Pretend that everyone isn’t just looking at you, seeing a dollar amount hanging over your head and wondering how much they can slice off.
“I’m nervous,” Morgan whispered, her voice musical and giddy. “I always get nervous before public speaking.”
“Don’t you do that all the time? You do lectures every week in class, don’t you?”
“Oh, sure. And I get nervous before those too.”
“You should work on that,” I whispered back, letting my lips touch her ear. I felt her gasp slightly and then her elbow digging into my ribs.
Yes, I liked that. No matter how much money she was hoping to slice out of my bloated bank account, I liked the way she laughed, the way she giggled. I liked it bad.
The auditorium quieted down and Anthony took the stage, limping up to the podium. He cleared his throat. The impression was one of a gruff old lion about to address his pride.
“Friends and faculty, students and people of the community, welcome to Silliman University’s Wordsworth Auditorium on this glorious fall day. We’ve got a beautiful blue sky, the sun is shining, and the last of the leaves are just barely hanging onto the trees before winter sets in. This is a great time of year, and it’s my pleasure to announce some truly great news with you.”
He flipped a page in his briefing packet. I knew the page he flipped to well. It was the page that outlined the talking points that Anthony was to address. Nicholas had sent them over a few days ago.
“Blaine Stone is one of America’s most successful entrepreneurs and, I think, one of its most socially conscious thinkers. You can imagine my delight when, earlier this year, he approached the department, hoping to support the work we do and especially research into American literature. Well, I told him—we’re always happy to have a few more research grants. Hell, if he’d like to bankroll a professorship, we wouldn’t say no to that.”
Chuckles ran through the auditorium.
“But no, Blaine went above and beyond even that. Not only am I proud to announce the Stone Research Grant, which offers $7,000 for summer research in the area of American literature—and we’ve got twenty of those to give out every year, and not only do I get to announce the Blaine Stone Endowed Chair of 19th Century American Literature and Women’s Studies, a position to which we are appointing our very own Morgan O’Lowry—“
A few students whooped for Morgan. I felt her squirm in her seat next to me.
“—I always get to announce the Silliman College American Studies Fellowship: ten full four year scholarships each year to award to students committed to majoring in American Studies or English literature with a focus on women’s literature or gender studies.”
The auditorium burst into applause. I took a little bow in my seat. I’m sure the representatives from other academic departments were going through their calculations as Anthony spoke, trying to figure out how much money I had committed to them, trying to figure out if they could bleed anything else from me. Just let them try.
“Now, I’d like to give Mr. Blaine Stone the floor to say a few words.”
More applause followed me as I stepped up to the podium. Anthony grasped my hand once again.
“How’d I do?” he whispered, so low that the microphone couldn’t pick it up.
“Perfect. I’m so glad we met earlier this year, and not twenty minutes ago,” I replied with a grin.
“As am I. Your PR man is real slick.”
“He’s the best in the business,” I said, patting the old professor on the shoulder as he limped back to his seat. I glanced out of the corner of my eye and saw Morgan’s face looking a little hurt and a little confused.
Of course, she expected to be invited to speak. But no, darling, this is part of my plan and you’re not supposed to be mentioned. I save your job, but no one’s supposed to think about that. It might be your passion that we’re honoring today, but the news story here—the one that the journalists I’m now able to spy in the front row are going to write up for tomorrow’s papers—is that the badboy billionaire has gone gold.
“Well, I have to say,” I began smoothly, pulling the microphone close to my lips. “It’s been too long since I’ve been back here at Silliman. Boola boola boola!”
I pumped my first in the air, and the football chant was returned by the crowd, half-seriously: this wasn’t really the athletic set. But that’s all right.
“When Anthony and I met earlier this year—actually, buddy, you had that wrong: we met at Bill Clinton’s inauguration, when Maya Angelou was doing the reading—you probably don’t remember me, since I was just a pipsqueak back then—“
This was a complete lie, but Anthony smiled and pretended like he knew what I was talking about. Good man. Morgan had a good boss.
“I knew I wanted to support the arts, and literature especially, since it’s all been so important to me. Now, most of the reading I do these days is in the Wall Street Journal, but I’m an avid reader of… nineteenth-century American literature. That’s the really important stuff.”
I nodded, mock seriously, grinning.
“That’s the stuff that teaches us… Who we are. What we are. How we, as a nation, as a culture, how we all came to be. That’s what we’ve got to be teaching our students—not how to run a business, how to balance a budget, how to litigate in court—but what our ancestors went through. I’m just honored and humbled to be able to help with that work today.”
Applause greeted the ending of my speech as I glided back to my seat. Morgan glared at me.
“You’re making fun of me,” she hissed. “You’re making fun of what I do.”
“I think I bought the privilege,” I replied curtly. “If people thought what you do is valuable, you wouldn’t have needed it saved.”
“Oh, go to hell,” she hissed.
7
Morgan
I felt tears burning in my eyes and my face flushing hot as Blaine delivered those words to me. God, what an asshole. He really was the same prick he had always been. I shouldn’t have thought he could change. Men don’t change. That’s just the way the world works.
