Wagering On Wendy (A MFM Ménage Romance) (Playing For Love Book 4)

by Tara Crescent

  And Thorne Hancock is left with nothing.

  For ten years, I’ve waited for an opportunity like this. Thorne should be rotting in jail for raping Lauren, but that’s never going to happen. Bankrupting him isn’t as rewarding as sending him to prison, but it’ll do.

  All I have to do is convince Wendy to say yes.

  “Gentlemen.” I look around the room before making eye contact with Bill Anderson. “Before she makes any decisions, I’d like to talk to Ms. Williams, please. Bill, will you excuse us for a few minutes?”

  “Of course.” Anderson nods immediately. “Why don’t you take my office? No one will disturb you there.”

  Wendy stares at me, puzzled by my request, but Hudson, who knows of my history with Thorne, understands at once. He levels a frown at me. You can’t do this, his expression seems to say.

  Anderson escorts the three of us to his office, and leaves us alone, shutting the door on his way out. As soon as he’s out of the room, Wendy sinks into a chair and buries her face in her hands with a sigh. “What a mess.”

  “You didn’t know what your father was planning?” I pull up a chair next to her.

  “I knew Paul Hancock was my biological father,” she replies stiffly. “I didn’t know he was going to do this.” She takes a deep breath. “We never even met. What on earth was he thinking? That I’d drop everything to run his company?” Her voice rises. “How dare he?”

  “Thorne’s not going to take this lying down,” Hudson says, perching on Anderson’s desk. “He’s going to go on the offensive.”

  He’s right. From bitter experience, I know Thorne fights dirty. Lauren killed herself because of his attacks. I can’t expose Wendy to the same fate.

  Wendy’s chin lifts in a stubborn tilt. “I can take care of myself,” she replies.

  Hudson runs his hands through his hair. “You’re seriously thinking about this?” he asks, sounding frustrated. “Is the money so damn important?”

  “The money? You think I care about Paul Hancock’s money?” Wendy laughs bitterly. “He gave my mother ten thousand dollars and told her to stay away from him. If I’d wanted to be rich, I could have approached him when he was alive. I’m sure he’d have paid a lot of cash to keep the truth from surfacing.”

  Her hands clench into fists. “My mother was laid off once when I was seven,” she continues softly. “She couldn’t pay her bills, and we were evicted from our apartment. Thankfully, it was summer. We spent two months living in her car until she found another job.”

  She fixes us with a fiery look. “I’ve kept up with the news on Hancock Construction. You know why Thorne’s project is a highway build? Because that’s the direction Thorne wants to take the company. But infrastructure is a lot more competitive and a lot riskier than residential and office construction, and guess who suffers if Hancock Construction fails? Not the business owners. No, it’s the little people that’ll bear the brunt of it. Should I stand by and watch it happen?”

  I look at Wendy with new respect. She’s no fool. She’s smart and tough, and she has a good read on what’s happening at her father’s company.

  She’s sitting there, leaning forward, her eyes shining animatedly, her cheeks flushed with color. Looking at her, seeing her passion, her fire, her willingness to do the right thing for all the workers of Hancock Construction, I’ve never been more attracted to anyone in my entire life.

  My voice softens. “You’re used to doing things by yourself,” I guess. “You don’t like to ask for help, do you?”

  Her lips curl into a wry smile. “I don’t,” she admits. “But I can’t do this by myself. Bill Anderson was right; I need a team.” Her voice lowers to almost a whisper. “Will you help me?”

  I have to make one last-ditch attempt to dissuade her from this. I don’t want her hurt, damn it. “If you were my client, I’d advise you to reach a settlement with Thorne.”

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  Damn it. “Wendy, please. I know your half-brother. He’s ruthless, and he’s dangerous. I can’t promise to keep you safe.”

  She puts her hand on my arm. “Did something happen?” she asks quietly. “Between you and Thorne?”

  I can’t think of Lauren now. My insides are too heavy with fear. I barely know the woman sitting next to me, but she makes me feel things that I thought I’d never feel again.

