by Emma Quinn
Helen waved off her friend. “It’s probably for the tax breaks. The more he donates in charity, the more he can write off at the end of the year. Seeing as how he just got into a limo, I doubt he’s hurting financially for his philanthrope.”
“True,” Fiona conceded. “And his company has done some sketchy stuff in the past. Look at this.”
Helen came over to sit next to Fiona, the two women crowding around her laptop to cyberstalk the man. There was an article pulled up titled Draining the Pond. There was a picture of Mr. Roth and his partner, the older man from the other day, standing in front of a construction site with hard hats that had probably never been used beyond that day. They were cutting a ribbon and smiling broadly.
Mr. Roth looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ more than he belonged in front of some corporate project launch.
“According to the article, Mr. Roth and his partner Mr. Edwards were essential in draining the small pond locals once fished from. After filling it in with concrete, the two began building the luxurious and ultra-expensive apartment complex known as The Ponds, a nod to the ecosystem they tore down to build the project.”
The anger inside Helen’s chest flared again. “See? Evil! That’s the exact same thing they’re doing now. They’re destroying a natural ecosystem and forcing dozens of small businesses to sell so that they can churn a profit. It’s despicable.”
“I have to agree. That’s pretty horrible.”
Fiona scrolled through the rest of the article, noting, “Mr. Roth took over for his late father after graduating from Princeton with a degree in business. The business has seen rapid growth after a slump in the years prior to Mr. Roth’s succession.”
“I don’t care about his life story,” Helen told her, finally snapping the laptop closed.
Fiona seemed unconcerned with her friend’s behavior and simply turned in her chair to face Helen. “Maybe there’s a reason he’s a total cutthroat. Maybe if we figure out what it is, you can swoop in and show him of the error of his ways, then you two can ride off into the sunset as he learns the value of love.”
She sighed dreamily as though she were picturing the whole scenario playing out in her head.
“And I thought you were obsessed with crime shows. Now I see that you’re actually obsessed with romance novels,” Helen grumbled. “That’s a complete fantasy!”
Fiona shrugged. “Sure. But it’s nice to think about anyway. What woman doesn’t want to think she has the power to make a man better?”
“Or I could just find a man that isn’t an asshole in the first place,” Helen offered. “Seems like it would be less work that way.”
“The work is half the fun, my dear.”
Helen didn’t point out that neither of them had been on dates in a long stretch and that most of the time Fiona didn’t get lucky with love because her dates found her too intelligent. That didn’t sound like the person who had the love scene completely worked out.
But she did acknowledge that Fiona had a point. There was a part of Helen that wanted to learn that Mr. Roth was actually a knight in shining armor, that the news article they’d just read was completely wrong and just attacking him for tabloid value.
What she wanted, however, and the truth she knew couldn’t be the same, so she shoved those thoughts away.
Sexy or not, Mr. Roth was a problem.
“Instead of painting him as my love interest, can we get back to figuring out how we’re going to stop him from muscling my parents out of business?” Helen asked.
Fiona leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers on top of her closed laptop. “Oh, yeah. I was going to say getting him to fall in love with you is probably you’re only shot at getting him to back off, so if we’re not going with that, I’m not sure what we’re going to do.”
Helen groaned and put her head on the counter, wishing this were all a bad dream that she would wake up from. “We’re screwed. We need a damn miracle.”
Before either woman could brainstorm on what that miracle could be, Helen’s phone rang. She frowned, a little surprised to hear the ringer go off. She dug into the pocket of her lab coat and fished out her phone. She didn’t recognize the number.
“That’s weird.” She hesitated a moment, then answered the phone. “Hello?”
A deep man’s voice replied. “Hello. I’m calling for Helen Willems?”
“Speaking. Who is this?”
She thought she could hear the smile in the man’s voice as he answered, “Mr. Michael Roth. We met the other day at your parents’ restaurant.”
Her eyes got wide as she spun to face Fiona. Putting her hand over the microphone, she mouthed to Fiona, It’s him!
“Oh my god!” Fiona squealed.
Helen waved her off, trying to shush her as she gathered her composure. She was gearing up for a fight, knowing there weren’t many reasons this man would be calling and she couldn’t imagine any of them were good. “Mr. Roth. I’m surprised that you’ve called considering I never gave you my number.”
He let out a small laugh that was warm and rich like chocolate. Helen didn’t appreciate that it seemed to conjure those butterflies in her stomach again, but she did her best to ignore her reaction.
“I apologize. I looked you up, I hope you won’t mind.”
“It depends on why you called,” Helen answered, wondering why in the hell he went through the trouble of finding her number.
“I’m calling because I would like to set up a meeting,” he told her, that smile still lingering in his voice and annoying her. “You seemed very passionate about your opposition to my company’s project and I’d like to hear more about it.”
Helen couldn’t help it, her jaw dropped. She was suddenly thankful he’d called her instead of found her in person, because she imagined she looked absolutely ridiculous. For a long moment, she couldn’t figure out how to respond. He wanted to hear more about how she thought he was a creep?
