The next fifteen minutes play out as Breakfast As Usual, but something is bothering Corey. Whatever it is started when I mentioned returning to Nathan’s office instead of going directly to Macklin. It sets his face in an uneasy frown. I pretend not to notice, then decide to confront him after Jenna runs back to the dorm. It’s Saturday, so she’ll probably take a nap, wanting her energy high for the clubs.
But I can’t confront Corey, because he confronts me first. “You can’t go back there alone, Alex.”
“Why?”
This makes him uncomfortable. Finally he says, “You like him, don’t you?”
I make a pssht sound. “Don’t be stupid.”
“It’s because he’s powerful. Not because he’s likable. I just told you the businessy stuff about Turner yesterday, but the man is a notorious womanizer. He leaves bodies in his wake. He does’t have a single ex with anything nice to say.”
A thought runs through my mind: Jealous bitches and their sour grapes. But then it’s gone, and I’m left wondering where it came from.
“He has this effect on women. Ask the girls in your class from yesterday, I bet they’ll all say he seems so charming and so fun and most of all sooooo handsome.” Corey squeezes every drop of sarcasm from the word. “I can see it when you talk about him, too, and you can bet he’s going to see it himself, if he hasn’t already.”
“You said this was a good idea,” I say. “I believe your exact words were, ‘Go Alex; hike up those ovaries.’”
“You know you’re not going to get anywhere with Moran—”
“So you don’t actually believe in me.” I cross my arms. “Just a fun little errand.”
“As an exercise,” he says, holding up his hands. “Half of learning to sell is learning to handle rejection.”
“How do you know I’ll be rejected?”
“Look, don’t be mad.”
“I won’t be mad. Just tell me more about how I can’t do things I know I can do. Please. Enlighten me.”
“I don’t want to start a fight. I’m just looking out for you. Just … please. Don’t go back, okay? Nathan Turner is a predator.”
“I think I can look out for myself.”
“You don’t know …”
“What, Corey?”
“Never mind.”
“No, what? Just say it.”
Sheepishly, he says, “You don’t know the effect you have on guys.”
That disarms me. “What are you talking about?”
“Well …” More hesitation, but he pushes through it. “Look at you. And that attitude …”
“What attitude?”
“It’s just … you’re hot, okay? And a guy like Nathan Turner … if you just walk back into his office …” Corey shrugs. He looks supremely embarrassed, maybe helpless. All of a sudden I feel more sorry for than angry at him.
“You think I’m hot?”
A shrug, but he won’t meet my eyes. “Guys do, sure. I saw it on vacation.” He hasn’t answered the question. It makes me think Jenna’s right, that Corey is gay after all.
I want to rebut, but watching Corey now makes me think that I shouldn’t. This isn’t a sexist issue; it’s not Corey feeling I’m a delicate thing who can’t handle myself. He genuinely thinks that he has my best interests at heart … and worst of all, I think he may have a point.
I have been thinking a lot about Nathan.
And judging by what I saw on Forage, the man sure does seem like a womanizer. He’ll have moves — and given my thought history over the last twelve hours, I’m not sure I could stay stoic were he to (improbably, but still) make a move.
“I told him about you.”
Corey looks me full in the eyes. “What? Why?”
“You don’t see your own abilities. I was trying to tell you yesterday. You’re a natural at getting people to like you. A natural at sales. Exactly the sort of person any businessperson would be thrilled to have on their team.”
“Oh. Well, thanks.” His brow furrows. “Wait. What did you tell Turner? Why did you tell Turner about me?”
“Wouldn’t that be the best internship ever? Working with him?”
A heavy sigh. Corey rolls his eyes. “Dammit, Alex.”
“Look. I just told him I had a friend who could help make this deal.”
“You’re never going to make this deal.”
“Right. But together, maybe we can.”
“I don’t want to be part of it.”
“Why?”
His answer is knee-jerk and immature: “Because it’s stupid.”
“I need you, though.”
“You don’t need me.”
But I’ve already decided. And I’ve got an argument that’s sure to pull Corey on board. “I need you to come with me to Nathan’s office today,” I say, letting it sink in before dropping the hammer: “To protect me from him.”
Corey shakes his head, but I know he’ll say yes.
Even though I’m lying, and my wet panties secretly tell the truth.
I’m not afraid of Nathan.
Really, I think I might need Corey there as a buffer — to protect me from myself, once I’m back in front of the billionaire connector.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALEX
THE RECEPTIONIST ISN’T AT HER desk when we arrive, probably because it’s the weekend. But Geoffrey is. He gives me an acknowledging glance, then sort of pauses and bunches up his forehead when he sees Corey trailing behind me.
Corey catches up, and Geoffrey looks us both over. Since I’ve already played my suit, I chose a plain black skirt and a white blouse as passably dressy. Corey’s in black Dockers, a blue shirt that’s too big for him, and a darker blue tie.
Geoffrey looks like he might comment, but refrains. He calls us in, and a minute later we’re standing in front of Nathan’s desk. Nathan doesn’t stand, just eyes us both like Geoffrey did.
