The Bet (Indecent Intentions Book 1)

by Lily Zante

  Izzy distracted him again. “If you could export them before you send them to me. Please.”

  “I’ll try to remember.”

  “But you wanted this back by tomorrow. You said it was urgent.”

  Had he? He couldn’t remember half the dates he’d given her. Usually, he just reeled a date off the top of his head.

  “I was hoping to get your work out of the way before I started my revision. I have to cram for a test in a few days’ time.”

  He let out a loud sigh. “Forget the work I sent you, Laronde, and just concentrate on your test.”

  It came out harsher than he’d intended, but his attention was now fixed on two women who walked past him. When they entered the building, he stared through the glass windows, trying to see if they were going to take the elevator up to The Oasis or down to The Vault.

  But he couldn’t hit on them. This fucking bet. The pent-up frustration inside him made him feel like a bottle of fizz—he felt as if he’d explode given enough release.

  “I was under the impression that it was urgent,” said Izzy.

  No, he thought, raking his hand through his hair. Nothing was as urgent as his need to get laid. It had been over two dry months and his manhood was at risk of shriveling up and dropping off through misuse. It might well have done, for all the action it hadn’t gotten lately.

  “It’s not that urgent.” He noticed a honey blonde coming out through the doors. They made eye contact and he flashed her a smile. Jesus Christ, some days, he was so tempted to ditch this goddamn bet and be done with it. He could feel a stirring in his boxer briefs.

  “Forget the work, and concentrate on your exams. I gotta go.” He hung up, suddenly recognizing the blonde in front of him.

  “Kay?” he called out as she walked past.

  She turned around and squinted. It had been well over a month since he’d last seen her. An awkward silence opened up between them.

  He was reminded of that evening before his brother’s wedding, when they’d been kissing. When he’d been tempted to jump into bed with her, but had stopped to briefly consider that it might be inappropriate.

  Would he have, if Tobias hadn’t found them? Kay hadn’t seemed keen to stop kissing, either.

  “Xavier?”

  “Yeah. What are you doing here?”

  “I was at the bar,” she pointed up, indicating. “The Oasis. You must know it?”

  “Pretty well. My friend owns the place, you know Luke, from the wedding?”

  She nodded, remaining silent, not saying or moving the conversation along. He was about to ask her how she was when she said, “Nice seeing you again. I have to go.”

  “Wait,” he said, suddenly needing to know. “Have I offended or upset you in any way?”

  “If you don’t know, then I wouldn’t worry about it.” Her words were as icy as her tone.

  “I did offend you?” he asked, surprised, because he hadn’t expected her to agree so readily.

  “Let’s just leave it.”

  “No. I’d like to know. If I’ve done something to upset you, you need to tell me.”

  He wondered, at the same time, how he could make it up to her, and whether she would come back to the bar with him.

  She’d been a good kisser. And maybe, maybe, they could see how things progressed this evening? He was more than happy to drop the bet. Again. Izzy was working for him, and filling a need. An admin need. Not the type of need that required his immediate fixing.

  “You really don’t know have a clue, do you?”

  “About what?” If she was pissed that nothing further had happened between them, he was sorry. “Look, I didn’t mean to leave the island without talking to you.”

  “It’s not always about you, Xavier.” There she went again, looking pissed as hell.

  “I need to catch this cab. ‘Bye.” She rushed towards the kerb, and put her hand out for a cab, leaving him standing there, wondering what he’d done wrong.

  The hell it wasn’t about him.

  She was pissed. Pissed that he hadn’t called her, or spoken to her after that night at the wedding. The next time he saw her, when she would have hopefully calmed down, he would remind her that she was the one who had cold-shouldered him.

  Women.

  They were incredibly difficult to understand.

  He rode the elevator to the rooftop, and was early, just as he had planned. Luke was at the bar talking to one of his guys, and he looked super smart this evening. Black blazer, black jeans, looking like god’s gift to women, as usual.

  “What’s this in aid of?” he asked, gesturing at his friend’s attire, when Luke walked up to him.

  “This?” Luke looked puzzled. They shook hands.

  “You look like you made an effort.” Xavier scanned around the bar. “Who are you hoping to hit on? I thought you never mixed business with pleasure.”

  “Nobody, and I don’t.” His friend’s reply took a while to sink in.

  “Beer?”

  “Just the one,” Xavier replied.

  “Two beers,” Luke ordered. They sat down at the usual table in the corner. Luke’s table.

  Xavier put his leather bound folder down. “I have a business meeting here, later,” he explained.

  “With who?”

  “With a guy called Chad Hennessy.”

  “And what business scam are you going into next?”

  “Fuck you.” He liked the dude, but these recent put-downs were hard to stomach, and it was either that he was especially sensitive, or that some of Tobias’s cynicism had rubbed off on Luke but Xavier didn’t like it.

  He was meeting Hennessy tonight. He didn’t usually hold business meetings in The Oasis, but Chad was young, and looking to expand, and he had contacts in China, which was where Xavier had plans to manufacture snooker and pool tables with an eye to importing them to the US. Getting investment from someone who was familiar with China, and had contacts there, would give him a huge benefit. And then he could leave this small business up and running, and start something new.

