Bad Boy of Wall Street: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by Samantha Westlake

  For a second, the words didn't click in Cartmann's head, but then, just as he'd started to open his mouth, he made the connection. Hook smiled as he saw the head trader's face lose color, turning a rather ugly gray color as the blood drained from his cheeks.

  "Look, I don't know what this is about, but I'm sure that I can make things better-" he began, but Hook just tightened his grip on the man's shoulder. Cartmann's words cut off with a wince of pain.

  "Sure, you can make it up to us," Hook said, after he was sure that the expensively clad trader was paying attention. "Give us our goddamn money. How's that for a start?"

  "But you still have access to all your money-"

  Hook sighed. The idiot was going to try and lie to him. Right to his goddamn face. He'd almost admire the balls on the trader, if he wasn't such a fucking idiot.

  "Not the insider trading, dumbass," he said, shaking his head. He let go of Cartmann's shoulder, slipping his hand down into the pocket of his suit pants and feeling for that little paper packet tucked into his wallet. "I'm talking about the fact that you've been skimming money off the top of our accounts, for a while now."

  Cartmann just gaped back at him, his mouth hanging slightly open. Hook tightened his fingers on the packet and pulled it out. Well aware that Cartmann's eyes were still on him, he casually reached into the packet and withdrew one of the fish hooks. He turned it back and forth in his thick fingers, inspecting the glint of the razor sharp point and making sure that the barb was intact.

  When he turned back to Cartmann, he saw the trader swallow, his eyes locked on the fish hook in the big man's fingers. Hook grinned, running his eyes over his victim, trying to select a target point.

  "Okay, okay, okay!" Cartmann's voice sounded breathy with barely contained panic. "Look, it's all the same thing, right? It's the same guy, guilty of both activities! Rob Hendricks is who you want!"

  Hook hesitated. "I'm listening," he said finally. "Go on, tell me more."

  Cartmann immediately babbled on, revealing more and more, his eyes remaining locked on that fish hook glinting in Hook's fingers. He talked and talked, until Hook finally held up his hand, signaling that he'd heard enough. The trader's mouth snapped shut like a mousetrap.

  "So you're telling me that this dumbass has my bosses' money, and he's hiding out in the Hamptons?" Hook summarized. He'd never visited the Hamptons before, but he'd heard that they were filthy with rich people. If this dumbass trader had ripped off his bosses for millions, the Hamptons seemed like the perfect place for him to hide, in amid all the other rich people. Why slum it with broke losers if you were sitting on stolen millions?

  Cartmann nodded, his bobbing head making him look like a puppet. "Yes, that's it exactly! I don't know where he is, but-"

  "I'll find him," Hook said. He looked down at the trader, still flopped in his chair behind his fancy desk, and put on a grin. "Hell, it looks like we're on the same side, aren't we? We both want this shitty trader of yours to give back what he stole, and then maybe turn up floating in a river somewhere."

  "Yes, we're on the same side," Cartmann echoed back. Hell, he'd say anything right now. He'd give his own mother over to this intimidating hitman if it meant that he'd avoid that fish hook sliding into a finger, a cheek, an eye-

  Hook glanced over at the little bit of metal in his fingers. He wouldn't need to use it now, it seemed. Still, he had a new target in mind, and he'd get his chance to put his skills to use.

  He glanced over at Cartmann as he tucked the hooks back into their little packet in his wallet. "Now, there's no need for anyone else to hear anything about this, is there?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  It was almost comical how fast he saw Cartmann's head shake back and forth. The idiot would probably give himself motion sickness.

  "Great." Hook started to turn to leave, but he paused as his eyes swept across the trader's desk.

  He reached out and picked up the nameplate sitting on the desk. It had the same gold sheen as the plate bolted to the wall outside, and the weight of it in Hook's hand confirmed his guess. "Souvenir," he said to Cartmann, grinning as he hefted the chunk of metal.

