Alice watched me expectantly. “Come on,” she said. “Out with it. Holding it in is only going to make it worse.”
“You’re not going to believe me when I tell you,” I groaned.
Alice’s eyes brightened. “I love when stories start off like that,” she said. “But seriously, I’ve been in the city for two years now and I’ve seen a lot of strange things. Try me.”
I looked away. I’d been waiting all day to get home and vent to Alice, but now that I was here, I found myself… embarrassed? Was that the emotion swelling inside me? There was absolutely no reason to be considering Alice had spent the night doing exactly the same thing I’d been doing.
“Okay…” Alice said slowly. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. But—” She sat up straighter. “What are we doing talking about work? You got lucky last night with some rich dude at The Stag. That’s what we need to be talking about!”
Her face fell when she saw the look I made. “Seriously Beck, you need to talk to me because I’m about as confused as I—”
“That guy I met last night?” I interrupted, carefully examining the off-white carpet. “His name was Sam.”
A beat. Then, “So?”
“Sam Callahan.”
I snuck a peek as the words left my mouth. Her face froze for several moments as she worked over the information. Then a dawning sense of realization melted over her features, changing them from shock to disbelief to horror.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “You’re not saying…”
I nodded morosely. “I’m a PA that slept with her rich boss. I’m every stereotype right now.”
Alice clapped both hands over her mouth and made a noise somewhere between a shriek and a squeal. “Oh my god, Beck! Oh my god.” She looked around wildly as if searching for someone to break the news to that could share in her excitement. I watched her, confused. This hadn’t been the reaction I’d been expecting.
“Why do you sound so happy about this?” I asked.
Her eyes bugged out of her head. “Are you kidding me? You fucked Samuel Callahan. I am literally not exaggerating at all — you lived a sexual fantasy for every straight woman at that company.” I started to talk, but she steam-rolled right over me. “No, I’m serious. You don’t understand. What Sam Callahan is like in bed is a frequent topic of conversation.” Her eyes widened and she grabbed the front of my shirt. “You have information we seek.”
“Stop it!” I said, pushing her away, laughing despite my terrible mood. “You’re freaking me out.”
She grinned, but backed off. “Fine, but I’m only half joking. I mean, you’ve seen the guy. He’s got a,” she paused, searching for the right words, “sexual undercurrent.”
“Ew,” I said. “No, he doesn’t. He’s so stiff and formal. All day I felt like I was talking to my high school principal.”
Alice rolled her eyes. “Did you ever have your high school principal’s dick in your mouth? No? Then it’s not comparable. He’s probably just as freaked out seeing you as you were at him.”
“Okay, major ew. And he didn’t really react.” I tried to remember this morning and found my memories of walking into Sam’s office were a bit fuzzy with shock. “Well, okay. He played it cool,” I said, thinking, “but I got the impression he was just as surprised as me.”
“Well, whatever the case, trust me. He’s got half the building in the palm of his hand. Seriously, we’ve gone too long without details. You want to give it to me in inches or hands?”
“He’s not a horse, Alice,” I stated flatly.
“Too bad—” she started.
“No,” I interrupted. “I mean I’m not going to measure him in ‘hands’. Actually I’m not going to give it to you at all. You can’t go spreading around that I slept with him. It’ll make me look terrible.”
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “This isn’t the fifties. You’ll be a god to everyone who isn’t a jealous bitch. And besides, who cares? It’s not like you work there anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean?” Alice frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re going to keep working there after you slept with him?”
“Where do you think I’ve been all day?” I asked. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to be a personal assistant which is a lot harder than I remember it being in college.”
Alice’s jaw dropped. “So you’re staying? Man, respect. I don’t think I’d have the confidence to work for a one-night stand. Especially less than twenty-four hours after the fact.”
Noted: one-night stands with men who turn out to be your boss are normal exactly nowhere, not even New York City. Then was it insane that I didn’t immediately turn around and walk back out of the office? “I kinda just thought it might be something that happened here,” I said, realizing how stupid it sounded out loud.