  “I’m kidding.”

  The server placed two cold beers on beermats on the table.

  “Cheers,” They clinked their bottles together.

  “I’m sorry, pal. I didn’t mean to knock you down.”

  “You didn’t, so just let it go.”

  “What are you doing with Hennessy?”

  “Hopefully making snooker and pool tables in China.”

  “And there’s money in that?”

  “There’s serious money when you have lots of little money trees like that.”

  Luke nodded, looking suitably impressed.

  “Of course, it’s no bar in Manhattan, charging crazy prizes for drinks. Now that’s what I call a serious fucking money tree.”

  “Hard work, though,” Luke replied. “So, pal,” he said, taking a swig from his beer bottle. “Do you have an update on your little project?”

  “I haven’t had any pussy, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I thought you two would have become better acquainted by now. “

  “No fat fucking chance.” He gulped down his beer. “But, she’s coming around.” He was making strides. Slow, steady strides, in the right direction.

  Luke threw him a curious glance. “Why should I believe you?”

  He ignored his friend’s remark. “She’ll be caving in soon.” Though ‘soon’ might still be months away.

  “I don’t think she likes you,” Luke said. “Even now.”

  “How the hell would you know?”

  “Because I’ve seen you meet someone here for the first time, and then walk away with her less than 30 minutes later. I’ve seen you do that, here, with my own eyes.” He pointed at his eyes with his fingers as if to emphasize the point. “And if you haven’t even gotten to first base after what, six, maybe eight weeks, I don’t think you stand any chance. I don’t think she likes you. Just face it, pal. You’re not her type. You might even be too old f
or her.”

  He gave Luke the middle finger. “I’m twenty-fucking-seven. I’m in my prime, and I’m making progress, and that’s all you need to know.”

  “Fine. As long as you know what you’re doing, and it isn’t illegal.”

  “It isn’t.” He looked away, letting the awkwardness of the moment pass. “Savannah’s cousin was here.” He looked back at Luke. “You remember her, don’t you? Kay?”

  “Yeah, I remember her.”

  “I think she’s pissed off with me.”

  “Pissed off with you?”

  He finger-tapped the table. “She was standoff-ish when I ran into her downstairs. Didn’t want to talk to me.”

  “No?”

  “She’s pissed I never called her.” Chicks could be funny like that.

  “Is that what she told you?”

  “She didn’t need to. I could tell.”

  “Were you supposed to call her?” Luke asked, leaning forwards and picking up his beer bottle.

  “They all expect you to, don’t they?”

  Luke shrugged but didn’t say anything.

  “Except for you, Mr. Ice-Cold and Doesn’t-Give-A-Fuck.” That’s what Luke had always been like.

  “Are you going to call her?” Luke asked.

  “She’s not my type,” he shot back.

  “Is Jacob’s babysitter your type?”

  He thought about it. Laronde, at first glance, wasn’t his type. He probably wouldn’t have noticed her in a group of women, but now that he was taking the time and getting to know her, he was discovering things about her that were intriguing. She was like a mystery he was slowly unraveling. Physically, he liked a handful of butt and breast, and she had neither in the size he preferred. And he hadn’t yet been able to get his hands on either of those; he was beginning to doubt that he ever would. But there was nothing that a good push-up bra couldn’t salvage, and as long as there was a mouthful, he wasn’t going to complain too much. She had the sass that made up for her physical shortcomings.

  “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, you don’t have anything to prove.”

  He disagreed. “We have a love-hate thing going. It’s always the prelude to better things.”

  “Love-hate? It’s been hate-hate each time I hear from you.”

  “She’s working for me now.”

  “Seriously?” Luke gave him an incredulous stare. “How the hell did you manage that? Wasn’t she was working for Savannah and looking after the little boy?”

  “Savannah wants to spend time with the kid, and she didn’t need Izzy so much yet, and what with her being a student and needing funds and all that, I came to the rescue.”

  “Galloping along on your big white stallion, no doubt.”

  “Chicks love being rescued.”

  “Izzy doesn’t strike me as that type of girl.” Luke was right. Laronde didn’t seem the rescuing type at all.

  ~ ~ ~

  “He’s not such an idiot, after all.” She hung up, thinking how strange it was that working for Xavier had been this easy. It was like doing the easiest homework assignments, only she was making money doing it.

  “Who are you talking about now?”

  “Xavier.”

  “I told you.” Cara was filing her nails. “I think he’s misunderstood.”

  “And you would know.” Izzy rolled her eyes. Cara bought into the whole celebrity package, not that Xavier was a celebrity, or Tobias, for that matter, but as the brother of New York’s once most eligible bachelor—which was what Tobias had been until Savannah had snagged him—he was on her radar. “Whatever you read in the papers, is not what they’re really like.”

  “I think you need to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  Izzy stretched, dismissing her friend’s sage advice with a yawn. She wasn’t looking forward to the all night revision she was going to have to put in for her test. Accounting was her least favorite subject, and she had left it until the very last minute to revise. If she failed, it would be her fault entirely. Not Xavier’s.

  “Any chance I could get to meet him?” Cara asked.

