The first company I worked for out of college had been a joke. They had been more interested in keeping things “business as usual” than in expanding and being innovative. In the year I worked there, I met the CEO maybe once. Half the time, he was on vacation or in an important “business meeting.” I saw my coworkers miss deadlines, pressure clients, and deliver barely acceptable work while the CEO had his head shoved up his own ass. The day I marched into his office to discuss my displeasure, only to find him doing a line of coke on his desk, was the day I quit. I vowed to myself to be the leader he should have been and to hold my employees to the same standards to which I held myself.
My phone alarm went off, reminding me of the Matrix meeting. I threw the cup into the trash and headed for the conference room.
Devon arrived only a moment later. “Important meeting,” he said with a grin. “I’ve been thinking about it all week.”
At only twenty-six, Devon hadn’t quite lost that irrational sense of optimism that comes with youth. While most people his age were still struggling with bills and student loans, he owned his apartment, three sports cars, and whatever new gadget or phone was trendiest. I had responded to the scarcity that had dominated our childhood by being tight-fisted with my money—he had responded with excess. Still, despite his weakness for splurging, he had a solid work ethic and was a fast learner. Wherever I had gone in life, Devon had always been a half-step behind, eager to help in any way he could.
“Where’s Mercer?” I asked.
Devon frowned and looked at his watch. “Not sure. He told me he was on his way a half an hour ago.”
“If he’s not here before the client is, you know what I’m going to say, right?”
Devon gave me a pat on the back as he took the seat next to mine. “He’ll be here,” he assured me. “I stressed the importance of him making a good impression in this meeting.”
I ignored his reassurances, in no mood for his overbearing optimism. “If he doesn’t show, I want you to take the account.”
Devon looked surprised, and he anxiously laid his cell phone and Moleskine notebook out on the table in front of him.
“But I haven’t run an account before,” he protested. “Jillian or Seth should do it. They’re the ones responsible for Mercer. In fact, they’re the ones supposed to be running this meeting, not us.”
“Jillian’s client list is already past her limit—her words, not mine—and Seth’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown,” I said. “We need someone to make this client their one and only priority.”
“And you think I have the time to do that between running two departments and being on the board?”
“You’ll find a way.” I glanced at my wrist, checking my Rolex. “You always do.”
Eight o’clock, and no Mercer, I thought. What a surprise.
A minute later, the door opened, and Nora escorted an older gentleman into the room. Although he was balding and in his early sixties, Jonas Rift wasn’t as frail as people assumed. He had been on the publishing scene for over thirty years—he could have seen action in Lebanon and Libya, or Grenada.
Devon and I stood and exchanged greetings as Nora left us alone, closing the door behind her. Mercer was still missing, and, along with him, his chances of ever being promoted. I swallowed my anger and greeted Rift with a thin gentlemanly smile, one that insisted he make himself right at home.
Once Mr. Rift had helped himself to a coffee and fresh pastry, Devon cast me a quick look. “Shall we get started?”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Mr. Mercer?” Jonas Rift asked, taking the seat across from us. He seemed confused, obviously expecting to see the fast-talking man who had wooed him, after taking a seat at his table in one of the most elite seafood restaurants on the Lower West Side. Mercer was good at the whole maverick schtick. He could snare clients no one else could get a phone call with, simply because he was willing to do crazy things and put himself out there. It would have made him a great employee if he wasn’t so glaringly inept in every other way.
I gave the client my most soothing smile as I leaned back in my chair. “There’s no need,” I said. “Devon will handle your needs for the time being. Now, Mr. Rift, please tell us how we can help you.”
If my abruptness shocked Rift, he didn’t show it. “As you probably know, Matrix Publishing is in a period of growth,” he began. “We started off as a small indie publisher a few years ago, but with our most recent bestseller, we’ve experienced an explosive amount of interest and attracted new clientele. We’re looking to expand into the mainstream, and we need to rebrand. There’s a lot of young energy in our house, with new ideas about the direction to take the company in, but they don’t seem to be speaking with a unified voice. I was hoping if we brought a couple of our best and brightest in to consult with you, Patterson could help us shift toward a new identity.”
“We can definitely help you with that,” Devon said.
“He knows that already, that’s why he’s here,” I ground out. I detested unnecessary filler talk, which Devon could never seem to get enough of. “My question is, what are you looking for us to offer that your current advertiser can’t provide?”
Rift hesitated for a moment, fidgeting in his seat as if the question made him uncomfortable. I’d known it would, but I still needed his answer. “Pace Marketing has been with us for the last three years, and they’re wonderful.”
“But …” I prompted.
“But, we need someone larger, someone with more resources and pull,” Rift admitted. “Your work speaks for itself. You’ve been around half as long as Pace and already have double the client list. You’re willing to take the risks that Pace isn’t. Put simply, Pace is too traditional and too poorly equipped for our needs.”
That was precisely the answer I was looking for and I threw Rift a smile.
“I never get tired of hearing that,” I said to my brother, earning a chuckle from him.
