Penthouse Prince: A new York City Romance

by Tara Leigh

  “He’s poaching our investors so we’ll have to close the fund, all the while waiting in the wings to swoop in for an easy takeover.”

  Another nod. “Pretty much. Do you need my help?”

  I stand, putting us head to head. “I’d like to make some headway on my own first. But I’ll keep you in the loop on my progress.”

  He reaches out to squeeze my shoulder. I sense a reluctance to leave in him, as if he’d rather roll up his shirtsleeves and get to work. He taught me never to back away from a fair fight. Unless the odds are blatantly skewed, you stand your ground and give it your all. And I’m sure he wants to be in the trenches with me, although I have no doubt he’ll go back to his office and do more digging on his own. Both of us know that the time is coming when he won’t be around. Bettencourt will be my responsibility. This is an opportunity for him to watch me protect our turf, and it’s more important that he backs away to watch my progress from a distance, stepping in only if absolutely necessary.

  If it comes to that, Van Horne will be the least of my problems. If I’m not ready to defend Polaris today, can I defend Bettencourt tomorrow?

  I look over at Reina. She wasn’t a part of our conversation, but it’s obvious she overheard every word. Her skin is as pale as I’ve ever seen it, her face pinched with worry.

  I snap back into focus. I’ve worked my ass off to build my reputation and master the skills required to lead Bettencourt into the next generation. And no one is going to derail my plans. With a clear head, I begin issuing orders to everyone on my team. We will fight back against Van Horne with every weapon in our collective arsenal.

  It will work. It has to.

  Reina

  My stomach plummets at the mention of Bull Capital, and I know instantly that Van Horne is making a play for Bettencourt to send me a message. There isn’t much that happens on Wall Street that he doesn’t know about, although I never thought he would stoop to keeping tabs on me.

  Clearly I was wrong. I’ve dared to set foot in his world and now he’s going to destroy Bettencourt out of spite. Simply because they made the mistake of hiring me.

  I didn’t think anything could take my mind off what Tristan said yesterday. What he said about me, what he said about us. For a few precious minutes, my heart felt like it was about to burst with happiness.

  And then Elise ruined it all. More specifically, what Tristan said about Elise ruined it all. Liar. Social climber. Someone who doesn’t know the first thing about the meaning of family.

  Because he could, just as easily, have been describing me.

  And now, Van Horne’s stolen the show. By trying to steal Bettencourt.

  But if he thinks I’ll just give up and vanish without a fight, Van Horne doesn’t know the strength of the genes he passed on to me. Screw him. I’ve clawed my way here, and I’m not leaving. Not for him. He’ll have to learn the same lesson my mother taught me via Post-it a decade ago. It’s his turn to smile through the pain. Grin and bear it, Gerry.

  After jotting Tristan’s assigned tasks into my notepad, I head for the supply closet I haven’t seen the inside of since my first day at Bettencourt. With shaking hands, I quickly call my mother from my cell phone.

  “Hello, darling. How lovely to hear your voice. When can we—”

  I interrupt. “Does he know where I work?”

  “Who?”

  I gnash my teeth. “Your husband, the same man who’s technically my father. Does he know where I work?”

  “Well, I really don’t think—”

  “Mom, I’m not asking you to think. Just tell me the truth, does he know I’m working for Bettencourt?”

  “He asked about you in San Francisco.” Her voice is tremulous. “I-I thought it was a good sign.”

  I close my eyes, rubbing at the center of my forehead. Of course he did. “I was there. He must have seen me.”

  “Seen you? Where?”

  “In San Francisco. I was at the Global Initiative Gala with my colleagues from Bettencourt.”

  I hear my mother’s shocked intake of breath, can practically feel her stab of fear at the thought of her husband and daughter under the same roof. “Oh,” she finally manages.

  It’s obvious I avoided her. It’s obvious her husband avoided me. But it’s my mother’s tiny sound of surprise that says so much and yet not nearly enough that bothers me the most.

