Bad Boy of Wall Street: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by Samantha Westlake

  If he'd pressed me, I would have been forced to admit that I had no idea what 'writing off a business expense' actually meant, much less how to do it, but he fortunately just nodded. "Sure, that works," he said, stepping towards me - but then stopping. I realized that I stood in the entrance to the study, blocking his path. I hastily moved to the side so that he could squeeze past.

  As Rob passed me, my nostrils instinctively flared, and I caught a slight little hint of his scent. He must have been sweating in the study as he read through some of that dense material, but he didn't stink. He smelled active, alive, strong but with a slight hint of something spicy. I had a strange sensation of taking a sniff inside a spice cupboard.

  It wasn't unpleasant at all, I had to admit to myself.

  Okay, April. Put those sorts of thoughts out of your mind, stop looking at the man's butt, and follow him out to his car. I managed to do all these things, even keeping my mouth shut and holding back the half dozen questions in my head, as we headed out to the little garage attached to the cottage.

  Rob opened the garage door by bending down and physically hoisting the thing up along its track, revealing a sleek and powerful looking black car sitting inside. "Wow, your grandma sure has some taste in cars," I commented, looking at the beast of an automobile that hulked just inside the dim garage interior. "Not what I would have imagined her driving."

  "It's not her car," Rob replied shortly, walking into the garage and opening the driver's side door.

  The space between the side wall and the side of the car looked rather narrow, so I decided to take the less potentially embarrassing path and wait for Rob to drive out so that I could climb in on the passenger side. I took an unconscious step backwards as the car's engine revved into thirsty life, and the sleek black monster crept forward, out from its burrow and into the late afternoon sun.

  Yes, I thought to myself as the car emerged, this was definitely Rob's car.

  "Dodge Challenger SRT, 392 version," Rob said when I climbed into the passenger seat beside him. "Almost five hundred horsepower, V8 engine under the hood, enough power to outrun just about anything."

  "Are we going to be outrunning anything?" I asked, trying not to roll my eyes. Boys and their toys. When in New York City, where most of the cars crept along at a snail's pace, was there any need for a car that could go over a hundred miles per hour?

  Rob didn't reply, but I caught him grinning as he revved the engine, peeling out of the driveway of his grandmother's house and down the fortunately deserted streets of East Hampton.

  "Nice job with keeping a low profile," I said, having to raise my voice to be heard over the roaring engine.

  "Oh. Yeah." Rob reluctantly eased off the gas a bit, and the car's rumbling motor subsided to the point where I could hear my own thoughts again. "Anyway, there's a nice local place right around here - Rowdy Hall. They serve great fish and chips." He paused for a moment, his eyes not panning over to me. "And the prices are reasonable, too."

  I bristled at the insinuation that I didn't have the money to pay for a more expensive meal, but part of me knew that he had hit the nail on the head. Fifty dollars wouldn't go far at some of the more expensive, classic East Hampton restaurants.

  We pulled into the parking lot of a comfortable looking restaurant, parking in one of the few remaining spots in a large lot. I heard the chatter of voices as we approached the entrance to the restaurant; the voices sounded happy, relaxed rather than formal and classy. I heard the clinking of mugs and glasses together, the static crackle of multiple televisions in the same space.

  Inside of Rowdy Hall, a young hostess smiled at Rob in a way that seemed far too warm and flirty, considering their apparent age differences, and gave me a brief nod. She led the two of us over to a small, high table with two chairs, tucked up near one of the windows looking out on the street. Occasionally, when a car drove past, I caught the blur of motion out of the corner of my eye.

  "Fish and chips," I ordered, remembering how Rob remarked that the place was known for that signature dish. Rob nodded and requested the same, passing the menus over to the waiter. Once we'd both ordered, we settled back, Rob examining me over the top of his water glass as I tried not to feel too bothered from his frank perusal.

  "So," he said after a minute.

  "So," I repeated, not sure what he was after.

  "April Carpenter." He set down his glass, crossed his arms across his broad chest. "Normally a half-baked sex columnist. What else?"

