
When Shane had realized he’d been forgotten—again—he’d decided to throw himself one hell of a party. Or at least he thought he had. Odd, that the memory of the evening was totally black and blank.
Shane frowned as he finished his business and brushed his teeth. There was something about minty-fresh breath that made him feel at least a little better. Then, and only then, did he dare face himself.
Well, Shane old buddy, he said to his reflection in the mirror, welcome to your late twenties. You look like hell.
He did too. His blond hair was well tousled, as if he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep last night. Stubble covered his jaw, and the Jacobsen-blue-colored eyes that the grandchildren all shared were bloodshot. And was that a red spot on his neck? He rubbed it and shrugged when it didn’t disappear.
He could do with a tall glass of ice water.
The clear icy liquid, though, did little to clear his throbbing head or make his blank memory come back. He winced, suddenly unable to erase the feeling that something, although he didn’t know what, had happened to him besides drinking while taking medication. Like many people, he’d ignored the warning labels. After all, weren’t the labels really only there so people didn’t sue the drug companies? You know, sort of like expiration dates that were never quite right?
Maybe one really did feel older when one turned twenty-five. Shane blinked and stared at the red display of the clock in the built-in microwave. Three-twenty-nine. It was after three in the afternoon?
He ran a hand against the stubble that had started to itch. He never slept this late. Man, okay, he’d learned his lesson. He’d follow the labels from now on.
Still clutching the glass of water, he wandered into the living room. He frowned. Odd. Why were his shorts there? He glanced down at the boxers he’d pulled on when he’d gotten up. No surprise there. He always slept naked. But his shorts?
Maybe he’d gone swimming. Vaguely he remembered that others had, enjoying the pool that his parents always opened early and kept perfectly heated until the St. Louis weather warmed fully, usually by the end of May. But taking a swim didn’t sound right. So exactly what had he done? Had he been with someone? He remembered a redhead trying at one point to nibble on him, but no, he knew without a doubt he hadn’t gotten together with her in any way.
But something was missing and he wished he could remember what it was. He sat down on the couch and surveyed the room. Cleo was going to have a fit when she saw the mess. He pushed aside someone’s half-empty bottle of beer so that he could put his feet up.
“Quite a mess you have here.”
Shane inwardly groaned as his paternal grandfather stepped through the front entryway. Despite his grandfather’s appearance of a thinner version of Santa Claus, Shane knew this visit would be far from jolly. “Feel free to come on in.”
“Seeing that the door was open, I already did. Celebrated a quarter of a century with a bang, didn’t you?” Grandpa Joe said. Shane knew what his grandfather saw: beer bottles and empty daiquiri glasses everywhere. Plates of partially eaten food littered end tables. The living room was a mess.
Grandpa Joe rubbed his snow-white beard thoughtfully before he said, “I take it your father forgot to call. He always was terrible about dates, including his own birthday. Some secretary must have dropped the ball on this one.”
Shane avoided the truth. “Marci and Dan suggested the party. Why not? I turned twenty-five. My car insurance drops now.”
Grandpa Joe’s Jacobsen-blue eyes blinked once as he let Shane’s statements slide. “Of course you should celebrate. You’ve reached a milestone. Which is why I’m here. I have a business proposition for you.”
The dull ache between Shane’s eyebrows intensified. He rubbed the spot. Not again. He knew his grandfather meant well, but didn’t everyone realize that no meant no? “Grandpa Joe, don’t bother. You know the answer is no. I’m not coming to work for Jacobsen.”
Grandpa Joe took a few steps toward the couch; then, seeing an additional mess, decided against sitting down. “Shane, it’s past time for you to take your destiny. I have the perfect position for you.”
“I’ve told you before—I don’t want a position. I have no desire to work for Jacobsen Enterprises. Ever.”
Grandpa Joe made the rare gesture of tossing his hands. “You are so frustrating! You won’t even listen. What is it with you? You weren’t diagnosed as oppositional defiant as a child. Why is it that every time someone suggests something, you dig in like a stubborn old Missouri mule? Is it the only way you can get the attention your parents always forgot to give you as you grew up? Hell, you’d stay in a burning building if someone from the family tried to pull you out. We are not your enemy, Shane.”
Shane clasped his hands together to remain calm. His parents and his family were not the issue, and if they were, he didn’t want to think about it or how many times either his parents or his grandparents had told him they were disappointed in him for not following the path they’d laid out. “I try to keep business and family separate.”
“That’s impossible. We have a family business. You are family. You are needed in the business. You have a business degree and you are darn good. One of the finest I’ve seen. Doesn’t that matter?”
“Look, this isn’t a good time. I’ve got to clean up this mess and call Lindy and…” Shane’s voice drifted off as he realized Grandpa Joe was staring at him. “What?”
“Is that a hickey on your neck?”
Shane rubbed at the spot he’d seen in the mirror earlier. It was a hickey? He hadn’t had one of those since ninth grade. And if he had
