“I might have heard of him,” Vic said. “Why?”
“Ms. Ames, are you familiar with him?”
“Founder of a web-based data mining company,” I recited. “He sold it three years ago for 2.5 billion dollars.”
“Exactly. Well, he has a new startup that’s seeking outside investors. We like their prospects very much, and we’ve been courting him aggressively, but we want to get as big a percentage as possible for our money. However, Middleton is being courted by several of our competitors. He’s having a party tonight at his Palo Alto home. We want YOU to attend and convince him we’re the best way to go.”
Vic’s brow furrowed. “How much are you looking for?”
“10% at 100 million.”
“How much are you willing to go up to?”
“10% at 120 million.”
Vic scoffed. “That’s only a 1.2 billion dollar valuation. He’s probably got people offering 50 or 60 million for only a couple percent.”
Huh… for a party boy who couldn’t tell time earlier this morning, Vic was pretty fast on his feet with start-up company math.
“Which is where you come in,” Frank wheezed.
Another infuriating smirk. “Need the Vic Cortelian touch, huh?”
Sal snorted. “After your internet debacle in Vegas, I’m not exactly sure how valuable the Vic Cortelian ‘touch’ is, but Middleton’s apparently a drunkard and reprobate like yourself, so we figured you have that much in common. His company has blown through all his first-round financing and they’re in relatively dire straits financially, so that’s something else you have in common.”
At the mention of ‘internet debacle,’ Vic exchanged his smirk for a scowl. “Your faith in me is overwhelming.”
“Again, after what we saw, I’d say we’re putting more faith in you than you merit.”
Vic was getting angrier by the second, so I figured it was time I stepped in. “Look, that was a mistake on my part, and I’m very sorry it – ”
“‘Mistake’?” Sal interrupted. “That was a job well done, and the best laugh I’d had in a while. I don’t know if you’ve successfully reigned him in yet, but at least you’re yanking on the leash.”
“At lease SOMEBODY’S doing what we pay them for,” Frank added.
I looked warily at Vic.
He was so angry, blood vessels were standing out on his temples.
On the one hand, it was good to hear my new bosses praise me.
On the other hand, it was incredibly stupid for them to insult Vic to his face like that. It made my situation with him that much more adversarial. It’s like they were shooting BB’s at a bull while the rodeo rider (me!) was still in the saddle.
“Time to earn your keep, Victor,” Sal said right before he hung up. “Don’t disappoint us.”
40
The silence on the private jet back to San Francisco was deafening. Almost as deafening as it had been back in Vegas when I’d seen Vic’s package – but without any of the sexual tension that had made that moment so hot.
In fact, it was pretty damn chilly on the plane.
Social Media Guy Joe was somewhere in the back, out of sight. No Simon (who had left earlier that day and sent an email demanding $300 to reimburse him). No hoochies (who apparently were still carousing somewhere in Vegas). Just me and Vic sitting on opposite seats, staring at one another like gunfighters sizing each other up.
Shortly after takeoff, the silence got to be too much, and I finally spoke up.
“Look, I had nothing to do with – ”
“What’s the deal with you and my uncles?” he interrupted.
I frowned. “You heard him. I’m supposed to reign you in.”
“It feels like more than that. Like it’s personal.”
“Well, it may be personal for them, but it’s not personal for me,” I said. “It’s my job, and that’s it.”
Vic looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, and then he said, “In poker, there’s always a fish at every table. AKA the sucker, but we call ‘em fish. That’s the guy who doesn’t know how to play well enough for the crowd he’s in. The one who’s in over his head. He’s the dumbass everybody else is going to take for a ride and drain his bank account.
“Now, when you first sit down at a poker table, you should be able to tell who the fish is within a couple of hands. And if you can’t tell who the fish is, you need to get out NOW – because you’re the fish.
“I’ve always thought my uncles were the fish. In fact, I thought they were whales – basically fish with a gigantic payoff. But since you walked in, I’m having a hard time telling if you’re the new fish, or if you’re a ringer.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Somebody who’s pretending to be a beginner, and then they win everything?”
He nodded. “Yup. A card shark brought in by a regular player, and the two of them split the pot after the game’s over.”
“I’m flattered,” I said sarcastically, “but why the hell would you think I’m a ringer?”
“Because something about the timing doesn’t feel right. You show up, and now all of a sudden there’s a video on the internet starring you and humiliating me.”
“I told you, I had no idea anybody was filming! And if I had, I wouldn’t have said any of that!”
“Because it wasn’t true?” he said with his pompous little smirk.
UGH.
He was making it so easy not to think about…
About his…
DAMN IT.
Now I was thinking about it again.
I knew I was blushing the tiniest bit, and it made him grin even more (Asshole…), but I soldiered on anyway. “No, because we’re trying to capitalize on your social media presence, so why would I try to sabotage it?”
“I don’t know. Which is making me wonder if maybe now I’m the fish.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t exactly leave the table.”