Through the glass walls of the conference room, I saw Mercer hurrying toward us. He was tucking his shirt into his slacks and draining the last dregs of coffee from a Starbucks cup, before tossing it into Nora’s trash can. She snapped at him, and he ignored her, waving her away as he marched toward the conference room with the dogged confidence only fools have.
“Devon, why don’t you get a list of Mr. Rift’s needs?” I suggested, getting to my feet and adjusting my suit jacket. “Find out what’s working, what’s not?”
Devon saw what had drawn my focus away and knew better than to question what I was about to do. Keeping his composure, he took over Rift’s attention while I left the room. I met Mercer about a foot from the door.
“Mercer,” I said calmly, letting the door swing shut behind me in a way that told him I wasn’t going to allow him to enter the room.
Mercer was only a year or two older than I was, although he acted as if it were more. Tall and stocky, he was the kind of guy who had been a varsity heartthrob in high school and a football golden boy in college. He was the kind of guy who’d spent most of his life resting on the laurels of his moneyed family name and partying his way through every vacation home in the Hamptons and the Berkshires. The kind of guy who still wore his class ring and insisted everything had been better back in his dad’s day.
“I’m sorry,” he began. “The traffic was—”
“It’s New York, Mercer.” I cut him off. “There’s always traffic. Go to your cubicle. I don’t want to see your face for the rest of the day.”
“But the meeting—”
“Is no longer your concern.” I interrupted. “Devon will handle Mr. Rift from now on.”
Mercer’s face blossomed a bright-red color, and I could see the effort it took for him to restrain his temper. It could be explosive—if the gossip I’d heard from the intern who worked in the copy room was right—but, thus far, he had been wise enough not to turn it on me.
“Please, Mr. Patterson, I brought this client in,” Mercer said, smiling through the anger with
gritted teeth. “Let me—”
“No.” I turned my back on him and walked toward the conference room.
I heard footsteps behind me, and a hand grabbed my wrist. “It was just a few minutes,” Mercer declared. “You have to give me a chance!”
I twisted my hand out of his grasp as I whirled back around to face him, seizing his wrist in one fluid movement. “I would think very carefully about your next move,” I said in a low voice. “Because aside from kicking your ass through that glass wall, I can not only fire you, but I can also make sure you never work in the marketing industry again.”
Mercer pressed his lips together and took a step back. “I got you this meeting.” His voice was a warning—as low and dangerous as distant thunder.
I put more space between us, stepping backward. This animal-like posturing that happened between high-powered men bored and annoyed me. I had gotten my desire to scrap with someone in the dirt out in high school, and if I wanted someone handled, I would rather just fire them or watch them get torn apart in the papers. I had better ways of proving I was the most powerful one in the room than throwing a punch. Stooping to men like Mercer’s level was unnecessary.
“Yes, you did,” I agreed. “And it’s my job to make sure something comes of it since you obviously don’t care enough.”
Mercer’s face was so red, it was almost comical. It put a smile on my face as I reentered my first meeting of the day, breathing deeply through my nose to dispense any excess irritation I may have been feeling.
Needless to say, I sealed the deal.
Aside from that little speed bump with Mercer almost getting physical with me in the hallway, the rest of my day went as smoothly as I had expected it to. Devon and I spent most of our time strategizing on the proposal for Matrix, weighing budget options, and arguing over how much of our weight to put behind a viral video campaign.
I had forgotten about Mercer until he came bursting into my office later that evening. I was always one of the last people to leave, which I assumed was why he’d waited until the building was mostly empty. A quiet office could embolden anyone. I was sliding some papers and my phone charger into my satchel when he started barraging me with complaints.
“I should get credit for that account!” he exploded, even as Nora tried to escort him out.
He shook her off his elbow with barely restrained violence, and I waved her off with a bored hand. She scuttled back to her desk and picked up the phone. I knew better than to expect she was calling security; Nora knew my meetings could sometimes get argumentative, and she was far more likely to have dialed one of her friends to gossip about what had just happened.
“I brought him in,” Mercer barreled on. “I did the legwork.”
“And you were late for the meeting,” I reminded him. “Ergo, you didn’t seal the deal. I did. You dropped the ball.”
“Because you wouldn’t give me a chance!” Mercer shouted. “If I had been there, I could have handled it. You never give me a chance. You tell us you want us to step up, to get shit done, to bring in clients, but the second I do, you take it away!”
I got to my feet, tired of listening to his voice. Between my minimal sleep from the night before and spending the last ten hours working nonstop, I was in no mood for a tantrum. “I also want you to be professional. I set a standard for myself, and I expect my employees to follow that standard. If you cared half as much about doing your job correctly and being here at an hour that doesn’t shame the entire company as you do about putting yourself out there and hooking clients, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“It wasn’t my fault!”
“Did I ask if it was? No, I didn’t,” I snapped. Irritation was creeping into my voice, sharpening it like a knife. “You know what I expect, and you failed. End of discussion.”
Mercer was furious, his eyes burning with hatred. I had him over a barrel, and he knew it. He was already on thin ice as it was, and bursting into my office wasn’t earning him any favors.
