by Cat Kelly
Couldn't go in dressed like this could she?
There were two missed calls. One from Helena late last night and one from her friend Kelly this morning. No time to check them now. About to pull on her shoes, she suddenly froze when the phone on the kitchen counter rang out, piercing the still quiet.
She glanced over at his bedroom but there was no movement from within. He was out for the count, she mused with a jolt of pride. Always knew she could show him a thing or two.
The phone clicked to voice mail after only three short rings.
"Benny, darling, I thought I'd catch you early. Your cell phone is off. Where are you? Look, I'm flying back today. We can do dinner. Call me, ok? I think I left something in your guest bathroom. My hot iron. I'll collect it later. Ciao baby."
Benny? She scowled at the phone. Benny? What was he? Twelve?
No. He was an enormous, fully-grown, extremely arrogant man. He was rough as sandpaper and yet soft as a cashmere sweater. He could be hot one minute, spicy as a good madras curry, and then cold in the next, enough to give ice burns.
Oh, god, what had she done? Succumbed to lust, that's what. And she wasn't going to cry and whine about it now. She knew what she was doing last night, knew the risks, knew it could never be anything more with a man like him. He played with women and last night she'd accepted the rules of his game, without complaint, fully conscious. Of sound mind.
Now, in the grim light of day she opened her eyes to the wreckage. She'd gone and betrayed one of her own kind—slept with another woman's man. Not that the woman on the message could be considered one of her kind. Other than the fact they were both females and shouldn't run around stealing men from each other. Not even if the men encouraged it and couldn't be faithful if they were manacled.
Well, she hadn't stolen him, had she? Just borrowed him for one night.
Somehow that didn't sound any better. Bryony 2.0 was in danger of turning into a slut and a bitch. So what if other women had done it to her in the past, didn't mean she should now turn the tables.
She stepped into his private elevator and pushed the button with an angry jab of the finger. Never again.
Never. Again.
Chapter Six
By the time she got to the office she expected a reaming from her boss. She'd prepared an excuse about the gas leak at her apartment building, but as it turned out she didn't need to say anything. When Adam Rostrop saw her walk through the doors and summoned her directly into his office it wasn't to ask why she was late.
"Seems you made quite an impression on the new owner of Leonato's restaurant yesterday," he exclaimed, beaming. "He wants to meet with us this afternoon about possibly using the firm for some of his other business. This could be big, Mulligan. Benedick Petruska is a very powerful man. You've hooked us a big fish."
"I don't quite—"
"He's coming in at two. Make sure you're prepared. I've asked Sandy to put a background file together for you on his various other interests and projects. We can't let this one get away."
She hadn't even sat down; he was pushing her backward out of his office. It was ten thirty in the morning and he already had sweat stains under his arms.
"Congratulations, Mulligan. Keep this up and you could be in line for promotion." He winked at her and shut his door.
"Great," she muttered, hurrying to her own office. Three and a half hours to read up on Numbnuts and be "prepared". As if she didn't know everything about him already. It was the being "prepared" bit that worried her. Might have known Petruska would do something like this—embarrass her, make her unravel and drop things in front of her boss. He'd love seeing how unsettled he could make her. This wasn't about throwing more work at Rostrop and Philips, it was about him getting his rocks off.
As she passed the secretary's desk, Sandy looked up and hurriedly finished her phone conversation. She put down the receiver, grinning and bouncing to her feet. "You've got flowers."
Alarm bells rang out loud and clear. "Flowers?"
"Is it your birthday or something?" Sandy beat her to the door and opened it with a flourish. "I was about to call out for a last-minute cake."
Her office was filled with bouquets of peach and white roses. The sweet fragrance was almost overpowering. How the hell did he know they were her favorites? This wasn't just a few flowers. This was an entire rose garden and in the midst of winter. He'd spent a small fortune.
It was certainly a generous way to say goodbye to one of his conquests.
