Ambition: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Driven Book 1)

by Landish, Lauren

  Mark set his materials aside and thought for a moment. "Nope, never have. I always thought she just used Skype or something and wanted her privacy. I mean, you try explaining to your parents that you're living with your best friend and her husband, who happen to be us. That'd freak out even the most permissive of parents."

  "That's true, but in all honesty, I think you and I are about the closest thing she has to family. Not that I'm opposed to that or anything."

  Mark picked up his oiling rag and little squeeze bottle of heavy duty synthetic motor oil and went back to lubricating the equipment. "Neither am I. In fact, I might just pay a visit to her potential new boyfriend if he's a dick. He'll find out Tabby's brother-in-law is a real bastard."

  "Just think what our daughter is going to be like." I was touched by the term Mark had used to refer to Tabby, but kept my praise to myself. "Her boyfriends are going to be scared stiff of you."

  Moving on to the leg press machine, Mark hummed. "Nah, won't be needed. If she's anything like her mother and father, her boyfriends will be smart enough not to try and screw with her. Or else."

  Chapter 8

  Tabby

  The next day, I was in my office when Vanessa knocked on my door. "Miss Williams?"

  "I swear Vanessa, if you don't start calling me Tabby I'm not buying lunch for you any longer," I countered, setting my pen aside and looking up. "Seriously though, what can I do for you?"

  "You have a visitor," Vanessa said, "not on the schedule."

  I looked over my work, and noted that for the most part it was just implementing things that Mark and Sophie had worked out the day before. It was a big part of my job, making their decisions look like my ideas. Mark gave me a lot of leeway too though, which I appreciated. It made me feel like part of the team and not just window dressing. "That's okay Vanessa. Who is it?"

  "Ms. Berkowitz," Vanessa said evenly, her eyes flickering back over her shoulder. I understood. "From the Union."

  It was a rather unique thing about our city, in that while there were many unions, they all tended to align under one association, which after struggling through about a half dozen awkward acronyms just came to be known as the Union, emphasis on the capital letter. The Union was a monolith, and had been very powerful in city politics for many years. Worse, they’d become very corrupt.

  Francine Berkowitz was one of the deadliest political enemies in the city. After Marcus Smiley had more or less made a fool of her right before the shit hit the fan with Owen Lynch, she'd laid pretty low on our part, but I could tell she was waiting for a chance to move. Running my hands through my hair, I nodded to Vanessa. "Show her in, please. And if you could, see if we have any coffee or something similar to offer our guest?"

  "Of course..... Tabby," Vanessa said, a worried smile on her face. Hey, it was a start.

  Francine Berkowitz came into the office like she was queen of the city, in a Ralph Lauren Black Label shirtdress that cost more than most union workers made in a month. "Tabby Williams, it's a pleasure to meet you," she exclaimed in faux good humor, as if we were sorority sisters who just happened to meet at the steeplechase or something. She even spread her arms out like we were going to do air kisses. I had to resist the urge to pretend to puke, it was so nauseating. "I must apologize in not coming by earlier."

  "Ms. Berkowitz, have a seat," I replied, offering my hand. She slowed her approach and took the offered hand, her smile disappearing and her eyes tightening at the gesture. I didn't really care if I wasn't this woman's friend, but I didn't need to make her totally pissed off at me either. "What can I do for you today?"

  "I just wanted to come by and congratulate you on your new project," Berkowitz said, taking the seat on the other side of my desk. I wasn't looking to be informal with this woman, and while my desk may not have been as intimidating as something in the Oval Office, it had the advantage that my seat was just a bit taller than hers. She had to look up to me, while I could actually lean on my desk and look slightly down at her. It wasn't originally done on purpose, Mark had chosen the chairs due to their design rather than height. I just took advantage of the situation when I needed it.

  "Why thank you, Ms. Berkowitz. MJT is just hoping to make a difference in the community," I replied. "If anything, the renovations and opening of the centers themselves is going to inject a lot of much needed money into the community."

  "Yes, I agree. In fact, it was those renovations that are the crux of the matter," Berkowitz said. "You must agree that this city has a fine history of construction workers and experts, all under the convenience of the Union banner."

  “I’ll admit that Union workers have done some impressive work," I replied. "The Financial Tower, the Hamilton Building, and many others I'm sure were done by Union workers."

  "Exactly," Berkowitz said with a hint of enthusiasm. "Nowadays, that sort of quality is important. The Union built this city, Tabby. It should have a role in rebuilding it as well."

  Vanessa brought in two cups of coffee in our best ceramic mugs, which were admittedly not too much. The MJT offices were built off of functionality, not flashy appearances. Sophie had, in the one time she'd come by after everyone was gone, called it 'dot-com startup chic.' Whatever the case, I happily took the thick handled mug with 'World's Best Dad' written on the side, leaving the plain red mug for Berkowitz. Thanking Vanessa, I offered my guest the bowl of sugar cubes. "We have cream as well. The real stuff, not non-dairy."

  "No thanks, I take it black," she replied, while I loaded mine up with cream and sugar. She arched her eyebrow, and harrumphed. "Well, I guess having a gym downstairs has its advantages."

