Penthouse Player

by Tara Leigh

  Reina

  I could have kissed him forever, and not just on his mouth. There was no part of Tristan that wasn’t delicious, that I didn’t find appealing, that was unworthy of my mouth, my tongue. Thoughts were reduced to the most basic of physical impulses, all sense of reason washed away by the jets of water stinging my skin. Kissing him, tasting him, allowed me to block out all thought of what we were or weren’t, what we might become, or the chaos I’d invited into my life by falling for him. Tristan’s tongue swept inside my mouth, hot, insistent. Teasing and soothing all at once. And then he pulled away. There was no time for disappointment, though. Every inch of Tristan was rock hard, and being slammed against his ridged muscles, his shaft nudging me from behind, it was worth losing my breath over.

  “Spread your legs.”

  I gladly obeyed, my nipples puckering up in pleasure as Tristan reached between my thighs, holding me open with one hand as the fingers of the other pushed into me. This was exactly what I needed to push all thought of Tristan’s offhand girlfriend comment and what he’d said about Elise out of my mind. I cried out, the needy howl echoing within the marble enclosure as I bucked against him. The water was hot, but my blood was burning hotter. Every inch of me was on fire. And one particular jet was going to be the death of me. “Please, I can’t, I want—”

  “Sssh.” Tristan’s low whisper was a welcome reassurance. “I’ve got you.”

  Do you? Do you really? “It’s too much,” I bit out. And it was. Searing, intense, pleasure edging into pain.

  His thumb pressed against my clit, blocking the spray of water, and I sagged against him on flaccid legs. Inside me, Tristan’s fingers curled, stroking the spot only he had ever discovered. The humid air was choking me, I couldn’t breathe. And then Tristan took away the shield of his thumb. I opened my mouth and screamed as the full force of water shot into my most intimate, vulnerable place. An orgasm crashed into me, scattering my soul through time and space before pulling everything back again. I collapsed against Tristan, completely boneless, a mass of quivering nerves and muscles.

  He turned me in his arms, lifting me up and holding me against the wall, steadying me when nothing about us, or this, felt steady at all. We were a tangle of mouths and tongues, hands and lips, limbs and breasts. Not to mention his cock. It was prodigious and insistent, and if I could, I would have dropped to my knees, wanting—no, needing to give it the worship it so deserved. But Tristan had other plans. Excruciatingly slowly, he slid inside me as I wrapped my legs around his hips. Rapture skittered along my spine, sending shivers of pleasure pulsating into every extremity. And then I was whole, complete, full of nothing but Tristan. Shuddering with satisfaction. And somehow, my world was all right again.

  Perfect, actually.

  At least, as long as we stayed in the shower.

  Tristan

  Monday came quickly. I rose at five and was in a cab on my way to the office half an hour later, dropping Reina off at her apartment on the way. There was just one week left before Millennial opened to new investors and we needed to lock down all the details for a smooth transfer of capital.

  By the time of our seven a.m. morning call, Reina was across the table from me, looking poised and professional and nothing like the woman who’d been in my shower yesterday, screaming out my name. This Reina didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow before flipping open her legal pad and jotting down notes.

  We were casually discussing asset conversion details with the rest of my team when my father appeared in front of my desk.

  We worked in the same building but on different floors, and these days he spent much of his time out of the office checking in on various international outposts and our most important clients. From my very first day at Bettencourt, he’d made it clear that I would have as much autonomy as I earned. With each triumph, no matter how small, he’d backed farther away.

  I couldn’t remember the last time he had sought me out in the middle of the trading day. And from the look on his face now I knew it wasn’t good.

  “Hey, Dad. Everything okay?”

  We generally managed to grab dinner together, just the two of us, once a month, although there had been plenty of times I’d reached out to him for his opinion on work-related things. His instincts were sharper than anyone I’d ever met, and he had eyes and ears all over the Street. Of course I wanted to chart my own path, but I wasn’t stupid enough to discount his experience. When I needed his counsel, I asked. And when it was offered, I listened.

