The Bet (Indecent Intentions Book 1)

by Lily Zante

  “I need the password.”

  “Right.” He turned around and she could have sworn that he visibly flinched when he saw the screen. “I should get that picture changed.”

  She’d meant to keep quiet, but a noise, a derisive snort escaped from her lips.

  “Sorry about that.” His voice was soft. He moved away from the desk, but she waited until he had cleared a good few yards, before she sat down.

  “You can go now,” she told him, when he still stood there, unmoving.

  He disappeared, and she got on with her work but a few moments later, he was back, and this time he had an ice-cube wrapped up a dishcloth. “This might help take the swelling down.”

  She reached for it, and a small ‘thanks’, may or may not have fallen from her lips.

  Chapter 28

  “I look forward to doing business with you.”

  “Likewise,” said Xavier, smiling into the phone.

  “I’ll send over the contract by the end of this week, have a look over it, let me know if you have any questions, otherwise we’re fine to proceed.”

  “Thanks, Chad.”

  He hung up, pleased with himself. Relieved, too, to know that someone else had taken a chance on him. He would sign and return the contract as soon as possible.

  He scanned through his emails on his cell phone and located the email Izzy had sent him a week ago:

  I’ve reported the theft to the police. Will let you know if I hear back. Sorry, once again, but I didn’t ask to be robbed. Hope you can claim insurance.

  He was grinning like an idiot, reading through the straight-to-the-point, emotionless email, and he had no idea why. Izzy with her thorns and barbed wire response, and the obviously blatant fact that she didn’t give a shit about him re-ignited his desire to conquer her.

  He’d wasted a golden opportunity last week when she had come over and reworked his report. He had been so annoyed about the MacBook being stolen, so caught up in the investment he so badly needed, that he’d let that rule his behavior. He could have been softer, more understanding, more concerned about her instead of Chad’s meeting. If he had been nicer to her at a time when she was so vulnerable, he might have found an easier way to connect with her.

  But he’d been pissed off and she’d been eager to fix the situation and leave.

  But with him and Chad almost ready to go into business together, he could use Izzy’s help. He knew he needed to be mindful of her time and studies, but if she wanted more work, and he sensed she was always hungry for more, she could do more hours for him.

  It was the least he could do. He owed her. He hadn’t secured Hennessy’s investment because of her report, but he recognized the part she’d played in putting it all together. She had produced the kind of report he wouldn’t have been able to do himself. Her report had definitely helped. No doubt about it, and now it was time to make it up to her.

  He called her. “I got the investment I needed.”

  “What?”

  “The investment,” he repeated, “The meeting I had, the document you put together? It worked out and I got what I needed.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “And, since you had a big part to play in it, how about I take you to dinner?”

  “Dinner?” she sounded horrified.

  “Dinner. You and me. No strings attached.”

  “Uh, no thanks.”

  “Come on, Laronde. It won’t be as horrific as you’re making it out to be.”

  “I’ve had dinner.”

  “Then come and have a celebratory drink with me.”

  He would take her to The Oasis, right in front of Luke, so that he could see that progress was being made.

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Then have a mocktail, and I’ll let you know where we are with the police report.”

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t decline. He had a feeling he might have wormed his way in. She was thinking about it.

  “It won’t be too long and it would make me feel good to at least take you out for a drink.”

  “Not needed. Really. I’m pleased you got what you wanted.”

  “I would get what I wanted if you came out and helped me celebrate. Please.”

  “Why are you begging me? I didn’t think you were capable of begging.”

  “Only when it comes to—.” He was about to make a distasteful remark—was about to say ‘girls-who-play-hard-to-get’ but something told him he would never see her again if he said that.

  Smutty replies, and conversation loaded with innuendo was his hallmark, but try as he might to dull it down when Laronde was around, he couldn’t.

  “Only when it comes to people who go out of their way for me,” he said. “That report you did was awesome, and all I want to do is show you my appreciation.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I behaved like a total jerk the other day, and I’m sorry.” He had thought about that evening long after she’d left. And he’d felt guilty about his behavior, especially in light of the fact that she’d only just been robbed. He could have handled things differently. He’d felt like a real shit that she’d been so determined to make it up to him that she’d done nothing but work on his report.

  “You don’t need to take me anywhere.”

  “I’m not taking you anywhere, Laronde. I’m taking me for a celebratory drink, and I’m asking you to come along.” He waited for her to think about it some more. There were some girls who assumed, and some girls who wouldn’t have waited for him to finish asking, but Laronde needed to be persuaded. He had much to learn. And learning to woo her, fighting for it, seemed a whole heap more challenging and rewarding than anything else.

  “Uh.”

  Hell, yes, she was thinking about it. “And if you had a virgin mocktail or two, maybe some nachos and green veggie stuff, it might feel like a celebration.”

  “I can’t stay out for too long. I’ve got coursework.”

