by Parker, Ali
“Answer,” she urged, but I was already sliding my thumb across the green bar.
“This is Bridges,” I said, every last ounce of humor, playfulness and lust vanishing from me at the same time. “What can I do for you, Mr. Banks?”
“Mr. Bridges. How are you?” The man said crisply, with his typically nasally voice. It was weak. But as his name suggested, he might as well have been a bank. He was richer than even my father had been.
“I’m in a meeting at the moment, actually,” I replied, equally as curt. “Was there something you wished to discuss?”
“There is,” Banks said. “There are a couple of things I wanted to talk to you about concerning this latest building of ours.”
“I’m all ears,” I told him, though my gut was telling me something was going on. When Banks contracted the firm, I’d only ever spoken to him once on the phone. He sent his people to come into the design meetings.
I hadn’t heard from or spoken to him personally ever since. And now he was calling and wanting to talk to me himself? Something was off.
“I was hoping we could discuss my concerns in person. I have time tomorrow just after lunch. I’ll be at my corporate headquarters in New Hampshire. I’ll send a car for you.”
“No need,” I said. I didn’t like that he assumed I would be able to meet with him on such short notice, but I guessed Mr. Banks wasn’t used to hearing or accepting no for an answer.
Plus, I’d already pumped some of my own money into the project and I was betting he knew it. Mr. Banks wouldn’t hear anything of it. “No, no. We’ll send a car. The meeting should only last a couple of hours, but if need be we’ll put you up in a hotel here for the night if it runs late.”
Marissa frowned at me, gesturing for me to put the phone on speaker so she could hear what was going on. Looking at her, I said into the speaker. “We can discuss it when we get there, but I’m going to need to bring my lead financial adviser with me.”
“Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll see you tomorrow in New Hampshire, Mr. Bridges.”
He hung up the phone without saying goodbye. Marissa lifted her eyebrows at me. “What was that all about?”
“Banks wants to see me tomorrow in New Hampshire. I want you to come with me, I’m going to need you,” I said. It was true, too. I wasn’t just trying to whisk her away for an impromptu road trip.
Marissa nodded, “Okay, when are we leaving?”
“We’ll have to leave around mid-morning to get there on time,” I told her.
“I’ll meet you here,” she replied, sighing as her own phone beeped. “I have to go. I’m needed to explain a presentation on cost estimations I sent through to Davies on one of his new projects.”
I wanted badly to kiss her goodbye, but I knew I couldn’t. She waved instead and left. Once she was gone, I called Craig.
“Yo, man. What’s up?” He greeted.
I explained the situation with Banks to him and he released a heavy breath. “Be careful with that man, Layton. He has the money to build this place, which means he’s got power. Men like that don’t always play fair.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, scratching the back of my neck. I had more than enough experience with men like that. “I know. I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Chapter 66
Marissa
A huge black sedan pulled up outside of our office building. Layton and I were waiting for a car Banks had insisted he send. Layton told him we could get to New Hampshire on our own, but the man wouldn’t hear of it.
The driver of the huge black car got out, wearing a full freaking uniform complete with a hat and gloves, and walked up to Layton. “Mr. Bridges, my name is Victor. I’ll be your driver today.”
What? This was the car Banks sent for us? My jaw threatened to drop. How many people did Banks think Layton was bringing with him? The thing looked like it could easily fit ten.
Layton glanced at the car, lifting an eyebrow before he school his expression and nodded once. “Thank you, Victor.”
“Do you have any luggage?” Victor asked, then spotted the overnight bags we each had next to us on the sidewalk. Without asking, he picked up both bags and deposited them in the trunk before coming back for us. “I’ll keep your bags while you’re in the meeting with Mr. Banks, and I’ve been instructed to deliver you to the hotel if it gets too late.”
Layton frowned, a line appearing between his eyebrows. He didn’t like someone else running his life for him. I could see his desire to tell the man he would do as he damn well pleased, but both of us also knew Victor was only doing his job.
“Shall we go then?” Layton asked finally, striding toward the car. Victor scrambled to catch up, but Layton beat him to the door and opened it for himself. Victor waited by the door, probably eager to close it since he’d been denied the opportunity of opening it. But really, who needed someone else to open a car door? It’s not like it was hard work.
Layton stepped away from the door and waited for me to slide into the back seat before following me in and closing the door behind him. I caught a quick look at Victor’s surprise before he rounded the vehicle and got into the driver’s seat.
There was a privacy screen between us and him. I gaped at it. I’d only ever read about these things or seen them in the movies. I’d never been in a car that actually had one before, and never thought I would be.
Mr. Bridges, Layton’s father, also had a driver. But that was only because he preferred to be able to work while he was stuck in traffic. He didn’t believe in wasting any time when he could be productive.
I, on the other hand, was an excellent procrastinator. Turning to Layton, I realized he wasn’t quite as impressed with the car as I was. His expression was impassive.
“Have you ever seen a car this big before?” I asked him, trying to lighten the mood. “I definitely haven’t. We can choose a different seat for every hour of the drive.”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “It’s less than a two hour drive, so theoretically we could do that in just about any car.”