“Can’t I? You were advising me to do just that the other night – cash out and leave my uncles. Strike out on my own.”
Oh yeah.
“That was bad advice,” I said. “I was drunk.”
“That was exactly the same excuse you used after we kissed.”
I could feel my face flush hotter. “After YOU kissed ME – and after I pushed you away, if you’ll recall.”
His grin became insufferable. “You’re so into me… why can’t you just admit it?”
I fake-laughed once. “HA. Yeah, RIGHT.”
“Deny it all you like, but you forget, I was there both times.”
“‘Both times’? You only tried to kiss me once – which was one time too many.”
“You’re forgetting a couple of hours ago when I caught you staring at my crotch.”
Now my face felt like a five-alarm fire. “All I remember is you bursting in on me like a pervert.”
“That was an accident – and really, you’re to blame for everything that happened afterwards.”
“What?! How the hell am I to blame?!”
“If I hadn’t seen you naked, well… you wouldn’t have had anything to stare at.”
It’s a strange experience to be simultaneously outraged and turned on.
“You’re disgusting, do you know that?” I snapped.
“Be honest – did you like what you saw, or not?”
…yes.
But there was no way in hell I was going to admit that.
“Just because you’re in love with your penis doesn’t mean everybody else is,” I sneered.
“That’s because you haven’t tried it out yet.”
“Ugh, VOMIT,” I said, and pantomimed throwing up.
“You should take it for a test drive,” he grinned as he folded his hands behind his head. “Wanna join the Mile High Club?”
“I should start recording this conversation so I can sue you for sexual harassment,” I snapped. “Wanna join the ‘she took me for everything I have’ club?”
He sighed. “Fine. If that’s t
he way you feel – ”
“That’s the way I feel.”
He sat up and put his hands back on his lap. “Alright. What do you want to talk about, then?”
“For starters, how you plan to get this Middleton guy on board with your uncles.”
He snorted derisively. “Whatever. I can close him like that,” he said, snapping his fingers.
I sighed in disgust. “Right.”
“What, you don’t think I can?”
“I’m sure you can convince a frat boy to do shots, but a CEO to take a lower valuation for his billion-dollar start-up? Not gonna happen.”
“Yeah… but what if the frat boy and the CEO are one and the same?”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Your problem is you hear ‘CEO’ and think it’s gonna be some serious old guy with gray hair and a suit. But that’s not Silicon Valley. The reality is that most CEOs of start-ups are kids just out of college – and a lot of the guys are all about the keggers and beer pong. They’re either reliving their frat days, or desperately trying to recreate fantasies of what all the cool kids did at the college parties they didn’t get invited to.”
“What makes you think this Middleton guy is like that?” I challenged him. “You don’t know anything about him.”
“Wrong.” Vic sat forward in his seat, a gleeful look on his face. “I was just playing dumb with my uncles. I know Bradley – very well, in fact. He’s a gambler, just like me. Loves his poker, though he sucks at it. I met him a couple of months ago at a buddy’s house game in San Francisco. He was the fish, and I personally took him for a couple hundred grand.”
My eyes bugged out. “Two hundred grand?!”
Vic looked up as though trying to recall. “I think it was more like 350.”
“GREAT,” I snapped. “You’re going to antagonize this guy?”
“You don’t get it – half a million is peanuts to this guy. He loses more than that at the roulette wheel on a trip to Vegas. What pissed him off is that I won. And he wants to beat me. Bad.” Vic leaned back on the seat and put his hands behind his head again, cocky as hell. “So I’m gonna give him a chance.”
I stared at him. “Your entire strategy for getting this guy to take your uncles’ deal is to play poker with him?!”
“Hell yeah. I’ll put up a couple of million – give him a chance to win his money back, with interest – and all he’ll have to put in the pot is a promise to take my uncles’ financing.”
My stomach sank as I thought of how I’d have to explain to Sal and Frank Cortelian that our negotiations with Bradley Middleton had consisted of a few hands of poker.
“So – what do you think?” Vic asked.
“You’re a piece of work, alright.”
“Yeah, okay, but what do you think about the idea?”
“It’s idiotic.”
“It’s brilliant.”
“You’re a complete fool if you think that’s going to work.”
He laughed. “So you don’t think I can do it?”
“I know you can’t do it.”
“Yeah? Care to make a little side bet?”
I narrowed my eyes. “About what?”
“If I don’t sign Bradley, I’ll do whatever you say for the next 30 days, no questions asked. Yes ma’am, no ma’am, would you like fries with that, ma’am.”
I stared at him. “You’d do anything I say.”
“Yup.”
“As in, no parties.”
“No parties.”
“No running away to Vegas.”
“Nope.”
“Going to every single business meeting your uncles set up, and taking them seriously,” I said, almost in disbelief.
“Every single one,” he grinned.
Whoa.
Thirty days of total compliance from Vic? That would solve all my problems. I’d get past the probationary period set by his uncles and get hired, no question.