  "It does," I said, not mentioning that most of the time I worked out at home with Mark and Sophie. "But as to your point, I do agree that Union workers did a lot of good for the city. And, I hope they can be in a position to help with our project as well. It all comes down to their bids, really."

  "What do you mean?" Berkowitz replied.

  "We're doing an open bid process for the renovations," I replied. "Open to all contractors, both Union and non-Union. The only rules we're using to judge is quality of work, cost, and of course, we will be giving a certain edge to contractors who have their shops in the communities we are building the centers. What better way to show the disadvantaged people of those neighborhoods that we are willing to give them an opportunity than from the very beginning?"

  "I see," Berkowitz replied. "I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job, Miss Williams, but in the city there has been a tradition of letting the Union get first and last attempts on any bid process."

  Hmm, I was no longer Tabby, but Miss Williams. Duly noted. "I know, Ms. Berkowitz. However, in planning our outreach program, we are looking for more than just experience. We want to evaluate raw talent, and that means that sometimes we're going to have to look for contractors and workers who may not have the same level of.... sophistication when it comes to understanding how bids are done for large projects around the city. So instead, each bid will come in sealed, and I will make the decision based off of what I feel is best for the project."

  It was the closest I'd come to flat out calling the Union bidding process corrupt. Not that anyone didn't know the Union bids were total lies anyway. Any cost accounting of a Union bid, especially one that was tied to a charity or to a public works project, automatically was inflated by at least thirty percent if not more. It got so bad at one point that the Federal government had to step in when a Union contracted project for modernizing the city's sewer system was ten years and about two hundred million dollars over budget, and that was in nineteen eighties dollars.

  Berkowitz's face went from closed to wintry, and she finished her coffee quickly. "Best of luck in your project then. I will forward on your information to our Union members, of course."

  Her threat was subtle, but there. It wouldn't just be the construction members who would get the word, but also the police, fire, and other city workers. Basically, I needed to make sure I was drivi
ng under the speed limit, and hope no fires broke out at Mount Zion. Not that I ever wanted them, considering the highly illegal arsenal we kept in the bell tower.

  "I expect nothing less, Francine," I said, shifting to using her first name. Instead of the condescending familiarity she'd used on me however, I was using it as simply a way to put her down. It said I'm not playing your games or kissing your ass. In fact, I think I'm better than you. And in a lot of ways, I did.

  We continued our little chat for a few more minutes, but it was mostly banalities. When she realized that her jibes and threats weren't going to rattle me, she made her exit, closing my door behind her. Vanessa was there a minute later to gather up the coffee cups. Noting my cup, she gave me a look. "I thought you hated cream and sugar?"

  "I do, but Berkowitz took hers black," I replied. "Just one of those things, you know."

  "I understand," Vanessa replied. "I saw her face when she left. She's not happy."

  "Considering she tried the same threats on Patrick McCaffery just a few days ago, I can understand. I've already talked with Gene over at the Spartans, and they're tired of her crap too. They actually are expressly anti-Union, which surprises me. I figured they'd play it neutral in order to keep the fans happy."

  "The fans are happy when the team wins games," Vanessa replied. "And the Spartans already have enough union issues to deal with when it comes to the Player's Association."

  "Good point."

  * * *

  When Patrick picked me up for our date that Sunday, I was at first surprised when he drove up in a car that looked eerily similar to Sophie's old beater Civic she'd had me sell for her when she was on the run with Mark. "Hi," he said, getting out. He was wearing jeans and a Spartans long sleeve t-shirt, his black hair pulled back and his green eyes shining in anticipation. "I know it's not exactly what you're used to. Sorry about that."

  "No, it's okay," I said, running my hands over the roof. "It's just that I had a friend in college that had a car that looked very similar, except the color."

  "Really? Yeah, I picked this up from a used car lot when I had to get a real car about six months ago," Patrick replied. "I had a friend paint it for me to cover the worst of the rust spots, it used to be a faded out blue."

  "With a rust spot on the right front fender?" I asked, my eyes widening, "Kind of looked like a fish?"

  Patrick gaped at me for a moment before nodded, then both of us laughing. "Wow, who'd have thought it? The fates are kind to me it seems."

  "Fate? Perhaps," I replied, "but no offense, I've ridden in this beast before. Unless your friend also did a full mechanical workup on it, how about you drive my car tonight?"

  "You serious?" Patrick asked incredulously. "You really want to park your car over at the Stadium?"

  "Why not?" I asked. "I'm sure we'll get a good spot. You said Gene got us box seats, right?"

  "Yeah, although they're technically in your name," Patrick replied. "Something about donations to politicians or something. I didn't realize the rules were that strict, but I'm cool with it. Guess I'm going to have start paying my bar tab too."

  "Most likely," I said with a chuckle. "If I can ask, why are you still driving that old beater anyway?"

  "Well, in good weather I drove a moped for years, and I kind of enjoy it, the open air and all. Since then though, I just haven't had the time to go car shopping. I don't even drive this thing to work that often, I'd probably just get harassed by the other city workers."

  "Well, let me go grab my keys, we'll take the SUV," I replied, turning and heading back inside. "If you don't mind, my house staff can watch your car."

