Not even a string of adjectives like ashamed, mortified, blushing, uncomfortable, abashed, disconcerted, shamefaced, chagrined, awkward, self-conscious, agitated, sheepish, upset, discomposed, flustered, or distressed do the trick.
No, they aren’t enough to describe what I’m feeling right now as I stand on the inside of Vivian’s front door, trying to get my bearings. One second, Jackson is kissing me and bringing desires that I never knew were in me to the surface. The next, he’s practically exorcising me from his place.
I want to disappear, or move back to Utah, and hide in my old bedroom for a year. Maybe two. There’s also the disbelief. What’s so wrong about being a little inexperienced, anyway? Okay completely and utterly untouched, but whatever. He didn’t have to discard me like I’m garbage.
Taking a long breath, I lock the front door and take the main staircase to the second floor. My first stop is to the dogs’ room, where I find them resting peacefully. Grateful that they were good doggies while I was gone, I go to my room, get my dress off—again—and flop into bed.
This day needs to end.
I’m awoken to the sound of loud banging on a door. My eyes take forever to open, mostly because I’m exhausted, but also due to the crusty stuff that formed around the mascara that I didn’t clean from my face when I dragged my sorry ass to bed. When they finally do open, the first thing I notice is that it’s still dark outside my window. Reaching for my phone to check the time, my hands meet bare, cool nightstand. There’s nothing on the nightstand but the alarm clock. Crap. My phone is probably still in Jackson’s pants pocket. I take a wild guess that he’s the one practically breaking down the front door. The image pops into my head of him standing there with my phone hanging between his fingers, disgusted that there’s a remnant of me that I left behind in his condo.
Throwing a bathrobe over my bra and panties, I hurry down the stairs. With a quick inhale to brace myself for seeing Jackson this soon after his terse rejection, I pull the door open and grab the phone from his open palm.
“Thanks,” I say, keeping it short and not waiting for him to speak before pushing the door closed. Except I’m not fast enough. Jackson has his foot wedged in the doorway. Inching my eyes from his foot, up his body to his face, I cock my head to one side. “Can I help you with something else?”
“Why did you wait that long to tell me?” he demands.
I’m not ashamed anymore, just angry. “Look, it was all a mistake, okay? Forget it ever happened. If I owe you any damages because of Sheba, just slip a note under the door with the amount. I’ll find a way to pay for it. Sorry, it’s late. I need to get some rest now, so if you’d please step away from the door, that would be great.”
Jackson removes his foot, but doesn’t quite leave. He stands there, staring at me with a curious glint in his eyes as I push the door closed and lock it. He may be interested now, but I’m not. All the allure he had disappeared hours ago, when he acted like I was a pariah on account of being a virgin country girl.
With anger continuing to rise to the surface and brim over, I stomp over to Vivian’s supply closet near the kitchen. I search high and low for anything I can use to lock down the terrace. On a top shelf, my fingers touch a long plastic wrapper. Pulling it forward, I find exactly what I need. Reinforced cable tie-wraps. The thick, rugged kind that cops use when they run out of handcuffs.
I don’t give a damn about why Vivian has supplies like these in her possession. Heading to the sliding doors that Daisy has mastered opening, I eyeball the width of the space between the two door handles. These tie wraps will work, and I won’t have to see Jackson’s face for the rest of my time here. Pooping and scooping can happen on the main floor at the doggie park.
I loop and fasten a tie-wrap around each handle, and use a third to connect them together. Then I pull hard on each end, almost happy as the little plastic teeth engage and tighten until the doors can’t move an inch. This won’t come undone, but for good measure, I add three more sets to the handles. Even if Daisy tries to chew it, I’ll have more than enough time to stop her from getting out.
Feeling accomplished, I get my phone from the foyer and return to bed. It’s close to four in the morning when I close my eyes again. As I drift off, my only wish is for my brain to wipe away the image of Jackson kneeling between my legs, kissing me passionately, about to take away my innocence.
