“Yes,” he continues. “They will be ‘pissed off.’ But the perk of owning a building—” he hits the elevator call button, “—is that you get to make executive decisions.” He gives me an unreadable glance as the doors open. “That is, at the risk of being questioned by inexperienced interns.”
If that isn’t a loaded remark, I don’t know what is. I flush scarlet red for the third time since I’ve met him. I’ve never had a man throw me so off balance.
The elevator is packed, for which I’m infinitely thankful. The trip up will give me some time to properly compose myself.
Gratitude turns to panic when the crowd files out, meek as mice, when Stonehart steps in. None of the people waiting in the lobby follow us.
The doors close. I’m alone in here with him. My heart’s beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.
He catches me staring. “Impressed?” he asks.
“They know you,” I manage.
His dark eyes flash with amusement. “Astute.”
He swipes his left wrist in front of a card-sized scanner. A beep sounds, and the light to the highest floor turns on.
“Biometric NFC chip,” he tells me in an off-handed way. “A tiny kernel I had implanted six months ago. Developed by the research team at ZilTech. One of my subsidiary firms. I understand you’ve dealt with them?”
Stonehart’s phone buzzes before I can answer. He looks at it. “Excuse me.”
I step half an inch back so I can admire his profile without being caught. He has one of those faces that only get better with age. I try not to eavesdrop on his conversation. I’m struck by the fact that sharing an elevator this way must be a very rare occasion for him.
And so far, all you’ve done is make yourself look like an idiot, a tiny voice derides me.
The elevator shoots up. Just three floors from our destination, it comes to a sudden halt. At the same moment, Stonehart drops the phone from his ear.
The doors stay closed.
He turns to me in a predatory move. “Going higher requires a retina scan,” he tells me. I can literally feel the reverberations from his rumbly voice. “The first swipe can be faked. This cannot. We have thirty seconds before the elevator goes back down.”
He looks at me. I blink dumbly.
“You should know,” he adds, “that I hate wasting my time.”
He takes one step to me as the words sink in. Only the slimmest margin of air separates our bodies.
“Lilly.” The way he says my name sends a shiver of arousal down my spine. I crane my neck up to look at him. “Impress me. Prove that I’m not wasting my time.”
My nerves are beyond frazzled. My palms are sweaty. My mind races for the right thing to say, but all it finds is blank space. His smell fills my lungs with every breath, destroying my composure.
“W-what do you want?” I stammer.
“I want…” his powerful arms jut out against the mirrored wall on either side of me. I’m trapped. My breath catches as he leans in and his cheek scratches against mine.
“I want,” he rumbles in my ear, “your mind.”
My knees go weak. Thank God he doesn’t see me falter as he pushes off and turns around, back to me. The insane attraction flaring to life inside me is all wrong. The incomprehensible power dynamic Stonehart seems to revel in confuses me even more.
He clasps both hands behind his back. “I want to take the company public,” he announces, the same way an arrogant professor would to his understudy. “My board disagrees with me. But, I don’t care. I made them. They owe their livelihoods to me.”
He glances briefly over his shoulder. “What do you say to that?”
“The board—”
“Fuck the board!” Stonehart’s shoulders tighten. “I want to know what you think about my desires.”
“Mr. Stonehart, I don’t know anything about the inner workings of your company…”
“Yes, I’m aware of that, Miss Ryder.” He places special, derogatory emphasis on the title. “I’m not looking for the vague textbook answer all you consultants like to offer to protect your own asses.”
He whirls around, and his eyes bore into me like augurs. “I want to know what you think, Lilly. Should I take the company public? Yes or no.”
I square my shoulders and rise to his challenge. “Yes.”
“Reasons. Now!”
I lift my chin. Business questions like this were what I expected. “Stonehart Industries has the richest portfolio of subsidiaries I’ve ever seen. Investors will be chomping at the bit to get a taste. A company its size going public after being private for so long is unheard of. You can raise billions in equity, expanding your economic power. Keep available shares low. Make owning a piece of Stonehart Industries a prized commodity. And never give up majority control.”
Stonehart looks at me. His impassive face gives nothing away.
I’d imagine most people would break under that stare. But he’s already seen me at my worst. I have nothing to lose.
I meet his gaze, back straight, eyes unwavering.
Suddenly, the corner of his mouth twitches up in a small smile. He nods once. “I knew I made the right decision about you.”
He turns, and brings his eye to the scanner. The elevator rises the remainder of the way.
I steady myself against the railing when he’s not looking.
What the fuck was all that about?
I’d just given him the biggest bullshit answer in the world. Instead of challenging my assumptions, he seemed pleased with my spark.
Maybe it was a test. Maybe it wasn’t the answer that was important, but my reaction to the situation.
The doors open. Stonehart steps aside and gestures me through. As I pass, his hand slips to the small of my back.
It takes all the willpower I have to suppress my satisfied smile.
We walk down a long, immaculate hallway. One side is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking San Jose. The view is breathtaking.
