by Hamel, B. B.
“I didn’t sleep with Giana,” he said, gazing at me again, “but I see your point.”
“Unfortunately for you, I’d never give birth to your spawn, not for all the money in the world,” I said, giving him a sharp look.
Byron loved it. He cracked up, howling, legs kicked up in the air. His boot came down on the rim of the fire pit, and a second later, he yelped and pulled his heel back like it’d burned.
Rees watched me with sharp eyes, and didn’t smile. I wondered what that look meant—I was joking around, and clearly my humor landed with Byron, but there was something more in Rees’s body language than I was ready to see. He didn’t like me joking about not wanting to have his kids, and I had to wonder why.
“I like this girl,” Byron said, nodding at me, and saluted me with his drink. “You keep talking shit like that to your boss, and I just might try and hire you myself.”
“Oh, I’m much too expensive for you,” I said, smiling sweetly.
He howled again, slapping his knee. Rees’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, but a little smirk slipped onto his lips.
“If you’re done flirting with my assistant,” Rees said as Byron gathered himself. “I did come all the way out here for a reason.”
“I know you did,” Byron said. “You got that fancy SPAC thing or whatever the hell it’s called.”
“Did Kevin explain it to you?” Rees asked.
“He tried,” Byron said, waving a hand in the air. “I’m an old cow hand, you know. I don’t know shit about finances. I got all my money tied up in real, tangible things.”
“Assets are good,” Rees said, “but sometimes, securities are better. I’m going to make my investors very rich, Byron. I’m going to make myself even richer.”
“I like the sound of that, but, to be frank, I don’t know shit about you, and my ass is feeling a bit smoky right now, you know what I mean? I don’t need you blowing any more up there.” He grinned, sheepish, playing the dumb cowboy—but I saw through him in that moment. He wanted us to thin he was a dumb, gun-toting hick moron. He wanted to be underestimated.
But he was shrewd. All at once, I realized he wanted to invest, but he wanted to get the best terms possible. He’d play dumb this whole time, pretend he didn’t understand what he was doing, then insist on some low buy-in price, or negotiate some aspect of the contract that’ll end up in his favor—and Rees might go for it, just to get this over with.
I knew I had to warn him, but later, when Byron wasn’t staring at us intently. Instead, I said, “Rees isn’t kidding with you. I’ve seen his business plan and read over the prospectus documents. He’s the real thing.”
“I bet you did, darling,” Byron said, real slow. “How do you own anything about any of that, huh?”
“I went to law school at Penn,” I said, bristling a little bit. His simpleton act apparently included a nice little detour through some casual sexism, which was fun.
“You’re a lawyer?” Byron frowned then spit in to the fire. “Hate damn lawyers. Always end up taking my money and giving none of it back.”
“I’m not a lawyer yet,” I said. “Haven’t taken the bar.”
“What’re you waiting for? Busy being this asshole’s assistant, huh?” Byron leaned forward, watching me.
I looked away, toward Rees, and a thousand excuses occurred to me, but for some reason, I decided to go with the truth. “I’m afraid I’ll fail it,” I said simply.
Rees’s frown tightened. But Byron laughed.
“Well that’s the dumbest god damn thing in the world,” he said.
I stared at him, anger rising. “I don’t think it is. You don’t know where I come from. I’ve been through a lot, to get where I am.”
“So what?” He smirked, shaking his head. “The god damn bar isn’t a one time thing. You can fail ten times before passing.”
“That looks bad,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Fuck looks. You think I care about looks?” He gestured around him. “You don’t need looks, sweetheart, not if you got brains.”
I bristled, shifting in my chair. I didn’t need this fake cowboy giving me crap the bar. He didn’t know me, and didn’t know what I went through to get to this point. He had no clue how much was riding on me succeeding, and how much would come crumbling down if I failed. I had Grandmom to worry about, and I was already starting ten rungs down the ladder. All my peers at Penn had some rich daddy, or were smart than me, or had better internships than me. If I failed the bar, that would basically destroy my long-term career. I could look forward to working ofr some midlevel firm the rest of my life settling divorce cases or something equally depressing.
“Where did you come from?” Rees asked, the question cutting through my anger. “Why should Byron here listen to you?”
I glared at him, since he knew damn well what happened in my life—and let it all come rushing out. My parents, dying when I was little. My grandmom taking me in, going back to work, and breaking herself to keep us both fed. I owed everything to that woman and so much more—which was why I worked hard, got scholarships, made it to Penn, graduate top of my class.
“That’s why you should trust me,” I said, staring at Byron across the fire. He stopped laughing, stopping smiling—his face was neutral, but fascinated. “I’m the same s you. I came from nothing and made myself something. And I’m telling you, I’d give Rees my life savings if I could, right here and now, but I have no life savings. I don’t have a dollar to my damn name. So help your daughter out, do more for her than my dead parents ever did for me, and write a check, preferably a very, very big one.”
Byron let that hang in the air, not answering. He took a long drink. Rees looked at me, his face caught between awe and something else—something like desire. It sent a little thrill through me, and I took a sip of my whisky to try and tamper down the flame I felt in my chest, the excitement of telling my story, and the intense need I felt flowing from Rees.