15
Jackson
I made a mistake last night, but Dahlia will make me pay for fucking up her night. That’s the loop of monologue stuck in my head as I walk into our private executive conference room at the office. But I can’t do anything about it right now.
Duty calls, so here I am.
Jace isn’t here yet. Our closest friends and hedge fund partners give me a nod from their spots around the boardroom table. Dylan Worthington, Jace’s best friend and our Chief Investment Officer, has his laptop out. He’s sporting a scowl as he stares at the screen. Dylan has a Master’s degree in Economic and Financial Modeling from MIT, and I’m sure if I check the laptop, I’ll find some investment regression analysis he’s working on. My two best friends since high school, Caleb Mitchell and Foster Evans, both Investor Relations VPs, are scrolling through their smartphones, checking emails.
“When’s the golden boy planning to grace us with his presence?” Caleb asks, looking up from his phone just long enough to make eye contact.
“Any minute now.”
Caleb shakes his head with his usual apathy, and places his phone on the tabletop. He has never liked the direction we’re taking to acquire Mont Blanc, and has no problem stating his objection every chance he gets. “Does he know he has us waiting? I’ve got to get across town to meet one of the Carrington’s. If we sign this guy, it gives us close to three hundred million in liquid assets to work with. Cash is fucking king in this business, not all the groveling we’ve been doing to pay through the nose for a shit competitor.”
“Why don’t you tell us how you really feel?” Dylan says wryly without looking up from his laptop screen.
I’m sitting closest to the boardroom door, so I pick up the chime of an elevator opening down the hall before the others notice.
“Chillax. He’ll be here.”
Jace comes into view. He’s carrying a sleek black briefcase as he walks along the wide hallway that runs perpendicular to the full length of this wing of executive offices and a couple of conference rooms.
“Gentlemen,” he greets us as he enters, pushing the door closed behind him.
Turning my swivel chair, I give him a knowing glance as he takes his seat at the head of the table.
Dylan looks up from his spot on the other side of Jace. “What’s the word?”
“Not great.”
Caleb looks over at him. “What happened?”
“This deal is falling apart, gentlemen. One fucking piece at a time. It’s brutal, but I’m almost grateful we’re facing it now instead of cleaning up a massive mess if we let this deal close as is.”
“We’re used to Dylan overreacting,” Caleb says, running a hand over his tousled blond hair, made that much messier by the five-hundred-dollar haircut he continually boasts about. “Are you going to have a fucking meltdown right there? This is why I pushed back my meeting with one of the Carrington’s?”
“Calm the fuck down and let him talk,” Dylan mutters.
“I’m fucking calm,” Caleb shouts. “I just got work to do that can’t be done by sitting behind a computer, monitoring goddamned risk analysis models.”
“Can you girls quit your bickering and let Jace give his update?” I bark.
They lean back in their chairs, turning to Jace.
“All right. The only upside of this whole situation our forensics guy found out is that Gerard hasn’t had a chance to get to our CEO to convince him that we’re overreacting.”
“What did he find out?” Foster asks. “Caleb and I have been out of the loop, as we’re not at the bargaining table.”
“Exactly, because we’re busy filling the pot with new business, instead of emptying it with expensive as fuck acquisitions.”
Jace rests his elbows on the table and lowers his head to his hands, rubbing his temples. He looks exhausted, and waits a beat to finally speak.
“Well, I’m sorry we’re getting new information at this late stage in the game…but it speaks to the scope of this massive buy.” He slides a thick file across the table to Dylan. “I only have one copy, so take a look at the three tabbed pages, then pass it on.”
Dylan squints at the pages, and as he’s halfway down, his eyes start to bulge. “How did this not get flagged during our discovery?” he asks, quickly scanning the other two pages before passing it on to Foster.
Both Foster’s and Caleb’s reactions are identical. Disbelief, then slight panic.