  I tried not to bristle at the unfortunately accurate moniker. Keep your cool, April. "What else do you want to know?"

  "What makes you tick?" He stared back at me, like his eyes could pierce right through me. "What makes April Carpenter decide that she had to come hunt me down for an interview?"

  "Financial desperation?"

  He shook his head. "And you clearly aren't a fan of me, which makes this even stranger. Why don't you like me?"

  "Seriously?" I hadn't meant to lose my cool, but it slipped away as my mouth dropped open. "You, the Bad Boy of Wall Street, the rich kid who's upset that he might have been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, can't understand why someone like me, who has to work every day just to try and earn enough to pay my rent on my crappy little apartment, isn't your biggest fan?"

  "Rich kid?" he repeated back at me.

  I held up fingers, ticking off my points. "Fancy boy-toy sports car. House in the Hamptons for your grandmother. Stock trader. Where's your mom, off in her own luxury condo in Florida that you bought for her as well?"

  Rob's eyebrows climbed. "That's how you see me? Spoiled rich kid?"

  And then, to my amazement, he started to laugh.

  "What?" I burst out, not letting the arrival of our food disrupt me as I glared across at this man, trying to understand what had gone wrong inside of his head. "Why are you laughing at me?"

  Rob, however, just kept laughing for a minute longer, finally grabbing a napkin off of the table to wipe at his eyes. "I'm just laughing at the idea that you're going to be writing a biography on me," he said, after he'd managed to get himself mostly back under control. "You're writing about my life, and you've got it entirely wrong!"

  I had it wrong? I wanted to press him for an explanation, but the smell of the freshly fried fish, breaded and sitting delectably on top of a bed of French fries, kept on distracting me. "You're going to explain, after I eat a bit of this," I told him, pointing a finger at him over the table.

  He just shrugged, looking down at his own dish. "I'll be happy to, if only to set the record straight. But after dinner."

  I supposed that I could live with that. I reached down and broke off a piece of the crunchy, breaded fried fish, slightly singeing my fingers as I handled the hot piece of meat and juggled it up into my mouth. The crisp breading landed on my tongue, filling my mouth with a rush of warm grease and delicious umami, and I closed my eyes for a moment in delight.

  "Good stuff, huh?" Rob remarked, as I tore into my food with gusto, and I couldn't bring myself to keep my mouth empty for long enough to answer beyond a nod. "Rowdy Hall really does do the best fried fish and chips in the Hamptons."

  I just focused on eating - but even as I chowed down, in the back of my mind I kept on turning over Rob's words, wondering what he meant.

  How did I have him entirely wrong?

  Chapter Eight

  *

  Twenty minutes later, the basket in front of me was empty, aside from a couple of lingering bits of fried potato, and I felt a good bit more content. My stomach was no longer rumbling up at me, and I had to keep fighting the urge to lean back and relax - a dangerous move on these high chairs.

  Across from me, Rob had also done a number on his own basket of fish and chips. He dusted his hands off on the napkin and dropped it on top of his basket. I had been casting an eye across the table at his remaining fries, but I felt glad to see them vanish beneath the napkin. I'd been about to make a fool of myself by reaching across the table to st
eal them out from his basket, right in front of his eyes.

  Rob caught me looking at the basket, however, and paused. "You want the last few?" he asked, lifting his napkin back up.

  No. Definitely not. There is no other move in the world that would make me seem more sad and desperate than if I ate this man's fries right now. Even though he'd sprinkled some ketchup and vinegar on top, and they looked amazing.

  "I probably shouldn't," I told him, as I reached across and snagged a handful.

  God, they tasted good. Like shame, if shame was deep-fried and delicious.

  The waiter swung by our table and dropped off the bill without stopping, and I picked it up. Not terrible, actually. I could afford to cover this with the per diem from Grit. I dropped down my card on top of the check and set it back out to one side.