  Tuesday night, I would have sworn that my interest in Wendy was purely physical. Today, watching her prepare to fight, I’m not so certain. “I can’t tell you the details,” I reply. “But please, Wendy, will you trust me? You don’t want to do this.”

  It had been so cold by Lauren’s grave. I feel the same chill now.

  “I have to.” She looks troubled. “I’m angry with Paul Hancock for disrupting my life. I want to be selfish; I want to walk away. But I can’t.” Her grip on my bicep tightens. “I hope you can understand that.”

  Hudson slants a look in my direction before nodding at Wendy. “You’re going to need an architect,” he says. “I’m in. Asher, in or out?”

  Wendy’s words echo in my ears. I want to walk away, but I can’t. “I’m in too.”

  “Thank you.” She smiles at us, warm and grateful, then her expression turns playful. “You both look really worried, but you shouldn’t be. I’ve been taking boxing lessons, you know, and I even own a pair of gloves.”

  I flash a grin at her, but there’s a dead weight in my stomach. I have to make sure that Wendy is protected.

  Everyone’s still in their seats when the three of us return to the conference room. “I’m in,” Wendy announces without preamble.

  To no one’s surprise, Thorne does not take the news well. “You dumb bitch,” he screams. “I will destroy you. I will bankrupt you. I will sue you into oblivion, do you hear me?” He glares at all of us. “I will make you regret this moment until you die.”

  “Is that a fucking threat?” My hands clench into fists. I will kill Thorne with my bare heads before I let him harm a hair on Wendy’s head.

  Wendy looks unfazed by Thorne’s tirade. She straightens her shoulders and lifts her head high. “If that’s the way you want to deal with this, I’ll see you in court,” she says calmly. She turns to Anderson, ignoring Thorne completely. Though I’m afraid for her, I have to admire her composure. She’s as cool as a cucumber; I’ll give her that.

  “Excellent.” Anderson shakes Wendy’s hand vigorously. “Your father hoped you would step up. I’ll make sure you have an office at Hancock Construction. It should be ready on Monday. There’s a team waiting as well. Best of luck, Ms. Williams. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Are you free sometime this weekend?” Wendy asks Hudson and me downstairs. “So we can figure out how to tackle this thing?”

  Hudson laughs. “We’re seeing you tonight,” he reminds her. “I’m slightly heartbroken that you’ve forgotten our date.”

  She flushes. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to go out,” she mutters, not looking up. Her fingers worry at the hem of her gray jacket. “Now that we’re going to be working together.”

  She’s right. If I were being logical, I’d agree with her. Wendy’s now a client, and Thorne’s gunning for her. This is Lauren all over again. If I had any sense, I’d protect my heart. But there’s nothing logical about the sharp stab of disappointment that pierces me at the idea of canceling tonight’s plans. I want her fire, her passion, and her softness.

  “I’m sure,” I reply. “I have to work for a couple of hours before our date, but we’ll pick you up at seven?”

  “Okay,” she agrees. Then her smile disappears. “I just realized I have to tell the partners at my firm what I’ve just done.”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  She raises a shoulder in a shrug. “I guess I’ll find out.”

  Once Wendy’s gone, Hudson turns to me, a troubled look in his eyes. “What now?” he asks.

  “I’m going to call Stone Bradley,” I reply. “I need dirt on Thorne, a

nd I need a guard on Wendy.”

  He looks up. “You think Thorne will resort to physical violence?”

  “I can’t take any chances.”

  “Fair enough,” he agrees. He grimaces. “And I get to tell Nadja I signed up for yet another massive project.”

  “Can you manage the additional work?”

  “Who needs sleep?” he asks dryly. “Still, my offer to help Wendy wasn’t totally selfless. Staten Island was my father’s dream project. If I get to build it for him…” His voice trails off.

  “I understand.” Hudson loved his father. He’s going to want to work on this project to honor his memory.

  And me? I went up against Thorne at the start of my career and lost. I can’t lie. I want another go at the man, and this time, I want to win.