Fiona was trying to ask her what he said, what was going on, without making a sound and ended up just flailing her arms around while making her eyes huge.
Finally, Helen managed to compose herself and find her voice again. She cleared her throat, then answered, “I’d be happy to educate you.”
His voice was still warm when he said, “Excellent. I have some time this Monday. If you are available, we can shoot for eleven in the morning. I’ll make sure my secretary is expecting you.”
“Fine,” Helen said, still feeling stunned.
Was he setting aside a time to meet with her in person, at his office?
“I’ll text you the address.”
“Great, fine.”
“I look forward to meeting with you. Until then, take care, Miss Helen Willems.”
When they ended the call, Helen pulled the phone away from her ear and just stared at it. Had that really just happened?
“Um, did the devil just call you on your cell?” Fiona asked, looking just as stunned as Helen felt.
Looking up to face her friend, Helen found herself nodding. “I think he did. And I have a meeting with him in a week.”
“Wow. I didn’t see that one coming.”
No, Helen hadn’t either.
6
Michael
A
lthough his phone conversation with Helen Willems had been hours ago, Michael couldn’t quite shake her from his mind. He pictured her as a fiery goddess when she came to defend her parents at the restaurant. Then she seemed to be queen of frost on the phone earlier that day. What sort of elemental whirlwind would she embody when they met to discuss her objections the following week?
He didn’t know, but he knew that he wanted to find out. His body practically hummed with anticipation.
It was weird to be excited about something that would inevitably involve him getting yelled at. A lot. But he was. And it had been a good while since he’d been truly excited about it, making him unwilling to look too deeply into it.
He was packing up
his things for the day. The office was already shutting down for the evening, only a few stragglers lingering in the office.
There was a knock at his door.
“Come in,” he called.
Charlotte, his secretary, pushed open the door. “It’s Mr. Edwards, sir.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Please have him come in,” Michael insisted.
Charlotte nodded, then pushed the door the rest of the way open. Ethan spared her half a glance before brushing past her impatiently. Ethan could be like that. Superior and impatient. Sometimes it rubbed Michael the wrong way, especially when he was like that with people like Charlotte who did their jobs well and were overall decent people. But Michael overlooked it. After all, Ethan had been a part of Michael’s life since childhood.
He couldn’t imagine being who he was today without Ethan Edwards.
“Calling it a day?” Ethan observed.
“Yes, I’ve gotten a dozen calls from Tiffani about absenteeism, so I’m sure staying late isn’t going to smooth things over with her.”
Ethan laughed. “Women. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em, am I right?”
“Yes, you are definitely right. Are you staying late?”
Ethan glanced at his wristwatch, then looked back up at Michael and shook his head. “No, no. I’m actually about to head home myself. I’ve got a few last minute things to tidy up here, then I thought I’d go for a drink. I’d invite you, but it seems like your wife to be already has you tied up.”
“Good call,” Michael agreed. “She’d wring my neck if I went out without her. Unless you’d like for the lot of us to go for a drink?”
The lift of Ethan’s upper lift spoke louder than his words and Michael felt the disdain radiating off of the older man as something palpable. “No, I think it’s probably best if we don’t do that.”
Michael shrugged. “You’re right. Another time, then.”
“Sure, sure.”
It was clear that Ethan took that to mean that the two of them would have drinks another time, not that they would go out on the town with Tiffani.
In all fairness, Tiffani would have been furious with Michael if he came home to tell her that they’d have to go out to the bars with Ethan. She’d made it pretty clear how much she disliked Michael’s business partner.
But Michael couldn’t piece together the pair’s dislike for each other.
Ethan wasn’t the heartless monster that Tiffani painted him as. Tiffani wasn’t the bobblehead that Ethan thought her to be. But they were never going to believe him, the only thing they really had in common.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy your evening,” Ethan said in parting before leaving the office.
Michael finished packing up, then headed out. He paused at Charlotte’s desk.
The woman was middle-aged and as gorgeous as a movie star. She looked as though she had just stepped off the silver screen, her eyes large and smokey, her hair done up in pretty, deliberate curls.
“I’m calling it a night, Charlotte,” Michael informed her. “I’ve scheduled a meeting for next Monday at eleven. I’m sorry I didn’t check with you first, but it was a spur of the moment thing. Please make sure that my schedule is clear.”
Charlotte made a quick note of the meeting time and nodded her head. “Of course. Who should I be expecting?”
“Her name is Miss Helen Willems. She’s a younger woman, probably she’ll look furious with me,” he added with a grin.
She arched a single eyebrow at him, but didn’t comment. “Alright, sir. I’ll be sure to make a note.”
“Thank you, Charlotte. I’d be lost without you.”
“You certainly would,” she agreed wholeheartedly.
He laughed. “Don’t stay late, please. I expect you to have a wonderful evening and you’re probably not going to find it here.”
“Thank you, sir. Have a good evening.”
“You as well.”
They parted then and he had a limo take him home.
