by Drea Stein
She and Heather had both ordered salads, and when Darby had sent over a piece of chocolate cake, they had bonded over a mutual love of chocolate and Caitlyn had felt more at ease than she had in a while. It was nice to have a friend again. Heather didn’t disguise the fact that she was more interested in fashion than in finance, but that didn’t bother Caitlyn as long as she did her job.
After a cup of espresso to banish the carb coma, they had returned to the office, laughing over a shared joke. Caitlyn had just made it back to her desk, ready to look through her email and messages, when Heather rang her.
“You have a call.” Heather had been briefed and was screening her calls.
“From who?”
“A Mrs. Biddle.”
“Who’s Mrs. Biddle?” Caitlyn asked, the name not familiar to her.
“A client. She’s threatening to pull her money out of the firm if you don’t speak to her.”
She told Heather to put Mrs. Biddle through. An irate client, just what she needed to deal with right now.
“Hello?” The voice was too loud, as if the woman were shouting into the phone.
“Yes, hello, this is Caitlyn Montgomery. Is this Mrs. Biddle?”
“Yes, it is, where’s Jeffrey?”
“Jeffrey?” Caitlyn asked and then remembered. He had left, a young man whose marginal brainpower was compensated for by superior family connections. He had decided it was time to try his hand at independent film producing. His timely departure had helped create the vacancy for Caitlyn to fill.
“Jeffrey Walsh. I always used to speak to him.”
“He’s left the company.”
“I told them if they changed account managers on me one more time, I would take all of my money and store it under my pillow.”
Caitlyn decided the woman was only half-serious, so she took a bit of a risk.
“That would be very unwise, Mrs. Biddle. Your pillow won’t pay you any interest.”
“You’re a good deal smarter than Jeffrey.” Caitlyn did not dispute that.
“What can I really do for you, Mrs. Biddle?”
“I need a date for tomorrow night. Jeffrey was always happy to escort me to these events,” Mrs. Biddle continued over Caitlyn’s astonished pause.
“Yes, but I’m not Jeffrey,” Caitlyn said as she dug through the papers on her desk, desperately hoping to find something, anything on Mrs. Biddle. She pulled up a sheet and glanced at it. Her decision was made clearer by the amount of money in the account.
“However, I’m free tomorrow evening.” Caitlyn decided she didn’t care when or what for.
“Are you? Well, isn’t that convenient? It’s a reception, a cocktail reception. The press will be there. You can dress appropriately, I assume?”
“I assure you, I can.”
“Very well, my car will pick you up at five tomorrow.” Somehow, over the course of the conversation, Mrs. Biddle’s voice had changed from shaky and tremulous to sure and commanding.
“Yes, Mrs. Biddle, that sounds fine.” Caitlyn marked the date down in her calendar and thought about the problem of what to wear.
Chapter 19
Noah stared at the whisky in his glass. He swirled it gently, as if he hoped that he would find the answers he had been looking for in the amber liquid. He should give it up. He knew that drinking never solved the problem. Sure, it might put things in perspective for a little while, but ultimately it wouldn’t give him the answers he was searching for.
Whisky hadn’t helped his father get out of his current crisis. Or had it? He’d wondered about that – if Maxwell, knowing that the firm was no longer his, had decided that there was no further reason to keep on. Noah hadn’t been subtle when he had made the offer to his father. Noah hadn’t wanted to be the bigger man, and his father had been in no position to demand it. Noah’s money had saved the firm.
And when it was done, had his father thanked him? Not likely. No, his father had told him to stay the hell out of it. However, the simple fact was that Noah could have done anything he wanted. But he stayed away, too pissed at his father to care.
He looked blankly at the painting above the fireplace. It was an abstract, large blocks of color fading out to nothing at the edge. It made no sense to him, but it had probably cost a fortune. That was Maxwell; his father was always spending money on the showy things.
This was where he had walked in on Caitlyn, that first day. She had been looking for something – what, she had never admitted to, he realized belatedly. The whole thing didn’t make sense. Why was she back here? She hadn’t exactly sworn off Queensbay the way he had, but she had been pretty broken up by Lucas’s death – and none too happy that Maxwell had taken over the firm. She had even accused Maxwell of robbing the Montgomery family. So why was she back?
He heaved himself off the couch. He had traded his power suit for jeans and a t-shirt. It was taking some work getting used to the East Coast in late fall, and he was glad for the warmth that brushed his skin as he passed in front of the fire on his way to his father’s desk.
Noah looked at the vast expanse of mahogany with its almost-bare top. His father hadn’t liked clutter, so anything interesting was likely in the drawers below. Noah began his search.
Chapter 20
He pounded on the door. The Montgomery house rose tall and proud on the bluff overlooking Queensbay Harbor. The original part of the house had been built almost two hundred years ago by a seafaring ancestor, and since then the Montgomery clan had flourished as ship builders, merchants and then as bankers. Each successive generation had added onto the house, so that now it was large and rambling, with some fanciful Victorian touches, painted a creamy white with dark blue shutters. Its constant was a wide, wraparound porch. He was on it now, sheltered from the wind blowing off the water. Still, it was cold out in the dark, and he hadn’t thought to bring a coat. There were lights on in the house, so he knew she was home.