I stuck my tongue out at him and he responded by grabbing for me suddenly and pulling me right up against his side, lowering his lips to mine to kiss me deeply. I tensed, worried about Victor and what he would be reporting back to our client about our unprofessional behavior—until I remembered the privacy screen.
We spent the rest of the drive alternating between making out, getting some work done and speculating about why Banks had summoned Layton. I could tell that Layton was braced for something. He expected some kind of bomb to be dropped in his lap today and was prepared for it.
When we arrived in New Hampshire twenty minutes early for the meeting, I looked up at the building we were parked outside of. Victor parked in a designated parking spot where another man had to remove three cones from the road that obviously kept the spot reserved.
I couldn’t comprehend a situation in which that would actually be necessary. Why didn’t he just park in the lot beneath the building? The entrance was just a couple of yards away from us.
But I guessed if your name was on a building of this size, you didn’t have to walk any further than was absolutely necessary. Banks Tower was an imposing glass sided structure that stretched so high up into the sky I couldn’t see where it ended from here. I was standing too close.
Layton still looked unimpressed, walking purposefully to the revolving doors that led inside. There was a security guard, but he nodded at Victor and let us through without any hassle. The lobby had marble floors and a wide bank of elevators, but it was mid-morning and there was almost no one around.
A lone receptionist sat behind a long built-in white block of a desk. Whether she had communicated with Victor, saw us get out of his car, or simply knew who Layton was, I didn’t know. But she already had access badges printed for us and handed them over as we stopped in front of her.
“Mr. Bridges,” she smiled politely, but I didn’t miss the once over she gave him or the interest sparking in he
r eyes. A bolt of jealousy shot through me. Instinctively, I took a step closer to Layton and wished I could stomp my feet and declare him mine as well.
Since I couldn’t, I settled for standing so close to him that I casually brushed my elbow against his. It was a very quick brush, but the look of disdain her face warped into told me she saw it—and knew exactly what it meant.
“Welcome to Banks Tower. If you need anything at all, just let me know,” she said, a little disingenuously. I had no doubt that if Layton was here alone, a flirty smile or wink would have accompanied the offer. “Please wear your tags at all times while you’re in the building.”
Layton’s tag had his name on it. Mine simply read ‘Layton B Architecture: Financial Adviser.’ I knew Layton had told Mr. Banks what my name was, so I wondered why he wouldn’t print it. Not that it mattered, but I still wanted to roll my eyes at the antics some people employed. Men.
When the elevator doors closed behind us, Layton tugged me closer to him with an amusement dancing in his eyes. “What was that?”
“What?”
He smirked. “That thing with the receptionist.”
“She was checking you out,” I informed him, wondering how he had missed it.
Then I realized he hadn’t. “Women are always checking me out, but you’re the only woman I’m looking at.”
“Better be,” I muttered, elbowing Layton for his smug expression and quiet chuckle. “It’s not funny.”
“It was a little bit funny,” he countered, then dropped a quick kiss on top of my head. “But I liked it. Mark your territory, woman. Just don’t pee on me.”
“Gross,” I shuddered, shaking my head as I laughed at him. We were interrupted by an electronic ding that signaled our arrival on our floor. Just like that, every trace of brevity in Layton’s expression and demeanor disappeared.
He stood up a little straighter, his shoulders squared and his jaw tensed. He was ready for battle, he just didn’t know how much of a fight it was going to be.
Silence descended between us as I straightened my own spine and dropped my chin just a bit. Game face—on.
Another receptionist greeted us. Also an attractive young woman who smiled at Layton approvingly. This time, he was the one who stepped closer to me. A strange kind of satisfaction bloomed in my stomach. I appreciated the gesture.
“Mr. Banks will be right with you. Please have a seat. Would you like something to drink while you wait?” We both declined and went to take seats on the uncomfortable leather couches she motioned us to.
Eight minutes later and exactly, to the minute on time, yet another young woman came down a hallway to our right. “Mr. Bridges? Mr. Banks will see you now. Please follow me.”
We did as she asked, being led to a conference room with a table the size of my house in the center of it. I was starting to wonder if this Mr. Banks had something to make up for, since his car, building and table were larger than life and he only seemed to have young attractive girls working in his office.
I smirked, catching Layton’s eye. It was no wonder he had no use for such luxurious, ostentatious things. He had nothing to make up for.
He narrowed his eyes questioningly, but I shook my head. I would have to remember to tell him later. He would get a kick out of it. At that moment, the conference room doors swung open again and a fifty-something man in an impeccable suit stepped through them. There were some gray strands interrupting his otherwise jet black hair and his eyes were almost the same color, minus the gray, of course.
“Mr. Bridges,” he said curtly, holding his hand out to Layton to shake. “Thank you for coming.”
“We’re happy to,” Layton responded. The handshake looked rather firm, with both men’s hands going white where their fingers were clutched together. Neither winced, and neither released for several seconds. It was like they were sizing each other up. I had no idea what was going on. Men and their power plays amused me, but I never really understood why they thought it was necessary.
