by J. A. Huss
All rights reserved.
ISBN-978-1-944475-08-6
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
DESCRIPTION
Victoria is self-made, super-competitive, super-aggressive, and currently drowning in debt when she suddenly finds herself battling with her ex, Weston Conrad (AKA Mr. Corporate), for a job that could literally change her destiny.
She was there when the whole college scandal went down at Brown University and the Misters got their infamous nicknames. She saw the whole thing. And she always knew Weston was innocent.
But there were other things happening that night. Things in her world. Things in his world. And he always was a bit cagey about his past.
That was a long time ago now. She had moved on because let’s face it—the two of them were never going to work. They are fire and ice because Weston wants a girl who needs him and Victoria can handle things just fine on her own, thank you.
But now Weston is back in her life and somehow, some way, he brought all her old secrets with him.
Prologue - Weston
“Say it.” Victoria Arias looms over me, her feet planted on either side of my hips, seething. “I want to hear you say it.”
She looks like the storm that just passed. That poor lavender shirt is rippling in the remnants of the wind. It’s ruined. And out of nowhere, like God was playing a trick on us earlier, it starts to rain. Hard, pouring-down rain.
“What’s your fucking problem?” I ask. “Just what the fuck, Tori?”
She drops, her ass sitting on my dick, but nothing about this moment says seductive. She slaps me six times in the face. Both hands, one after the other. Six times. Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam.
“Say it!” She yells it this time.
I taste blood in my mouth and reach up to wipe it away as I look her in the eyes.
Those beautiful violet eyes. That wild dark hair is sticking to her face as she rages. And her breasts are practically bursting out of her shirt—those last two buttons have no hope of containing them.
Another slap, and this time it stings.
“Stop it,” I say, grabbing both her wrists and pulling her down onto my chest. “Just fucking stop it.”
“I hate you more, Weston Conrad.” Her voice is low. Even. Controlled. “I hate you more than you will ever know and I want to hear you say it.”
“Why should I give in to you? Why the fuck should I? Do you really think this badass attitude you have is cute, Miss Arias? Well, it isn’t. It’s fucking old, OK? I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you. And I’m not giving you what you want. Ever.”
I push her off me and get up. I’m wet, I’m covered in sand, I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, and my dick has been hard for three days.
“You’re a coward,” Victoria says, her South American accent appearing. “You’re a coward and a cheat.”
“That makes no sense. And I’m not a cheat. You’re the fucking cheat. How the hell did you get here, huh, Victoria? You cheated!”
She’s on her knees now, that goddamned lavender shirt blowing open. “Well, just give me what I want, Weston Conrad. And then we can part ways and never see each other again.”
“I’m not giving you this contract. Fuck that. I earned it. You’re the one who tried to steal it from me.”
“I don’t just want the contract, you idiot. I never wanted the contract. I wanted you.”
I just blink at her. “What?”
“Did,” she clarifies. “I don’t want you anymore. I wouldn’t want you if you were the last man on Earth!”
“Or a deserted island?” I say, laughing.
She throws a handful of sand at me, but the wind catches it and it goes in her eyes. Her hands fly up to her face as she doubles over in pain.
Fuck.
“Victoria,” I say, dropping down to see if she’s OK.
She’s not. She’s crying.
“Victoria,” I say again as I try to pry her hands off her face. “Let me see.”
She shakes her head and starts to sniffle. “Just tell me what I want to hear.”
“What?” I ask. “What the fuck are you after? I can’t ever make you happy for more than a few hours. I don’t fucking know what you want!”
She drops her hands and looks me in the face. “I hate you more, Weston Conrad. I hate you more than you hate me. And I want to hear you admit it.”
“Fine.” I shrug. “Whatever. You hate me more. What the fuck do I care?”
“What the fuck do you care?” Her makeup was washed off in the rain days ago. There’s no leftover mascara to stain her perfect cheekbones. And her lips are naturally pink and plump. I can’t stop looking at them.
Her.
I can’t stop looking at her.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“I want that contract.”
“No. I told you no. How many times do I have to explain this to you? It was my contract to begin with. You fucking cheated!”
“But I need it more!” she yells.
“I said I’d help you, Tori. I already said I’d help you, for fuck’s sake!”
“Don’t call me that ever again!”
Jesus Christ. Why does she have to be so wild?
“If you give me that contract, I will give you something in return.”
“What?” I ask. “What do you possibly have that I want?”
“Me.”
Her eyes search mine. Back and forth. Back and forth. I do want her. I want her so fucking bad. But I can’t give her that contract. That contract isn’t even enough to fix her problems. But it’s mine. It’s mine, dammit. If it’s still available, I cannot let her have it. I just can’t. If she ends up with this contract, my world shifts. And not in a good way. She can’t have it and I’m tired of talking about it. Thinking about it. So I change the subject. “I thought you wanted me?”