  Looking at my father was like seeing myself thirty years in the future. Same dark hair and olive skin. Losing my mother had aged him, but he was still a confident, vibrant man.

  “I’m hearing rumblings.” Usually his eyes crinkled at the corners when we spoke, a proud half-smile tugging at his lips. Not today. “Several of the commitments you secured out west are pulling out.”

  I didn’t need to ask how he knew. He always knew. “Who?”

  He rattled off a few names. Big ones. Fuck me. “Do you know their reasons?”

  “That’s not important,” he said. “What matters is who they’re going to.”

  “They’re all going to the same shop?” That wasn’t a coincidence, that was sabotage. And there were only a few firms big enough to secure that kind of commitment from just a handful of investors.

  He nodded, his eyes flicking over Reina. “Bull Capital.”

  The name took me by surprise. “Van Horne? Are you sure? I just ran into him in San Francisco.” And then I recalled, word for word, our conversation in the middle of the ballroom. He’d known much more about Millennial than he should have.

  “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  I turned to Kyle. “Do you have any contacts over there?”

  “I’m on it.”

  My father spoke up again. “You can fact-check, but your time will be better spent on defense than investigation. It’s true, they’re coming after us.”

  “Bull Capital is going after Millennial?” Kyle sputtered.

  You could have fried an egg on the back of my neck. “No. Not Millennial.” I looked at my father for confirmation. “Van Horne’s gunning for Bettencourt. All of it.”

  He nodded. “Yes. He knows I’m looking to retire soon, and if you make a success of this fund he’ll never get another chance at us. Basically, Gerry thinks we’re undervalued and he can get us cheap, but only if we implode. You’ve been getting a lot of press lately, Tristan. If Millennial fails, Bettencourt looks weak.”

  “He’s poaching our investors so we’ll have to close the fund, all the while waiting in the wings to swoop in for an easy takeover.”

  Another nod. “Pretty much. Do you need my help?”

  I stood, putting us head to head. “I’d like to make some headway on my own first. But I’ll keep you in the loop on my progress.”

  He reached out to squeeze my shoulder. I sensed a reluctance to leave in my father, as if he wanted to roll up his shirtsleeves and get to work. He’d taught me never to back away from a fair fight. Unless the odds were blatantly skewed, you stood your ground and gave it your all. And I’m sure he wanted to be in the trenches with me, although I had no doubt he would go back to his office and do more digging on his own. Both of us knew that the time was coming when he wouldn’t be around. Bettencourt would be my responsibility. This was an opportunity for him to watch me stand my ground, protect our turf, and it was more important that he back away and watch my progress from a distance, stepping in only if absolutely necessary.

  If it came to that, Van Horne would be the least of my problems. If I wasn’t ready to defend Millennial today, could I defend Bettencourt tomorrow?

  I looked over at Reina, as pale as I’d ever seen her, and snapped back into focus. I’d worked my ass off to build my reputation and master the skills required to lead Bettencourt into the next generation. And no one was going to derail my plans. With a clear head, I began issuing orders to everyone on my team. We could fight back against Van Horne, bu
t only if we worked fast and used every weapon in our collective arsenal.

  It would work. It had to.

  Reina

  My stomach plummeted at the mention of Bull Capital, and I knew instantly that Van Horne was making a play for Bettencourt to send me a message. There wasn’t much that happened on Wall Street that he didn’t know about, although I never thought he would stoop to keeping tabs on me. But clearly I was wrong. I’d dared to set foot in his world and he was going to show me who was really boss by destroying whomever made the mistake of hiring me.

  I hadn’t thought there was anything that could take my mind off what Tristan had said yesterday. What he’s said about me, what he’d said about Elise—the way he’d described her could just as easily have indicted me . . . it was a wondrous, awful, absurd jumble in my mind. But my father had that kind of effect on me. In an instant, Elise was the least of my problems. The same man who’d given me half my DNA was out to ruin me.

