Saving the CEO (49th Floor #1)

by Jenny Holiday

  “Or we can be hardy,” said Tania, “and bundle up and go outside for a stargazing party. I understand Cassie can show us a few constellations. And I make a wicked Irish coffee.”

  “What about the projections you wanted to go through?” Jack asked David. They’d been led to expect a working dinner.

  “This sounds like more fun,” said Senior, waving a hand dismissively. “What do you say?”

  Jack looked at Cassie. She was beaming, lit up like a big copper sun. “All right,” he agreed.

  As they tromped outside in boots, parkas, and hats, he wondered if it could really be this easy. Every time he tried to turn the conversation back to business, Wexler deflected him. “If I have any questions about that, I’ll call you after New Year’s,” he’d say. Or, “Why spoil a gorgeous clear night like this with business?”

  What the hell had shifted Wexler’s mood so dramatically? He had an unsettling feeling it had something to do with what had happened between Cassie and Junior. Junior himself gave no clues. He’d eaten dinner with them but had been uncharacteristically subdued. Then he’d begged off, but not before saying a polite good night to everyone. It didn’t escape Jack’s notice that his eyes lingered on Cassie for a long time as she graced him with a wide, genuine smile.

  Cassie. While he and Tania sat on lawn chairs near the house sipping booze-laced coffee, Cassie and David stood twenty feet away, heads tilted back to look at what was, he had to admit, a pretty spectacular night sky.

  He marveled anew at how Cassie managed to look so beautiful when nearly every inch of her skin was covered by wool and Gore-Tex. Even from this distance, even in the dark, she radiated a kind of energy. There was a luminescence about her that was like a drug. He pushed to his feet. Why resist? Maybe he could drive off Senior and find out what the hell was going on.

  They were talking in low tones when he approached.

  “Stargazing parties,” said Senior. “You’ll have to make him do them. In fact, I’ll make it a clause in the contract.”

  Holy crap. Wexler was going to sell. She’d done it. He didn’t know how, but somehow Cassidy James, bartender-slash-math student, had brokered Winter Enterprises’ biggest deal of the year.

  She turned to him then, and she smiled. Just a smile. But it made his chest tighten and his heart thump, because he thought it might be a different smile than the ones she gave everyone else. It seemed like a private smile. One that hinted at possibilities he hadn’t considered. It provided new information, variables that hadn’t ever factored into his planning.

  It was a smile that promised love.

  He decided right then and there, standing in the snow with Cassie James smiling at him. He’d always avoided women because he thought they distracted him from what was important. But this one, she was going to distract him no matter what, whether she was in his bed or someone else’s. Even if he never saw her again, he’d never be able to get her out of his mind. And the thought of never seeing her again, the image of her in someone else’s bed? He answered that question with another. There would be no Winter Enterprises to protect if he became completely unhinged, would there?

  So screw the rules. He was going to take Cassie James back to her room and fuck her all night long. Then they were going back to the city and he was going to take her on a proper date.

  Jack’s little revelation scared him. But not enough to make him back down. Cassie deserved to be wooed. And the thought of anyone else doing that made his stomach churn. Still, there was no need to call attention to themselves here, so when she started yawning and announced her intention to call it a night, he said good night calmly and pleasantly, just like David and Tania did, and watched her walk away, pretending that his insides weren’t churning like an overflowing river.

  He’d give her maybe a half-hour head start. And then she was his.

  The longest thirty minutes of his life, it turned out. Wexler had had a few drinks, and was getting nostalgic about the early years of his career. Jack tried not to keep peeking at his watch. It didn’t do any good anyway. The damn minute hand might as well have been broken for all the progress he saw.

  Thirty minutes was kind of arbitrary anyway. There was nothing wrong with giving her a seventeen minute head start. Surely that was enough to dispel any potential suspicions.

  No answer to his knock again this time. Maybe she was back in the hot tub. “Cassie?” he whispered, slipping into the room.