Michael was dropped off at his home, a sprawling mansion that was landscaped and decorated by people with more taste than him. He loosened his tie and undid the button of his jacket as he headed up the stairs towards his bedroom. He had every intention of getting into something comfortable and settling down for the evening.
As he walked up the stairs, his mind wandered to the feisty goddess he had a meeting with in a week.
She was beautiful, impressive, hardheaded. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be so taken with her, but he was. She was so… unlike anyone else in his life. That made her rare, he supposed, and he did have taste for rare things.
Helen was still on his mind as he walked into the bedroom, but he pushed aside thoughts of her when he saw his fiancé Tiffani, sprawled out deliberately on the bed. She was dressed in a silk teddy with delicate lace along the edges, sprawled across her silky skin.
She was staring at him with come hither eyes and when she extended her arm and let one finger curl, a silent command for him to come to her, he could guess where her mind was.
He took a deep breath and continued to undo his tie, pulling it off and tossing it aside before slipping out of his jacket. “You look beautiful, as always,” he told her as he approached the bed.
She grinned like the Cheshire cat, and rolled onto her side, hiking up her leg and bending it at the knee until he could all but see what lay just beneath her teddy. “I do, don’t I?” she agreed. “I wanted to greet you with something special when you got home, since you’ve been gone and hard at work all day.”
There was something like condescension beneath her words, but he couldn’t be sure. It was hard to tell when she was teasing and when she was legitimately upset about something.
He pushed his thoughts on her tone aside. He didn’t want them to ruin the mood.
“Well, I’m grateful.”
He started to undo the buttons of his shirt as he stopped at the bedside.
Tiffani reached for him, pulling him down towards her. He let her. When his hands hit the bed on either side of her to brace himself and keep from falling on top of her, he let his mouth wander to hers. Her full lips were pouty and plush when his mouth touched hers. Everything about Tiffani was soft and silky. Her warmth radiated from her as did her desire.
Her hands wandered through his hair, slicking it back.
When he broke the kiss, she whispered against his mouth, “I thought we could have some fun before the party.”
She tried to kiss him again, but he didn’t really respond. He pulled back and asked, “Party?”
Her hands dropped and she sighed. “Seriously? Yes, the party. I told you about it yesterday, did you already forget?”
“Are we talking about that ridiculous affair at Trevor’s?”
Trevor was Tiffani’s brother. If Tiffani was excess, Trevor was addiction. Everything wasn’t enough for the man and he threw Gatsby-like parties in an effort to reach the top level of some unobtainable goal.
Michael sat up, his brow pinched and his mood shot to hell. He hated having anything to do with Trevor and only did so when he had to, usually as a peace offering for Tiffani.
Tiffani followed suit, also sitting up and pulling her legs under herself. The pinch of her lips and the narrowing of her eyes said that she wasn’t thrilled they were having this conversation.
Again.
“Yes, Trevor’s party. I already told you about it. We agreed to go,” she told him.
“No,” Michael countered, standing up from the bed. “You told me about it and I said we’d discuss it.”
She let out a long sigh. “And we did discuss it. Yesterday.”
“Yes, and that discussion left me with the impression that we wouldn’t go.”
“It’s a party!” she groused. “Why are you fighting me on this?”
He put his hands on his hips and stared at her incredulously. “Because it’s January. Because we just had a huge New Year’s party. And we had half a doze
n Christmas parties before that. Then there was Thanksgiving. It’s been nothing but parties for months!”
Tiffani’s face reddened as she got up from the bed, deliberately shoving past him to head towards her closet. She stripped out of her teddy, no longer caring about seducing him or finding pleasure in him that night. Instead, she let him stare at her naked backside as she rummaged through her closet to find a suitable dress.
One to wear to the party, apparently.
“Not everyone has an aversion to celebration like you do, Michael,” she snipped at him. She pulled out a long-beaded gown the color of twilight. It was gorgeous, and excessive. Perfect for one of Trevor’s parties.
“I don’t mind celebrating,” Michael argued, undoing his buttons and shaking off his shirt. “I mind excessive, drug-fueled parties that your brother throws.”
“There’s champagne, not drugs,” she countered, but it was half-hearted. She paused and amended, “Well, I only drink the champagne. No one is going to force you to do drugs, you know.”
Michael rubbed at his forehead, a headache coming on hard and fast. “What is your brother even celebrating?”
She paused, frowning as she considered the question. Then she shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“If you’re celebrating, there should be a reason.”
“How about being alive? You know, that thing that most of us really enjoy?”
“Tiffani, stop.”
She threw her dress down, not caring that she was completely naked as she rounded on him, her eyes narrowed, and her mouth pinched tightly. “No, you stop! You’re being a prude!”
“Not wanting to go to a party doesn’t make me a prude!”
She scoffed, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “You never want to do anything! Don’t you realize that there are social expectations? That I have standards? That those standards include making appearances, sometimes at lavish parties of excess that my brother throws?”
“Tiffani—” he began with a sigh, though he had no idea what he was going to add after that.
He didn’t have to worry, because she wasn’t done yet.
