“More than productive, if I know Ari.” Vincent chuckled, pausing only long enough to chug the rest of whatever he’d been drinking.
Ari cringed. She’d spent the elevator ride up figuring out her opening lines, exactly what to say to shut them down. But now that she was here, face-to-face with the men who controlled her destiny, Ari could only shrug. She couldn’t even force her feet to carry her from the entryway to the dining room table, where both men sat eagerly awaiting her full report.
“You spent the weekend with the man,” Vincent said. “And you’re saying you didn’t learn anything?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I learned plenty.”
Vincent scoffed. “How to suck dick, maybe. I never could teach you that skill.”
“You didn’t have the right equipment,” she said. “It’s a lot different once you graduate from Little League to the majors—trust me.”
“That’s enough,” Davidson said, silencing them both. To Ari, he said, “Tell us what you found out.”
For a moment Ari said nothing, just glared at him from across the room, wondering how such a filthy shitbag could have so much sway over her life. Her father may not have been up for any model citizen awards, but Ari was certain he’d never stand for his former second-in-command treating his daughter this way. But when it came time for taking a stand, Ari caved every time. Now, she couldn’t get Tasha’s phone call out of her mind, the image of Davidson showing up there, stalking her all day, scaring the shit out of her just because he could.
Looking at him, his hair slicked back, his calculating eyes, Ari wanted to claw his skin off, hold a knife to his throat and give him a glimpse of the fear he’d instilled in her.
But Ari knew that’s exactly what Davidson wanted—to know that his little “visit” to Tasha’s workplace had gotten to both sisters.
Ari wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Instead, she dropped her overnight bag by the door—she wouldn’t be staying long—and joined Davidson and Vincent at the dining table, grateful she wouldn’t have to share any couch space with her ex tonight. All she wanted to do was give them the report, and then she could go home to Tasha.
“It’s like you figured,” she said, looking down at the papers spread across the table—about twice as many surveillance photos and blueprints as what she’d seen here last time. “The guy’s loaded.”
“Loaded and locked down,” Vincent said. “Right?”
“Extremely locked down. The only reason you got in that night was that a bunch of guests had just left. Otherwise, the place is a vault.” Ari updated them on the security situation at Jared’s country home, leaving out certain details, embellishing others, giving them just enough to salivate over while still buying herself some time to figure out her next steps.
With a long, impatient finger, Davidson tapped the blueprints on the table between them, making her jump. “Walk me through the house, room by room. I need to know what’s in there. What we’re dealing with.”
Ari patiently pointed out each room—master bedroom suite, guest room, additional bedrooms, living room, formal dining room, on and on—recalling the high-end pieces that had decorated each.
But she wouldn’t tell them about the game room. It was too special, too personal. Destroying that, more than the millions in artwork and cars her “partners” would likely pilfer from Jared’s home, felt like the worst kind of betrayal imaginable.
“That’s just a utility room,” she said, pointing at the outline that represented the game room on the blueprint. She forced herself to stay calm, to keep the lie out of her voice as she pressed on. “Water heaters, meters. Nothing of interest to us.”
“You searched it?” Davidson asked. “No poker room, media room, other places he might stash some art?”
Ari shook her head. “I’ll write up a list of the artwork and antiques he’s got down there, but it’s all in the basement’s main room. Other than that, there’s nothing we’d be after.” At Vincent’s incredulous glare, she continued. “Look, guys. Jared Blackwell isn’t some frat boy stockbroker. He’s not even much of an entertainer—the fundraiser was a rare event, from what I gathered. He’s just a wealthy collector—that’s it.”
Davidson narrowed his eyes, but Ari continued, desperate to divert their attention away from that room in the basement. “We’re talking about the one percent of the one percenters here, guys. On the blue moon when he does entertain guests, it’s not a beer-and-cigars card game. It’s a gala, and it happens on the first floor. That’s where most of the money is—art, furniture, or otherwise. In fact, if I were you, I’d skip the basement altogether and focus on the big score on the upper levels.”
“What about the cars?” Vincent was breathing on her neck, his closeness making her gag. “Tell me he showed you the cars.”
Ari sighed. Being around these men always felt like a test, and she had a sneaking suspicion they still had guys watching the place, even while she’d spent the weekend there. She couldn’t lie about the Ferrari—she’d likely been spotted leaving in it—so instead she told them the truth.
As little of it as possible.
“We took one out on Saturday—honestly, I don’t even know what kind it was. Cars aren’t my area of expertise, but I’d say yeah, there are a lot of them, and they look pretty.”
Not to mention, incredibly fun to drive. Despite the seriousness of the situation, it was hard for Ari not to smile at the memory of driving that Ferrari, the wind in her hair as she sped along the open road, teasing Jared about his toys. She still couldn’t believe he’d let her drive it.
“Pretty, or expensive?” Vincent asked.
“Both?” Ari shrugged. “I don’t really know. That’s your department.”
Vincent nodded, surprisingly non-confrontational. She could see the wheels turning in his head. As far as Ari knew, Davidson had never fenced cars before, but since he hadn’t dissuaded Vincent’s line of questioning, she could only assume the cars were on the list too.
