by Holly Hart
I shrug, pretending that I don’t. In truth, I do. I know that fact very well. Robbie and I did our research before selecting Charlie as our – my – target. Now, though, the evidence is stacking up. We didn’t do our job properly: first I find out about Tilly, and now I discover that Charlie’s a bleeding heart philanthropist as well.
It was easy enough to talk myself into lightening Charlie Thorne’s pockets when I thought of him as a big bad billionaire. But now: it’s not so easy.
“Hey, earth to Penny,” Charlie says, with a quizzical half-smile; “anyone home?”
I shake myself out of my trance. For some reason I’ve got Kanye lyrics playing in my head. What’s fifty grand to a motherfucker like me, will you please remind me?
Except instead of Kanye’s angry rap, I’ve got Charlie’s gravelly bedroom voice in my head. I rationalized stealing millions of dollars from a heartless, ruthless billionaire. I thought his money was just going to knocking down homeless shelters. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.
But I know one thing for sure – if I go through with my planned con –
“Sorry,” I freestyle. “I lost myself in my own head. I didn’t realize you were paying for all of this.”
Charlie brushes the comment aside. He takes me by the waist and spins me. It’s a delicate, first-date touch that sends thrills running up my spine, and sparks running down to – well, you know where.
“You see all these rich guys?” He says, pointing out a sea of gray-haired men with platinum blonde, twenty-year-old hopefuls around their arms. I’m still recovering from his touch when he pulls me in to his side. He does it without thinking, but it’s all I can think about.
“Sure,” I whisper.
I swallow, and drag my tongue across suddenly dry lips. I try and concentrate on what Charlie’s saying, but it’s hard. The sharp, springtime scent of his aftershave invades my nostrils. My skin is on fire.
“They’re assholes, all of them.” Charlie speaks with a tone of scorn to his voice.
“Rich assholes, though: they don’t want to give their money away. If it was up to them, they’d let their accountants stash it in some Panamanian bank account where Uncle Sam can’t get his hands on it. That’s why I do this.”
“Do what?”
Charlie’s hand rides up my lower back. I pay attention to every nerve ending as they fire in delight.
He grins. “Fleece ‘em, of course. Lighten their pockets so they can show off to the hooker they booked for the night.”
“What do you mean?”
“They can’t help themselves,” Charlie says, wincing with distaste. “These guys will drop fifty grand on a painting they don’t want in the charity auction just so they feel like they’ve worked for the hooker’s lips around their cock. But I don’t care how filthy the money is, and the sick kids don’t either.”
I don’t know why, but an overwhelming urge to rest my head on Charlie’s shoulder washes over me. My hair brushes his shoulder when I’m interrupted.
“Charles,” a low, patrician voice says.
It brings the temperature in the ballroom down a dozen degrees, and a morbid shiver running up my spine. I feel like I’ve stepped into an abattoir. Charlie’s body stiffens.
“How positively lovely to see you; and who is this wonderful… young girl?”
99
Penny
“Landon,” Charlie growls. His lips pucker with a distaste he doesn’t bother to conceal. “I don’t remember seeing your name on the invitation list.”
My eyes coast across the new arrival’s face. I would recognize him anywhere. He’s been plastered across every magazine and newspaper in the city for the last couple of years.
He’s handsome, in a Nazi recruiting poster kind of way. His coloring is classic: blonde hair; blue eyes. However, it’s coupled with a cold, creepy demeanor that you don’t pick up from the pages of a carefully stage-managed interview in a glossy magzine, but that is definitely evident in person.
Yep: it’s Landon Winchester.
He happens to be the second wealthiest man in New York. Or the first, depending on which article you read. Either way, Charlie and Landon are neck and neck.
The blonde billionaire sticks out his hand. His eyes glitter with an evil humor; like winter sunshine reflecting off a frozen lake. Charlie doesn’t move.