  Ducking inside, I saw Mark standing close to the door, looking out the small side window. "Well?"

  "I'll keep an eye on the car," Mark said with a smile. "You have your phone and everything, right?"

  "Don't have the gun, but you haven't taught me how to shoot it yet anyway,” I wisecracked. "But yes I'm going to be careful. If anything, it's just a football game."

  "I know, but still," Mark said. "Tell you what, let me get his keys from him."

  I rolled my eyes and nodded. "Okay, I'll take an extra thirty seconds getting the keys for the SUV. I'll even pull it out so that he doesn't get a look at that electric motorcycle of yours."

  I left Mark and headed into the kitchen, which connected to the garage area. Sophie was sipping some cocoa and smiled. "He's just being overprotective, you know how he can be."

  "I know. It's actually kinda cool," I remarked, leaning over and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Just tell him I'll be home by nine, unless the game goes to overtime. Until then, you can become reacquainted with your old car."

  "Don't worry, we won't break in the back seat, that car is way too small for that," Sophie replied. "Tabby?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Be careful."

  "I will. Love you guys," I said, grabbing the keys from the hook board by the door and going into the garage. Pulling around, I saw Mark and Patrick in conversation, Mark holding the keys to the car in his hand. It was interesting, as I realized for the first time that Patrick was a little bit taller and bigger than Mark.

  "Hey guys. Patrick, this is Mathew Bylur, one of my staff. Mathew, this is Patrick McCaffery."

  "We were just getting introduced," Mark said, turning. From the corner of his mouth, the side that was hidden from Patrick with the way he was turned, he gave me a sort of half smile, which I took as a good sign. "I promised the Councilman I'd take care of his car while you two were gone. Would you like me to give it a wash?"

  "No thanks, really," Patrick replied. "I'm still embarrassed enough to be driving my date's car to the game."

  I shut off the engine and got out. "If you want, I'll drive. We can be very women's empowerment around here if you want."

  The stadium was only half full when we got there, but then again it was only a preseason game. The Spartans were coming off a so-so season, and our city's always been rather fickle in terms of fan support. When the Spartans do well, games were packed and just about everyone was wearing Spartan shirts. Meanwhile, when the Spartans were in the division basement, you couldn't find a Spartan shirt just about anywhere, and massive amounts of tickets had to be comped out and papered over to avoid broadcaster blackout rules.

  Since the Spartans had picked up some pretty hot free agent talent in the offseason, and were sporting a third year running back that had done some pretty good stuff when he took over as the starter last season, fans were giving the Spartans a chance this year, and we actually had to wait a few minutes in line before we got through the gate. Once inside however, we were greeted by a VIP usher who led us up to our box. We got there about ten minutes before they did the pre-game activities and settled in.

  "So what do you think?" Patrick asked, looking down on the three quarters full stadium. "I'll be honest, I've never been able to sit up in one of these."

  "I got to watch a game last season," I admitted to him, "just after I started working with Marcus Smiley. It was when I was an intern at Taylor & Hardwick's, and they gave me tickets as a reward for bringing them so much business. Although it wasn't as private as this, we had to share with ten other people."

  I could tell Patrick was obviously a bit deflated, he had hoped to impress me, and I reached over, patting his knee. "Don't sweat it, money doesn't impress me, Patrick. Although this is a nice gesture. I appreciate the effort you went through more than any dollar amount."

  Patrick looked me in the eyes, a small smirk on his lips. "This is certainly going to be different."

  "What's that?"

  "Dating someone who makes a lot more money than me. I've spent most of my single life kind of being the guy who gets it done for my dates, through hook or by crook."

  "Is that what it is, huh? Dating?"

  A pleasant tension rose between us as I waited for Patrick's answer, as our smiles mirrored each other. It was like a small duel to see who would admit their attraction first. Finally, Patrick nodded, but
before he could say anything, a roar came overhead as three National Guard F/A-18's flew overhead. Both of us jerked our heads to see the impressive aircraft fly past us seemingly inches over our heads, only to launch into a heart stopping vertical climb and disappearing into the late afternoon sky.

  The game itself was your standard preseason game. The stars came out for roughly the first half of the game, which was actually the more boring half. Not wanting to risk injury on a game that didn't mean anything, they played conservatively, and at halftime the Spartans were ahead by only a field goal.

  More importantly to me though was the time Patrick and I spent talking. The conversation was pretty light, nothing of soul-bearing importance, but just sharing what we liked and our points of view on various things. For example, I was surprised when Patrick stated that he was a big fan of hip-hop music. "I guess it was just what I grew up to down in The Playground, but if I were to put a soundtrack to my life up until now, there'd be a lot of hip-hop involved. I know it comes off as trite, but until recently a lot of my life was hip-hop and slightly older R&B."

  "Oh? Any particular acts?"

  Patrick shook his head. "You'd laugh if I told you."

  "No, go ahead," I said. "I listened to more than my fair share of hip-hop and stuff when I was in Florida. I even remember going to a few junior high school dances to some stuff that was a bit moldy at the time, but still have some good memories for me. First person I kissed was to a Keith Sweat song."