“Sammy! How’s it going, my boy!” Able said, honing in on my hand and shaking it firmly. He was squeezed into a tuxedo and cummerbund and his wide face was flushed.
“Able,” I said. “Funny to run into you here.” I wasn’t keen on his pet names, but I brushed them off for now. He needed to be on my side for this to work. I hoped he wasn’t too drunk to remember this conversation.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “I’ve been following Madeline’s career for some time. I’m sure I can introduce you if you’d like.” He looked around, scanning for the artist. He seemed to be more or less in control of his functions, albeit a bit louder than usual.
“That’s fine,” I said. “I’m sure she’s busy.”
“No! You must meet her. A real beauty as well as a fantastic artist. God gave to that girl with both hands, as they say. Heh heh.” He chuckled at what must have passed at a joke for him and I laughed politely. I caught Beck out of the corner of my eye staring at Able like she’d never seen anything quite like him before.
It was right about then when Able noticed Beck and all thoughts of Madeline vanished from his brain. “My god, Sam. Who is your companion?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to introduce her, but Beck beat me to it. “I’m Rebecca Harris,” she cooed in an unfamiliar voice. “I’m new in town.”
“I’ll say you are,” Able leered. “What a lovely accent. Alabama?”
She laughed, a twinkling titter that I’d never heard her make before. “Right as rain, Mr.—?”
“Bertram,” Able said. “But you can call me Able.”
She extended a hand and he took it, kissing the back lightly with thick, liver-colored lips. I glowered at the both of them, completely forgetting why we were talking to him. I only wanted to pull Beck out of his eyesight and get the hell out of there.
“Able,” I interrupted. He turned his eyes toward me reluctantly. “It’s funny we should run into you because there was something I wanted to discuss with you about the vote tomorrow.”
Able’s smile left his face. He shook his head and turned away, grabbing a champagne glass from a passing tray. “This is a party, Sam,” he said. “I don’t even see a drink in your hand! Life’s too short to work all the time. And I assure you the lady doesn’t want to be talking about such boring matters amongst such splendid art.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Beck said. “I really find it all fascinating. You work with Sam then?”
Yes, thank you Beck.
“I do,” Able said, looking uncomfortable that he was being drawn into this conversation against his will. He cleared his throat and looked over my shoulder. “And I already know what you want to talk about. I’m sorry, but it’s not going to happen.” The words slipped fast past his lips. Able hated confrontation almost as much as he hated working.
“But the figures work,” I insisted. “We buy the building, move forward on the Astor. Both will sell and we’ll make more profit than we thought we would.”
“By spending more money than we thought we would,” Able said. “We have to sell that to the shareholders. We’re risking their money twicefold by taking on another project.”
“But we’re definitely losing them money if we don’t at least try. And what’s the huge risk? We already have plans right across the street. We have the data on the area. We’ll have crews out there at the same time. And it’s not like we’re rebuilding it. Just renovating and reselling. It’s simple and I don’t know how you can’t see that.”
I’d hoped to go in easy, but the doe-eyed expression on Beck’s face was throwing me off. What was her game? Was she looking for a man to take care of her so she could quit her job? That might explain why she was hanging around the Stag last week, looking for rich businessmen to latch onto. The thought was irritating and distracting and unfortunately it was coming out in my voice.
But maybe the hard road was the right path because Able still wouldn’t meet my eye. “I’ll tell ya the truth, Sam. I see where you’re coming from, but Tom is standing firm and I’ve got to go with him.”
I was about to let loose what was probably going to be a profanity-laden stream of sympathy for his ceaseless quest for a backbone when Beck spoke.
“Oh, I’ve met Tom before. So you work for him?” she asked innocently.
Able paused. “No, I work with Tom.”
“Oh I’m sorry,” she said, blushing. “I’m just trying to learn more about the world Sam works in. You don’t work for him, but he tells you how to vote?”
Able and I both looked at her in astonishment for completely different reasons. Damn, that was smart.
“Well, you see— I, ah,” Able said. He looked at his drink for help and found none. “He doesn’t tell me how to vote,” he finally said.
“But you just said you agree with Sam,” Beck countered. “Why won’t you vote for him then?”
“Well, I—”
“Does Tom even ask how you’re going to vote anymore or does he just assume you’re going to do what he tells you to do?” I asked. That was a little far, but he was toppling and I needed a solid push to upend him.
“He does not,” Able said firmly. “Tom doesn’t control me.”
“Then do you really think that my plan is a bad idea? Because if you do then I’ll respect that. You’re your own man. But if Tom is strong-arming you then—”
“Fine,” Able interrupted. “Tom thinks you’re an asshole and while I’m apt to agree with him, he should take a look in the mirror once in a while. He’s getting too conservative in his old age, too afraid of risk. I’ll vote for you tomorrow, but you better be able to deliver.”
“I appreciate it, Able. You won’t regret it when you see the numbers coming our way.” I held out a hand and after a moment, he shook it firmly.
“I better not,” Able said, downing the rest of his drink. “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure, Sam.” He turned to Beck. “Though I wouldn’t say the same to you, Miss Harris. I hope to see you around.” Then he turned on his heel and waddled off to a safer corner of the gallery.