“Come now,” Landon says. He holds his palm completely steady. He’s like a statue. Evil carved out of stone. “You wouldn’t want all these people to see you like this, would you, Charlie? It wouldn’t play into your carefully-crafted PR strategy.”
“I don’t do PR,” Charlie says. His voice is crushed stone. “I don’t care about seeing my face all over the news, Landon. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
Landon’s face flashes with concealed anger. His cheeks twitch, but his hand still remains perfectly still.
I see an event photographer approaching us out of the corner of my eye. I subtly elbow Charlie. My mind might not be made up on whether he’s a good guy or not, but I know one thing for sure: Landon’s definitely not. In this fight – at least – I’m in Charlie’s corner.
“Or maybe you should, Charles,” Landon says.
“After all, it’s not my company that’s in danger of being taken over, is it? You will never understand that Wall Street’s just a game, Charlie. Investors love me. And when Thorne Enterprises becomes just another arm of Wincorp, I think I’ll take your office. Enjoy the view out of those plate glass windows. It won’t last.”
He grins. Then he turns his attention to me. “Say, Charles: does she come free? Perk of the CEO’s chair?”
Charlie grimaces. I feel the bristling anger transmitted through his tight, tense muscles. I lean into him, trying to silently relieve some of the strain. The thought strikes me that this is exactly what a real wife would do, but I push it out of my mind.
“Show some manners,” he growls, “when you speak to my wife.”
Landon shrugs disinterestedly, but his forehead dances with interest. I practically watch the gears turn in his mind. That same sneering, calculating grin creeps across more of his face. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s like a stone in someone’s shoe, or a splinter under their fingernail.
“No, Charles. Perhaps you should show some manners.” Landon jerks his head at the photographer. “This gentleman has been patiently waiting to take a photo of us. What do you say; shall we give him what he wants?”
Charlie turns, and I follow, mainly because I’m attached to him. The photographer is hiding behind his camera with an expression on his face that makes it perfectly clear he knows he stumbled into a cold war, and there are a million places he’d rather be.
“It’s for the charity website,” the man croaks, almost apologetically. “I can –”
Charlie shakes his head. He tries to hide the sigh that escapes his mouth, but I feel it. “Of course,” he says, taking Landon’s hand and shaking it for the camera.
The camera clicks several times, and the photographer disappears without another word. I see him bow his head with relief as he walks away.
“Good to see you, Charles. And, I’m so sorry young lady – I didn’t catch your name…”
“Penny,” I say.
“Well, Penny,” Landon says, appraising my body with his eyes. “I look forward to… seeing… you around.” Landon disappears, tapping something into his phone.
“What was he talking about?” I ask. “What merger? Is it as big a threat as Landon says?”
Charlie takes a long time to reply. His face is a riot of anger and dismay. After seeing the calm, collected version of the man by my side for the last couple of days, this incarnation of Charlie is a complete surprise. I don’t know how, but Landon’s completely knocked him off balance. Finally he masters himself.
“It’s fine,” he says in a tone that makes it perfectly clear it’s not fine.
“He thinks he’s pulling together enough investor money to mount a takeover bid, bu
t there’s no way he’ll drive Thorne Enterprises’ share price that low.”
“I hope you’re right,” I say. The words coming out of my own mouth surprise me. I actually do hope that Charlie wins this battle. The jury’s out on Thorne Enterprises; but if Wincorp’s anything like its owner, then I don’t want Landon to win his battles.
Charlie relaxes. “Me too,” he admits. Then he rolls his neck to relieve the tension and smiles at me. It feels genuine, and I grin shyly back.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s not let that asshole ruin tonight. We’ve got a Billionaire Blowjob Fund to build!”
I set my cutlery down.
Hands down, that was the best meal I’ve ever had in my life. Of course, the competition’s not exactly that high. When the rent on a five hundred square-foot Brooklyn apartment takes up the vast majority of your income, you don’t exactly get to splash out on Michelin star cooking.