Alice chuckled. “When I go back to Kentucky to visit my parents I don’t hook up with anyone — not old boyfriends, not cute neighbors, definitely not old high school crushes. Because it flies around town the minute someone sees you stepping up into his truck. That’s what’s supposed to be the beauty of living in a big city — eight million people, none of whom give a fuck about you and even less about who you’re sleeping with.”
“Unless…” I started.
“Unless you slept with either someone they are sleeping with or someone they want to sleep with. And you did it with the latter, for good or ill.”
I rubbed my eyes. “So what should I do?” I asked.
She shrugged. “That depends,” she said. “Do you think it’ll happen again?”
“What? No!” I said. “Of course not.”
Alice narrowed her eyes. “Hmmmm. So that’s a yes.”
“No,” I said firmly. “That’s a resolute no.”
“Because he was bad…?” Alice tried.
“Stop fishing for details,” I demanded. “But no, it’s not that. It’s the fact that he’s my boss! And that he’s loaded! I moved up here to get away from that, not immediately hook up with someone even richer than my ex.”
Alice’s face softened. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked gently. I still hadn’t told her the exact circumstances of my flight from Kentucky.
“No,” I said. “It’s just— Troy never thought the rules applied to him. Because they didn’t. His dad let him run around doing whatever he wanted, got him out of trouble just as fast as he’d get into it. He never learned and—”
A flash of memory: Troy pulling his truck into the driveway so fast the sound of burning rubber woke me from sleep. Troy rushing into the house, stumbling because he couldn’t walk straight but with a fear in his eyes so intense that sleep fled from my mind because I knew something terrible waited out there in the warm summer darkness. Troy sinking to the ground and shaking with sobs as he repeated those terrible words again and again. I hit him. I hit him. And then the two of us on the floor, me holding him and telling him that it was going to be okay even though I knew it wouldn’t be.
But really, why the hell had I assumed that it wouldn’t be?
“Money messes people up,” I said finally. “I don’t want to be destitute, but I also don’t want a billion dollars, or anything close to it. For me or my guy.”
Alice nodded. “I understand, Beck. But that’s a good thing then. That means as long as he’s not making a big deal over it, then you can keep working there. And trust me, as much as I do want to shout from the water cooler that my friend nailed Sam Callahan, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
I looked up at my friend and felt a surge of gratitude for her. “Thanks, Alice,” I said. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She smiled a cocked grin. “Beck, I probably would have dropped out of school freshman year if it hadn’t been for you holding my hand through most of that year. I’m thrilled to repay the favor. Now,” she said, standing, “the girls and I are going out tonight. You up for it?”
I considered it, for a
bout a quarter of a second, and then shook my head. “I’m sorry, but if I don’t get at least twelve hours of sleep tonight, I won’t be responsible for my actions. Make out with a hot guy for me though.”
Alice laughed. “Yeah, no thanks. It’ll probably end up being your long lost brother.”
Alice left a short while later. I lounged on the couch for a bit, taking stock of my life and listening to the sounds of the city. Strangely, my thoughts kept returning to Sam, wondering what he was doing and what he was thinking. Was he telling one of his own friends, right now, about how the girl he hooked up with turned out to be his new PA? What was his answer when he was asked if it was good? And what did he say when he was asked if he’d do it again?
CHAPTER SIX
Sam
It was late on a cloudy Saturday afternoon, and I’d taken a break from work to go to the Tempest and shoot a few games of pool with a couple Knights. Even though it was the weekend, this deal with the Astor was weighing on me. I’d passed along my idea of buying the Starling to the board and Tom had come into my office hours later to make it clear to me that it would not be happening. Fortunately, just because he was head of the board didn’t mean he could veto me. It would have to go up to a vote.
