As inspired as I was last night by the innovative idea that occurred to me, I’m still dragging my feet today from lack of sleep. Fortunately, my assistant brought me a double espresso. She’s been with me long enough to know I need the boost after a late night.
The caffeine jolt does the trick. My thumbs fly over the keyboard of my phone as I send the text and then pick up the desk phone with renewed focus.
“Halloway, I just texted you the name and number of a woman I need to interview and what you should say to her. Can you set up a meeting—tomorrow if possible?”
“Yes, Mr. Creed. I’ll take care of it now.”
“Good. Confirm when it’s done. Oh, and Halloway?”
“Sir?”
“Don’t give her my name. I’d like to catch her off guard.”
“Understood, sir.”
I could ask or tell that woman anything at all, and she’d do as instructed. She’s an efficient machine—no AI robot could best her. Someday, I might test it by asking her to arrange a kidnapping or bank heist and see what she says. Just for fun.
I disconnect the call and slip the phone into my pocket. Running my hands through my hair, I let myself take a deep breath. My plan might be seen by others as a little crazy—okay, a lot crazy—but I’ve run out of other options. Plus, I think it’ll work. True, I have to convince the resourceful Ms. Jacobs, but I’m going to make her an offer she can’t refuse. It’ll be a win for both of us—I just can’t see any reason for her to turn it down. Frankly, I consider it a stroke of genius on my part. Then again, necessity is forcing my hand, but I tend to work well under pressure.
I’d first learned about my tiered trust fund on my twenty-first birthday. My maternal grandfather was still alive back then, and he informed me of its existence. He probably saw the light in my eyes fade when he gleefully told me of its terms. Why he took such pleasure in frustrating me I’ll never know.
The events that we in our family call the incident should have brought us all closer together, but they did the opposite. My grandfather blamed my parents—my mother in particular, naturally, since Grandpa Creed never thought my mother was good enough for my father, no matter how long and successful their marriage—and their relationship became strained as a result. I never knew why he didn’t like her. She came from what he would consider good stock and was smart and beautiful. But he nursed some grudge against her, and it affected everyone. The ones who suffered the most and lived to tell about it were my brother, sister, and me, but we didn’t blame our parents. It was just the circumstances.
Of course, the incident greatly impacted our lives afterward. It’s why I always have security, 24/7. Saylor, my sister, learned how to expertly shoot a gun, though thank God she doesn’t carry. She does have a canister of mace and a utility knife with her at all times, sometimes strapped to her leg like a badass. As for Bram, he drinks more than he should. Which is a real shame. Fortunately, he seems to be able to keep his substance abuse to a minimum so he can function well in society. But still, his drinking bothers both me and my sister.
And Bram has never had the burning ambition to succeed that both my sister and I inherited from our parents. I think that is also a remnant of his trauma.
Speaking of my sister, we’re having lunch together today. Sitting at a small corner table watching the teeming rain, we try to catch up with each other since Saylor’s been living in Paris for almost two years now. I can’t, though, get my mind off my upcoming proposal.
“What’s going on with you?” Saylor asks me after we hand back our menus to the waiter who’s just taken our order.
“What do you mean?”
She laughs. “Pfft, the look on your face just now. Like the cat who ate the canary.”
Now it’s my turn to chuckle. “It’s scary how well you know me.”
“I do. So,” she says, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table, “catch me up on what’s going on with you.”
I blow out my breath audibly. “Not too much—you know, just trying to keep the company healthy. It’s not easy. What about you?”
“I’m good. I like living in Paris—for now. I’m not sure where I’ll go next, but at the moment, I’m pretty content.” She looks at me slyly. “I’m seeing someone.”
“Not surprising. French?”
“No, British. I’m planning to bring him with me for the holidays, so everyone will get to meet him then.”
“That’s a long way off. You might not be together by then.”