I break the silence. “Mr. Turner, this is my friend Corey Andrews. Corey, Mr. Turner.”
They shake hands.
“It’s a pleasure,” Corey says.
“Likewise,” Nathan answers, though his face says otherwise.
I talk Corey up some more, trying to deflect the obvious deflation of Nathan’s interest. Maybe he’s thought better of it since yesterday or maybe he’s unimpressed with Corey — who, unfortunately, is doing nothing impressive. He’s as quietly self-effacing as usual, but as we sit in front of Nathan talking shop, Corey’s lack of confidence stops striking me as cute and quirky and starts to seem spineless.
He has talent, but won’t acknowledge it. There’s modesty, and then there’s being obnoxious. If he doesn’t step up and grow a pair, he’s helping no one — and hurting my chances by making me look like a jerk for believing in him.
Nathan gives us an hour, but it’s phoned in. He’s not telling us anything he didn’t tell the class yesterday. We get no more insider information; there’s no mention of his Trillionaire Boys’ Club buddies — or, I realize 45 minutes in, even Ashton Moran.
He’s blowing us off. There’s no serious interest here. I’m just some dumb little girl who brought my stupid friend to see him, and we’re both in way over our head.
Nathan is polite enough while showing us out, but it’s a mercy to be released. Corey keeps glancing at his watch, saying that he has band practice and needs to get back. I want to slap him. He could miss practice, in exchange for the chance at a much better life.
Geoffrey escorts us down to the building’s front and hails a cab. He has the door open before I start smacking my side, realizing I was so embarrassed and flustered that I’ve forgotten my purse.
“Go ahead and run up. I’ll wait for you.” But then Corey checks his fucking watch again and my head about blows off.
There’s a second cab behind the first. I can call an Uber if I need to. If Corey’s in such a goddamned hurry, he can go. I’ll find my own way home.
“I don’t want to make you late,” I say.
Before he can protest, I close the door and slap the cab’s roof. Corey looks at me wide-eyed from the window as the cab pulls away.
I turn back to the building, ready to apologize to Geoffrey for my friend’s behavior, but Nathan’s assistant is gone.
I go back inside and take the elevator up, but when I reach the office it’s empty. I move to the inner door and knock, but nobody answers.
The door is ajar. Through the crack, I see an empty room. They’ve left for the day, now that our botched meeting has concluded — but fortunately for me, they’ve left the door unlocked.
I push it open. I’ll just grab my purse and go.
I made a mistake today, and maybe that’s a lesson in itself: never lean on others for something I know I can do alone. I was kidding myself that I’d need Corey’s ability to sell. His lack of confidence was a handicap more than anything.
My purse is beside the black leather chair, right where I left it. I wonder … did I not see it? I seem to remember my eye falling on it, but then I was distracted when Nathan sort of nudged us toward the door.
Almost as if he meant for me to leave without it.
My hand touches the straps as the door closes behind me. I hear the lock turn.
“Now,” says Nathan’s voice, “we can finally get started.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ALEX
“HOW OLD ARE YOU, ALEXANDRA?”
My heart is pounding too hard. I’ve been startled, and now I’m scrambling to catch up.
With my bravest face: “I’m nineteen.”
“Have a boyfriend?”
I don’t see how this is relevant. I shrug.
“Ever had a boyfriend?”
“Of course.”
“Are you a virgin?”
He’s between me and the door. I can’t storm out, but that doesn’t mean I have to cave.
“That’s none of your business.”
“So you are.”
“No.” But I want to punch myself, falling for his little trick.
His eyes devour me. He’s still by the door. Between it and me.
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“Because you do business like a virgin.”
The strange statement disarms me. He leaves the door, but I don’t run for it. I follow him with my gaze, turning in a slow circle as he paces past me.
“Let me tell you something,” Nathan says. “Negotiations are like sex. You can’t possibly know what you’re getting into until you’ve been good and fucked.” He sits. “So that’s why I’m asking. Have you been fucked, Alexandra?”
“It’s Alex. Nobody calls me Alexandra.”
“I do.”
I shrug, figuring it’s not worth an argument. I eye the door. But when I turn back to Nathan, he’s shaking his head, disappointed.
“Never surrender ground. Do you understand me? Don’t you dare let me call something you don’t want to be called … Alex.”
He’s trying to intimidate me. Corey called Nathan a “connector,” and my Forage searches bore that out. He’s a man who’s supremely gifted at working human webs the way old-school operators used to work telephone networks, connecting this to that until magic was made. But I’ve read some of his business philosophy, too, and I know that he believes connections are half friendship, half negotiation. This — whatever it is — strikes me as a test.
I hear him in my head: Never surrender ground.
I won’t leave. I can reach the door if things get dicey, now that he’s moving behind his desk. And if I can’t, twelve years of Krav Maga will back me.
Under Nathan’s hard stare, I sit.
“So,” he says. “I asked you a question.”
“Wonderful.” I refuse to give an inch — conveniently, as per his recent instructions.
He watches me. Then, “Don’t be a cunt.”
“Excuse me?”