“That was amazing,” I said.
Charlie shrugs. “It was okay. The salmon was a bit overdone –”
My jaw drops. “Are you kidding?” I say. “Seriously, Mr. Thorne, you need to get out more. Trust me; most normal people don’t get to eat a meal like that in their entire lives.”
“Don’t you Mr. Thorne me, Penny,” Charlie grins.
I go along with it. It feels nice; like a break from the mistrust and worry that has filled the last few days.
“Why not?” I ask. I bite my lip. I know what reaction it’s going to provoke, but I can’t help myself. I want to be desired. Charlie’s eyes flare with hungry interest. Every time I’ve done that, he’s reacted the same way. It’s more than just a pattern. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Do to you?” Charlie says, kicking his eyebrow. “Who mentioned doing anything?
I neatly fold my napkin, place it on the table in front of me, and stand up.
“Where are you going?” Charlie asks. His cheeks are flushed; and judging by the heat on mine, I look the same way.
“To wash up,” I say. I glance left and right to make sure no one’s listening. In a low voice, I say, “coming?”
I don’t know what’s coming over me. Pardon the pun. Oh God: that thought fills my mind with images of a very explicit nature.
Charlie grimaces. “You’re bad for my health, Penny, you know that?” he says. His voice is hoarse.
He leans back in his chair, and subtly adjusts the fabric around his crotch. I can’t tell who he’s hiding the act from: me, or the rest of the room. Either way, he doesn’t do a very good job.
“Is that a yes?” I say, doubling down on the innuendo. My cheeks pulse with warmth. I can’t believe what’s coming out of my mouth. I’m still Penny – a nineteen year-old virgin – and yet I’m toying with the ripped, experienced Charlie Thorne.
“I can’t…” Charlie groans. “I’m the charity’s patron. I can’t just screw you in the bathroom.”
I lean forward, bringing my lips right up close to Charlie’s ear.
“Who said anything about screwing me?” I whisper. My tongue darts out and licks Charlie’s earlobe. He jerks backward, and fixes me with a shocked stare.
“Penny –”
I stand up and straighten my dress, acting like I didn’t say anything at all. My mind is filled with images of the same dress, hiked up against Charlie’s thighs as he pushes into me against a bathroom stall.
I back away. There is no way I’m losing my virginity in a public restroom, that’s for sure. Still, for the first time in my life, the thought fills me with excitement. What’s happening to me?
“I’m just going to wash my hands,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
I dance through the ballroom. The dinner tables aren’t packed tight, but dozens of waiters swarm the room – some carrying champagne on silver trays, others desserts on little plates. I try to get out of their way, but instead they back away from me, looking down at the floor as I pass. It feels weird – like I’m the Queen of England.
I dart out of the ballroom, hurry down a short corridor, and push into the women’s bathroom. I don’t need the toilet – I just need to splash a little water on my face. I need to cool down. Sitting right next to Charlie all meal was bad enough.
His aftershave has tortured me all night – and so have the little touches whenever he leaned over to refill my plate, or top up my glass. I’m not an idiot. I know they weren’t accidental.
Yet until I ran off my mouth just now, I could have dismissed all that. Whatever weird little attraction Charlie and I have, it was bubbling under the surface until I basically propositioned him with public sex…
The water feels like ice against my face, but it’s exactly what I need. I pat myself dry, and then head back out into the fray.
But the hallway’s not empty. I walk straight into a man’s body. And not just any man: Landon Winchester, Charlie’s mortal enemy.
“Penny,” he smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s got a predator’s cunning expression on his face. “Imagine meeting you here. What a surprise…”
“Imagine,” I reply flatly. “I don’t believe for a second that it’s a surprise.”
“No, really: I’ve got a surprise planned – all for you. I think you’re going to like it,” Landon says.