"And then these came," Sandy added, drawing her attention to the credenza and a large box of Italian cream pastries from Veniero's.
Yes, there were cannolis. Smartass.
The man worked damn fast. She'd left him dead asleep two hours ago. Since then he'd pillaged a florist, ransacked a bakery and arranged to meddle in her career. What else had he been up to?
"Also there's a package. I put it on your chair as there was no room on the desk."
Christ on a cracker.
"You should have told me it's your birthday," Sandy burbled apologetically. "I usually get that on the schedule as soon as a new person starts—"
"It's not my birthday until January."
"Oh."
"And please take the pastries out for everyone to share."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course. I'm not going to eat them all am I?" She laughed, shaking her head. There was a time when she might have been tempted to do just that. Especially with her emotions all over the place like this. She hesitated and then decided to get it over with. "Was there a card?"
"No. Nothing."
Well, that was a relief. He'd spared her that much.
Sandy's desk phone rang and she picked up the pasties, cradling the box in both arms, before dashing back out to answer it.
Bry glumly assessed the rose parade that had parked itself in her office. She ought to phone him, but she didn't have his number. She'd have to ask Carl for it and then Helena would find out. Bad.
What if it wasn't him? Like it could be anyone else. It was over the top just like him. And she had no secret admirers to blame it on. Clearing a path through the roses, she finally found her desk and the chair with the package. She sat, holding it gingerly in her lap.
The phone rang on her desk. She picked it up.
"It's Kelly Minton."
"Ok, put her through."
There was a click and then her friend's voice shouted down the line at her, "Where the hell have you been? I heard through the grapevine that your apartment was evacuated last night in the storm. Why didn't you come over here?"
"I didn't want to bother you."
"Bother me?"
"You might have been busy."
"Yeah, right. Like I have anyone to get busy with." Kelly's fiancé was killed in a car accident six months ago and she'd rarely left her apartment since the funeral. Everyone kept trying to get her out again, but Kelly was the sort of person who didn't want to be forced into recovery or "cheered up". Bryony understood that and never pushed her. It was one of the reasons why they were still friends when most people had given up on Kelly's moods. "So where did you go last night? You were late to work so it must have been good."
Oh, shit. "I stayed with someone."
"I hope it wasn't a man."
Bryony was looking at the package in her lap, thinking about him spanking her ass with those lovely hands of his. He said he wanted a mistress, a disposable woman. At least he was honest about it, she mused. Honest about the limitations of his affections. As she'd told him, he was born in the wrong era. "What?" she murmured. "What man?"
"Any man. I've told you before. Men are bastards."
That was Kelly's latest mantra, her most recent reason for not going out to meet anyone. "I know. Trust me, I know," Bryony answered with a sigh.
"So, who was it then?"
She bit her lip. "A man."
"I knew it!" Kelly laughed.
"It was harmless." She had it all under control. Got it out
of her system. It was one night only. Tonight he'd probably take out the woman who called him Benny and left her hair iron in his guest bathroom.
"Men are never harmless, Bry."
"It's not the men. It's what we do with them, how we handle them. They're only bastards if we let them be." It was like pastries, she thought, sliding a finger under the tape at one end of the package. They were only bad if a person got carried away with them. Everything was ok in moderation. A little nibble now and then.
"What were you on last night?" Kelly demanded. "Sounds like you're still high."
"I had one margarita."
"You never could hold your liquor."
"Not like you maybe." She smiled, tucking the receiver under her chin and tearing the brown paper off the package.
"Want to meet for lunch? I'll tidy the apartment if you bring sandwiches."
"Ah. I would, but I have to work through lunch. Important client coming in this afternoon and I've been warned to prepare. How about tomorrow?"
"It's Saturday. I have to meet my father for lunch. The once a month lecture about getting a real job and packing up the writing."
"Ok. Monday?"
"Sure. See you then, drunken slut."
She chuckled. "See you, frigid bitch."