But… there was a big problem anybody could see from a mile away.
“You’re not going to do that,” I said.
“Are you saying I’d welch on the bet?”
“In a heartbeat.”
He sat up straight, seemingly quite offended. “I never welch on a bet. Never.”
“Wow,” I said in a deadpan voice. “Now there’s a guarantee I can take to the bank.”
“Alright,” he said, miffed. “Alright, you want something you can take to the bank? We’ll set up an escrow account before we go to the party. I’ll wire a million dollars into it, we’ll get a team of lawyers into the mix, yadda yadda yadda. If I violate the agreement in any way, you get the million dollars.”
He leaned back in the seat again, his smug smile back in place.
I stared at him in disbelief. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you don’t believe me when I say I don’t welch.”
“No, I mean, why would you even make a bet like that in the first place?”
He shrugged. “For the thrill of it. Gambling’s boring unless there’s something on the line.”
I shook my head. “Like betting a couple of million against Bradley Middleton isn’t ‘something on the line.’”
“I told you, he’s a fish. Easy pickin’s. You, on the other hand, should absolutely take the bet. This is a no-lose proposition – right?” he asked mockingly.
I squinted at him. “Not that it’s in any way possible, but if you do win, what do you get?”
“Simple,” he said, and grinned. “You agree to sleep with me.”
41
My body had a strange reaction as soon as he said it: a drop in my stomach like an elevator I was in had just plunged ten feet…
…and a rush of tingling warmth between my legs.
The tingling warmth was the far more disturbing of the two.
My vocal reaction, however, was entirely predictable.
“WHAT?!” I yelled.
“You heard me.”
“FUCK you,” I snarled.
Vic laughed. “That’s the idea.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Some might agree with you – but since you can’t lose, why not take the bet?”
“NO.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not going to accept money to sleep with you.”
“I’m not offering money, I’m offering a bet.”
I don’t gamble with my body.”
“But you said there’s no way I can win, so you’re not really gambling, are you?”
I hesitated. There was a certain twisted logic to what he was saying – but then I came back to my senses. “NO.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not some Vegas whore you can wager with for sexual favors,” I snapped.
“I’m not saying you are. But since you’d never have to pay up, because I can’t possibly win – what do you have to lose?”
DAMN, it was tempting…
I’m ashamed to say, I actually sat there considering it for a second.
He leaned forward and started murmuring seductively. “Everything you want me to do, I do. I make your job easy as pie for a month – or you get a million dollars. Guaranteed.”
An easy month and an automatic hire.
Or a million dollars – which would be even better. In fact, I kind of hoped he would welch.
There was also a little voice in the back of my head whispering, And would it really be that bad if you DID lose? You might be able to have some fun with that big, thick –
I squashed that little voice as fast as I could.
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “The deal is, Middleton has to sign a contract with your uncles by the end of the night.”
“It’s a party,” Vic scoffed. “He’s not going to sign a fuckin’ contract in the middle of a poker game.”
“Fine – but you’ll eventually get him to sign.”
“Correct.”
“And if you lose, then you do everything
I say for a month.”
“Yes.”
“For the full month.”
“Yes.”
“Thirty days, or 31?” I asked.
“Let’s see, what day is it?”
“June 10th.”
“Okay – until midnight on July 10th, then.”
“So if you default at 11:59 PM on July 9th – ”
“You get a million dollars,” he finished.
“And if I lose – ”
“Which you won’t,” he said in a jocular voice.
“Then I have to sleep with you… once?”
“Just once.”
“When, exactly?”
“Whenever I want – if I win.”
I shuddered… but it wasn’t entirely out of revulsion.
In fact, of all the complicated sensations I was feeling, revulsion didn’t even make up a majority.
As much as I hated to admit it, excitement was in there…
…and desire.
Not that there was any way in hell I would have ever admitted it.
“No kinky stuff,” I snarled. “No whips, no – whatever other weird things you do.”
“Pure vanilla,” he grinned. “Missionary all the way. And/or woman on top.”
If I’m going to be honest, I didn’t think Ugh when he mentioned ‘woman on top.’
I got a little wet instead.
And that little voice whispered Mmmmmmm.
I sat back in my seat and crossed my arms. “Alright.”
“Yeah?” he asked, like he couldn’t quite believe I’d agreed.
“I said alright.”
“Shake on it,” he said, leaned over in the seat, and stuck his hand out.
I sighed in irritation, but reached out and shook his hand.
It was very warm.
And very big… and strong…
He leaned back in his seat and grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “You see how I just got you to agree to sleep with me?”
“I didn’t agree to sleep with you,” I snarled.
“If I win, you did.”
“You’re not going to win.”
“Okay – you see how I just got you to agree to do what I want, if I win?”
I just stayed silent and glared at him.
He gave me a smug, self-satisfied smile. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do to Bradley Middleton.”
Strip Poker: Bad Boys Club Romance #2 Page 12