She laughs. “I’m touched by your confidence in me. Nothing like having a brother who has my back.” She sips her water. “What about you? Seeing anyone these days?”
“No, not really. Trying to lose Kelly Raynor without much success. But no one new. I haven’t had much free time.” As I’m speaking I realize that I should be laying the groundwork for my plan. Head lowered, I peer up at her and shake my head. “Actually, I’m lying. I did meet someone, but it’s still very new.”
Saylor perks up. “Really? Who?”
I can see intense interest shining in her eyes, and I have to laugh. She can be like a bloodhound when it comes to this kind of thing, sniffing out juicy intel. “I don’t want to jinx it. I’ll let you know if it seems to be working out. Fair enough?”
“Not really,” she sighs. “But if that’s all I’m getting…”
“For now.” I take a sip of my sparkling water, wondering if I should invite my siblings to the wedding. Of course, I’m taking it for granted that Ms. Jacobs will agree to my plan.
After all, what choice does she really have?
For the first time in a long while, I’m excited to get back to the office. I want to finesse my plan to hook Marley Jacobs. I’ll present it to her as exclusively a business proposition.
But first chance I get, I’m going to get between those long, lovely legs of hers and dive into what I’m sure is a tight, hot pussy.
Well, this is great. Now I’m sitting in a café with my younger sister with a raging hard-on.
Nice going, Creed, you jackass. Guess I’m not going anywhere for a little while.
8
Marley Jacobs
“That omelet looks good. I should have ordered that.”
Tara is eyeing my breakfast as I skim through the detailed proposal Rafe sent me via courier on Friday. We’re at our favorite breakfast place—the old greasy spoon around the corner from Tara’s place—my old apartment. As I read, I’m making my way through a cheddar-cheese omelet, home fries, and rye toast.
As for Rafe’s proposal? The more I think about the prospect of it, the more I’m liking it.
Just as I take a bite of my buttered toast, my phone begins chirping from deep within my faux Birkin bag made of hot-pink vinyl. I love the bag because it holds everything I need with room to spare—so much room, I could rent some out. The problem, of course, is finding anything within its bottomless depths. The call is a nanosecond from dropping into the abyss of voicemails I’ll never listen to when my fingers grasp the phone, and I hurriedly swipe without even checking the missed calls and texts on my phone. How did I miss so many?
“Hello?”
“Is this Marley Jacobs?”
I don’t recognize the voice. A potential client? “That depends,” I say playfully, “on who wants to know?”
“I’ve left you three messages.” The crisp female voice does not sound amused.
“Oh, sorry, I had my phone turned off.”
“Isn’t this your business phone number?”
About to apologize, I quickly sputter out an explanation. “Uh, yes, but I—” Wait a second, I catch myself before I say any more. Who is this woman anyway? I sit up straight and search for my backbone. “How can I help you?
Tara is making faces at me, trying to get me to laugh. I make faces too, but at the woman on the other end of the line. Then I remember that we’re out in public when the man sitting at the table next to us gives us the stink eye as he loudly scrapes his chair a few
inches farther away. I stick out my tongue at him. Crazy ain’t contagious, mister.
Though maybe it is. I’ve been friends with bizarra-Tara for a long time, and now look at me.
“Ms. Jacobs, my name is Blair Halloway. I was given your number by one of your recent clients who recommended you. I needed to get in touch because I’ve been asked by my employer to schedule an appointment for you to meet with him. I realize this is short notice, but are you free anytime tomorrow?”
Totally free, but I don’t say that. Matter of fact, I should pause to check my schedule. I wait a beat as I peruse the day calendar in my head. “I’m free in late morning. May I ask who your employer is please?”
“The situation will be explained to you in detail during the meeting. Is 10:45 a.m. tomorrow acceptable? I will text you the address and details immediately upon conclusion of this phone call.”