  Too fucking bad. Gerald Van Horne was going to have to learn what my mother taught me a decade ago. Grin and bear it, Gerry.

  If he thought I would just give up and vanish without a fight, Van Horne didn’t know the strength of the genes he passed on to me. Screw him. I’d clawed my way here, and I wasn’t leaving. Not for him.

  After jotting Tristan’s assigned tasks into my notepad, I headed for the supply closet I hadn’t seen the inside of since my first day at Bettencourt. With shaking hands, I quickly called my mother from my cell phone.

  “Well hello, darling. What a surprise to hear from you during a work day.”

  “Does he know where I work?”

  “Who?”

  I gnashed my teeth. There was only one person I could have been referring to and she knew it. “Your husband, the same man who’s technically my father. Does he know where I work?”

  “Well, I really don’t think—”

  “Mom, I’m not asking you to think. Just tell me the truth, does he know I’m working for Bettencourt?”

  “He asked about you in San Francisco.” Her voice was tremulous. “I-I thought it was a good sign.”

  I closed my eyes, rubbing at the center of my forehead. Of course he did. “I was there. He must have seen me.”

  “Seen you? Where?”

  “In San Francisco. I was at the fundraiser with my colleagues from Bettencourt.”

  I heard my mother’s shocked intake of breath, could practically feel her stab of fear at the thought of husband and daughter under the same roof. “Oh,” she finally managed.

  I knew better than to expect her to ask why I hadn’t come running up to say hello, but still it hurt that she didn’t. My mother had made her choice between us nearly ten years ago and it didn’t seem as if she had any regrets. Suddenly it didn’t matter what he asked or what she said. “Just so you know, that stand-up guy you married is trying to destroy my career before it’s even gotten off the ground.”

  “What are you talking about?” she sputtered.

  “You should ask him about his latest takeover target. He’s making a play for Bettencourt. And the crazy thing is, if he succeeds, I’ll be the only one of his kids working for him. Think he’ll make me Employee of the Month?” Not that I would ever last long enough to earn a commemorative plaque, of course. My pink slip would doubtless arrive before my next paycheck.

  “Honey, I don’t know—”

  I stopped her. That was the problem. “You’re right. You don’t know, and you sure as hell don’t care. Not about me, anyway.” I ended the call, took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

  I’d never spoken to my mother, or anyone, like that. It should have felt good to say exactly what was on my mind. But it didn’t. It made me feel sick. Tristan caught my eye as I walked back to my desk. I must have looked about as well as I felt, because he pushed the mouthpiece of his headset to the side. He mouthed, you okay?

  I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face even as part of me wanted to head back to the supply closet and hide. But I couldn’t. I needed to move, needed to think. And quite frankly, I had more pressing things to do than mourn the loss of a relationship that had been dead for nearly a decade, or waste time worrying about Tristan’s ex.

  Bypassing my desk, I scrambled down the thirty or so flights to the lobby and went for a walk around the block. The honking horns and busy streets were strangely soothing to my frayed nerves. Manhattan was chaotic and messy, just like me. But it was the epicenter of the world—a place where important things happened and exceptional lives were lived.

  I had to get control of myself before heading back to the office. With everything going on today, the last thing Tristan needed was to worry about me. Breathing in the doughy, salty smell of the pretzel pushcarts dotting the streets, I fought to untangle my jumbled thoughts.

  Not only was I a complete novice when it came to relationships of any kind, one of the most powerful men on Wall Street was gunning for me. Once Bettencourt was safe, I had to end things with Tristan. Look what I’d done to his life already. What did I bring to the table, really? Nothing but trouble. My balance sheet sucked—next to no assets and I was drowning in liabilities. Tristan was too smart to let himself be weighed down by me. Or at least, he should be. I wanted to scream, to shake him. You’re better off without me!

  But that probably wouldn’t go over too well, not in public anyway. Somehow I needed to make it through the day and come up with a new plan. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to walk away from Tristan, but I had to convince him that he didn’t want me. At least, not enough to risk his future. Beyond that, I had to find some way to scare off Van Horne and convince him to keep his paws off Bettencourt.