  For just a second, he thought that the trader might grow a spine and protest. The man apparently thought better, however, his self-preservation instinct overriding his anger at this brazen theft. "Sure, take it," he said, although the words came out through gritted teeth.

  Hook whistled to himself as he strolled out of the office, tossing the nameplate idly in his hand. He didn't pause until he got to the receptionist's desk. Just above her desk, he'd noticed that Cartmann Securities had a large glass sign installed, with their name sand-blasted onto the big sheet of glass.

  The receptionist wasn't around, so Hook spun and hurtled the nameplate overhand, straight into the big glass sign. He grinned happily as it shattered with an ear-splitting crash.

  There. Maybe next time, they'd put the damn sign on the outside.

  He headed back down to his car, turning over this new name in his head. Rob Hendricks. The thief.

  Hook would find him, soon enough. And the last thing that Rob Hendricks would see would be Hook's grinning face, his hands tightening around the asshole's neck.

  Chapter Eleven

  *

  I woke up the next morning feeling surprisingly refreshed and alert, the first rays of the sun streaming in through the window next to my bed and casting glimmers across my pillow. I blinked and sat up so that the light didn't go right into my eyes.

  After getting back from the beach, I climbed into the shower in the little house to wash off the sand, but soon found myself all but staggering with exhaustion. I barely managed to dry myself off and pull on some flannel shorts and a top before I fell into bed and passed out.

  Now, I rolled out of bed, wincing as my bare feet touched the freezing cold wooden floorboards of my bedroom. I wished that I'd brought a pair of slippers. Of course, that would require me to own a pair of slippers.

  If I was staying here for more than another day or so, I decided as I hopped out of my room, I would go see if I could find a cheap pair in town.

  I made it down to the kitchen without hearing anyone else moving around in the house. I could really use a cup of coffee, but I didn't know if there were any nearby shops where I could get a cheap cup. I did notice a coffee maker sitting out on the counter, one of the classic types with a reservoir of water and an opening for the grounds. That meant that there had to be some filters and grounds around, right?

  I found the canister in the pantry cupboards after a bit of slightly guilty digging around, with the filters stacked on top. I pulled out a paper filter, filled it halfway full of coffee grounds, and then loaded up the reservoir and pushed buttons semi-randomly on the front of the coffee maker until I heard the tell-tale dripping sound. I next went looking for mugs, finding a cupboard full of chipped examples.

  Just as the water line of brewed coffee in the pot was reaching the level where I could serve myself, I heard footsteps outside the kitchen. A second later, Rob entered, looking adorably sleepy as he reached up to rub at his eyes.

  Although despite clearly having just rolled out of bed, he still looked amazingly sexy, I observed with a little stab of irritation. His golden hair was mussed, rather than perfectly styled, but it just made him look more human, like the kind of man who could effortlessly whip up an omelette for his one night stand as he let her out of his luxury penthouse apartment in downtown Manhattan. I wanted to see him look messy and unkempt, just one single time!

  "Coffee?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

  I grabbed another mug out of the cupboard for him. "I found the coffee grounds and filters in the pantry, and figured I'd brew some," I replied. "After all, we've got a fun, exciting day ahead of us, and we'll probably want some caffeine to help us get started right away, won't we?"

  The sarcasm seemed to go over the man's head. Maybe he couldn't process it until after he'd finished off his first cup. Instead, he just frowned at m
e for another moment, and then helped himself to the coffee pot.

  "Part of me thought that you wouldn't be here this morning," he said, as he lifted the steaming cup up to his lips for a sip.

  I raised my eyebrows at him. Popping open the vintage 1950s-looking refrigerator, I found a half-used carton of half and half, and added a generous splash to my own cup before taking a gulp. Ah, that's the stuff.

  "Why would I be gone?" I asked, after I'd set my cup back down.

  He shrugged. "I told you last night that you probably wouldn't get the story that you were after from me."

  "And I told you that I was going to help prove your innocence, and that this would be just as good of a story," I answered, narrowing my eyes a little at him. "Remember? Or did your ears get filled with sand?"