“Well alright then,” Byron said, breaking the spell. I sat back, blinking a little, and finished my drink. It burned, but felt good. “I feel convinced. If you two don’t fuck up over dinner, I think I might invest.”
“I can drink to that,” Rees said, holding up glass, and knocked it back.
Byron leapt to his feet. “Let’s go see what Alba’s got cooking. That woman’s a god damn dream. If she were twenty years younger, I’d be fucking her right now, might even marry her, bet you I would.” He laughed and stormed back to the house.
I couldn’t look at Rees. I didn’t know why—maybe it was opening up like I did that left me feeling vulnerable, even though he knew my story already, or at least must have heard most of it from Lori. I don’t think I ever talked about how much I struggled, or how hard it was watching my grandmom work herself dry to give me a decent life, but even still.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I think so.” I forced myself to smile at him, pushing away all those feelings. “Byron seems to like me.”
“Byron’s a lot smarter than he seems.” Rees glance toward the house and stood. I felt a little relieved—at least I didn’t have to warn him. “Come on, let’s go eat that disgusting bird, smile a whole lot, and get him drunk enough to give me all his money.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I followed him to the house, and he gave me one last lingering look before we stepped inside.
12
Rees
In the end, Byron wrote a check.
It wasn’t a big one, about half of what I wanted. Byron wrote it the following morning, after what turned out to be a very normal dinner alongside a very small, and very gamey roasted bird. I ate a piece, but Millie was smart enough to steer clear.
“Listen here, city boy,” Byron said as he shoved the check in my hands. “You lose this, you die. You don’t make me a lot of money, you die. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” I said, slipping the check into my pants. “You know investing comes with risk, right?”
Millie was quiet on the trip back again. I wanted to ask her what was going on but she seemed distant. I decided to give her space, if she needed it—but I kept thinking about her speech, and the look on her face as she stared into the fire and told Byron about her childhood.
I knew she struggled. Lori gave me the basics before I hired her. I knew she was raised by her grandmother, and her parents had died when she was young. But I didn’t know how difficult it had been, not really, and how much she’d done to get herself through school, and into law school at a great university. In some ways, that made a lot of sense, and explained why she seemed so afraid to take the bar. So far in her life, failing had never been an option.
I couldn’t relate to that type of struggle. My problems were different, more abstract, and in a way, they were dwarfed by what she’d been through. I succeeded young, and succeeded wildly beyond anything I ever imagined, and ever since then the pressure to keep performing was a steady drumbeat that marched me through my days. There was no rest: it was work, work, work, make investors money, always improve, always grow. Some days, I imagined walking away from it all.
Fantasy, of course. I liked the life too much. I liked the struggle.
Back in Philadelphia, Millie sat in my office again at my table near the windows, reading through financial statements. I had her hunting for a business we might invest in when the time came, which wasn’t so far away. She was diligent, barely glanced in my direction, but the tension was driving me crazy.
I got up and walked to her. I hovered above her until she looked up, a little annoyed.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
I pulled up a chair and sat right next to her. “That’s not how you talk to your boss.”
She rolled her eyes. “What’s up, Rees?”
“You’ve been quiet lately,” I said. “Ever since we left L.A., you’ve been a little distant.”
She glanced away, and I knew it in that look—something had happened out there, and I didn’t know what.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Things are going okay, right? Alfie’s money’s good. Byron invested.”
“They’re a start,” I said, “but we’re nowhere near where we need to be. And I’m not talking abut the fund right now.”
“What do you want from me?” she asked, a sudden outburst. I studied her lips, her jaw, the way she wore her hair up, slightly messy, but still somehow professional and put together.
“You tell me,” I said, leaning closer.
“Lady Fluke told me something,” she said, meeting my gaze, and holding me there. I liked the defiance I saw, but I went still at Fluke’s name. I knew she’d said something—that was the turning point, when I left Millie alone with her. After that, Millie had been different, more reserved, a little like she was trying to keep a distance between us. Not that I minded, not really, but it bothered me. I thought things were going well.
“What did she say?” I asked, since that was what I was supposed to ask.
“She said not to fall in love with you.” She said the words like flames.
I sat back in my chair, surprised, and struggled not to show it. What the hell was Lady Fluke thinking, telling Millie something like that? Fluke had never gotten involved in my personal affairs before, and certainly never talked to one of my assistants like that. Maybe she saw something in Millie, or maybe she knew that my arrangement with her was a fraud—but either way, it was absurd. I felt a real stab of anger toward Fluke then, unlike anything before. She wasn’t the meddling type, and yet she’d tried to warn Millie away.
“I don’t understand,” I said finally, shaking my head. “Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know,” Millie said, but she sounded oddly relieved, like she’d been holding on to this for some time. “When you left, she came out and said it. You’re not the kind of man I should fall in love with.” Her eyebrows knitted down. “I don’t know what she was thinking. I mean, I don’t feel that way. It’s business between us.”
“Business,” I echoed, tilting my head. “Is that it, then?”
“Rees,” she said, her tone warning. “Come on.”