“Not anymore,” she says, tipping her head up to regain some of her dignity. And even though most of the people on this planet wouldn’t be able to conjure up some dignity while sitting half-naked, half-starved, and half-satisfied at the tail end of a hurricane, Victoria Arias manages. “I mean nothing to you, West. You used me last night. You used me just like you use everyone else.” She pokes me in the chest to emphasize her words. “And you know what? I’m tired of you, too. You checked out ten years ago and never came back. Turned into Mr. Corporate and said, ‘Fuck you, Rhode Island. I’m going to LA.’”
I’m just about to open my mouth and tell her off when it hits me. She’s been mad at me this whole time. Not because we broke up. Not because we couldn’t make the long-distance relationship work. But because she thinks I left her behind.
But I don’t get the chance to say any of that. Because the sound of a helicopter comes into range.
“Here!” Victoria yells, jumping to her feet and waving her arms. “Here! Here! Here! We are here!”
She bolts down the beach, her perfect legs stretching out into a full run, her dark hair flying out behind her like a banner that dares me to follow her into war.
I want to follow her. I want to think so anyway. I want to believe that I can fight her battles, and take no prisoners, and come out on the other end a winner.
But I don’t believe it.
Because she doesn’t need anyone to fight her battles. She’s made that perfectly clear.
And I don’t believe I could match her passion and commitment anyway. I don’t believe I could keep up with her, to be honest. Or hold on to her, or even make her the slightest bit happy. I don’t believe I can do anything right when it comes to Victoria Arias.
And it’s not because I feel like sulking against the wall at my own pity party.
It’s because I’ve hurt her so many times in the past, it’s become a habit.
It�
��s because we’re in this endless pattern of destruction. We’re a trainwreck. A plane crash. A hurricane of nothing-will-ever-come-of-this.
Ever.
Chapter One - Victoria - Five Days Ago
“AriasCorp, best headhunters in the business, this is…” I hesitate and make up a name on the fly as I search through the drawers of the empty reception area. “Cynthia. How may I direct your call?”
“Victoria Arias, please.”
Hmmm. I don’t recognize the voice. “Who may I say is calling?”
“That information is private and confidential. But I have information about a contract coming up for bid and I wish to discuss it with her.”
“One moment,” I say. “I’ll see if she’s available.”
I push the hold button and place the phone back in the cradle, then continue my search. Whoever that is can just wait until I’m good and ready to answer this call.
“Victoria?” my father calls from my office down the hallway.
“One second, Pops. I have it here, I know I do.”
He appears just as I finish talking, a scowl on his face. “Why are you looking for receipts at the reception desk?”
“It’s just where I’m keeping them these days. Hold on, I have it.” I pull the bottom drawer out and pray. Please, please, please let this receipt be in here. “Ah-ha!” I beam my father a smile as I pull out the papers and stand up. “I knew it was here.”
“We wouldn’t have this problem if you weren’t paying cash for everything.”
“Look, Pop, I don’t need a lecture today, OK? I found the receipt. Here.”
He takes it from my hand, then shakes his head. “You know what we need.”
Oh, I know what he thinks we need. “I’m not even discussing what you’re proposing. And I’m hurt and furious that you’d even bring it up.”
My Pops looks properly admonished. But there’s a desperation inside of him these days. It’s dangerous, that desperation. He’s seeing everything we’ve done over the past few years slip away and he’s got that look on his face. A look I’m very familiar with. And now I just feel sad that it’s come to this.
“We don’t just need money, Victoria. We need direction.”
“What?” How could he say that? I am not taking money from a criminal. I don’t care how desperate I get, he’s out of my life for good. I am never looking back again. I am forward-thinking now. “I’m the direction, OK? Me. I know where we’re going and I know exactly what it will take to get there. Just trust me, I’ve got a plan.”
“I hope your plan is a quick one. The mortgage is due in two weeks. We’re going to lose everything and be out on the street.”
Why is he so mean these days? Why does he say things like this? I know we’re at the end there. What does he think? I woke up today and forgot I’m in debt up to my ears? I take a deep breath and smile. I don’t want to fight with him. Not now. I can’t. “We’re not going to lose anything. OK?” I kiss him on the cheek and try to walk away, but he grabs my hand. I close my eyes and sigh before turning back. “What?”
“You need to call him. At least listen to the offer.”
“No. And how can you even ask me to do this? After everything I did to put it behind me?” My Pops has a brain tumor. I know he’s not thinking straight, so I try not to let it bug me. But… of all the ways to go out, he has to go out thinking that asshole is… what? Some kind of Prince Charming?
I feel ill.
“I will figure it out, OK? Now go. I’ve got an important client on hold. I have to take this call.”
“I’m going to call him, Victoria,” my father says.
“No,” I say, laughing it off. “You’re not. You’re going to go rest up and meet me for dinner in an hour. That’s what you’re going to do. Understand?” I love my Pops, but I might kill him over this.
“I know how proud you are. How you refuse all help and won’t accept his offers. But we need it, Tori. We need it.”