After the announcement, the university threw a reception in Blaine’s honor. I accompanied him in silence to the banquet room, but then made a bee-line to the bar and snared a glass of wine.
“Morgan!” someone squealed behind me. I spun, on edge, almost throwing my wine all over Masha.
“Oh, Masha, it’s you,” I sighed. “How’s it going?”
“This news is SO incredible!” she gushed. “Congratulations! I can’t believe you got the professorship! Isn’t that, like, instant tenure?”
“Well, the university won’t consider me tenured until I’ve got a book to my name, but at the very least, the position is independent from the department, so if anything changes—if we combine with another department or dissolve—my job will still be there.”
“Yes, it’s quite a plum situation, isn’t it, Ms. O’Lowry?” another voice said. Approaching us, in his tweed jacket and vest, with a floral bow tie, was Gary Towson—the professor who started this whole bloody mess.
I had to admit, he wasn’t bad looking for a man in his mid seventies, but that still didn’t excuse any of my suspicions about him. Of course, his accuser was still fighting him in court and as one of his colleagues, I had to support him professionally. Personally, however…
“It is, Gary,” I replied. “I’m a very lucky girl.”
“Yes. We should all be so lucky as to have rich friends. Or family.”
I felt my face blacken.
“What did you say?” I growled.
Masha just looked confused. God, did Gary have to do all of this in front of her? In front of a graduate student who didn’t know any better, who didn’t understand the department politics as well as I did? Who didn’t understand what was at stake?
“Yes. It’s a shame your mother and Mr. Stone’s father divorced, but I suppose that’s a common end to marriages now. Rather fortuitous that he happens to make a donation to t
he department and you get a guaranteed job out of it, though.”
“Very fortuitous indeed,” I replied. “Much more so than sticking your hand down an eighteen year old girl’s shirt and pretending like it didn’t happen.”
Now it was Gary’s turn. His face darkened and I saw his knuckles turn white as he gripped his drink hard.
“Why you…” he mumbled.
“But it’s quite fortuitous that all the other old boys in the department rose to your defense, paid for it out of my salary and all the other junior faculty’s futures. Of course, you’ve got tenure, so long as you don’t mess up. You’ve all got tenure. You’re all safe. And I’m almost as safe as you now.”
“But your junior colleagues won’t look at it that way,” he whispered. “They’ll see you selling us out, taking a secure position for yourself and your own little interests and leaving nothing for the rest of us.”
“You eat what you kill. If you eggheads followed that motto, you wouldn’t be in this position, would you?” yet another voice spoke up. I knew exactly whose it was and no matter how mad I was at him, I was grateful that Blaine suddenly appeared in our circle.
“Oh, Mr. Stone—“ Towson sputtered, extending his hand. Blaine took it and shook hard.
“Oh. Fragile old bones,” Blaine said with a sigh. “Maybe that’s why she didn’t like your hand on her tits. She thought she might break your hand.”
Towson was speechless. Masha was speechless. A huge smile blossomed on my face.
“You know, I wonder… If I give the university two million dollars and that gets Morgan a job, how much do I have to give them to make sure you don’t have a job? Because whatever the number is…”
He took a sip of his whiskey.
“I have it.”
“You’re a bastard, Stone,” Towson muttered.
“And you’re a dirty old man who’s going to die soon. While I’m young, handsome, and my valet is bringing my Bugatti around as we speak. I’ve got a reservation at Dorsia for later this evening back in Manhattan, and a bottle of good champagne chilling back at my Penthouse. Your words cut me so deep.”
There was nothing left to say. Towson drifted away, shaking his head. Masha burst into giggles.
“Oh. My. God.”
“Morgan, introduce me to your friend,” Blaine said, extending his hand to Masha.
“That’s Masha Bozovic. She’s a second-year PhD student in our department.”
Blaine grasped her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. Masha couldn’t contain her giggles.
“If only I had added an extra person to my reservation, I could have brought you to dinner too,” he cooed. Masha blushed.
“Mr. Stone, I have a boyfriend.”
“Well, we don’t have to tell him, do we? Besides, this isn’t a date. It’s networking. Do you want a professorship too? I give them out like candy.”
I felt my ears fuming as Masha giggled incessantly.
“Well, I’ll let you two get a room. If you’ll excuse me,” I murmured, picking my way out of the crowded reception hall. I stormed past the waiters, who tried to confiscate my glass of wine. One fierce look at them convinced them of the error of their ways and I was allowed to stride out onto the green, unmolested, wine still in hand.
“Damn it, Blaine,” I muttered, feeling my eyes hot with tears. Today should have been a victory but instead, I just felt humiliated. I felt broken down and less than nothing, like a little child who needed help cleaning up her mess.
And the worst part was, no one knew it except me. Me and Blaine. He had humiliated me, mocked me, all for his own pleasure. And he thought it was his right. His right because of his money.
“You’re missing the party, sis,” he called after me.
“Fuck you.”
“Don’t be like that. They’re bringing out the crab now. I had my secretary call and make a few donations to the caterers at the last minute. I’ve got very delicate dietary requirements. I can’t eat crap or drink slop, you see.”