Great. Just one more thing her boss had deemed her unworthy of knowing. So fucking typical.
“So that about does it,” Ari said. “I’ll get you the list of pieces once I’ve had a chance to think about everything again, but this should give you a pretty good idea of what’s going on in that house.”
“Very informative,” Davidson said. “You did well, Arianne.”
Ari relaxed. All in all, her little presentation had been pretty convincing—she could see it in the way Davidson smiled, greasy and eager, his eyes glinting with the promise of a hot new score.
But like a flower kept in the closet, Ari was fading quickly. It wasn’t just the double life, the lies, the scamming.
It was that she missed him.
Somehow, in their short weekend together, Jared Blackwell had gone from random hot hookup, to phone sex fantasy man, to Davidson’s mark, to a real human being—one she desperately wanted to know. To be near. Now, she wasn’t just fantasizing about him; she was thinking about him. Remembering him and the real times they’d shared. Daydreaming. Craving Jared’s touch, his kiss, his laughter.
But with those thoughts came others, sinister and sharp, pressing against her heart like a knife.
While Jared had been busy giving Arianne a glimpse at a dream she didn’t deserve, she’d been casing his house, ferreting out intel for the scumbags currently hanging on her every word.
Despite her lies, what she and Jared had shared was real. But it couldn’t exist in her world. She just couldn’t have it. She was going to hurt him—brutally. Maybe he’d never know it was her, but she would.
And it would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Ari pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to massage away her guilt. “So that’s the story, boys.”
“Nice work.” Vincent pounded on the table in front of her and grinned, though the glare in his eyes was anything but jovial. “You’re quite the resourceful little slut.”
Ari flashed hi
m a carefree smile. “No shit. While you were jerking off alone all weekend, I actually got some useful information. As a matter of fact, I got more intel in one weekend than you managed to cobble together in all your months of surveillance.”
Davidson chuckled.
“So,” Ari said, as casually as she could manage. “When are we making a move?”
Davidson’s momentary good mood evaporated. “You know better than that, Arianne.”
“Excuse me?” Ari said.
He patted her hand like a child. “You’re on a need-to-know basis. The moment you need to know, I promise you, you will.”
But Ari did need to know. Right fucking now. If she had any chance of throwing a wrench into the works, she had to know every detail, every plan.
It was a risk—one she’d never before taken. Not once in the five years since she’d been working for Davidson. But now, it was her only shot. And when she thought again of Jared, of how quickly he’d opened his home to her, his bed, hell—even his heart, Ari knew she couldn’t back down.
Looking her boss straight in the eyes, her skin still crawling at his patronizing touch, she said, “I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit, Davidson.”
His hand stilled over hers, pressing it against the table ever so slightly.
“Look,” she said, holding his gaze, “you guys sent me in there almost entirely unprepared. Despite the botched intel I was given, I still managed to salvage this entire plan. Out of the three of us in this room, I’m the closest one to Jared—the only one he trusts. Even with all the intel in the world, when it comes down to getting the goods, you don’t stand a chance.”
“Careful,” Davidson warned, still holding her hand. “You’re getting dangerously close to insulting me.”
Ari’s chest tightened, but she’d started this thing—she had to see it through.
“I just mean that Jared Blackwell isn’t some drugged up celebrity or bratty kid spending Daddy’s trust fund,” she said. “He’s a serious collector, and he’s not going to be taken easily. So I think it’s time we face facts here: If you’ve got any chance at getting close to that cache, you’re going to need my involvement every step of the way.”
“Fuck,” Vincent said. He tried to run a hand through his hair, but gave up when he couldn’t break the gel barrier.
Davidson released her hand, silent and contemplative. It was as close to agreement as she was going to get out of him.
“We haven’t mapped everything out yet,” Vincent finally said. “We’re still waiting on more surveillance photos from my other guy.”
“Just how many other guys are in on this?” Ari asked.
Neither man responded.
“Fine. Figure out the logistics,” she said. “But when you’ve got a plan, let me know. Because when it’s time to go in, I’m with you. You can’t do this without me, and you both know it.”
Again, neither man spoke, which Ari took as a victory. Another moment passed, and Ari finally decided her presence at the dining room table of her slimy boss and his snake of an associate was no longer needed—she’d given them their intel, and scored a little something for herself, too.
Wordlessly, she rose from the table and saw herself to the door.
With one hand wrapped around her luggage handle and one on the doorknob, she tossed a final barb over her shoulder. “Call me when you boys are ready to stop measuring your dicks and start making a real plan. Until then, sweet dreams.”
Chapter Thirteen
What a fucking nightmare.
Jared was a caged animal on display, pacing the length of his conference room while a gruff-looking man and a coiffed woman—both at least twenty years Jared’s senior—eyed him warily.
“Mr. Blackwell,” the man said, “I realize this is tedious. But we both know that Ben Hastings is thorough. He won’t leave anything to chance, including his son’s inheritance. So for the sake of getting us all out of here in time for dinner with our families, please just answer the questions.”