What? Who is this? The situation is making me uncomfortable—why won’t she tell me his name?—but I suppose as long as the meeting is in a public place and people know where I’m going, it should be okay. Always in the back of my mind is the guy I once had to run away from. Will he ever track me down as threatened, or has he forgotten I ever existed?
Clearing my throat, I manage to get the words out. “That’ll be fine, Ms. Halloway. I’ll be there.”
I wink at Tara. “You bring me good luck. That was another potential job assignment. Ka-ching.”
“Will you share some of that ka-ching with me? I’m out of a job.”
“Oh, Tar, you know I’ll always help you out. Hey, can’t you go back to the restaurant until you get reestablished? You know Carl will take you back in a heartbeat. He hated when we left.”
“True. I guess I will if I have to. But that would kind of suck.”
“Yeah, I guess. You could always do what I do.”
She shakes her head vigorously. “No way would I ever be good at that. I’m a terrible actress.”
It’s true, she is. Tara could never get away with a simple lie, which is one reason why I love her to pieces. But somewhere out there is a perfect job for her. She just has to find it. No biggie.
Meantime, I’ll keep her fed. We finish our meals and head out to go back to my place.
As soon as we get outside, my phone dings with a text—Ms. Halloway sending me the info. I peer closely at the location: it’s a swanky Michigan Avenue address. Under the address all it says is ‘Be there at 10:45. Do not be late. Give them my name.”
“Hey, look at this.” I hold up the phone for Tara to see.
“What is that?”
I wiggle the phone along with my hips. “The address I’m going to tomorrow to meet this mystery client. Feel like going shopping?”
“Now?”
“Yeah. I’ll buy you something,” I bribe.
“Let’s go.” She starts to walk and then stops. “Where are we going?”
“I need a new outfit. Conservative, I think, since this one involves some kind of interview. Any ideas?”
“Ooh, I have just the place. And it’s on Michigan.”
“Near this address?” I hold up my phone again.
She screws one eye closed in thought. “I think so. Let’s head over, and we’ll check out the place.”
My shopping karma is lucky today. I find a sexy navy suit that says “successful businesswoman but not a prude.” It has a slightly flared skirt and the jacket is cropped with three-quarter sleeves. I pair it with a white silk camisole. Since my shoe collection has recently grown by about six pairs, I have both dark blue sling-backs and gray suede pumps, both of which will work well and the heel isn’t too high on either shoe. As we’re about to leave the store, Tara squeals.
“Oh, look at that adorable shirt. I want it.”
It’s on sale too. I pick it up and check the price tag: fifty-nine dollars. Being currently unemployed, Tara can’t afford it, and I promised her I’d buy her something. “Okay.” I snatch it up and take it to the nearest register. Tara slings her arm around my shoulders.
“Are you buying that for you or me?”
“You, silly. If you behave.”
“Aw, you don’t have to do that, Marls.”
“I want to. Remember all those ramen days? I’m just glad they’re over.” I get a flashback memory of us scrounging for any ingredients we could put together to make a meal. It truly sucked. Speaking of food… “Lunch?”
“Definitely. Mexican?”
“Okay. Where?”
“I think I saw a restaurant up the street.”
We’re walking down Michigan Avenue when we come to a glass and steel building. When I look up I see the address in big chunky silver numbers, a sculpture between the entrance doors. “Oh, look, Tar. This is the building.”
We both look up. And up. And up. It’s very tall and emblazoned just above the entrance is the name. Creed.
Tara squeals. “This is the Creed building. You keep running into them. I think that’s a sign of some kind.”
“It’s probably just one of many buildings with the name.”
“No, I think this is their building—the one that houses the Creed corporate offices.” She elbows me. “I’m telling you, Jacobs. Fate keeps putting you in their lane.”
Fate.
Always a major player in my life… I guess in everyone’s life. But the most important question is one I can’t answer yet.
Is fate my friend… or my foe?
9
Fletcher Creed
Halloway: Your a.m. appointments are all confirmed for tomorrow, sir.