“Not yet we don’t,” I say. “Not yet. I have two weeks to figure this shit out and I will, Pops. I promise. I will. Just trust me. And don’t talk to that asshole again! I mean it!”
I don’t give him time to reply, just walk back to my office and close my door. I wait there, just looking out the window. It’s not a great view. Street-level urban. Mixture of commercial and residential apartment buildings. If I go outside and stand in the middle of the street I can see the Empire State Building. But I didn’t get this office for the view. I can’t afford a view in New York City, so why torture myself wanting one?
I don’t want one. I just want to keep what I have, that’s all.
My father thinks we didn’t need this six-story, twelve-thousand-square-foot building. At least not yet. But it’s Manhattan. Midtown East, but still. Manhattan. I bought it in the middle of the real-estate crash for two million under asking price. And it’s worth fifteen million today. Too bad I’ve used up all my equity in loans. Too bad all my credit cards are maxed out and I can’t even fix the plumbing on the fourth floor. Too bad all my ideas and good intentions are about to blow up in my face. Too bad, too bad, too bad.
Still, we are in Manhattan. And even though Brooklyn is not that far away distance-wise, it feels like the other side of the world.
That’s where it needs to stay. On the other side of the world.
Manhattan was a dream of mine. God, how badly I wanted to be across the river when I was growing up. And I’m there. I’m so there.
We’re on the verge of something big. I can just feel it. A breakthrough. I just need a lucky break, that’s all.
But my father is right about the mortgage. I’m broke. And all the progress I’ve made has been slowly receding. It’s slipping away. We are going backwards fast. Everything I’ve worked for these last ten years is slipping away. Why is everything so expensive? Why is everything so complicated? I feel like I’m close, too. That’s the part that sucks so bad. I feel like I’m three-quarters of the way there and I just need one lucky break.
Get it together, Victoria.
I walk to my desk and sit down, take in a deep breath and answer the phone, letting the Argentinian accent I picked up from my father slip through a little so this guy won’t put two and two together and know I’m really the receptionist. “This is Miss Arias, how can I help you?”
“I think,” the deep voice says on the other end of the call, “the better question is… how I can help you, Miss Arias. And that phony accent isn’t hiding anything.”
“I beg your pardon?” Just who the fuck does this guy think he is?
“Let’s skip the small talk, since you felt it necessary to let me wait on hold while you brushed your hair or put your lipstick on—”
“Excuse me? Look, I don’t know who you are, but I’m a busy woman. And—”
“Quiet, Miss Arias. I’m only going to say this once, so please listen carefully. I need you to headhunt someone for me. Someone you know. Someone I want. But this isn’t just any ordinary job, Miss Arias. It’s a lot more than that. And your money problems—”
“I don’t have money problems,” I finally say, catching up with the conversation. He stunned me for a moment. Men. They are so full of themselves. They think I’ll just cower and listen quietly while—
“Don’t waste my time. Do you want my information? Or can you afford to lose out on placing someone in a job that pays seven figures?”
Jesus. Seven figures. I couldn’t pay everything off with that commission, but it would keep things afloat for a little while longer.
“Seven. Figures. Miss Arias. Are you interested?”
“Um…” What choice do I have? Maybe this is a sign that I’m just about there. Just about to get to the top of the mountain and then going down the other side will be fast and quick. “Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s not important. What is important is the information I have. And what I need from you.”
“What do you need?” I’m kind of nervous. This sounds… weird.
“First let’s talk about what I can give you.”
“The placement retainer?”
“Not a retainer. It’s a contingency.”
I huff out some air. “Well, way to waste my time. I don’t have the resources to recruit someone for a seven-figure salary right now. Not unless they’re already in Manhattan. I’d have trouble paying my toll across the Midtown Tunnel.”
“It’s not Manhattan.”
“Then I can’t compete.” A retainer means you get a contract and fill the position. No other headhunter is trying to fill them at the same time. A contingency means you’re competing with other firms to fill the same position. I hate admitting it, but I really don’t have the resources. My car might be repossessed if I don’t get the back payments in soon. I can’t even afford to park that thing at this point. I’m fucked. Good and fucked.
“Miss Arias,” the man says on the other end of the phone. How old is he? Not very old. Maybe not even as old as me. But he sure is cocky.
“What?”
“A retainer is a sure thing.”
“I know that, thanks.” I should just hang up now. I don’t have time for this.
“Usually.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have it on good authority that SeaGlobal is interested in hiring a woman to headhunt a very specific person for their open board seat.”
“And they wanted me?”
“No.” The man laughs. Why is that funny? “I found out about their hesitation and thought of you.”
“But you won’t tell me who you are?”
“It’s not important. What is important is that you are in SeaGlobal’s main office in Miami tomorrow afternoon.”
“Who do they want?”
“Wallace Arlington the Third.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. How the hell am I going—”
“Miss Arias,” the stranger says sharply. “I’ve booked you on a flight this afternoon and a five-star hotel to hold you over until tomorrow afternoon. The details have been sent to your phone.”