The vote would go through on Monday and I still had no idea which way it would go. I was waiting on a call from Ed, a friend on the board, all afternoon. He’d tell me which way the tide would turn, but he was taking his sweet time getting in touch. I wasn’t getting much done at the office, so I headed to the club, hoping to take my mind off things.
The game of pool helped, but not much.
Twain sunk a solid, his third in a row and chalked up again with a smirk. “I don’t know how you’re so bad at this, man,” he said.
Because I’ve got over a hundred million dollars and the success of my company riding on a crummy little building I never had any intention of buying.
I’d voice it, but an informal rule of the Knights was no bringing work stress into the clubhouse. That was easier for some than others. Twain didn’t have shareholders and business deals adding seventy extra pounds to his cocky stride. Close to a decade ago, he’d written some book series and, by what I suspected was complete dumb luck, he’d held onto the screen rights. When the book series turned into a cultural phenomenon, he’d developed the adaptations himself. The movies had been bigger than the books and Twain walked away with a fortune in ticket shares and merchandise percentages. From what I gathered, his career had been a total of eight years of constant work and then, as soon as that last movie hit the theaters, he was done. Rich beyond his wildest dreams, famous to an entire generation, and able to do whatever the hell he wanted.
Which apparently meant playing a lot of pool.
“Here,” he said, banking the cue off the wall and letting it come to a rest somewhere mid-table, “I’ll give you a turn.”
“Mighty kind of you,” I muttered. I knew my way around a table, but playing Twain made anyone feel inferior. “Don’t you have anything better to do than shoot all day?” I asked as I leaned down, aimed, and shot a stripe into the left corner pocket.
Twain seemed to really consider my question. “No,” he said finally. “No, I really don’t.”
“You mind if I borrow some of that time?” That was Keegan Thompson, sitting at the bar, long legs splayed out as he typed away at his phone.
Keegan, on the other hand, worked just as much as I did, if not more. It was hard enough being a professional athlete, but when he wasn’t practicing his free shots or in the weight room, Keegan was managing a branded empire that caused Forbes to call him “the next Jordan” a couple years ago. At thirty-two, he was nearing the end of his professional career, but his fashion line and merchandise were huge, topping him over the B-line recently enough to make him the Knights’ newest inductee.
“Sorry, bud,” Twain said, watching me miss my next shot. “I’m using up every bit of it.”
I swore under my breath and leaned my stick against the wall as Twain took over the table. “I need a drink,” I said, heading to the bar and pouring myself a healthy tumbler of malt whiskey.
“That won’t help your aim,” Twain said, sinking two balls in one shot.
“It’s not supposed to,” I said, sipping the whiskey. “It’s supposed to help me forget your ugly face.”
He laughed. “Fuck off. I’m beautiful.”
“You’re both gorgeous, ladies,” Keegan said, still staring at his phone. “Now why don’t you fight in the other room, huh? Daddy’s working.”
I pulled a face mirrored by Twain. “Please never call yourself ‘Daddy’ again,” I said. “Or else I’m going to take your membership card back.”
Keegan looked up and was about to shoot back a retort when my phone buzzed on the bar. It was Ed.
“Shit,” I said. “I need to get this.”
“Does that mean I win?” Twain called after me as I left the room. I flipped him off before disappearing through the doorway.
“Eddy, baby, tell me it’s good news,” I said, slipping into one of the unused rooms on the third floor of the Tempest.
Ed Clancy cleared his throat. “Well…”
“Come on,” I said, feeling my heart sink.
“Tom isn’t a fan of your idea to buy the Starling,” he said.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” I said, sinking into an office chair. “He came in yesterday and yelled at me in my own office. He wants to sell the Astor and net a loss. What he doesn’t understand is that—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ed interrupted. “You don’t need to tell me. I understand what you want to do. It’s a risk, but I think you’ll pull it off. Problem is, Tom’s getting some of the others to see it his way.”
“Which ones?” I asked, holding my breath.
“Uh… Well, Able, of course.”