  With the bill taken care of, I turned back to Rob, trying to get back into a professional mindset and hoping that I didn't have any ketchup blobs sticking to my face. "So, are you going to start telling me your side of the story?" I asked.

  He frowned back at me. "Yes, but not here."

  I looked around, not sure what was wrong with him telling me in the restaurant. "Why not?"

  "I don't know if someone's going to be listening in. We need to go somewhere that we won't be overheard, where there's no one around to eavesdrop."

  I wondered for a moment if he was joking, but no, Rob seemed serious. His brows were low over those blue eyes, and although he looked calm enough, his eyes occasionally flicked around the restaurant, as if checking for someone spying on us.

  Well, okay. I could handle a little bit of weirdness if I got my story. "Okay, so where are we going after this?"

  "How about the beach?" he suggested, and I felt my heart rate jump a little at the words.

  "The beach? Just because I brought a swimsuit on this trip, I wasn't actually planning on-"

  "Not for swimming," he cut me off, sounding a little exasperated. "No one goes out to the beach at night, so we'll be able to talk without anyone overhearing us. We don't even need to go near the water."

  Oh. "Oh. Well, okay. I suppose that works." I wouldn't be able to take notes in the dark, but hopefully I could check in with Rob later in order to continue collaborating on his story and making sure I got the facts right.

  The waiter ran my credit card, and I made sure to carefully tuck my receipt away in my purse so I could turn it in later to Sandy for reimbursement. Rob was already rising out of his seat, heading for the door.

  "Sorry about the date," the waiter commented to me as he stopped by to clear the dishes.

  "What? Date?"

  He gestured towards Rob, who had reached the front door to Rowdy Hall and now looked back at me impatiently. "Yeah, I was guessing first date? He's handsome, but seems like an ass. You could do better."

  It definitely wasn't a date, but that was rather sweet of the young man to say. "Thanks," I said, feeling a bit touched. "But no, it's not a date. I just am-" I paused. Maybe I shouldn't reveal my true job. "Uh, I'm just visiting him and catching up."

  "Probably for the best," the waiter said, and I ducked out of the restaurant, following after Rob, before he could point out any other ways that Rob and I weren't right for each other.

  Climbing into the black Challenger, so dark that it was nearly invisible in the night in its parking spot, I glanced over at Rob again as I considered the idea that we'd been on a date. I could see how someone might have gotten that impression from watching us, but even though Rob came in a very pretty package, he wasn't my kind of date. I preferred men who had a softer side, something which he didn't seem to possess.

  "Something on your mind?" he asked, as he pulled out of the parking lot.

  "No, nothing," I replied, but then decided that there was no reason to keep it a secret. "The waiter in there thought that we were on a first date."

  "Really?" I'd almost been expecting Rob to laugh, but he just kept looking forward. "What did he say about it?"

  "That I could do better," I said, not pulling my punches.

  Did Rob wince for a moment at that comment? Had I found a crack in his armor? I looked over at him, but I couldn't read his expression in the darkness, only lit periodically as we passed the street lamps.

  Soon, the car pulled back into the driveway of the little cottage where Diana lived. I looked around, confused. "I thought we were going to the beach?"

  "It's close enough to walk," he answered, parking the car. "And another way to make sure that we aren't followed. Come on, it's not far."

  I'd worn flats instead of heels, but I still wasn't sure if I was up to the idea of walking through tall grass and wilderness in the darkness, following a man whose motives I still hadn't fully worked out. Think about the story, I told myself. You're doing it for the story. I pictured my coworker back at Grit. Teddy wouldn't give up on a story just because he had to do some mild hiking to go get an interview from one of his sources.

  The walk turned out to not be as bad as I expected. Sure, it was through almost pitch blackness, with no lights around to help illuminate the path, but Rob moved back to take my arm and help support me after I stumbled the first time. I didn't want to say anything to him, but I enjoyed being able to lean in on him, against his warmth.

  We moved in between two tall dunes, and there was a little beach, laid out in front of us, private and deserted. For just a moment, all of my annoyance and concerns dropped away as I took a couple steps forward out onto the sand.