“Let me give you some advice.” I crossed the room to stand before him. Even at a three-inch disadvantage, I towered over him with my presence. “Stop worrying about shifting blame and start worrying about the quality of your work. You have three clients who have asked me to assign them different managers, and Seth was on the phone with Ms. Peabody for over an hour trying to explain to her why the invoice you provided didn’t match what you quoted to her when you two met.”
Mercer’s face fell. I could see his eyes shift between me and the door as if he had realized he should back out with his tail between his legs before it was too late.
“I notice these things,” I added, a little softer. This had always been my trump card, the ace up my sleeve. No one expected me to pay as much attention to the minutiae of a fast-growing company as I did. But I noticed and remembered everything.
“If you want a promotion, then you need to earn it,” I continued. “Stop being an entitled prick and pay attention to your clients. Then, maybe I’ll consider giving you a chance.”
I left him standing there, and I shoved all thoughts of him from my mind the second I stepped out of the building. Putting him in his place had given me a spring in my step. I decided a celebratory drink was in order, but, for some reason, the idea of going home didn’t appeal to me as it had that morning. I recognized the pent-up energy in my arms and shoulders, aching for a way to get out. Between my spat with Mercer and the thrill of bagging a new client, I was in the mood for another kind of conquest.
Which was how I wound up in a bar for the second night in a row, sipping Scotch and Saint Germain as I scanned the room. So far, nothing and no one had caught my eye. The music was dull, the drinks were passable, and the company was boring. But, the second the crowd parted, and I saw her, I knew I had found my new fixation.
A tight white dress accented the curves of her body, while her straight chestnut-brown hair tickled her shoulders. She was alone, finishing a glass of white wine, swirling it around in her glass like someone who knew how to taste for soil acidity and fruit notes. I was out of my seat almost instantly.
As I slid onto the stool next to her, I motioned to the bartender. “She’ll take another glass,” I told him. “And get me another Scotch, as well.”
The woman turned to me with one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised, hazel eyes filled with amusement. She had balanced, classically beautiful features: deep-set eyes, a delicate nose, and a mouth with a wicked quirk to it. That mouth drew my attention, and I began to think of the way it would feel on me, pressing a kiss into the juncture of my hip bone, wrapping around the length of my—
“Excuse me,” she said. “But what makes you think I want another glass of wine, let alone from a complete stranger?”
“Because …” I purred, “… by the end of the night, we won’t be strangers. And because what I’m going to do to you will be worth walking bowlegged, with a slight hangover tomorrow.”
The statement was bold, but I took her for the type who liked to hear these kinds of things straight. This time, both her eyebrows shot up, and she laughed, a delightful sound that lit up her whole face.
“Wow, you’re either very confident … or very cocky,” she declared. Her pink cheeks suggested she was flattered by my attention. Or aroused by it.
I grinned. “Trust me, my confidence and cock are both on point.”
The bartender placed another glass of wine in front of her as he whisked her empty glass away, and she picked the new glass up to take a sip.
“You sound sure of that fact.” Her perfect lips brushed the rim of the glass as she spoke.
Her eyes glided over me and to the room beyond, taking in the sights and sounds. She didn’t seem insulted by my comment, but she also didn’t seem intrigued, and that made me even more determined to crack her façade to see just what she had going on underneath it. And, if I was being honest, underneath her dress.
I sipped my Scotch. “I am.”
She didn’t resp
ond right away, but I could tell she was considering my suggestion. I waited for her to come to the same conclusion I had as soon as I’d seen her.
“Don’t I at least get to know your name?” She raised an eyebrow in question.
I put my glass down and took her hand from where it rested on the bar. “Caleb,” I murmured as I brought her hand up to kiss it, letting my breath ghost across the spot I’d kissed, before I withdrew.
The lie rolled off my tongue as easily as it always did. It wasn’t a deception meant to cause anyone harm, but I hated the way a ripple of whispers went through the room whenever someone recognized me. The way a potential bedmate began to fawn over me, or excused herself from the conversation, once she learned who I was. Everyone already had their opinions about Aaron Patterson and, tonight, I didn’t want to be him.
“I’m Audrey.” She smiled. A genuine smile—warm and inviting, and full of promises of what might follow.
I lifted my glass once more, toasting her beauty. “Well, Audrey, here’s to a memorable night.”
Audrey’s smile widened as she tapped her wineglass to mine. “We’ll see about that.”
Oh, yes, we will, I thought with a smirk.
“So … Caleb,” she said, taking a deep swallow of her wine. “How often do you pick up lonely women in bars?”
“It depends on my mood. And the woman.”
Audrey took another sip of wine, studying me. There was a glint in her eyes that piqued my interest. This, I realized, was a smart, confident woman who liked her potential partners to convince her, to work for her attention. A woman who enjoyed the thrill of being chased.
“What if I told you I wasn’t interested?”
“I’d call you a liar,” I answered. “And I’d prove it.”
“Oh, really?”
She was playing with me, and, for some reason that made me want her more. My competitive side was ready for the challenge, and the way she discussed sex so openly, told me she wouldn’t be shy and withdrawn in bed. If she wanted to play hard to get, that was fine by me. It would only make feeling her melt beneath my touch that much more satisfying.
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