A lascivious sneer creeps across his face. He must be doing it on purpose. I can’t believe anyone could act as evil as he does without meaning it. I bet he practices in front of the mirror…
I take a step back. “I don’t want anything from you,” I say.
He smirks. “No? But I haven’t even told you what it is.”
I try to sidestep the creepy billionaire, as he steps in front of me to block my path. “Now where do you think you’re going, Penny?” he says. He licks his lips, and I shiver.
“Anywhere,” I reply. “I don’t care, as long as it’s far away from you.”
Landon takes a step forward. “But you don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” I growl. “Enough to know that you’re not the kind of man I want to spend any time around.”
He takes another step. Only a couple of feet separate us now.
A heated blush paints my cheeks. I’m all kinds of vulnerable right now, but there’s no way I’m letting Landon know he’s getting to me. I’ve dealt with men on the streets who tried to rape me. Landon Winchester doesn’t scare me, not really.
Still – one thought haunts my mind. What if I scream and nobody comes to help? Landon’s a staple of New York society. It’s hardly a secret that the rich get away with their crimes. He could do anything to me right now, and if people found out, would they even care?
“I know things too, Penny,” Landon says. He reaches forward and brushes a stray tendril of hair from my cheek, tucking it behind my ear.
“I told you, Landon,” I growl. I bat his hand away. He’s got cold, clammy skin. “I don’t care what you know. What you think you know.”
A wolfish grin spreads across his face. “Oh, I think you will,” he says. “Have it your way, Penny.”
He licks his lips, and his eyes dance from my toes to my rack. Charlie only did this a couple of hours ago, yet this feels completely different. When Charlie did it, I felt like I was a fine piece of art being appreciated. With Landon, it’s more like he’s sizing up his next meal.
“Think what you want,” I say. “Just keep it to yourself.”
I attempt to push past his tall frame. He takes a step towards me, making me press my ass up against his crotch in order to squeeze in between him and the wall. I’m sure I feel the outline of his cock through the thin silk of my cocktail dress. It sickens me.
“You’re an animal,” I spit.
Landon smiles as though I have complimented him. “Thank you,” he says. “I try.”
“That’s not –,” I start, appalled by his total lack of understanding that I was insulting him. Then I stop.
I know Landon’s game. He’s doing exactly what he did to Charlie earlier: trying to wind him u
p, trying to push his buttons. Now he’s doing it to me. When he sees weakness – or what he thinks is weakness – he exploits it. I can’t let him.
“Go fuck yourself, Winchester,” I hiss.
Landon just stands there, ignoring my comment. I don’t know what I expected, but that reaction wasn’t it. Landon Winchester doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who takes assaults on his pride lightly. As I leave, his eyes burn with icy anger that crackles against my back.
I shiver.
I just hope I haven’t provoked an enemy; especially not one as powerful as the CEO of Wincorp.
As I disappear around the corner, heading down the hallway that leads back to the main ballroom, I hear Landon speak. It’s barely more than a whisper. At first, I don’t know if I’ve heard him right. But then I realize that I have.
“That, my dear, is the goal…”
The comment makes me sick.
Still, I wander back into the ballroom, holding the shimmering silk at my waist. When I’m wearing something this beautiful, it’s hard to stay angry for long. The silk is so soft it feels like my entire body is being layered with sweet, gentle kisses.
If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine it’s Charlie.
The man himself is still sitting where I left him: pride of place at the top table, an empty chair beside him. He looks slightly tense, but the expression softens as he sees me slipping through the dinner tables.
Something changes in Charlie’s mood as he watches me walk through the crowd. I see his gaze shift to something behind me. I peek over my shoulder, and see Landon striding cockily out of the hallway. He stops, pauses, and stares directly at Charlie – just long enough to adjust his fly – then he winks and carries on.
Asshole.
“Is everything okay?” Charlie asks me urgently. “He didn’t do anything to you, did –”
“Nothing,” I assured him, touched by his concern. “He’s just a creep, that’s all.”