“I told you not to give ground. But no negotiation can proceed without discourse, so you shutting me down helps nothing. Know your setting. Be aware of your surroundings. And what are your surroundings in this case, Alex?”
I look around the office.
“Not literally. I mean: who am I? And who are you?”
I shake my head.
“I am alpha here. You have to acknowledge that. And if by some miracle you manage to get in front of Ashton Moran, he’ll be alpha, too. You will never be on even footing with anyone at my or Ashton’s level until you’ve earned your place. If you can. Your best strategy, when faced with someone who is clearly your superior, is not to butt heads on every little thing. Lay low. Play dead. Strike only when necessary, on one highly focused issue, and only when it matters most.”
My mind turns his words over. He makes business sound like a hunt — an animalistic metaphor taken to the extreme.
“You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been gutsy enough to intrigue me. But you’re untested. You’re a natural, but like I said: when it comes to real-world negotiations, you’re a virgin.”
“I’m not a—”
“When have you failed, Alex? That’s what I’m talking about. You’re instinctively scrappy. Bold and relatively unafraid. But you’re still a kid. What have you brokered for real? Or fallen flat on your face? When have you been bested? Defeated by a master? We learn more from our failures than our successes. So when have you negotiated for real, and ended up fucked?”
His questions are impossible to answer. I feel cornered. What am I supposed to tell him? Should I mention my successful lobby for a fifteen minute extension of lunch period during my senior year in high school? Should I tell him how I grubbed for grades? How I “negotiated” my curfew last year with my parents? It’s an unfair line of inquiry. I’m only nineteen. I can’t possibly have had time for the real-world experience he seems to demand.
“I guess I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have,” he says. “You failed by bringing that boy with you today.”
“Corey?”
“He’s not an asset to you. He makes you weaker, not stronger.”
I feel a need to defend my friend, even as mad as Corey’s made me. “He’s great at what he does.”
“That’s not what I said. I said he makes you weaker. You are stronger alone.”
“This coming from a man known for forging partnerships?”
“The right partnership strengthens you. The wrong one destroys you. Like he did today.”
“He has confidence issues. He’s actually—”
“I’m not referring to his ability. I’m referring to how your bringing him here almost disrupted our partnership. Yours and mine.”
I sit straighter. Our partnership? The word feels too big. I’d have believed intern, lackey or even errand girl. But partner?
“I don’t—”
“What is every negotiation based on, Alex?”
“A mutually beneficial exchange.”
“Right. I have something you want. And as luck would have it, you have something I want.”
“A way to influence Ashton Moran.”
He smirks as if I’ve said something incredibly stupid and naive. “Tell me about Corey, Alex. Tell me why he almost ruined your chances today.”
“You don’t like him,” I answer.
“I don’t like him. Lack of confidence is nails on a chalkboard. If someone doesn’t think they’re worthwhile, why should I see them as anything better than worthless? So you’re right, I don’t like him.” He pauses. “But no, that’s not the reason I’m looking for.”
“What, then?”
“What makes you think you can negotiate for Ashton Moran, when you can’t even see what’s around you? You don’t even know why you succeed or fail. You succeeded with me once, and nearly failed today. Was it luck?”
“I succeeded yesterday because I had guts.”
“Half right.”
“And today …” I shrug. I’ve already covered all the reasons I thought were right, and he’s debunked the
m all.
“Tell me about Corey.”
“You already asked me that.”
“And you answered wrong. Don’t give me his credentials. Don’t talk him up. Don’t try to sell him to me, or explain why he was unsalable today. Tell me about him.”
“He’s in the school band …”
“How long have you known him?”
I shrug. “Six months?”
“Have you seen him go on dates?”
I’m not sure why he’s asking, but I answer anyway. “Not really.”
“Why?”
“He might be private about it. Or shy.” Then, because I don’t want to be called out: “Or he might be gay.”
“He’s not gay.”
I blink at this bald, definitive statement about a person Nathan’s just met.
“He’s in love with you, Alex. Or at the very least, he wants to fuck you.”
“He’s not—”
“And the reason he almost killed your chance at working with me,” Nathan goes on, “is because he’s a cockblocker.”
I’m speechless. Literally unable to speak.
“Every negotiation is about an exchange,” Nathan says. “Something you want for what I want.”
“And?”
“Stand up, Alex.”
“Why?”
“Because you need to know when to make your move, and when to understand that the alpha will always have the upper hand. And so you need to know that, until it’s time to make that one and only move, your best bet is to shut up and do as you’re told.”
He can’t possibly mean what he seems to be saying.
Nathan stands, turns to face the rear wall, removes his blazer, and carefully hangs it on a fat padded hook.
Without turning to face me, he says, “Take off your clothes.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NATHAN
I TURN AROUND AND SEE Alex standing there in her dark skirt and white blouse, watching me with unbelieving eyes. She’s no longer sitting. Or comfortable. She’s on her feet, atop a pair of too-high heels. Her guts were a farce, and now they’re gone.
As is her bravado, and the assertions that she knows more than I believe.
Trillionaire Boys' Club: The Connector Page 5