  11

  My great concern is not whether you have failed, but whether you are content with your failure.

  Abraham Lincoln

  Wendy:

  I’ve been avoiding talking to my mom ever since Derek Greene showed up at my door, but I can’t put off the conversation any further. She deserves to know what’s happening.

  I’m not sure how she’s going to react. Through my childhood, it was made clear to me that my mother didn’t wanted to talk about my father. It was one of the very few things I was never allowed to ask questions about.

  Then, on my eighteenth birthday, my mother told me the whole sordid story, and I understood why she preferred to forget Paul Hancock. The man who took her virginity had lied to her about being single when it turned out he was married. When he found out she was pregnant, he got her fired and paid her off, rather than deal with the consequences of his actions.

  I don’t blame her for wanting to forget him.

  With shaking fingers, I dial her number.

  “Wendy,” she exclaims when she answers, her voice lighting up with pleasure. “You’re a hard woman to reach. I’ve barely spoken to you this week.”

  “It’s been a little crazy.”

  She goes instantly into protective-mom mode. “Those lawyers work you too hard,” she says. “You need a vacation. How long has it been since you took one?”

  “Too long.” Before she can continue her pet peeve, I change the subject. “Mom, I have something important to tell you.” I swallow hard. My mother is the most important person in the world. I don’t want to cause her pain. “Paul Hancock died earlier this week.”

  “Oh.”

  That’s not an encouraging response. I take a deep breath and continue. “I was asked to attend the reading of his will today.”

  “Did you go?” Her voice has cooled considerably.

  I close my eyes. “Yes,” I confess. “I went.”

  “And?”

  I explain about the contest. “Mom,” I finish at the end, my fingers gripping the phone hard enough that my knuckles whiten, “Paul Hancock played a role in my conception, but he’s not my father. I don’t care about the money. I just want to do the right thing.”

  “I know, sweetie,” she says, sounding weary.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  Her reply is automatic. “No, of course not, honey. What are you going to do about your job? You’ve worked so hard to become a lawyer. Can you give that up?”

  I don’t want to worry my mother by telling her I’m getting a little tired of my job. “I’m going to talk to the partners today,” I reply. “Hopefully, we can work something out.”

  She sighs. “Good luck, baby. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? But I’m working all day, so it might be six in the evening before I can call you.”

  I frown, puzzled. “You’re calling me tomorrow?”

  She chuckles. “It’s your birthday, remember? Typical. The big 3-0 and it barely registers.”

  I shake my head. Of course I hadn’t entirely forgotten about my birthday. Until the events of this week pushed everything else aside.

  After talking to my mother, I head to Jeremy Nash’s office. I’m dreading this conversation, but I know I need to talk to the partners at my firm before they find out what happened through the grapevine.

  Muttering another curse at Paul Hancock, I knock on Mr. Nash’s door. To my surprise, Pamela Adams, one of the three senior partners, opens the door with a pleasant smile. “Come on in, Wendy.”

  I enter the room and pause. All the senior partners are in Jeremy Nash’s office. Shit. They’ve heard about the will already.

  Sure enough, Mr. Nash waves me to a seat. “I got a call from a friend,” he says directly. “You’re Paul Hancock’s daughter.”

  There’s no point denying it. “Yes.”

  “And you’re leading a construction project there?”

  I nod.

  Pamela Adams jumps in. “Let’s cut to the chase, Wendy. We’re a law firm that specializes in divorces. There’s no conflict of interest to worry about.”

  I exhale with relief, but my respite is short-lived. “However,” she continues, “I’m going to be blunt. For the next year, your focus isn’t going to be here.”

  I don’t know how to reply. For the last six years, I’ve lived and breathed work. My life as a divorce lawyer was what I wanted. I earned it on my own. I studied for the LSATs while waiting tables, and I made my way through law school on a scholarship, eating ramen noodles to make my money stretch far enough.

  Now, everything I worked for is at risk.