  He could hear the shower running in the bathroom. Hey, that worked, too. As he crossed the room, her phone, which she’d left on the bed, buzzed. He couldn’t help but glance down at it. A picture of Danny flashed on the screen. Had she forgotten to text him the latest update of her continued survival? It was actually kind of cute how Danny looked out for her. He was probably going to have to woo Danny a little bit, too, when they got back to Toronto.

  He picked up the phone, intending to carry it into the bathroom to her. The phone beeped and he glanced down at an incoming text.

  Gah. Glad it’s over, too. Come home ASAP.

  Danny again, who must have texted when she didn’t pick up the voice call.

  He could see the end of Cassie’s last text to Danny.

  …it was awful.

  He shouldn’t. He knew that.

  But he did it anyway. He scrolled back.

  He made me say please. He made me say his name. It was awful. I felt like a total whore.

  What?? These rich mofos, they have no idea, do they?

  Well, I’m done. Don’t have to pretend anymore. Can’t wait to get out of here…it was awful.

  Air. Jack had no air. Couldn’t get enough into his lungs, and as metallic saliva flooded his mouth, he thought for one irrational moment that he might actually be drowning.

  Then the sound of the shower stopped. The absence of noise spurred him to action. He threw the phone back on the bed and made for the door. He had to get out. He had to find something to hold on to.

  He had to get back to the rules.

  …

  The next morning Cassie woke up confused. As the bright sun sliced in through the curtains she’d forgotten to close, she looked around the room.

  She was looking for Jack, which was totally stupid. In all honesty, she had to admit that she’d fallen asleep waiting for him. She had no idea what was going on between them, but she’d felt fairly confident, given the epically spectacular sex they’d had earlier in the day, that he’d be back for more.

  At the very least, she thought he would have wanted to talk about the deal. It seemed pretty clear from Wexler Senior’s behavior at dinner that he was going to sell.

  But no Jack. She even got up and peeked out the glass door, hoping against hope that he’d snuck in without her waking up last night and was now ensconced in the hot tub. But that was irrational.

  Stupid.

  She didn’t really begin to worry in earnest, though, until she made her way downstairs and found David and Tania eating breakfast and reading newspapers in the enormous sun-filled breakfast “nook.”

  “Ah,” said Tania. “My dear, you’ve been abandoned!”

  Cassie felt her brow furrow as she tried to make sense of the disjuncture between what this woman was saying and the cheery tone she was using to say it.

  Tania must have seen her confusion, because she laughed and handed Cassie a piece of paper. “Jack left a note. He had to leave in the middle of the night—some kind of emergency.”

  Cassie scanned the familiar angular handwriting. Had to go. Didn’t want to wake them up. Could someone take Cassie to Gravenhurst where there would be a car and driver waiting for her at noon? Terribly sorry. Emergency. Happy holidays.

  She knew then. Even though her mind could have kicked into gear, spitting out entirely reasonable explanations—even though part of her wanted it to—she knew. He’d gotten what he wanted, and now he was gone.

  It wasn’t like he hadn’t warned her.

  Stupid.

  And heartbreaking.


  Chapter Eighteen

  “God damn it!” Jack pounded his fist on his desk as he rifled through his mail. There was a familiar envelope, marked “no longer at this address.” Cassie’s check, which he’d tried to mail to Edward’s when his initial attempt to mail it to her home address was refused delivery. It turned out this mumbo-jumbo psychobabble thing called “closure” was real, and it was impossible to achieve when the girl who had played him so expertly refused to accept his motherfucking check. It was the last bit of housekeeping related to Cassie James, and he wanted it off his mental list. She’d rendered exactly the service he’d hired her for—Wexler was going to sell—and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to pay her the agreed-upon sum.

  “Everything okay in here?” Carl popped his head into Jack’s office. Since the offices were closed for the holiday break, they were the only two working. Well, “working” might be a stretch. Jack was obsessing over his bank balance, which was too high by fifty grand, and Carl was packing up his office.

  “Fine,” said Jack tersely.