“We’re fucked,” Foster says.
Now I can’t wait to pore over the page, but as I get my chance to read it, I wish I hadn’t.
“Walk us all through these details,” I tell Jace.
“What’s there to walk through?” Caleb protests. “Gerald fucking Buchannan tried to sell us a shit show at top dollar. And what’s worse is Pantheon and Triple Shield may just be the tip of the fucking iceberg.” He looks at his rose gold Patek Philippe watch. “I don’t have time for this shit. Let’s just figure out what we can do about it.”
“I say we walk away,” Dylan announces, dragging the file across the table to take another look. “Or we ask them to divest the shell company that owns these two sinking ships.”
“Not gonna happen.”
We all stare at each other in silence for some long moments.
“I’ve got a meeting,” Caleb repeats.
“We all have shit to do,” Dylan barks.
Jace stairs up at the ceiling as Dylan packs up his laptop and leaves the boardroom. Caleb and Foster aren’t far behind.
“We’ve got to get this in front of Dad,” Jace groans.
I get to my feet. “No. Let’s go to Gerald.”
“That’ll only give him time to cover his ass with Dad.”
I pull out my phone and find Gerald’s name in my contact list. “We have to try. Can you spare an hour right now?”
“No, but I’ll make time.”
I press the call button and turn on the speaker. And after a few rings, Gerald answers.
“Hello?”
“Gerald. Jackson here. I have you on speakerphone with Jace. We need to stop by your office in say, twenty minutes?”
“I’m on route to another meeting. Can this wait?”
“No. It can’t. Can you swing by our office?”
“It depends on how much time you need. What’s this about?” he probes.
“Make it happen. We’ll explain everything when you get here.”
“All right,” he says with hesitation. “Give it about fifteen minutes for me to get through this ridiculous uptown congestion.”
Jace gives me a hard look as I end the call. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“It’s the only way.” Checking the time on my phone, I start walking to the door. “I’ve got to take care of a few things. I’ll tell Gemma to let the receptionist have Gerald meet us in my office.”
He follows me out and turns in the opposite direction from my office. “Have her call me when Gerald arrives.”
“This is why you called me here?” Gerald asks when Jace hands over the folder with all the dirt on Pantheon and Triple Shield.
Jace shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you trying to tell us that you meant for us to find out about these disasters waiting to happen? You call this due diligence?”
“I wasn’t hiding it.”
“Dad trusts you, Gerald,” I remind the old prick. “This is the kind of thing he’d expect you to bring up at the onset of a negotiation. Neither of our firms’ lawyers raised this as a risk, and this shit is significant.”
“It’s a non-issue,” he says dismissively. “It affects nothing. You should be more interested in the conversation I had with the Mont Blanc CEO.”
Jace’s phone rings then. He surprises us both by excusing himself to take the call.
“He called you?” I ask, briefly glancing at Jace as he heads down the hall with a dire expression on his face.
“Sure, he called me. Or I phoned him. What’s the difference at this point of closing the deal? What matters is they’re starting to doubt whether this deal will go through at all. I already warned you a week ago that we can’t leave them hanging too long.”
“Why? What happened? Are they shopping our offer around?”
“What if they were?”
“At this point? Maybe they should have someone else buy them out. They came to us for a reason, and you need to remind them that they need us, not the other way around. What self-respecting Wall Street hedge fund company would look at them twice if the Pantheon and Triple Shield details were on page one of their prospectus?”
“You and your brother are overreacting, your father would never waste my time with this minutia…” he studies my reaction as he speaks, then nods with a new understanding. “Does Joseph know you contacted me about this?” I take a split second too long to start crafting my verbal response. “So he doesn’t know. Take my advice, kid. Don’t waste my time.” Gerald turns and starts walking out of my office. “If you talk to me or anyone in Mont Blanc about this file again, I’ll personally find them another buyer, and your old man will be the first to know that you and Jace fucked up the best deal in town.”