  "This is amazing," I breathed out, looking down at the water.

  The sand dunes that we'd hiked in between, covered in thick grass and the occasional scraggly bush, rose up on either side of this little stretch of beach, like walls on either side. They gave the place a secluded feel. In between them, the sand stretched smoothly down to the water's edge, where the waves lapped gently at the shore with tiny little rivulets. The air was filled with the fresh scent of salt, and the waves produced a soft, gentle, constant sloshing sound.

  I glanced back over my shoulder at the stunted little trees that gave way to the sand dunes. Two of them were positioned on either side of the little path, like a pair of guardians. I noticed that someone had left a shovel leaning against one, as if they'd been out here digging a hole or burying something recently.

  Maybe this is where Rob hid a body, and he was about to confess his murder to me. I shivered again.

  Rob stepped up past me, heading down to drop into the sand a few feet from where the waves terminated against the shore. I followed after him, shedding my shoes after a few steps to prevent them from filling up with sand.

  "This is nice," I said softly as I sat down beside him. The sand felt cool beneath me, but fortunately not too damp.

  He nodded. "I used to come here a lot, when I was younger. This was where I'd come to get away from everything else, where I could just turn my mind off and relax. Nothing could bother me, here. The land technically belongs to the mansion next to us, but no one's ever put it to use, and I don't think he even knows that it's his." He looked over at me for a moment. "I haven't ever showed it to anyone else before."

  Really? "What, you didn't bring your high school girlfriends out here to have some fun?" I tried teasing him, but he just shook his head.

  "Nope. This place was always mine, and mine alone."

  That made me close my mouth, not wanting to tease him any more, and the two of us sat in silence for a couple minutes as we watched the waves trickle in. The sand beneath me was cold, and I found myself scooting in closer to Rob, just because of his warmth.

  "So, you're going to tell me what's going on?" I finally asked, pitching my voice low. I didn't want to rush him, but if we stayed out here all night, my ass was going to be frozen solid!

  He nodded. "I told you before that I was innocent, and I showed you the records in my study," he began after taking a deep breath. "But there's more to this story than just that."

  I looked over at him, forcing myself to hold my tongu
e. Rob sighed, reaching up and running a hand through his hair. I could see that he hadn't yet discussed any of this with anyone else, and he felt loath to let his secret out.

  "I think that something bad has been going on at Cartmann Securities, my trading firm, for a lot longer than anyone realized," he said finally. "I didn't just grab all those documents in the last few days. There's no way that I could haul all of those boxes up here in a single day or two without attracting attention."

  I hadn't considered this before, but it made sense to me now. "So what do you think is going on?" I asked.

  He shrugged, the motion disturbing little piles of sand as his hands lifted. "I don't know. It's something fishy, but I still haven't been able to work it out - and it's outside of my area. Money comes in, and it's my job to manage and invest that money. Normally, I don't hear anything about where the money comes from, or what it might be involved in after I've invested it. I just stock the groceries, without knowing anything about where they come from or who ends up buying them."

  "So what does this have to do with getting fired, or blamed for insider trading?" I asked.

  "I think that I was getting close, or someone realized that I was poking my head around in places where I didn't belong," he answered. "And that's why they set me up to go down, blamed that insider trading thing on me. They don't want me blowing the whistle on their operations."

  "Which you don't actually understand."

  He sighed. "Right."

  The two of us sat there in silence for a minute or two after this, just gazing out at the moonlight bouncing off the crests of the small waves as they herded in towards shore. I tried to keep from shivering at the thought of being fired for knowing too much, for digging too deep into my own company, but it was a creepy thought.

  "Oh, sorry - we could have stopped at the house for a sweater or something," Rob said, as I shivered against him. "Here. Scoot over a little."

  I started to protest that I wasn't shivering (only) because of the cold, but he put his arm around me, and I didn't mind the added warmth at all. I leaned in against him, and even if he was still a jerk, he felt strong and comforting.