  Especially after our last conversation, which made me think that maybe, just maybe, we could reconcile. That it might be possible to rebuild what was broken.

  It was stupid of me, I now realize. My mother made her choice between us a decade ago and apparently has no regrets. “Just so you know, that stand-up guy you married is trying to destroy my career before it’s even gotten off the ground.”

  “What are you talking about?” she sputters.

  “You should ask him about his latest takeover target. He’s making a play for Bettencourt. And the crazy thing is, if he succeeds, I’ll be the only one of his kids working for him. Think he’ll make me Employee of the Month?” Not that I’ll stick around long enough for the commemorative plaque, of course.

  “Honey, I don’t know—”

  I stop her. That’s the problem. “You’re right. You don’t know, and you sure as hell don’t care. Not about me, anyway.” I end the call, take a deep breath, and push open the door.

  I’ve never spoken to my mother, or anyone, like that. It should have felt good to say exactly what was on my mind. But it doesn’t.

  Tristan catches my eye as I walk back to my desk. I must look about as well as I feel, because he pushes his headset aside, mouthing, You okay?

  I nod, forcing a smile onto my face even as part of me wants to head back to the supply closet and hide. But I can’t. I need to move, need to think. And quite frankly, I have more pressing things to do than mourn the loss of a relationship that, in reality, died a long time ago.

  Bypassing my desk, I scramble down the thirty or so flights to the lobby and go for a walk around the block. The honking horns and busy streets are strangely soothing to my frayed nerves. Manhattan is chaotic and messy, just like me. But it’s the epicenter of the world—a place where important things happen and exceptional lives are lived.

  I have to get control of myself before heading back to the office. With everything going on today, the last thing Tristan needs is to worry about me. Breathing in the doughy, salty smell of the pretzel pushcarts dotting the streets, I fight to untangle my jumbled thoughts.

  Not only am I a complete novice when it comes to relationships of any kind, one of the most powerful men on Wall Street is gunning for me. Once Bettencourt is safe, I have to end things with Tristan. Look what I’ve done to his life already.

  What do I bring to the table, really? Nothing but trouble. My balance sheet sucks—next to no assets and I’m drowning in liabilities. Tristan is too smart to let himself be weighed down by me. Or at least, he should be. I want to scream, to shake him. You’re better off without me!

  But first, I need to make it through the day and come up with a new plan. I don’t know if I can walk away from Tristan. It would be easier, for both of us, if I can convince him that he doesn’t want me. At least, not enough to risk his future. Beyond that, I have to find some way to scare off Van Horne and get him to keep his paws off Bettencourt.

  I could quit, of course. But damn it, I’m not a quitter. Although if I thought it would help, I would. I’d grit my teeth and hand in my resignation, effective immediately.

  But Van Horne is a vindictive son of a bitch. He won’t walk away from the table just because I do. If anything, he’ll finish the job just to rub my nose in his territorial piss puddle.

  And where would that leave me? Van Horne isn’t paying my bills. Will he destroy the next company to put me on their payroll? That is, if I can even get hired after quitting Bettencourt. No one bails on a coveted training program slot. If I do, I might as well tattoo TWWS might across my forehead: Too Weak for Wall Street.
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br />   I’ve always been a great student, excelling at every opportunity. But this is no academic case study. The stakes are as high as the skyscrapers surrounding me.

  And this time, I’m not the only one with everything to lose.

  Chapter 16

  @BettencourtBets: No such thing as a sure thing.

  Tristan

  The sky outside the window is dark when my phone lights up with a photo of my favorite NHL player. Life is full of strange coincidences, and apparently today is no exception. “Bryce Van Horne. How are you doing, buddy?” My warm greeting is automatic. Regardless of his last name, Bryce has been a good friend for as long as I can remember. His relationship with his father is strained at best, and has been as long as I’ve known him—nearly all my life. There is no doubt in my mind that Bryce is completely removed from everything I’ve been dealing with today.

  “I’m in New York. Had to fly in to see someone about my damn shoulder. You around?”