“Just leave me alone, okay? Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” I said, spinning angrily to face him, splashing a few droplets of wine on my suit.
“No. Not yet,” he said his hands taking me by the waist and pulling me close. I gasped, feeling his warmth, and once again, the intoxicating scent of his cologne.
“Blaine, no, stop.”
“Do you really want me to stop?” he said, leaning in close.
No. No, I didn’t.
But I did.
Oh, god, but I really didn’t.
“I didn’t think so,” he whispered with a grin, that evil, wolfish grin as his lips claimed mine. I didn’t care, in that moment, that I was kissing a man who had once been my brother. I didn’t care that I was kissing him on the college green, across from my office, in broad daylight, where it would cause one hell of a scandal if we were seen.
All I cared about was that I was kissing Blaine and he was kissing me, and that he was holding me tight around the waist like I liked, knowing the way I liked to be held and kissed without my having to tell him. Our tongues dueled for supremacy as he conquered my lips hungrily, before we finally broke apart.
“That other seat at Dorsia is for you,” Blaine whispered. “My car should be ready. Why don’t you come with me?”
“Blaine, no, I have work to do.”
He rolled his eyes.
“That’s your excuse? Work? It’s a Friday evening. You’ve got a glass of wine in your hand. I work harder than anyone I know and even I’m not going back to the office today. Let yourself live, Morgan.”
His hands were on my waist again, pulling me in. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to kiss him again.
Hell, that was a bold-faced lie.
I wanted to kiss him. I just didn’t know if I should.
“I’m still mad at you,” I growled as his face came close. He paused, his grey eyes flashing dangerously.
“Then let me make it up to you. Like I said. Live a little. Let me give you a good meal. Pamper you for the weekend.”
He leaned in to my ear and pressed his lips against my ear lobe, before biting it gently.
“Work isn’t a wolf—it’s not going to disappear into the forest on you,” he said.
“You’re the wolf, aren’t you?” I whispered back, pushing away.
“Every woman wants a wolf of her own,” he replied, letting me go.
I brought my glass of wine up to my recently and thoroughly kissed lips, sucking it down in one gulp.
“That’s true but wolves don’t make good lovers.”
“They make fine lovers. Mates, on the other hand…”
“Jesus, Blaine, we’re brother and sister.”
“We were, for two years, stepbrother and stepsister. Things are different now.”
“Not different enough.”
That was a lie. They were different enough for me… I was just…
Could I go home with him? Could I run off into those strong arms, drown myself in those seductive grey eyes? God, I wanted to, but everything in my body told me I shouldn’t.
“Mr. Stone!” a voice called out. Blaine turned to see one of the waiters approaching us.
“Sir, the valet is looking for you—they want to know if you’d like your car now, or if you’d prefer them to park it again.”
“I’ll take it now, thanks,” Blaine said, his voice cold steel once more. He slid a five dollar bill into the waiter’s hand and jerked his head back to me. “Why don’t you get her a drink? Something strong. She needs to loosen up.”
Bastard. I didn’t want him to go.
8
Blaine
“Wait…” Morgan said, reaching out for me before I could leave. The waiter stopped and looked at us both.
“Why don’t you grab that drink for her, kiddo?” I murmured to the waiter, turning to face my ex-sister.
“I don’t want us to leave things like this. When am I going to see you again?” she asked. I rolled my eye
s.
“That’s up to you.”
“Give me time to think about this.”
“Next weekend. It’ll be after Thanksgiving. Come see me. We’ll talk about how we want to proceed.”
“Proceed? What do you mean?”
“With administering the donation. That’s what you do in a situation like this—you draw up an action plan. I want to see a protocol for recruiting students and grant applicants, as well as a plan to invest the money so that these programs are self-sustaining. Or…”
I smiled, taking her hand.
“Did you mean us?”
“Oh, shut up.”
She snatched her hand away just in time to grab the Cosmopolitan the long-suffering waiter had brought to her.
“Is that a deal?”
“Fine,” Morgan replied, sipping her drink.
“How is it?”
A look of defeat graced her pretty face.
“It’s… Good.”
“You’re not going to do anymore work tonight after that, are you?”
She shook her head.
“Then my work here is done. Take me to my car, kiddo,” I said, another five finding its way from my wallet into the waiter’s hand. I’d given this poor jerk enough trouble this evening anyway.
We picked our way through the reception as it let out. I pressed the flesh of professors and administrators, all hoping for a private audience with me. I assured them that I would be on campus regularly, that my office in New York was open to them, passing out business cards with a smile. Little did they know that those were the old business cards—the number on them connected to a chiropractor’s office now. I had become a master of avoiding people when I need to.
Damn it all to hell, Morgan. Here I had a reservation at Dorsia for two people, with only one in attendance. If there was anything I hated, it was eating alone in public.
For a moment, I thought about calling Liana. No, that was clearly a terrible idea. I absolutely should not do that. Bad Blaine. Bad.
Well, I supposed I would just see if Nicholas were still in the city or if he had retreated to Connecticut for the weekend.
At His Mercy: A Dark Billionaire Romance Page 6