“You’re really going to tell me that’s it? Business?” I reached out then and put my hand on her thigh. She looked down at the touch, then back up to me—but she didn’t pull away. I lingered there, head tilted.
“I don’t know what Fluke was thinking,” she said, chewing on her lip. “Maybe she misinterpreted something.”
“What was there to interpret? It’s only business.” I moved my hand up her thigh, along her skirt. She shifted slightly, moving closer to me.
“What am I supposed to think?” she asked, her tone sounding angry, but also desperate and hungry. I liked the way her heat felt under my palm, and I stopped when I reached the crease of her legs. “You have this reputation— and our relationship is supposed to be professional—“
I leaned forward, moving my hand up from her thigh, and touched her cheek. She let out a breath and met my gaze before I let my lips move past hers, up to her ear. “Does this feel wrong to you? Tell me, and I’ll stop.”
“Rees,” she said, but nothing more. I pulled back, letting my lips brush against her cheek, to the corner of her mouth, then kissed her. I held her there, a small kiss, barely anything, before she pressed harder against me, sucking in a breath through her nose, and her mouth opened, her tongue touched against mine, and we kissed deeper, her taste flooding my own, pinecones and mint leaf, and I moved my hand back to touch her hair, but bit her softly—
Before a knock at the door broke us apart.
She blushed, cheeks pink, eyes wide. I smiled at her and put a finger to my lips, then stood and turned from her. “Come in,” I said.
Jack poked his head into the room. “I need you in my office,” he said, then looked at Millie. “You should come too.”
“On the way,” I said, and Jack disappeared again.
Millie moved side to side and touched her lips with her fingertips, then stared at me like she wanted to say something, then stopped and looked down at the table, jaw working.
“Come on,” I said, grinning, feeing my pulse in my throat, wanting to kiss her again, god, so badly it almost hurt. “Let’s see what he has to say.”
She stood and followed wordlessly. That kiss hung between us, heavy as a thousand year old glacier, deep and passionate, breaking beneath the surface, down into the crust of the earth. I wanted to study her more, to taste her again, slower, lips lingering on her throat, feel her hips under my palms, feeling her breath against my chest, hear her gasp and pant my name, but god, shit, this was what we were supposed to avoid, this attachment.
It was meant to be business, after all.
Jack’s office was several doors down, not quite as large as mine, but very well proportioned. Millie sat silently in a chair in front of his deck, and I leaned up against a filing cabinet.
“What’s up?” I asked him, taking all those feeling for Millie, the deep, dangerous physical need I felt for her, and packed it all away in some tiny hole in the back of my head, shoveling it all away into the darkness. If I didn’t do that, I’d never be able to concentrate again.
“It’s Desmond again,” he said, and I noticed a small bead of sweat run down the side of his face. “And it’s bad.” He stared at me like an entire herd of baby deer were just run over.
“Tell me,” I said, glancing at Millie, but she gave me nothing.
He sighed and turned his screen to face us.
The website was one of those business gossip blogs that plagued the financial industry. They weren’t as flash or exciting as their celebrity counterparts, and their readership was much smaller, but the stories could have massive impacts. It was like TMZ with a 401k. The headline was big and bold, black letters over a white background: REES COURT COURTS LADY FLUKE. Below was a picture of my meeting with her, Fluke sitting in the hotel restaurant, me sittin
g across from her, smiling like a sleaze ball, and Millie barely in the frame.
“Shit,” I said, because nothing else could sum up exactly what this meant.
“I agree,” Jack said, turning the screen back to him. “You probably don’t need to read the details.”
“The headline says it all, doesn’t it.” I looked at Millie then shook my head before I began to pace. “She’s going to be livid. Fluke hates scandal, but being involved in scandal is even worse.”
“This has to be Desmond,” Millie said. “Who knew about our meeting with her?”
“Nobody,” I said. “Her assistant. Lady Fluke herself. So unless Desmond had someone following us around—“ I stopped pacing and looked at Jack. He groaned and wiped at his forehead with his sleeve.
“He’d do it,” Jack said. “He has the money. A good PI could tail you without being seen pretty easily.”
“Even across the country?” I shook my head, arms crossed, fingers digging into my arm biceps.
“He could’ve hired someone local. Probably does, wherever you go.”
“Fuck,” I said, then walked to his filing cabinet and kick it. “Fuck,” I yelled, and kicked it again. My toe hurt like shit and his lower drawer had a little dent, but he only frowned at me.
“Rees,” Millie said. “You don’t need to break your foot. That’s not going to help anything.”
“She’s right,” Jack said. “Don’t do something stupid. I know Desmond’s gone too far—“
“Fluke’s going to murder me,” I said, miming a knife into my heart. “Don’t you get it? That woman is distantly related to royalty or some shit. I bet she knows a ton of English hitmen.”
“That’s a little much,” Millie said.
“I’m exaggerating, but she’s going to be so angry.” I threw up my hands and balled them into fists, trying to do anything to work out this rage that made my back tremble. “We have to do something about Desmond. He’s going to sabotage this whole thing. I mean, shit, who’s going to meet with me now, after this garbage?”