  “An hour, or two. Can you spare that?” He suddenly remembered what else he had for her. “Because of the new business, I’ll have extra work for you, if you want it.”

  “A couple of hours extra?”

  That was what baited her? The prospect of more money, more work, more hours? With this new line of business, he could give her exactly that.

  “An extra 10, maybe 20 hours a week, if you can fit it in.”

  “20?” she squealed, the way most girls did when he told them what sexy things he was going to do to them. “20 hours a week?”

  “At the most, yes, if you want it.”

  “I want it, god, yes. Of course I want it.”

  Jeez. There she went again, getting her panties wet about work. He’d consider it a major advancement if he ever figured out how this girl’s brain was wired. She talked about work the way most women talked about sex.

  “I had a feeling you might.”

  “Okay, so, where are we going?”

  “The Oasis rooftop bar.” He gave her the address. “I can pick you up.”

  “I’m old enough to ride the subway, Stone. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  He wasn’t going to push it.

  Chapter 29

  “You sure you only want one portion of each?”

  “How much do you think I can eat?”

  Xavier placed the order at the fancy bar he’d practically begged her to come to.

  They were sitting outside on the rooftop terrace of this swanky place, she’d never heard of. It had big leather couches, and seats with soft cushions, and yellow lamps and rich red curtains. It felt as if she was in some exotic faraway place, not at the top of a bar in New York. And the people here, those rich, snobby types, not like the people she’d met at Shoemoney’s house. These were young and hip and trendy.

  Cara would be pea green with envy when Izzy told her.

  They were both supposed to have gone out tonight, but after her mother called earlier, complaining about her father and how his ‘mo
ods were worse than ever.’ Izzy had lost the heart to do anything. Cara had gone out without her and Izzy had stayed at home.

  She dreaded those phone calls from home because they usually signaled bad news, or oftentimes, her mother just wanted to offload. Winter time wasn’t a good time for her father. It made things worse and some days he couldn’t get out of bed. But they needed him to. Her mother’s job at the local supermarket only went so far. Sometimes Izzy wished she and Owen could fast forward a few years, so that they could help, in any way, so their father could stop working.

  Xavier’s subsequent call had been a lifebuoy in an otherwise miserable sea of an evening and here she was, an hour later, taking him up on his offer to go out and celebrate.

  “So you managed to impress your investor?” she asked, trying not to notice the people around her. She felt scruffy in her coat and jeans surrounded by sharply dressed guys, and the scantily dressed women.

  “Your report helped.”

  “You would have got it regardless.”

  “I’m sure I would have.”

  She looked at him. Cheeky, cocky, arrogant.

  “But your report helped, Laronde. Maybe I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Nice place, this.” She said, not wanting to get sucked in by his compliments. She’d almost died when she’d seen the prices on the menu. Drinks here cost double the price of a dinner at the types of establishments she and Cara hung out at.

  How the other side lived.

  It was like sitting in a faraway exotic land, not in a rooftop restaurant. With three weeks to go before Christmas, New York was setting in for a cold spell. Before her, Manhattan twinkled like a thousand different colors with fairy lights.

  “Recognize him?” Xavier nodded towards the tall figure of the guy, jeans, tight fitting black top. She stared at him for the longest time and it was only when he ran his hands through his hair, when he half turned so that she saw his side profile, that she remembered it was the bartender from the wedding.

  He turned at the same time and looked at Xavier, and there was something complicit in their unspoken exchange, but she couldn’t be certain. She wasn’t sure if she was being paranoid.

  He walked over to them. “Hey” he said, holding out his hand which Xavier shook firmly. The other guy touched his finger to his head, as if he was trying to remember something, then extended his hand to her.

  “Izzy, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she said, shaking his hand. “Hi, and yes. I remember you. It’s Luke, isn’t it?”“

  “That’s right. Nice to see you again.”

  “Xavier says you own this place.”

  “I do.

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You never let on that you owned a bar in New York. I thought you were just a bartender.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  He turned to Xavier. “Have you guys ordered?”

  “Yes. We’re being looked after.”

  “Good. This is a surprise, you turning up like this.”

  She wasn’t sure about what he meant and pushed away her feelings of paranoia, putting it down to some strange code language between the guys. A server appeared, and set down their food and drink from a tray.

  “We’re celebrating. I got the funding I needed,” Xavier explained.

  “Cool.” Luke nodded in acknowledgement.

  “Izzy helped secure the deal, so we’re celebrating.”

  Luke glanced at her. “It’s about time, too,” he said to Xavier, and for a moment it looked as if he was about to say something, when a passing customer tapped him on the shoulder. “Enjoy your evening,” he said, then, “Excuse me,” and strode away.

  “What was all that about?” she asked.

  “All what about?”

  “Izzy helped secure the funding,” she echoed. She couldn’t put her finger on it right now, but something didn’t feel right. She picked up on something, but couldn’t define what that something was.

  Or maybe, as Cara had mentioned to her recently, she needed to let go of her mistrust of wealthy men. “If he was a down-on-his-luck guitarist, or a poor student, you’d probably give him a chance.”