Jared stopped, forcing himself to unclench his jaw as he took the seat across from them at the conference table, right next to Evan.
He’d thought things had been sorted out the night of the fundraiser; aside from not being allowed to drive Jared’s car, the old man had seemed to enjoy himself. By the end of the party, their conversation had gone from stilted to breezy, ending with the old man throwing an arm over Jared’s shoulder and insisting they get together socially again. Jared honestly thought they were in the final stages of the acquisition—that things would run smoothly from here on out.
But apparently he was mistaken, because today’s security interview was the second one he’d endured this week. First there was the team of accountants, scrutinizing Jared’s corporate and personal financials, as well as those of his partner and their C-level staff. And now these two investigators, their ultimate purpose—other than wasting half Jared’s workday—still unclear.
Jared could hardly focus on them, despite the importance of these meetings. All he could think about was Arianne.
Specifically, about the fact that she’d been dodging his calls for a week straight, with no more than a handful of noncommittal texts that amounted to little more than empty promises about wanting to see him again, followed soon after with excuses about why she couldn’t.
Work meetings all week!
July 4th BBQ at Tasha’s school!
Hair appointment!
God, the last one really stung.
Evan nudged him sharply in the ribs, bringing him back to the meeting.
“Forgive me,” Jared finally said, offering the investigators a broad smile he absolutely didn’t feel. Evan sighed with relief. “I do understand Mr. Hastings’ concerns,” Jared said, “and I’m at your disposal. Please continue.”
The man nodded. Glancing at the paperwork in his leather folio, he leaned forward and said, “Tell us again about your plans for Baseline.”
Hastings’ company, Baseline, was a social music sharing service that the old man’s son had started as a music torrent site during the web’s infancy. Now, barely twenty years on, Baseline had exploded—with the old man’s sizable investment—into a social network with a user base that nearly rivaled that of FierceConnect. Through Baseline, users could create their own music, upload it, share it, remix it with others, and collaborate on music projects with other musicians from all around the world. It was used by teenagers playing around in garage bands as readily as by Grammy-winning artists, commercial studios, and movie producers.
“We’re both interested in bringing people together to share their common passions,” Jared said, drudging up the same old party line. Hastings and his various associates had heard the pitch no less than a dozen times; Jared was beginning to fear that the old man really wasn’t going to let his son’s company go. “For Baseline, that’s music. For FierceConnect, it’s games.”
Evan said, “We’re interested in bringing the two groups together. We feel that music and game developers in particular have a natural collaboration, for both creative inspiration and practical product development.”
“Exactly,” Jared said. “And through FierceConnect’s extensive developer applications, and both groups’ social reach, we’d like to see those creators come together to build new, innovative entertainment products. Music-based games, for one thing. Rich soundtracks for immersive fantasy games, for another. The possibilities really are endless.”
Jared felt the familiar rush in his veins, the excitement of those new possibilities and limitless potential—things he hadn’t shared with the man, things he hadn’t even imagined yet. Beneath the CEO exterior, he was still a tech geek and gamer at heart, and he loved daydreaming about all the ways the gaming and music sharing platforms could integrate, could bring people together to share their passions and discover new ones.
Of course, thinking about shared passions only reminded him of art, the road that always led him back to Arianne.
After scribbli
ng some notes about Jared’s response, the woman spoke up. “Assuming the acquisition goes through, walk us through the development lifecycle for an integrated product like the ones you envision.”
Jared tried not to clench his jaw again. “Much of that is proprietary,” he said, his tone as polite as he was willing to make it. For a corporate security firm, the pair across from him didn’t seem to understand much about the business world.
“Of course,” the woman said. “Just tell us in general terms.”
Jared ran through the basic steps of bringing a product to market, from inception to launch. When he got to the part about beta testing, she asked, “Who has access to the product at the alpha and beta stages?”
“I do, of course,” he said. “Evan and my other C-level executives. Our assistants. The developers. Once we reach beta phase, we open it to a select group of longtime members who’ve agreed to be part of our user research team in exchange for access to free products.”
“Where is this alpha tested?” the man asked. “Here, at H.Q.?”
“Yes,” Jared said. “I also have a test site at both of my homes.”
The woman scoffed. “That doesn’t seem very secure.”
“It’s quite secure, I assure you.” Jared rose again, resuming his pacing. Who were these guys? Why were they putting him through the ringer? This was standard operating procedure for any sort of technology or internet property. Granted, not all developers or execs had testing sites at home, but it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary.
“The only people testing the products here or at my home sites are me and my employees, every one of which is required to sign a nondisclosure agreement.”
Jared didn’t mention Arianne. At this rate, she wouldn’t be around for the Baseline integration testing, anyway.
“What safeguards do you have in place at your residences to ensure—”
“I’m sorry,” Evan said, cutting the woman off and finally coming to Jared’s defense. “This is standard procedure. These questions seem a bit off base, if you don’t mind my saying.”
Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series Page 19