I turned to Beck. “What the hell was that?” I asked. I felt a bit embarrassed that I hadn’t seen Beck’s angle right away. I’d been thrown off and floundering. Beck had just saved my ass, and I didn’t know how I was going to repay her.
She just shrugged. “I’ve met dozens of guys like Able Bertram. They all want the same thing, to be taken seriously. Most of them know that they aren’t.”
I looked Beck squarely in the eye and tried to sound as sincere as I could. “Good work, Beck. Thank you.”
Her eyes widened slightly as if she hadn’t expected me to praise her. People often didn’t. They saw my tough exterior and assumed just because I had high expectations that I didn’t always reward and acknowledge those who worked well for me. My cunning and sharp business instincts got me started in this world, but my ability to lead was what kept me around while others faded from memory.
“Sure,” she said. “I’m glad it worked out.” She looked around awkwardly, as if searching for something to distract her from the moment. Thankfully, there was any number of odd sexual paraphernalia around to stare at.
I couldn’t suppress a small smile. She was uncomfortable with praise. I was sure I could figure out some psychological reason for it if I thought hard enough. Maybe I would consider it later, in my penthouse with a glass of whiskey. I pictured mulling it over with Beck sleeping beside me and quickly banished the thought. She works for you. For all your tough words about being in charge earlier, that’s a law suit waiting to happen. Besides, what happened to your rule? No relationships. No attachments. She’s just your assistant, nothing more.
Yeah, my fiery, intelligent assistant with legs for days and a moan that makes you—
I shook my head. The fumes wafting off the art must be affecting my brain. It was getting late and I didn’t have any reason to stay here. I needed to go home and rest up for what would be a challenging day tomorrow. Either Beck and I did flip Able
and Tom comes down on me with the wrath of God or Able changes his mind and goes against me, leaving me with a mess to clean up. Either way, I needed my sleep.
“Shall we go?” I asked.
Beck looked briefly disappointed, but then nodded. “Sure, I’m tired.”
We left the gallery, descended to the narrow hallway, and exited to the street. Roy pulled the limo back around to pick us up, and I gestured for him to stay in the driver’s seat, opening the door for Beck to enter before following behind.
“What’s Mason Reads like?” Beck asked, breaking the silence in the limo as we inched through the perpetual New York traffic.
“Mason?” I asked. I thought over my strange, serious friend. “He’s a creative,” I said finally. “Nice guy, a bit odd. Most of the artists and writers I’ve met have had something a little off about them.”
“How’d you meet?” she asked.
The questions about Mason were starting to annoy me. Beck was obviously attracted to me; she’d slept with me after all. So then why did I care about her obvious interest in my friend? I didn’t. Not at all. Then answer her questions, numb nuts.
“We met through a mutual friend. His name is MacKenzie Walsh?”
“As in Mac Walsh Liquor?” she asked.
I nodded. “One and the same. We started a social club together that Mason is a part of too.”
“A social club?”
“Just a group of buddies that meet up regularly for drinks and poker. I was with them the other night, at The White Stag.”
She blushed and turned away and I wished I hadn’t brought up the fact that just a couple days ago we had slept together. An awkward tension settled in the limo. I searched for something to say. That was a new sensation to me. Usually I knew exactly what I wanted to do and say at any given moment. For some reason, Beck seemed to be affecting my brain functions.
She saved me by asking a question. “What if they won’t sell to you?”
“What?” I asked.
“The building. The one the board is voting on buying. What happens if it’s not for sale?”
I scoffed. “Have you seen a picture of the place? It’s falling apart. About two decades past the due date on a proper renovation. Trust me. With the price we’re going to throw at them, they’ll sell.”
“But what if it’s not for sale?” She asked the question so seriously that I wondered what the meaning of it really was. It was too late to properly consider. Maybe once I was home, with that glass of whiskey.
But she was waiting for an answer so I told her the truth: “Believe me, Beck. Everything is for sale.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Beck
Everything is for sale.
The words echoed in my mind long after Sam dropped me off and drove away. They were Troy’s words, something he’d say every time someone had something he wanted. It could be anything — a car, an article of clothing, even things he had no reason for wanting like lawn ornaments or instruments he couldn’t play. I think he liked to prove a point. The point being if you flashed a wad of cash at someone, they’d follow it like a dog after meat. He liked to show the power he had over people.
Occasionally no amount would break someone, like in the case of Paul Anderson’s Thunderbird, a bright red convertible that he took to car shows around the state. Everyone in Gainesville knew that Troy had been the one who stole it. There was no evidence though, and nobody in town was going to throw the son of Jason Cade under the bus, not if they wanted to keep living peacefully. Paul tried to take him to court, but a farmhand with a kid could never afford the lawyer fees that Troy could just cash to his father.
So in the end, Troy had been right. Everything was for sale. If there wasn’t a depth to which you would stoop.