I type out a reply:
FC: Great, thanks. I’ll be back in the office in about an hour.
Halloway: Yes, sir.
Perfect. I get the urge to rub my hands together like an evil genius. The trap is sprung and ready for an unsuspecting Ms. Marley Jacobs to sashay that phenomenal body into my office and trip it.
Snap… and she’s mine.
I know one thing for sure—I definitely want to fuck her as soon as possible. First, I’ll bury my face in her pussy and eat her out till she begs for mercy. I do need to punish her for her sins against me. After I get what I want, I may even be nice to her. Stranger things have been known to happen.
For now, I have feelings of animosity toward her for pushing me to go to such extreme lengths to keep some crazy bastard from taking over my company—or at least a substantial share of it. That’s not going to happen.
Marley Jacobs is about to help me out big time even if she doesn’t know it. She will soon enough.
Another text comes through. From Harry Hammer.
Hammer: We need to talk. Not so good news.
I press the call icon, abruptly too irritated to start thumbing out a reply. As soon as I hear the line open, I’m on him. “What?”
“Schreiber Industries. Eight percent of our stock. They’ve been purchased as part of a large deal, folded into a larger firm. Owned by a shell. Can you guess?”
“One of the three we’ve been tracking, I’m guessing?”
“Yep. Blackstone Technologies.”
“Shit. Do we know what other companies are under this umbrella?”
“All media companies or firms that tangentially involve media. Online magazines and news outlets, culture websites, corporations that own a slew of local radio stations, you name it.”
“Fuck.”
“I wish I knew what was up with this guy Holland. Why is he so itchy for MediaTech if he’s already got his finger in all of those pies?”
I can barely unclench my jaw to answer. “No idea. But he’s not fucking getting it. What does that put him at? With the eight percent?”
“Twenty-nine percent if my math is right. You need to get that sale done before he gets to ’em.”
“I’m working on it, believe me. Meantime, what do you think about a face-to-face with Holland? Is it even worth pursuing?”
“In my opinion? No. The fact that he’s being so sneaky about his acquisitions tells me he’s
not a negotiator. I would love to know his game plan, though. Why us?”
“Exactly. There are other companies with better margins easier to grab and riper for the picking. Doesn’t make sense.”
“He’s going after media and tech companies. Exclusively. Everyone’s going after tech companies, so there’s no mystery there. But he’s buying stock in some print publishers that are on life support and bleeding out cash on a daily basis. I don’t get his plan. Nathan needs to go low to get the intel on Holland.”
“Already been instructed to do just that. Let’s give him forty-eight to see what he comes up with. Meantime, for what it’s worth, I’ve picked up another two percent. Brings me to forty-four without the big purchase. Just staying ahead of this bastard. Listen, I’m on my way back now. If you need me I’ll be in my office.”
I disconnect the line and take deep breaths to remain calm. I can’t tell if it’s anger or panic that’s flooding my system right now, but it’s almost impossible to sit still. I need to be doing more and doing it faster. I’ll be damned if all the work I put into MediaTech is stolen by some piece-of-shit corporate invader.
“Do me a favor and pull over here. I’m getting out,” I say to my driver. “Just take the car home, Hugo. I’ll grab a taxi or Uber home.”
“Yes, sir.”
I climb out of the car and get my bearings. About twenty blocks to the office. Time to think.
Immediately my thoughts go to her—Marley Jacobs. She could be my winning play, but how fast can I get it done?
It has to be lightning fast. For that to happen, she needs to not only agree but take a running jump onboard with me.
I just don’t know if I can pull it off. But I’ve done my homework on the young woman, and I think I’m holding a way better hand of cards all of a sudden.
I can’t lie. I’m looking forward to our meeting tomorrow. I want to sit across from her and look her in the eye… in those amazingly distinctive eyes no matter the true color… and manipulate the situation to my advantage.
Faker: A Fake Relationship Romance Page 5