  For a moment, I thought that Rob might get angry with me for snapping back at him, but he just smiled and stuck one pinkie into an ear. "That must be the problem," he said, after removing the finger. "Glad you diagnosed me, doctor."

  My frown melted away. I couldn't stay mad at him, not in this cute little kitchen with warm coffee suffusing up from my stomach to give me a warm internal hug. I was probably setting feminism back by a hundred years, but this little domestic moment felt worth it.

  "Besides, even if it doesn't make for a great story, this is probably the only vacation in the Hamptons that I'll be taking at any time soon," I went on. "So I ought to enjoy it and make it last! What's the hurry in getting back to writing up sex tips, anyway?"

  Hoo boy. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned sex tips, not around sexy Rob. Did his eyes flicker for a moment with interest when I said those words? I tried to convince myself that it was just my imagination, telling myself in vain that I wasn't thinking back to the feeling of leaning in against his body last night, out on the beach.

  "After some of the work today, you might want to get back to writing sex tips," Rob said, after a pause that felt like it was just a fraction of a second too long. Of course, he had to use the words, too. They sounded like a liquid invitation to disaster as they slipped out from between his lips.

  "What do you mean?"

  He gestured over his shoulder. "Remember that study full of papers? The answer is in there somewhere, and we need to find it. That means reading, reading, and then a break for some more reading."

  Ugh. Okay, that didn't sound nearly as sexy. "And what are we looking for?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "Honestly, I couldn't tell you. Something that discusses where this money came from, or its purpose. We need to find out who's the real mastermind behind this, who's orchestrating everything from the shadows. But it's not going to be anywhere obvious. Hence the huge stacks of paper."

  "You couldn't have just copied everything onto a flash drive?" I asked with a slight glimmer of hope.

  "We'd still need to read through it all," he answered, shooting down that hope with his next breath. "And besides, it's not like I know what I'm looking for, so I can't go searching through digital files."

  "Oh, the two of you are up!"

  We both paused and turned to smile at Diana as she tottered in, beaming up at both of us. Today, the old lady had chosen a bright purple sundress with a yellow cardigan over it, and she looked like she belonged in an AARP ad, or maybe on the set of a geriatric Pottery Barn photo shoot. Of course, the shotgun-turned-cane slightly spoiled the illusion as she came into the kitchen, thumping along on the hardwood floors.

  "And what are you two planning for today?" Diana asked, moving over to her grandson. Rob bent down and gave her a little peck on the cheek along with his hug, and she smiled contentedly back at him. "Something fun?"

  "Afraid not, Granny," Rob replied. "More digging through those papers that are clogging up your study."

  "Well, at least maybe you can get rid of some of them after you've gone through them," Diana said. "So much paper. And then, maybe the two of you can take a break and go out to get some ice cream or something together! You'll deserve a break, after working so hard!"

  Rob sighed again, but he couldn't keep from smiling a little at his grandmother's exuberance. "We'll try and find some time to take a break, Granny," he promised.

  Diana nodded, as if she'd been after this promise all along. "Good. Well, I'm headed off to the shops."

  "What are you shopping for?" I asked, curious despite myself.

  "Oh, I'm not buying anything," she corrected me, turning her wrinkled, happy little smile on me. "But my friend Edna runs one of the downtown clothing boutiques, and I always make sure to drop in and say hello to her." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Edna's son works out on the west coast as some sort of programmer person with computers, and she never gets to see him. I think she'd be quite lonely, if I didn't keep her company!"

  Glancing up over the top of Diana's head, I saw Rob struggling to hold back a smile. "That's very noble of you, Granny," he managed to get out without bursting into laughter.

  Diana nodded. "Yes, it is, isn't it?" she said. "But I'd better get going, or I'll miss my bus! You two have fun together - but don't get up to too much trouble, okay?" She turned back and wagged her finger at us, like a parent warning her child to be good on Prom night.