  Chris Johnson, the senior-most partner, clears his throat. “You’re one of our most promising lawyers, and we don’t want to lose you. But,” his voice hardens, “you can’t be a divorce lawyer and work at Hancock at the same time. We’ve talked about it, and we’ve come to an agreement.”

  Pamela Adams’ expression is sympathetic. “Lara and Helen will take over your current cases,” she says.

  I glance up at them in shock. “You’re firing me.”

  Mr. Johnson meets my outraged gaze without blinking. “Yes,” he confirms. “Security will escort you out.”

  There’s a sick pit of failure in my gut. Damn it. I’ve busted my ass for this firm, and I’m being tossed aside. But it’s not the partners I’m angriest with. It’s my biological father.

  This is Paul Hancock’s fault.

  I can feel the eyes of my fellow lawyers on me when I exit Nash’s office. Most people look away, but Lara braves the looming presence of the security guard and follows me to the elevator. “Is it true?” she asks as we ride downstairs. “You’ve inherited a bunch of money?”

  “Not exactly.” I explain the details of my father’s stupid contest.

  “And the partners fired you?” She looks livid. “What a bunch of fools.”

  I’m struggling not to burst into tears. For six years, my goal has been to make partner, and it’s been snatched away. Lara, who’s just as ambitious as I am, understands what I’m going through. Her gaze softens as she looks at me. “You want to grab a drink?”

  “I can’t. I have dinner plans.”

  “With Asher Doyle and Hudson Fleming?” she asks astutely. “We saw you talk to them at Nerve.”

  “Yes,” I admit, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks at her frank appraisal.

  “Enjoy your date,” Lara says with a sly grin. “And Wendy?” She holds her hands about ten inches apart. “Let me know if they measure up, will you?”

  12

  Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.

  Confucius

  Hudson:

  As I expect, Nadja isn’t happy about Staten Island. “Hudson, we can’t handle this. Not on top of everything else we have going on. I can barely put together a plan for us to deliver on our current projects.”

  “This one’s on me,” I assure her. “I won’t get anyone else involved.”

  She gives me an annoyed look. “How?” she asks bluntly. “Already, we’re going to be working hundred-hour weeks all the way until Christmas. There’s no extra time, Hudson. Why on earth did you agree to this job?”

  Because Wendy asked for my help.

  Guilt floods through me. I can work long hours without consequences, but unlike me, Nadja has a husband and three young children. I should be trying to take work off her plate, not add to it.

  “This was my father’s dream, Nadja. This was the project we were supposed to do together.”

  Her face softens a little, but the frustration remains. She leaves my office, her back ramrod straight. Damn it. As if things aren’t already complicated enough, my second in command is pissed off at me.

  Once she leaves, I pull the plans I made when my father died, and I spread them out on my table. They’re just sketches; many hours of work need to happen before the drawings are transformed to usable plans. “But it’s a starting point,” I say out loud, trying to convince myself I’m doing the right thing. “I can make this work.”

  A couple of minutes before seven, we knock on Wendy’s front door. She flings it open almost immediately. “I wasn’t sure what to wear,” she says cheerfully. “Is this okay?”

  She’s dressed in a black t-shirt and matching yoga pants. As I take in the way the fabric clings to her curves, my dick perks up. She looks completely, utterly fuckable, and I have to suppress the urge to go caveman on her. Every single guy in the gym is going to be panting with lust.

  “You look great,” Asher replies. “Ready to learn how to box?”

  “Absolutely,” she replies with a radiant smile, holding up her gloves. “I can’t wait. I’ve got a lot of aggression to take out on a punching bag.”

  “You’re not the only one,” I reply dryly. Wendy’s excitement is palpable. When I saw her this afternoon, she’d looked weary and troubled. Not anymore. Her eyes sparkle and her entire body seems to dance in anticipation. “Shall we?”

  I’ve elected to drive this time, my Land Rover being a lot more practical than Asher’s sports car. “Did you talk to the partners at your firm?” Asher asks Wendy as we make our way uptown.

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