  What did Cara know?

  “But your part helped,” he insisted.

  She picked up an asparagus in tempura and dipped it into the small pot of relish, before biting it. “Are you not having any?”

  He shook his head. “You go ahead.”

  “Green veg not your thing?”

  “Still not my thing.”

  “This is a cool place,” she said. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And congratulations.” She lifted her virgin cocktail. “Here’s to getting your investment.”

  He lifted his beer bottle and knocked the top of it with her glass. “And to your extra hours, hopefully.”

  “Hopefully?” He’d made it sound as if it was a done deal.

  “I need to get the business up and running, first. It can take a while, but I’ll have some hours for you, it might not be 20 straight away. And, don’t get your hopes up because nothing’s going to happen this month. We’re looking at some time in the new year, maybe.”

  He’d made it sound as if she could have those hours straight away. She should have known better than to believe Xavier’s bullshit.

  The college would be closing next week, and then she’d be going home for Christmas. She had promises of work—the extra hours with Xavier, and maybe with Savannah, but it was all up in the air. She didn’t like uncertainty.

  “Just let me know, as soon as it’s a sure thing.”

  “I don’t want it to get in the way of your studies.”

  “As if I’d let your work get in the way of my studies,” she retorted.

  “I’m only trying to help you, Laronde.” His expression suddenly turned somber. “Anything could change. Nothing is set in stone. This is a new guy I’m going into business with, and I don’t know much about him, except that he has the resources I need. I was only trying to find a way to help you, if this contract pans out.”

  “Okay,” she said, feeling sheepish. “I understand. I didn’t mean to be so mouthy.”

  “I noticed you can’t help it sometimes.”

  “You bring out the warrior in me.” She shrugged. “We seem to have this hate-hate thing going, I guess.”

  But lately he hadn’t been a total jerk most of the time. Sure, he’d been a douchebag last week when she’d turned up and told him his MacBook had been stolen, but in hindsight, she’d lost everything—the USB stick included, and she hadn’t backed anything up, and his meeting had been the next day, she understood.

  “I must admit, it’s not a reaction I bring out in most women.” His eyebrow lifted slightly, and she couldn’t bring herself to look away, taking in his features, noticing how attractive his dark hair and big blue eyes were. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this.”

  He was trying so hard, and it wasn’t fair that her mother’s phone call earlier had soured things for her, the way it always did. “It’s not you,” she said, slowly, letting a feeling of empathy guide her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come out tonight.”

  “But you’re out now.” He peered at her closer. “Is something wrong? Have I done or said something to offend you again?”

  She shook her head. “No.” But the way she said it, didn’t sound convincing.

  “You’re upset about something, Laronde. I can tell, over and above your usual disdain for me, you’re got something else on your mind.”

  Since when had they crossed the line into this?

  She couldn’t think of what to say, and maybe laughing it off first would have deflected his concern. But it was too late. “It’s nothing,” she waved her hand dismissively.

  “Maybe you should take a risk and try me.”

  It was embarrassing, and she didn’t want to. What would this rich bo
y understand of her problems? “It’s really nothing.” She smiled at him.

  “Izzy.” His voice was low, and enticing, and tempting. It was enough to make her want to lose the heaviness from her chest, enough for her to be tempted to share her worries.

  “It’s really nothing … “

  “It’s really nothing?” he repeated, leaning forward on the table, as if he was all ears.

  She let out a heavy, heavy breath. Stared at her fingers on the table. Didn’t meet his gaze. “My mom called earlier, and,” she shook her head, wondering why she was telling him. Xavier Stone would never understand.

  “Your mom called and …?”

  She gazed at him, tried to find something in his face—a shadow of arrogance, a veil of cockiness, something, anything, of his former self that would hinder her from spilling all. But his face was impassive, and his attention was all on her. “Is your mom okay?” he asked.

  “She’s fine. She’s not the problem. It’s my dad. He’s in one of his moods.”

  The look on his face told her that he automatically assumed the worst.

  “It’s nothing like that,” she said quickly, in case he thought her dad had beaten up her mom, or trashed the house or done something insane. “He’s not a drinker, and he doesn’t … he’s not abusive. They’re still sort of happily married.”

  “Sort of?”

  “I don’t really like talking about it. He gets down about things, like in a really bad can’t-get-out-of-bed way.”

  “Is he always like that?”

  She shook her head. “Just sometimes.” And she was sick of carrying the burden of it all.

  “Why sometimes?” he asked, gently.

  She shrugged. “Sometimes he just wakes up in a bad mood.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “It’s all to do with what happened years ago. I think he’s angry with himself. I think he blames himself for being a failure.”

  “A failure?”

  And so she told him, in a vague way, of how he’d once had a thriving business but everything went downhill when it failed. Their house had been foreclosed on when her father had run out of money because he’d tried to pay his employees’ wages.