There’s a secretary’s desk at the end, attended by a young blonde. Two massive oak doors dominate the wall behind her.
She stands as we approach, her face twisted with worry. “Mr. Stonehart, the board is getting anxious—”
He cuts her off with a curt gesture. She slumps back. I recognize her voice from the phone call. But her youth makes no sense. Why would Stonehart employ someone who looks like she’s barely out of high school?
She looks at me, and her eyes widen for a brief second. The next thing I know, a radiant smile curls her lips. As Stonehart and I pass, she gives me a little, secret wink, almost as if to say, “Go get ‘em, girl!”
Stonehart stops before the doors. His hand leaves my lower back as he adjusts his suit. He takes hold of the handles, twists, and the sound of a dozen angry voices fills the air.
They cut off as Stonehart makes his entrance. All eyes are drawn to him.
I count fourteen men, all older than he, seated around a polished conference table. This is a corner office, so two of the walls are glass, overlooking the skyline. The third is also glass, but that one looks into a bustling, magnificent, modern office.
Not one gaze flickers to me. I feel invisible.
“Gentlemen,” Stonehart announces. “I’ve made my decision. There will be no more debate.”
A great swell of protests rises up, and again is cut off when Stonehart raises his hand. “My associate here has more courage than any of you.” He looks at me. “You could learn from her.”
Stonehart presses a button under the table, and the doors to the rest of the office slide open. “This meeting is now over.”
I watch the entire exchange with a sense of awed reverence. These are obviously important men. Yet Stonehart took control of them as if they were children.
When the room is empty, Stonehart closes the doors. He then walks to a bar in the far corner of the room. Bending behind it, he pours himself a glass of scotch. When he turns, he seems surprised to see me. “Lilly. You’re s
till here?”
“You called me to have a meeting—”
“We’ve had it.” He walks to his desk, which has nine different screens arranged in an array above it. He does not look at me again. “You may leave the same way we came.”
I’m astounded. The man called me here promising reparation. He praised me in front of his colleagues. Then he dismisses me like an unwanted maid?
“You said—”
His dark eyes flash. “Are you questioning me?”
“No, but I thought—”
“Lilly.” His hand hits the desk. I jump. “I stress, do not ruin the impression you have made. Rare is it that I repeat my words, but I will do it this time, for your sake: Leave. Do not make me angry.”
The presumptuous asshole!
Dozens of choice words run through my head. I can tell all of them would be wasted. I huff and stalk out, slamming the door behind me with a satisfying thud.
I’m halfway to the elevator when I hear the clicking of heels on the floor behind me. “Miss Ryder. Miss Ryder, wait!”
I turn to see the young girl from the desk running after me.
“I almost forgot! Jer—I mean, Mr. Stonehart—wanted me to tell you about dinner reservations tonight.”
I look at her like she’s mad. “What?”
“He asked me to tell you that he requires your presence at dinner at Nemea tonight.” She speaks so quickly that it’s hard to catch her words. “He said for me to tell you when you left, but it almost slipped my mind. Thank God I remembered!”
I shake my head. “I doubt he wants to see me again after the way we left things.”
The secretary’s eyes widen. “Oh, no, no, Miss Ryder, you must have misunderstood him. Mr. Stonehart can be a difficult man at times. He was adamant about my asking you. He doesn’t make that type of offer to just anybody.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s obvious you must be his friend’s daughter or somebody important for him to go to so much effort for you.”
I narrow my eyes. “What effort? What do you mean?”
“Whoops,” she gasps. “Maybe I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Oh well,” she winks, “it’ll be our little secret. Okay just so you know…” She unlocks the iPad under her arm and swipes into an app. “Your reservation is at eight, but the driver will be outside your place at six-forty.”
“Hold on,” I say. “I didn’t even agree to this.”
She rolls her eyes. “Come on. It’s not like you can turn this sort of thing down. Reservations at Nemea are booked months in advance. I’ve never been. But, I hear it’s magnificent. You’re so lucky. And lovely. If you excuse my candor. It’ll be the most perfect dinner date.”
“Look, I know you think that Mr. Stonehart wants me there,” I try, “but honestly, after the way he dismissed me, I’m fairly certain he doesn’t want to see me again.”
Or I him.
“No, no, no. You have to understand, Miss Ryder. Mr. Stonehart is a very busy man. He asked me to call you to set up today’s meeting. I’ve only been here a few weeks, but I know this morning was just a chance for him to gauge your personality. Dinner tonight is when he really made time for you. If he didn’t want to see you again,” she adds conspiratorially, “he would have sent you out through the main office entrance.”
“So you were just out here waiting for me?” I ask. “Who else comes through the elevator?”
“Only Mr. Stonehart.”
“Then, why is your desk there?”
The girl’s eyes dart to her feet. “Mr. Stonehart prefers his secretaries to have privacy while still in, um… training.”
An uncomfortable shiver runs down my spine. I have a strong suspicion about the type of training she is talking about.