  “Yeah, just got back from a trip last week. We should get together.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I’m at Cielo right now. Come join me,” Bryce says.

  “You don’t miss a beat, do you?” Cielo is a trendy NYC nightspot. The main floor is a popular restaurant, with a curving staircase that leads up to a private, VIP-only lounge. It’s the kind of place that’s perpetually staked out by paparazzi waiting for the drunken, stumbling exits of celebrities. I hesitate, looking around at everyone in my group still focused on work. I should really stay. Then again, it’s getting late and most of our prospective investors have likely left for the day.

  Bryce interrupts my thoughts. “Don’t tell me you’ve become an old man since trading in your jersey for a suit and tie. Come on, live a little. Maybe you’ll even pick up someone to take home for the night.”

  I shake my head, sigh. Today of all days, I do feel like an old man. “Actually, I’m seeing someone.”

  “Even better, can’t wait to meet her.”

  After the line goes dead, I look up to find Reina by my side.

  “Tristan, do you have some time? I think we should talk about what’s happened.”

  After being in disaster mode all day, spending a couple of hours away from spreadsheets and computer models is probably a good idea. A little distance from a problem usually enables me to see it more clearly. “No. Not tonight, anyway. How would you like to meet one of my oldest friends?”

  Reina hesitates, obviously unsure of how to take my answer. But then her frown gives way to a confused grin. “Will he tell me naughty stories about you?”

  “Only if he wants to implicate himself, too. Pretty sure if I got into trouble, it was because Bryce led the way.”

  A laugh bubbles from her throat. “Am I about to meet a real penthouse player?”

  “A player, definitely. Although I’m not so sure about the penthouse part of the equation since he doesn’t live in New York. Knowing Bryce, he spends most nights in the bed of his latest puck bunny.”

  “Bryce? Bryce Van Horne?” Her grin slides off her face, her voice taking on a skittish edge.

  “The one and only. His dad might be on my shit list right now, but there’s no way Bryce even knows about it. He couldn’t be less interested in the family business, or business at all. Hedge funds aren’t even a blip on his radar. Do you know him?”

  “Nope. We’ve never met.” She starts to back away. “You know, I still have some work to do. I should probably just stay.”

  I shoot Reina a look that tells her exactly what I think of her protests. She’s been working hard, too, and a short break will be as good for her as it will be for me. “We’re going. Both of us.”

  Swallowing whatever excuse is next on her list, she glances around the room, taking in the number of ears privy to our conversation. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  It’s more statement than question, but I follow Reina into my office. She positions herself by the window, and from the hunch of her shoulders I know she isn’t taking in the view. Only after the door clicks shut does Reina spin back toward me. “Are you sure you want me to come with you? I don’t want to intrude.”

  I curl my hands into fists at my sides to keep from crossing the room and wrapping my arms around her. Have my feelings for Reina been highlighted by the tumult going on at work? Possibly. But I’ve never felt so sure about anyone in my life. “You’re not an intrusion, Reina. Ever.”

  Reina’s eyebrows arch upward. “With everything that’s going on, and just a few days before Millennium’s lock-up expires—”

  “We went out together over the weekend and it didn’t make news. As scandals go, we’re a complete dud.” My feet propel me a few feet closer before I stop myself. I search her emerald eyes for glints of gold but they are dark, overshadowed by doubt. “Reina, Bryce is a friend, and I want you to meet him. Is that so wrong?”

  While Reina powers off her computer and grabs her bag, I stop at Kyle’s desk. “Have you heard anything from Tech?” Earlier, I asked him to brief our Technology and Security specialists. Wall Street is as incestuous and insular as European royalty, only with a combined worth that exceeds the GDP of most of their countries. Secrets and petty resentments are passed back and forth like stolen cigarettes between teenagers. Information is closely guarded, and even more valuable than cash. As much as it pains me, I’m beginning to think Van Horne has a spy within Bettencourt, possibly someone on my own team. I don’t know yet if it’s the same person behind BettencourtBets, but I’d like nothing more than to kill both birds with one bullet. And if they’re stupid enough to leave a trail of electronic breadcrumbs, I need to know. Fast.