  “Hey, at least you’re not headed to three months of rehab.”

  “It’s not rehab.”

  Carl shrugged. “Gambling addiction residential treatment program. A rose by any other name…”

  Jack sighed. When he’d returned to the office after the Muskoka trip, this year had already earned the distinction of being the worst of his life, despite the Wexler deal. At least it was almost over. Just a week and a bit till January 1. But when a weird email from an anonymous Gmail account saying only, “Ask Carl about college tuition,” arrived a couple days later, it got a little bit worse. After he confronted Carl with the cryptic message and endured the abject and tearful confession that followed, he punched a hole in the drywall next to his desk.

  And then he fired Carl.

  He wasn’t without sympathy. His old friend was clearly desperate, and within the confines of his addiction—and Jack thought it was exactly that—what he had done made a warped sort of sense. And of course Jack had a huge soft spot for Britney. He’d pay for her college himself, but no need to tell Carl that. Better to let the guy’s rock bottom really feel like rock bottom. Jack told Carl that if he sought professional help, he wouldn’t press charges.

  And so here they were. A brokenhearted idiot who got burned breaking the rules and couldn’t seem to stop punching inanimate objects, and a pathetic white collar criminal off to spend Christmas in rehab.

  “Did you tell Britney and Diana?” That had been another of Jack’s conditions. He actually suspected Diana had sent the mysterious email, but on the off chance she hadn’t, he didn’t want Carl claiming he had to miss Christmas because of a business trip Jack was making him go on.

  “Yes.” Carl literally hung his head.

  Jack couldn’t hide his anger, couldn’t stifle a sneer. And why should he? Carl had pledged to pay back the money somehow. If Jack wasn’t going to press charges, he could get another job when he was out of treatment, Carl said, and pay Jack back in installments.

  Jack didn’t care about the money. It was the betrayal. God, the betrayal.

  ’Tis the fucking season.

  …

  “Sweetie, you have to stop crying sometime.”

  Cassie nodded at Danny, but she kept crying. She wanted to stop, but it just wasn’t possible.

  Danny tilted his head, opened his mouth, then closed it again. She would’ve laughed if she could stop crying long enough. Danny, struck dumb—now there was one for the history books. Poor guy. He’d cleaned her apartment. She looked around, able to appreciate, even through this relentless gutting despair, how the sun shone in through the immaculate windows. He’d made her all her favorite comfort foods, stuffing her full of macaroni and cheese casserole and chocolate chip cookies. He’d bought her a bunch of crazy new nail polish.

  “Sorry,” she said, tears still flowing. She went entire stretches—like, hours—without crying, but then she’d see a Christmas wreath and it would remind her of Jack’s Christmas party, which would remind her of the amazing sex they had after his Christmas party. Or, against her better judgment, she’d unfold the note the driver he’d dispatched to meet her in Muskoka had silently handed her. One sentence, in his distinctive handwriting. “On the off chance that you are pregnant, please be in touch with me.”

  She’d been so stupid to think she could escape from this unscathed. She’d been talking tough about this not having been a relationship, but she’d been deceiving herself. It takes two people to have a relationship, but it doesn’t take two people to fall in love.

  Yes, despite her best intentions to the contrary, she’d fallen in love with him. And love in a situation like that was bound to lead to heartbreak. But it would have been worth it, despite the heartbreak, because the time she’d spent with him had been life changing. He’d made her feel so attractive—and smart, and capable. He’d made her feel invincible. You don’t just walk away from that without consequences.

  So if she’d expected heartbreak, why couldn’t she stop crying? She could only figure it was that she hadn’t expected Jack to be so…mean. Which was stupid because he’d been exactly that the morning after she’d first slept over at his house. Shame flooded her stomach when she thought about that morning, him unable to meet her eyes as he rushed out of the house. Had she learned nothing?

  Still, she’d thought they were over that. Yes, part of her hoped then that they’d end up extending their…entanglement. But at the very least, she thought they would share a triumphant ride home, shake hands, and part as friends. What a fool she had been to think she was special. She was no different than anyone else. It really was all about the company for him.