  "We'll be good," we both promised her, and now Rob wasn't the only one fighting back laughter.

  Once Diana had left the little cottage, however, Rob's smile slipped sideways and dropped off his face. "I couldn't possibly imagine how she'd take it if she found out that she might lose the house," he confessed to me. "That's one of the reasons why I'm trying to work so hard and get this figured out. If I wait too long, someone at my firm might decide that they want me out of the way for good, and they'll pull the loan. Her heart would break to lose this place. All of her friends are around here, and I couldn't bear to see her in a retirement home."

  I nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. Something about Diana just seemed full of life, an internal spark, and I couldn't see that trait hanging on in a senior center or retirement community. She was still able to get around fine on her own, and didn't need any assistance.

  "So, papers?" I asked, nodding in the direction of the study.

  Rob nodded, and led the way out to the room in question. "Yup. Remember, we're looking for anything unusual, some name that you see coming up a lot, or something that seems like it doesn't make sense. Anything that doesn't belong."

  "That's pretty vague," I pointed out.

  He sighed. "Yes, it is. I wish that I could be specific, but-"

  "-but you don't know what you're looking for," I finished. "Right. I remember."

  The study looked just as messy as the last time I'd seen it. "Do you have any sort of order to this place?" I asked, looking around. I couldn't even see enough open space to set down my cup of coffee without having to balance it on a box that could contain vital documents.

  Rob grimaced. "Kind of? See that stack over there?" He indicated a pile of papers that looked absolutely no different from its fellows on either side. "Those are ones that I've looked through already."

  "Both of those piles?"

  "Uh, no. Well, yes, but the one on the right is the papers that might be important, and the ones on the left-"

  "These two?"

  "No, those other two. Those ones are ones that I don't think are important. But I'm not sure, so I don't want to throw them out yet."

  I sighed, reaching up and pressing my non-coffee-cup-holding hand against my forehead. "Okay. Step one? Organizational system. That's what we need first."

  I was already starting to suspect that I'd taken on a much bigger challenge than I'd first expected.

  Chapter Twelve

  *

  The next couple days were a blur of paper. So, so many papers, all of which had to be tracked and organized. I felt like Rob ought to be paying me wages as his secretary.

  The first step, I quickly realized, was getting some method of tracking in place. After a quick visit to a small office supply store, Rob grumpily in tow, I arr
ived back in the study with piles of folders, sticky notes, and pens, and began organizing the papers that Rob had already examined.

  "Essentially, my organization comes down to the two piles that you had, but we're actually going to put them someplace different, so we won't end up looking at the same ones twice," I explained to Rob, as he peered over my shoulder. He smelled amazing as always, so close to me, but I ignored that tantalizing scent. With an effort. "These blue folders are going to have the papers that we probably aren't interested in, so we can stuff them full of papers. We'll put them in this stack, over here."

  "What about the important ones?" he asked.

  "Red folders," I answered, tapping the corresponding stack. "I've got more of them, because each one will probably be less full. And we can mark important passages or names that jump out at us with the sticky notes."

  Rob looked like he wanted to shoot down the whole thing, but then Diana poked her head in. "There was a knock at the door - some gentleman looking for you," she told Rob.

  He frowned. "What did you tell him?"

  Diana grinned, and her voice grew fainter and more quivery. "Why, I haven't seen my dear, sweet grandson in months, but I can pass a message on if you'd like?"

  Rob grinned back at her. "Nice. He get frustrated?"

  "Oh, you bet." Diana chuckled to herself as she pulled her head back. "Oh, this is so exciting. I feel like a spy in an old time movie."

  Rob didn't spend any time wondering about who might have been at the door, so I tried to ignore it as well. Probably just another reporter searching for a scoop, I told myself.

  Instead, I focused on the system of folders. At first, he didn't seem especially thrilled with my system of organization, in part because it probably wasn't helping him get through the actual papers any faster. But I pressed on, and even he had to admit that the level of clutter in the study soon began to decrease as I dumped already-read papers into folders.