Jace and Gerald cross paths outside my office, but Gerald doesn’t stop to speak to him.
“What did he say?” Jace asks as he walks in.
“He wants us to suck it up.”
“Fuck that.”
I take a seat at my desk, and turn my swivel chair toward my office window. “He also threatened to start hitting up his other contacts to sell Mont Blanc.”
“You think he’s bluffing?” Jace asks from behind me.
“I don’t know.”
“Gerald’s all about protecting what’s his.”
“Well, we’d better start thinking like he does,” I answer, ready to leave and not come back for the rest of the day, something I’ve never done in my time as a partner in this company.
“Time to protect what’s ours,” he agrees.
Something about the way that statement comes out gets me thinking. I turn back to face him. “That’s it.”
“What?”
I double check that my phone is in my pocket and head for the door in a hurry. “I’ve got an idea. Leave it with me.”
16
Dahlia
I love Emily. She has a way of helping me put things into perspective.
She sends me a text in the middle of my year two Animal Sciences lecture. Normally, my phone is on mute during class, but it’s on vibrate as I’m on campus all day today. My plan was to check the dogs using the app, listen for any unusual alerts, and only go back to the condo if I have to.
Emily’s text changes all that.
‘So? How did it go? OMG those guys were hot!’
I reply with, ‘I’m in class. Talk later?’
‘Ok, but you’ll miss out.’
‘On?’
‘The best news ever! Plus I made you lunch. I can bring it to your mansion in the sky! Please say yes.’
I’m tempted to turn her down. My lunch hour won’t give me much time with her, but then I start to like that time restriction. It means I can stuff my face with food while she tells me her good news, then take the dogs out for a quick stretch, and if I’m lucky, I’ll have to leave for my afternoon lecture before she corners me for details about the shitty night I had.
‘Can Rose come too? I haven’t seen her in ages.’
‘Probably not. Her killer internship isn’t going so hot.’
‘Oh, okay. See you at 12:15. Don’t be late, k? Got classes.’
‘I’ll be there! Whippin
g up your favorites.’
Emily’s early. I cross the kitty corner to the condo building entrance to find her opening the food container that’s in her hand. She’s offering the concierge a sample of whatever she prepared for me. Thankfully, her food bowl is just one of several in the cooler bag slung over her shoulder, so I’ll still get my fill.
“Hi, Dahl!” she greets me, wrapping her free arm around me when I make it over to her.
“Hi, Em.”
She pulls back and quickly studies my face. “Are you all right? You look like hell.”
“I didn’t get much sleep,” I tell her, keeping it short.
“Oh?” She grins. “Hot after-party with your billionaire bad boy?”
“No, not really.”
“Gosh, I can’t wait to hear how things went after you left. Did I mention how much I envy you right now? By the way, is this how our lives are gonna be? You, gracing the event that I’m catering? I can picture it now. Dahl’s center stage while little old Em slaves away in a tiny, hot, poorly ventilated custom catering kitchen in the back, covered in ingredients and smelling like garlic and two-day-old salmon fillets as she whips up the finest delicacies ever tasted by Manhattan’s upper crust…”
Emily rambles on while we make our way up to Vivian’s place. I don’t mind. The more she talks, the less she’ll ask. Works for me. She updates me on Rose, our other roommate. Rose is also at Columbia, in her last year of a business degree, and plans to do her MBA this coming fall. Although the business school is a couple blocks away from where most of my pre-vet courses are, we rarely see each other. Which is something I need to work on, because she’s one of the few people I know and really like here in the big city. Emily explains that the internship Rose was assigned to for her work term hasn’t been panning out. Something about her boss being a jackass and an unethical fuck, but with the long night I’ve had, my attention span for retaining details is dismally small.
Then we both get the wind knocked out of us as we step inside the foyer of Vivian’s place.
The Billionaire and The Virgin Page 8