  “If you don’t stop crying, I’m forcing you to come to the farm for Christmas,” said Danny, hands on hips, trying to look stern.

  She sniffed. “I’ll go to Edward’s house,” she lied.

  “After you quit with no notice? Isn’t he mad at you?”

  “He’ll get over it.” And it didn’t matter, because she wasn’t going anywhere for Christmas. She was going to stay home and cry and eat leftover mac and cheese and stale cookies.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow, and I’m swinging by on my way out of town. If it looks like you’ve been crying, I’m knocking you out caveman style and throwing you in the trunk. Be ready for your inspection.”

  Cassie smiled through her tears. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jack woke up Christmas Eve morning with an idea. Last night he’d contemplated walking into Edward’s with a briefcase of cash—that’s how much he wanted this done. But if Cassie was “not at that address,” did that mean she wasn’t working there anymore?

  He’d gone over and over in his mind all the possible reasons Cassie might have for not accepting his money. Some kind of late-breaking remorse? Perhaps she had a shred of decency in her that made her realize she couldn’t take his money after she’d deceived him so badly. The frustrating part was that he’d proposed the business deal independent of everything else—Christ, he’d even suggested that they not fuck around. She wouldn’t have had to pretend anything. He wondered if maybe it was about Junior, as unlikely as that seemed. But despite how angry he was at her, he couldn’t believe she was the kind of person who would settle for someone like Junior no matter how much money he had.

  But it would explain why suddenly she didn’t care about fifty thousand dollars.

  Anyway, it didn’t matter. All he wanted was to pay his debt and be free to stop thinking about it all. And the solution had been right under his nose the whole time. He had Danny’s number in his phone. Whatever twisted reasons Cassie had for refusing the money, he was pretty sure Danny wouldn’t share them.

  He rolled over and grabbed his phone from the bedside table.

  It’s Jack Winter. I owe Cassie some money, and I’d like to pay her, but I’m having trouble getting ahold of her. Can you help?

  He was on his way to the show
er when the buzz of an incoming text summoned him back.

  You asshole, you owe Cassie a lot more than money. You’re lucky she won’t tell me where you live.

  Jack sighed.

  Look, I just want her to get what she’s owed.

  A nice check to go with her broken heart? Sorry, can’t help you. I’m too busy picking up the pieces of the aforementioned heart. Ass. Hole.

  What the hell was he talking about? Had Junior thrown her over already?

  ???

  Motherfucking entitled rich ASS. Don’t pretend you don’t know. Stop texting me.

  I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I know Cassie doesn’t want to see me, but I can’t just not pay her for a business service she provided. How about I make the check out to you, and you buy her something with it?

  Silence. Damn. So much for his obvious solution.

  He was so on edge, he jumped when the phone rang in his hand.

  Jack picked up, and before he could get a greeting out, Danny said, “Wait. What?”

  “Will you just give me your address so I can send you a check? She’s refusing delivery at her apartment, and I’m getting ‘no longer at this address’ when I try the restaurant.”

  “She quit.”

  Jack thought his head might explode. “It shouldn’t be this hard to give someone fifty thousand dollars.”

  “What did you mean when you said you knew Cassie didn’t want to see you?” asked Danny.

  “Exactly what I said.”

  “So is that why she’s been crying her eyes out over you for the past three days?” Danny shouted. “Because she doesn’t want to see you?”

  Jack’s stomach dropped, and it was his turn to say, “Wait, what?”

  “You broke her heart, man,” said Danny, his tone less menacing. “You have to know that. You left after the deal was done, without a word. In the middle of the night.”

  Hope. A little tiny mote of hope. It felt like a spark. Not even a spark, just the sound of a match striking. “You have it backward,” he said slowly, finding it hard to make his clumsy mouth form the right sounds to propel the conversation forward. “Cassie broke my heart.” Please, please let it be true.