“This is Marissa Hughes,” Layton said finally. “She is my Chief Financial Adviser.”
“Of course,” Banks replied, sliding those obsidian eyes to mine. The very corners of his lips turned up as he reached for my hand, and it was Layton’s turn to bristle. I felt that feminine satisfaction course through me again, then was surprised when I wasn’t greeted with a handshake, but with a light kiss on the back of my hand.
Who the hell did this guy think he was, Mr. Darcy? I nearly giggled out loud at the thought, but I suppressed it. The man wasn’t unattractive, but he was certainly no Mr. Darcy.
“Should we get started?” Layton asked, clearing his throat. He moved over to the table and took a seat, rolling out the chair next to his for me.
Tight lipped now, Mr. Banks clearly didn’t like someone else taking control of anything in his office, that was for sure. To Layton’s credit, he didn’t sit at the head of the table. I wondered for a second if he would go that far, but he didn’t.
Once we were all in place, Banks totally ignored me and locked eyes with Layton. “I wanted to talk to you about the design credit for the museum we’re building.”
I frowned. Layton did too. “Design credit? What do you mean?”
“I want a term put into our contract where I am named as the architect of the building,” he said, giving it to us straight. No one could accuse him of beating around the bush. Layton’s eyebrows rose, but Banks went on undeterred. “The term should have been in place from the outset. It’s something I’m afraid I must insist on. It was an oversight in the original contract.”
“You want me to relinquish any mention of my name around the museum?” Layton’s tone was incredulous.
Banks nodded swiftly. “You’ll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement, of course.”
“Of course,” Layton mused, his expression impassive again. I didn’t like not being able to read him, but his poker face in dealing with this man was too perfect.
“That’s ridiculous.” The words burst out of me before I could stop them. “No, Lay—Mr. Bridges. Just no!”
“If you don’t agree,” Banks went on after my outburst as if it hadn’t happened. “We have no interest in continuing on with the project. The costs will be transferred to you and we’ll cancel the contract with your firm.”
Layton narrowed his eyes, then sat back in his chair. “I’ll have to think about it.”
My eyebrows jumped up, but I didn’t say anything else until we were safely back in the ostentatious car and on our way home. Banks tried to get us to stay over in New Hampshire and come back in the morning to give him an answer, but we declined firmly.
“Why on earth did you tell him you would think about it? It’s insane. You were just saying the other day how big it will be for the firm to have your name on this.”
He shrugged, reaching over to place his hand on my thigh and squeezing it. “It’s just a name, Marissa. The firm is already doing well. It would be good for us to have our name on that museum, but it’s not like I need it.”
“But—”
“I already have money in this project,” he reasoned. “The total cost of that building is astronomical. I don’t doubt the return will be worth it, but putting up that kind of money—”
Shifting on the seat so he was facing me, his green eyes drank me in. “It’s not that I don’t have the money. I just think I could put it to better use for our future instead of in a pissing contest with a power hungry egomaniac.”
“Our future?” Out of everything he said, that was what stuck with me. I liked that he said ‘our future’ instead of ‘my future,’ even though I would never take money from him.
Layton’s eyes softened and he took my hand, holding it tight. “Yes, ours.”
I relaxed into the seat, closing my eyes for a second as I thought. The idea was totally insane as far as I was concerned. Banks definitely had something to make up for. But if Layton was okay with it, it wasn’t my place to intervene. “Okay, well.
Think about it, then. I trust your judgment.”
Chapter 67
Layton
Three weeks after New Hampshire, I still hadn’t given Banks an answer to his odd request. I couldn’t really believe he would even ask such a thing, it was unheard of. As far as I knew, anyway. I’d done some homework since getting back from the meeting and it turned out that every property Banks owned had him listed as the architect.
I didn’t know why the hell it was so important to him, but it was clearly something he’d been doing for a long time. Most architects didn’t have the money to cover the cost of a building if he threatened to pull out if they didn’t give him credit. I wasn’t most people.
But I still hadn’t decided what I was going to do. Despite the fact that my inheritance was large enough to tide over several small countries for a year, and I’d had my own success and didn’t live too extravagantly. I had paid a small fortune for my apartment, but I figured that was both an investment and my sanctuary.
My car was nice and I wore only tailored clothes. I wasn’t selfish or frugal either, I guess. But the kind of money it would take to bankroll that building was next level.
If anything went wrong—I wouldn’t be wiped out, but it was a knock I didn’t know if I was willing to take. I didn’t gamble just for the sake of gambling. Calculated risks were one thing, but stupidity or getting sucked in by ego or threats was another.
But I refused to rush into anything. Marissa and Craig were in my office discussing the request. When she heard I was undecided, Marissa decided to call Craig in for reinforcement. It was the first time they were meeting each other, but they were getting along like a house on fire.
“I just can’t believe the nerve of the man,” Marissa said vehemently, poised at the very edge of my couch. “Who does something like that? It’s like he waited until its well under way, then just barges in and takes it, as if you had nothing to do with it at all.”