“That makes sense,” I said. Able Bertram hadn’t had a single original thought in thirty years. “Who else?”
Ed sighed heavily. “Sally and Don are backing him too.”
“Shit,” I muttered. “With Tom that makes the vote four to three. I’m screwed.”
“Looks like it,” Ed said honestly. “Unless you can flip one of them before tomorrow, you’d better figure out a plan to make selling the Astor look like a good idea to the shareholders.”
“It’s impossible. I’m going to look like an idiot and the company’s going to tank for the rest of the year,” I said. I rubbed my eyes and then realized what he’d said. “Wait a minute. Did you say by tomorrow?”
“Yeah, that’s the other thing. Tom’s hurrying the vote. Says he’s flying to Los Angeles on Monday last minute, but I’d bet you he just doesn’t want to give you enough time to fix it your way.”
“Of course he doesn’t.” I ran a hand through my hair, mind racing, looking for possible directions. There weren’t many. “Okay, it’s okay,” I said. “I’ll just get ahold of Sal and—”
“Don’t bother with Sally,” Ed interrupted. “I tried myself. She’s convinced the company can rebound better just reselling. And we both know Don is a stubborn bastard. No, your best bet is Able.”
I scoffed. “Able’s vote has been Tom’s for years. There’s no way I flip him now.”
“I don’t know about that,” Ed said. “I think Able’s starting to key in on what we all think of him. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s grown a backbone, but he’s got a bit more bark at meetings, even toward Tom. Of course, it’s a bark like one of those little yappy dogs, but it’s a bark all the same. I think he’s starting to get the idea he knows how to think for himself which is bullshit. A dumb fuck like Able Bertram doesn’t know a good idea from a goddamn school bus full of dynamite. Go talk to him and get him on your side. I guarantee you’ll get him easier than Sal or Don. If not, you better just start working on your statement to the shareholders.”
“Fine, all right,” I said. “Thanks for the call, Ed. I’ll figure it out.”
“Make it work, Sam. I’d hate
to have a new CEO to deal with.”
I hung up and stared at the wall for a moment, considering my options. They weren’t great, but they also could be a lot worse. Able Bertram was a son of a bitch, loyal to nobody but himself which, I supposed, could also be said of me. The difference between us was that I knew what I wanted and Able only knew what others told him. And tonight I’d tell him exactly how he was going to vote tomorrow and he’d damn well better listen.
I scrolled through my contacts list, passing Bertram’s number and finding Patti White. Patti was Bertram’s long-time assistant and she’d tell me where I might be able to “run into him” tonight. A short conversation later and I had a place and a time, neither of which caused me to pause quite so much as the name: Love, Lust, and Legs — A Symphony of Sex and Sin.
I better not be looking for Able in a fucking sex dungeon. I didn’t think I could stomach seeing the man’s fleshy expanse.
On further investigation, Love, Lust, and Legs — A Symphony of Sex and Sin was an art exhibit that was opening in Soho tonight. Invitation only. That wasn’t a problem. I knew just the guy to get me inside.
“Mason? You busy?”
“I’m always busy, Sam,” my friend replied. “But if there’s anyone I’d make time for it’s you.” He sounded like he was concentrating, probably in the middle of painting, and I wondered if Chelsea, my MET Gala date was flashing her oddly-pointed nipples at him at this very moment. I’d saved him the hassle of waiting and sent the number myself earlier today.
“Then I’ll make it quick,” I said. “I need tickets to a gallery opening tonight.” I told him the name and he chuckled dryly.
“Madison Elsa, huh? I didn’t take you for a peruser of the erotic arts.”
Christ, that was one detail about Able I’d have been happy to have never known.
“I’m not,” I said firmly. “It’s for business.”
“Sure it is,” Mason said dryly.
I decided not to fight it. “Can you get me the ticket or not? I don’t have a lot of time.”
The Boss (Billionaires of Club Tempest #1) Page 6