  I could quit, of course. But damn it, I wasn’t a quitter. Although if I thought it would help, I would. I’d grit my teeth and hand in my resignation, effective immediately. But every instinct I had screamed that it wouldn’t do any good. Van Horne was a vindictive son of a bitch, and he wouldn’t walk away from the table just because I did. If anything, he’d finish the job just to rub my nose in his territorial piss puddle.

  And where would that leave me? Van Horne wasn’t paying my bills, and the kind of education necessary for a top job on Wall Street wasn’t cheap. Would he destroy the next company to make the mistake of putting me on their payroll? That is, if I could even get hired after quitting Bettencourt. No one bailed on a coveted training program slot. I might as well tattoo TWWS might across my forehead: Too Weak for Wall Street.

  I’d always been a great student, excelling at every opportunity. But this was no academic case study. The stakes were as high as the skyscrapers surrounding me. And this time, I wasn’t the only one with everything to lose.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  @BettencourtBets: No such thing as a sure thing.

  Tristan

  The sky outside our windows was dark when my phone lit up with a photo of my favorite NHL player. Life was full of strange coincidences, and apparently today was no exception. “Bryce Van Horne. How are you doing, buddy?” My warm greeting was automatic. Regardless of his last name, Bryce had been a good friend for as long as I could remember. His relationship with his father was strained at best, and had been as long as I’d known him—nearly all my life. There was no doubt in my mind that Bryce was completely removed from everything I’d been dealing with today.

  “I’m in New York. Had to fly in to see someone about my damn shoulder. You around?”

  “Yeah, just got back from a trip last week. Do you have time to get together?”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I’m at Ceilo’s right now. Come join me,” Bryce said.

  “Ceilo’s, really? You don’t miss a beat, do you?” Ceilo’s was a trendy NYC nightspot. The main floor was a popular restaurant, highlighted by a curving staircase that led the way up to a private, VIP-only lounge where Bryce was probably calling from. It was the kind of place that was perpetually staked out by paparazzi waiting for the drunken, stumbling exits of celebrities. I hesitated, looking
around at everyone in my group still focused on work. I should really stay. Then again, it was getting late and most of our prospective investors had likely left for the day.

  Bryce interrupted my thoughts. “What’s the problem? You’ve become an old man since trading in your jersey for a suit and tie? Come on, live a little. Maybe you’ll even pick up someone to take home for the night.”

  I shook my head, sighed. Today of all days, I did feel like an old man. “Actually, I already have someone to bring.” And take home.

  “Even better, can’t wait to meet her.”

  After the line went dead, I looked up to find Reina by my side.

  “Tristan, do you have some time? I think we need to talk about what’s happened.”

  I released a deep sigh. After being in disaster mode all day, spending a couple of hours away from spreadsheets and computer models was probably a good idea. A little distance from a problem usually enabled me to see it more clearly. “No. Not tonight, anyway. How would you like to meet one of my oldest friends?”

  Reina hesitated, obviously unsure of how to take my answer. But then her frown gave way to a confused grin. “Will he tell me naughty stories about you?”

  “You mean when he’s not preoccupied sticking his hand up any skirt within reach?”

  Hesitation lingered in her eyes, then faded as a laugh bubbled from her throat. “Am I about to meet a real penthouse player?”

  “A player, definitely. Although I’m not so sure about the penthouse part of the equation since he doesn’t live in New York. Knowing Bryce, he spends most nights in the bed of his latest puck bunny.

  “Bryce? Bryce Van Horne?” Her voice had a skittish edge to it.

  “Yep. The one and only. His dad might be on my shit list right now, but there’s no way Bryce even knows about it. He couldn’t be less interested in the family business. The only thing he cares about more than hockey is women. Hedge funds aren’t even a blip on his radar.” Do you know him?”

  “Nope. We’ve never met.” She started to back away. “You know, I still have some work to do. I should probably just stay.”