“Anyway,” she perks back up, “6:40 tonight. Don’t forget. The driver will be waiting for you. Oh, and there’s a certain dress code…” She trails off. “Here, let me just write it down for you.”
She runs back to her desk, and I see no choice but to follow. She takes out a business card from the drawer and writes on the back:
6:40PM. Today. Dress code: Professional.
She beams when she hands the card to me. I stuff it into my pocket without any further thought. It’s not like I’m dumb enough to forget those instructions.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “I wonder. Does Mr. Stonehart expect such compliance from everyone he meets?”
“Oh yes,” the girl nods. “Jeremy always gets what he wants.”
Chapter Twenty-One
(Present day)
Jeremy.
Jeremy Stonehart.
My hand trembles as I reach into the pocket I’d forgotten all about. I feel the edges of the card in the dark.
The one I was not supposed to be given.
My trembling thumbs slide over the slightly-raised letters of his signature. The letters imprinted in my mind are the same ones I feel under my fingers:
J.S.
Chapter Twenty-Two
(Three weeks ago)
I rush after the hostess as she leads me through a maze of tables. I’d only decided to come at the last minute—and only after I saw the black limousine waiting for me outside.
In fact, all day I was certain I’d blow Stonehart off.
It was not curiosity that changed my mind, but desperation. Tonight is the last night I am allowed to stay at the apartment. Tomorrow I get evicted, with only a half-baked plan for what I will do next.
Maybe Stonehart has something to offer other than stark arrogance.
I see him alone in a secluded corner. His eyes are dark and his jaw is set. He does not dignify me with a greeting as I sit down.
“Can I offer you…” the hostess starts.
“No,” Stonehart barks. His tone makes the hostess swallow and turn away.
“You’re late,” he growls at me.
“Your driver—”
“Was at your door at precisely 6:40.” Stonehart’s entire body is like a coiled spring. It makes me fidget uncomfortably. “You came to the car at 6:58. Eighteen minutes, Lilly. That’s how long I’ve been waiting here for you.”
I glance at my watch. It shows six minutes after eight. “Reservations were for eight…” I begin.
“Which still makes you late,” Stonehart snaps. “Precision is important to me. Do you know how many people I have waited for as long as I’ve waited for you in the last ten years?” He looks up, then, and his dark eyes burn with a rage unlike any I’ve seen contained in another human. It shocks me how little of it seeps into his voice.
The contrast of it to his manner, cold as ice, frightens me.
“I—”
“Two,” he answers. “Two people. Less than the fingers I have on one hand.” He holds his left hand in front of his face and rotates it back and forth.
Without warning he slams it down on the table. I jump, and he surges up.
“It seems I was mistaken about you,” he says, and starts to walk away.
Desperate, I reach out and grab his sleeve. “Wait,” I say. “Please.”
Stonehart looks down at me. He sneers. Then, he rips his arm back and walks away.
I slump down in my seat. That was such bullshit! He didn’t even give me a chance to explain! What type of psychotic man waits twenty—no, “eighteen”—minutes only to leave the second his guest arrives?
“Miss?” A waiter interrupts my thoughts. “The gentleman ordered wine?”
I am poured two glasses before I can say a word. One is set on Stonehart’s side of the table, the other, in front of me.
I sigh and pick up my glass. The aroma of the wine is soothing. I sip at the rim.
I guess I am not cut out for this world, after all.
Chapter Twenty-Three
(Present day)
Stonehart.
The bastard. It’s been him this whole time!
Who else would have the power, the influence, to organize all this? I curse myself for not thinkin
g of him before. I’ve been starving because of him. I’ve been dying because of him.
My war has been all for naught. If I truly want to hurt Stonehart, holding out like this won’t help. He may not know it, but he gave me the most valuable piece of information the morning we met in his building.
He is taking his company public.
He has left his king vulnerable.
Let him think me broken. Let him think me weak. I will play his sick game. I will sign the damned contract.
Because I know, when the time comes, I will strike.
And I will destroy his empire.
Epilogue
(One day later)
An elderly woman comes in to bathe and clothe me. I do not know what she must think when she sees me, for she says nothing at all.
Once I am cleaned, fed, and dressed, I ask her casually, “When will Mr. Stonehart be presenting himself?”
The woman’s manner falters. She drops the rags she is holding and looks at me, really at me, as if seeing the person I am instead of the broken shell of a human she found last night. Something akin to pity shows in her eyes.
The break in composure lasts only a second. She picks up my soiled clothes and addresses me formally. “Mr. Stonehart will be informed of your request.”
As she bustles out, I try to temper the growing smile on my lips.
I am not supposed to know it’s him yet.
Score one for Lilly Ryder.
The End.
Uncovering You #2 comes out April 20th, 2014.
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About Scarlett Edwards:
I wrote my first book as a college sophomore in February 2013. I haven’t stopped since.
Uncovering You: The Contract (Uncovering You, #1) Page 7