They both hung up laughing. Bryony realized she was feeling remarkably light headed. Maybe she really was still suffering from that margarita. The paper fell from her lap and revealed a shoe box. She lifted the lid. Scarlet Manolo Blahniks. Right size. And unmistakably not faux.
If it was anyone but Numbnuts, she thought wryly, it might be love.
* * * *
He strode into the conference room, vaguely aware of the eyes trailing him through the main office, some shy, some bold, some very pretty. But there was only one pair of eyes he wanted to see that afternoon. One look should tell him if their night together had affected her as much as it did him.
There she was, standing as he came in, looking especially hot in a navy pencil skirt and ivory silk blouse buttoned all the way to her neck. She wore her hair up today, minimal make-up. Still those high heels, he noted, glancing down slyly as she put out her hand to shake his. She wasn't wearing the red ones he'd sent to her. Yet.
He liked the way she didn't feel it necessary to dress like a man just to blend in at the office. Confident in her abilities, she clearly enjoyed her clothes and had great personal style. She made no excuses for her beauty.
Introductions over, he moved to a chair and sat, positioning himself directly opposite Bryony. She put on her glasses and shot him a warning look that was probably meant to freeze his dick off. Certainly hardened it. Slowly he smiled.
Rostrop took a seat at one end of the long conference table and two other men joined the meeting, although Ben had no idea who they were. He'd shaken their hands, but wouldn't know them again if he met them again half an hour from now. There was only one person in that room he cared about. He barely heard a word. Just went through the motions.
"We'd be honored, of course, to have your business, Mr. Petruska. Here at Rostrop and Philips we have a long tradition of working with the businessmen who built New York from the ground up and made it what it is today."
"Uh huh."
"When my great grandfather started..."
Ben tuned out. He already knew more about the shady history of Rostrop and Philips than he really wanted to know. Did they think he wouldn't have his people research the firm before he sat down in their conference room? And he wasn't there for them anyway.
History? He could tell them history that would curl their toes.
He watched Bryony's pale pink fingernails on the files she'd set down in front of her. He'd made it clear that he wanted Ms. Mulligan to handle all the accounts he gave them, but he knew Rostrop and Philips operated like an old boy's club. Still. She might think she had a chance of rising up in that firm, but she had limited uses in the eyes of Adam Rostrop.
She was a hot, smart, damn sexy woman and even in this century that had its own set of problems. Her skills as an chartered accountant came second to that. She'd chosen the wrong firm. They'd never appreciate her.
The way that slimy old letch, Rostrop, looked at Bryony and referred to her chillingly as "Our Miss Mulligan" proved he saw her only as bait to bring Petruska Industries into the fold. She'd never be allowed to take on the full responsibility of all his accounts, but they'd used her to draw him in.
He wouldn't be surprised to learn that Rostrop sent her deliberately to Leonato's yesterday. The injustice made him angry. Often accused of being old-fashioned and using women for nothing more than sex, even he could see Bryony had much more to offer. She was keen, ambitious, bright and capable. As he'd commented to her yesterday, she didn't take bullshit. He liked that about her. He liked a lot of things about her.
Everything in fact.
And he wanted to know more. One night might have been enough for her; it wasn't for him.
* * * *
He'd better stop looking at her that way. Luckily, Adam Rostrop was getting into his stride and forgot anyone else was present. She shot a quick glance at Tom and Brad, but they were busy playing their role, nodding along with the boss. Might have known they'd be invited in on this. She couldn't be allowed to handle it herself, naturally. Annoyance flared through her, but she quelled it by pressing her fingernails into her palm until they made blood red moons. Looking up she caught Ben's eye again.
He leaned back in his chair, stretched out his arms and said suddenly, "I'd like to have a word with Ms. Mulligan. Alone."
Adam Rostrop was cut off mid-sentence. Like a robot with the batteries suddenly ripped out, he didn't know how to proceed. His minions looked to him for guidance but he had none to give. This was unprecedented. No one dismissed Adam Rostrop from his own conference room.