  “I don’t see him. He emails me the work. It’s a brilliant arrangement.”

  “And what are you going to do when Savannah asks you to come back?”

  “I’ll do both.” Because both jobs were easy. Looking after Jacob was fun, and working for Xavier was easy. She had no complaints.

  Chapter 22

  There was hope and a sense of solidarity in the air, on this surprisingly dry, yet chilly November morning.

  Izzy was on a high that came from thousands of women all marching together, and she had never experienced anything like it before.

  There was a harmony about the crowd which organizers had estimated to be about 100,000 strong. They had started off on the corner of Columbus Avenue and 71st Street, moving slowly down Central Park West and then turning into Columbus Circle before heading towards Bryant Park.

  It was a route she knew well.

  They marched with a huge group of students from the college, and Izzy hoped something like this was a sign to the Shoemoneys of this world that it wasn’t acceptable to prey on women. That it wasn’t acceptable to touch and grope, in the workplace, in schools, and in gymnasiums, in swim squads, or behind the scenes at movie castings and fashion shows, thinking it was normal.

  Because it wasn’t, and had never been, and somewhere along the line, a whole generation of men had grown up thinking it was, and a generation of women had grown up believing they were alone.

  Stories such as this had been crawling out of the woodwork for months, and had given her strength, in light of what had happened to her. It gave her comfort, and made her stand straighter, to know that she was not alone.

  She and Cara marched together, in unison, the collective energy building, the vibe in the air permeating each and every cell in her body.

  They listened to speeches along the way, where women dreamt of a world where equal pay was possible, and not just a glass ceiling to aim for, a world in which harassment in the workplace, the smutty jokes and physical references, were a punishable offense, not just the stuff of locker room high fives, or boardroom handshakes.

  For six hours they had walked and the procession had been peaceful, and friendly. It was easy to make friends surrounded by people who all shared the same values, dreamed the same dream and hoped for the same future.

  It was only in the last hour of what should have been the end of a peaceful demonstration, that things turned ugly. She heard the commotion up ahead, and then what sounded like crackers going off. Women’s screams filled the air as people panicked and ran.

  Izzy grabbed Cara’s arm and ran, as quickly as she could, fearful of being trampled on, as the crackers—someone shouted that they were gunshots—went off close by.

  But just as they were about to push their way out of the thick crowd, Cara tripped and fell. “Get up!” Izzy screamed.

  “I can’t!” Cara’s ghostly pale face stared up at her as she lay crumpled in a heap on the ground. “I can’t move my foot,” she groaned, her face twisting in pain.

  “Get up,” Izzy urged. Covering her face, as people jostled and shoved past her and Cara. They had to get away before they were trampled. She put her arm around Cara’s neck then yanked her to standing. Supporting her body as best as she could, they limped to an alleyway, away from the crowd.

  They cowered for what seemed like ages.

  “Your face is all scratched,” Cara told her.

  “I’m fine.” She stared down at Cara’s foot. “We need to get back.” But the sound of sirens suddenly filled the air and, in the next moment, police officers spilled out onto the streets like ants.

  It was later, when they had been to the hospital and then returned home to watch it all on TV, that they learned how lucky they had been that Cara had only suffered a bad ankle sprain, and Izzy’s face had suffered a few cuts and grazes.

  They’d gotten off relatively u
nscathed.

  They had discovered, to their horror, that an angry ex-husband had come looking for his wife with a gun. He’d shot her, and left her in a critical condition in the ICU. A hater with so much hate that he’d wanted to put a bullet through the mother of his children.

  ~ ~ ~

  He hadn’t bothered to call because he’d bought the damn thing and now he just wanted her to have it. He needed to focus on his proposal for Hennessy, not worry about fucking spreadsheets being in the wrong format.

  This would fix that problem.

  It had better do, or else …

  He knocked a few times. Would have been here yesterday, but the goddamn streets were rammed. There had been some sort of lesbian demonstration taking place in the streets, and it had been impossible to get anywhere.

  Laronde opened the door and looked slightly uneasy. “Oh,” she said, when she saw him. It wasn’t the usual response he was accustomed to—even if he turned up unannounced at a girl’s place, but he’d always known that Laronde was never going to break out into a flirtatious smile at the sight of him.

  “Nice to see you, too,” he said, his tone blatantly sarcastic. It was the first time he’d seen her since that interview in the park a few weeks ago. He’d been so busy, he hadn’t had time to think about the bet.

  “For you,” he said, handing over the thin white box.

  “What is it?” she asked, staring at it, but not taking it.

  “Here, have a look,” he insisted, and gave it to her. “Something that will solve your problem.” She had scratches on her chin and on the side of her face, making him wonder what the fuck had happened.

  “What happened?” he asked, nodding at her face.

  “Long story.”

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “Sorry, come in.”

  She lifted the lid and peeked at the sleek shiny surface of the MacBook Pro. He hoped this would put an end to their incompatibility problems. He’d write the purchase off as a business expenses, and it would earn him bonus points. Win-win.

  “For me?” Izzy asked, looking stunned. The kind of stunned girls looked like when he bought them a trinket from Tiffany. “You bought me this?”