  “Not yet, but I expect to hear something soon. They’re pulling email and phone records for everyone on our team. Once we’re cleared, they’ll work on the rest of Bettencourt. If there’s a spy, they’ll find him. Whatever Bull Capital is planning, we won’t let it be an inside job.”

  I nod, feeling the tightness in my jaw. “Call me the second you hear anything.”

  Reina is waiting for me by the elevator. “You look like you could use a scotch.”

  For the first time that day, I laugh. “Among other things.”

  Even with what feels like the weight of the world on my shoulders, I can’t resist the sight of Reina leaning against the back wall of the elevator. Without making a conscious decision, suddenly my arms are wrapped around her neck, my hands pulling out the pins holding her hair back, fingers threading into the lush depths. A muted warning ding gives me just enough time to swirl my tongue around the racing pulse point on her neck for the briefest of moments before pulling away.

  Other than the hair curling around her flushed face in wild abandon, Reina looks completely unruffled as her heels click on the marble tiles, keeping pace with me.

  But looks are deceiving because she repeats her earlier question, voicing doubts I thought I’d settled. “Are you really sure we should be doing this? Cielo isn’t brunch at a sidewalk café. What if we run into more of your friends? Not just childhood ones, but colleagues too. Polaris is doing so well, you’ve probably pissed off others besides Van Horne. Maybe not everyone is looking to take over the company, but dethroning you might net them some of your investors.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. You want to know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because shit happens. Yesterday Polaris was set to become one of the most successful funds in Bettencourt’s roster, and today it might go bust and take everything down with it. Hopefully tomorrow we’ll be an industry leader again. My point is, I can’t control the market. And I can’t control Van Horne or anyone else. But I can sure as hell control my own actions. I’m not ashamed of you, or of us. If there’s fallout, we’ll deal with it. But I’m through sneaking around.”

  Reina stops in he middle of the sidewalk, prompting irritated looks from everyone forced to go around us. I don’t care. “Tristan, you should be with someone suitable, someone who’s good for your image.” She shakes her head, a panick
ed expression on her face. “When Elise saw the two of us together, she thought less of you because you were with me. You don’t understand. I’m not worth all this trouble.”

  I step closer, wanting nothing more than to take her in my arms and kiss her senseless. “First of all, fuck Elise. And second, how do you do that?”

  Reina frowns. “Do what?”

  “Make me want to strangle you and kiss you at the same time. They should be mutually exclusive options.” She meets my gaze in silence, knowing if she cracks a smile I’ll win our quarrel. I continue anyway. “Before I met you, I only had one thing in my life worth fighting for. But now I have two, and I’m not willing to lose either of them. Am I clear? I will not lose you.”

  Tears well up in her eyes. “Well then, you’re a fool.”

  I shrug. “I’ve been called worse.”

  Reina’s soft sigh of capitulation warms the skin of my neck as her hands slip inside my jacket, pulling me close. “I’ve never been upstairs at Cielo. Any chance there’s a dark corner somewhere . . .”

  I tilt her chin upward and bring my lips down on hers, ignoring the annoyed grumblings from inconvenienced pedestrians walking by. “There’s lots of dark corners.”

  “We probably only need one, Tristan.”

  I deepen the kiss. A dark corner has never sounded so good. Although I’m considering a pit stop at my apartment instead. The air is crisp, and Reina is so warm in my arms. My cock is butting up against my zipper again, and losing the battle. With a groan I break away, leading her to the edge of the sidewalk and extending my hand. “Come on, little thief. If we don’t get going, I’m going to need a dark alley.”

  Reina

  A dark alley sounds perfect, actually. Much better than Cielo, where Bryce Van Horne is waiting.

  Talk about being thrown into the deep end. Will he be anything like his sister? God, I hope not.