I’d felt a sense of camaraderie with Sam at the gallery. Helping him convince Able to vote in our favor had been a rush and I hadn’t missed the appreciative glance Sam had shot my way. I’d been an asset, had made up for my mistakes in the office, and hopefully proved that I could be more than just a quick lay to him. But now I wasn’t sure how I wanted him to see me, if I even wanted him to see me at all. I was feeling a pull toward Sam. There was a physical attraction definitely, but last night I wondered if there was something else going on there besides money and sex appeal. For a moment, I’d felt comfortable with him. I’d told him about Dad’s death. I’d started to tell him why I’d left Gainesville. And he’d listened, asked questions, didn’t make me feel silly or weak. It was strange and wonderful and even though we were surrounded by sex, I’d felt connected to him on an emotional level.
Which was all wiped away in the cab when his mouth opened and Troy spoke. I needed to watch myself. I’d fallen for the wrong guy before and had wasted years of my life on him. I wasn’t going to do that again. New York was my new start and I wouldn’t fall into the same patterns I had in Gainesville. I didn’t need someone to take care of me anymore; I was doing perfectly fine on my own.
Sunday was a blur of shopping with Alice for necessities and a couple rounds of drinks at a nearby bar before an early bedtime. I was going to start the week out with a clear head this time. It seemed to work too. When work started again on Monday, I felt relaxed, more in control of myself. I was getting a better handle on Sam’s schedule and on memorizing the various extension numbers. I didn’t make the same mistake with his lunch and this time I went personally to pick it up.
Sometime in the morning, Sam poked his head out of the office, a huge smile splitting his handsome face.
“The vote went through yesterday,” he announced. “We did it!”
“That’s fantastic!” I said. “So Able voted with you?”
“He sure did. I can’t even imagine what Tom’s face looked like,” Sam said, rubbing his hands together. He looked like a boy eager to receive a new toy. “I hope you’re ready because things are about to kick into high gear now that we can proceed with the Astor.”
I grinned back at him. The excitement of victory had briefly shattered the serious businessman persona. It was unbelievably cute, but I quickly reminded myself that I wasn’t supposed to find Sam cute. Be professional, Beck.
“Now get me the number for the owner of the Starling building. We need to start negotiations so the renovation isn’t too far behind.” He disappeared back into his office, muttering something about forklifts and carpet squares.
Huh. Had he not talked to the Starling people yet? Was Sam so invested in the idea that “everything is for sale” that he didn’t bother even reaching out for a quote? Thinking back to our conversation in the limo, I realized that was exactly what he’d implied. It seemed rather risky to me, but, then, what did I know about the New York real estate market? I wasn’t even renting my own apartment.
I found the number and sent it along, hoping for the best. I didn’t have much longer to think about it though because Sam’s statement turned out to be accurate: the level of excitement around the office exploded the moment the news of the vote became common knowledge. Suddenly Sam spent all his time rushing from meetings to inspections, frequently traveling to the construction site of the Astor and having long conversations in his office with what seemed like every employee in every department of the company. I even got to see Alice during work hours when she and a handful of the other designers came to present a plan for the lobby interior. I tried my best to keep up and not get overwhelmed. While at first I worried that the work was going to consume me, sometime mid-week I found comfort from the most unexpected of places.
Alice and I had started meeting every day that I could get away for lunch. I didn’t speak to the women I went to lunch with that first day again except to impart instructions from Sam. That was perfectly fine by me. Harriet was calling me “June” still and now the other three were parroting her. I told Alice about it one afternoon and she rolled her eyes.
“God, I can’t believe they still find that funny. They are such idiots. It’s stupid and rude. Don’t even worry about it.�
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“Wait, there’s a reason they call me that?”
“Yeah, but trust me, you’d rather not know. Any time spent listening to them is time you could be doing literally anything else.” But after some needling, she finally relented. “Fine,” Alice said. “If you really want to know, they do this to all of Sam’s assistants. It’s because he goes through them so quickly. The joke is that there’s no point in learning your name because next month July’s model will be in.”
“Wow,” I said.
“See,” Alice replied. “Aren’t you glad you only ate with them once? Any more and you might have gotten sick from the toxic stupidity fumes they probably breathed all over you.”
“I wonder if I should get checked out. Just in case.”
Still, despite the jokes, the story stuck with me for a few days. It wasn’t that Harriet and her cronies were annoying and awful; I’d known that from day one. It was the thought that in a few weeks I’d be replaced and another girl would come along to fill my chair. At first the thought that I might get fired at any moment was terrifying, especially as I struggled to keep up with the influx of work. But as the week went by, I grew more accustomed to the idea. If anything, it brought the stress of the job down knowing I wouldn’t be doing it for much longer. Once I’d accepted my inevitable dismissal, my time working for Sam got a lot easier.
But maybe I shouldn’t have worried too much. I was far from the main focus of Sam’s life. Because his schedule was still flowing smoothly and I was (so far) able to keep up with the demands, he barely paid any attention to me. At first, he just seemed extra focused, but as time went on, I started to notice a distinct change in him. He started retreating further and further into himself. He looked serious, the playful spark that had occasionally lit his eyes was gone. At first I chalked it up to the stress of the new building, but eventually I started to see it for what it was — worry.
The Boss (Billionaires of Club Tempest #1) Page 8