No one except Numbnuts.
"Well, of course, if it's—"
"Alone," he repeated calmly. "Now."
It was raining again, hitting the window behind her with a steady pulsing rhythm.
"I'd like to discuss my proposition and my terms with Ms. Mulligan," he added. "In private. She can bring it to you later. If she decides I'm worth it."
She wanted to laugh. It seemed a very odd reaction at that moment, but since no one else knew what to do, perhaps it was fitting. A minute later they were alone, facing each other across the conference table. She took off her glasses, because clearly he didn't have anything for her to read. He hadn't even come to the meeting with a briefcase.
"What do you want, Mr. Petruska?"
He smiled, showing his fine teeth and incidentally reminding her of how he chewed her panties off last night. "You, Ms. Mulligan."
"I'm talking about—"
"I know. The answer is still you. I want you to work for me. For me exclusively."
Needing occupation for her hands, Bry picked up her pen, flicking the nib in and out. She wasn't certain what he meant. There was the matter of that "Mistress" he said he wanted. Maybe that was the job he offered.
But last night was supposed to be a one off.
She shook her head. "Resign from my new job? A job I'm lucky to have? A job I beat out two hundred other candidates to land?"
"Correct."
"Why would I—"
"I'm leaving tomorrow for the Bahamas. Petruska Leisure Industries is buying property for a new hotel resort. I need an assistant to come with me, so you'll have to make your mind up tonight. Since you just got back from France, I know you have an up-to-date passport. My plane leaves at six a.m. We'll be back by Monday afternoon. Call my office for any other travel details you might need." He stood, buttoning his suit jacket. Then bowed his head as if they were in a Jane Austen novel. "Good afternoon, Ms. Mulligan. I look forward to working with you."
As he strode out, she realized she hadn't even thanked him for the flowers, pastries and shoes. He hadn't asked about them. She also had not demanded that he clarify the terms of the job he offered.
&nbs
p; She was still sitting there in a state of shock, when her boss came in with rolled-up shirt sleeves and demanded to know what happened.
"I don't know," she answered truthfully, clutching her glasses. "I think he just asked me to go to the Bahamas with him."
"What?"
"Petruska Leisure Industries is buying property."
His eyes lit up and he slapped his hands together. "Good job, Mulligan. You're a fast worker."
She chose not to explain that the position she'd been offered did not involve Rostrop and Philips at all. Anyway, she didn't know if she was going to take it. Whatever it was. In fact, she knew she couldn't. That would be a huge mistake.
Right?
Rain shook the windows again and she looked out at the low, ashy clouds. The Bahamas sounded pretty good about now, however she got there.
Returning to her office she turned on her cell phone, just in time to pick up a call.
"Where have you been?" Helena exhaled gustily in her ear. "Your apartment was evacuated last night. I just spoke to your grumpy pal Kelly. Why didn't you tell me that when I phoned last night? Where did you go?"
"I stayed in a hotel." The lie flew out of her in haste, her mind rushing through the possibilities.
"You stayed with a man. Kelly told me that too."
Damn you Kelly! Couldn't keep her trap shut. "Oh. Yeah."
"Oh yeah?"
She shut her office door. "I was going to stay in a hotel, but he invited me over. So I went."
"Who? Don't tell me it was that asshole Petruska."
She choked. "Of course not. Do you think I'm crazy?"
Helena's sigh of relief blew down the phone. "I didn't think you would, but the horrifying idea just struck me. Carl said he left the gallery early last night too."
She banged her knee on the desk and winced. "Where did you see Kelly, anyway?" Ah good. Swift change of subject, quite subtle.
"Barnes and Noble on 86th street. I had to pick up some books for Rory and Randal. Honestly, you'd think they wouldn't need books anymore with everything online."
"Ok." Checking her emails, she saw one from Ben. Sent at one thirty, just before he must have left his office for their meeting.