“Caitlyn, open up! I need to speak to you.”
There was a sound, and he paused. Finally she answered, “Go away.”
“Not going to work this time,” he told her, remembering how she had said that to him once and he had been fool enough to listen. She’d never let him back in. But this time was different.
He tried the door handle, and it turned.
“Next time try locking the door,” he said as he let himself him. She stood in the hall, on the faded runner, hands on her hips. She had changed from the day and was wearing a pair of black sweats, a sweatshirt and bare feet. Her black hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her eyes glowed an electric blue in the light from the wall sconces. Noah felt his pulse quicken as he took her all in. She was lovely to him, but he could tell that she was mad.
“Perhaps I was expecting someone,” she said, tilting her head.
He felt his heart stutter and the slightest twinge of jealously. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might have someone else. Chase had sworn he had harbored no intentions towards her, but that didn’t mean.... Noah swallowed. After all, she was the one who had gotten engaged. She had moved on; that’s what that meant.
“Then I’ll be brief,” he said, though he had no intention of leaving anytime soon.
“I suppose you’ll want a glass of wine, then?”
She didn’t wait for an answer but turned on her heel and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. He walked in and noticed the changes right away. It was lighter than he remembered, less old money and more casual beach house.
She noticed his regard, and said, “Serena,” as if that explained it. She picked up the wine she had been drinking. He realized that she never referred to her mother by anything other than her first name. It made sense. Serena had been only seventeen when she’d had Caitlyn and, if truth be told, none too happy about it. Motherhood, in name or actuality, hadn’t suited her, and Caitlyn had really been raised by her grandparents, Lucas and Elizabeth.
“I like it,” he said, the look appealing to him. It felt mor
e like a home than his father’s place.
She didn’t respond to that, instead saying, “What do you want?” Her tone made it clear that she was not happy.
“Tell me how it happened,” he said, tired of beating around the bush. He had met with the police, and they had given him the official report, but Caitlyn had been there. She had been the last one to see him alive, and the first one to find him.
“Noah, you don’t...” she said. Her eyes softened. “It’s better that you don’t know.”
“Would it have been better for you if you never knew about Lucas?” He tossed it back at her, and her eyes went cold again, her mouth set in a firm, straight line. He remembered the way her lips had molded under his once. She’d been young and eager, and it felt like they fit together. They couldn’t be together more than a few minutes without wanting to kiss, to touch each other. His skin felt warm, and he felt himself stir with desire.
She dropped her eyes and took a sip of her wine. “That was different. I needed to make sense of what happened.”
“Caitlyn, I need to make sense of what happened. You need to tell me; you were there.”
She looked at him, her gaze level, considering, and then she began. “We went to dinner at the club. He insisted on driving me, but I realized about halfway through dinner that there was no way he could drive home. So I stopped drinking, which only seemed to make him madder.”
Noah nodded. His father didn’t like to be told he was drinking too much. It only served to make his temper nastier and the drinks to go down faster.
“Our dinner was not pleasant. He was, to be honest, a bit of an asshole that night.” Her eyes closed, and her hand gripped the counter, as if she were remembering.
“And,” Noah prompted, deciding that he didn’t need to know what they had talked about. He had a fairly good idea anyway.
“I drove him home, walked him into the house and left him in the foyer. I left, walked home across the lawn. I watched some TV, sent some emails, had a cup of tea and went to bed. The next morning I got up, went to work. When he wasn’t there, I became worried. So I drove back to his house and found him.”
She paused, watching him carefully.
“How did you know where to look?” Noah asked.
“I didn’t at first. I came into the house, which was unlocked,” she said, before he could ask, “and then I searched around. His car was there, so I was reasonably certain he hadn’t left. I was upstairs, looking out the window, when I thought of the bluff and the stairs. It had been rather warm that night, and somehow I just knew, just felt.”
Noah nodded.
Caitlyn went on, remembering, as if he wasn’t even there. “I ran to the edge and looked down. The stairs were broken, like someone had fallen, so I ran back to my house and my stairs. I went down them and looked. I didn’t see anything at first, but then I went right to his stairs and saw him.”
She paused. He saw her eyes glisten, and she hurriedly swiped a tear from the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.
“I ran over to him, tried to find a pulse, but I didn’t. I had my cell phone with me and called the police. I started to shout for help, and one of the neighbors came down and … well, I don’t know; it was kind of a blur,” she admitted. She turned and busied herself with straightening the kitchen towels that hung on the handle of the oven.
Noah watched her, the way the low light of the room caught the dark highlights in her hair, the way her blue eyes glittered with unshed tears. He took a deep breath, fighting back the wave of protectiveness, the urge to reach out and touch her that was rising up in him. He still had questions, and she had the answers.
“It must have brought back memories,” he said, his tone more harsh than he had meant.
She looked at him, and something between fear and loathing crossed her face.
“I don’t think there was anything similar in the two situations.” He could tell she was fighting her memories of her grandfather, from the coldness in her eyes, in the way she stood, arms folded, keeping her distance from him.
“The thought crossed my mind.” Noah tried to keep his voice level. “Two men, same business, take the easy way out.”
“An easy way out?” Caitlyn hissed. “Is that what you think it was for him, for either of them?” She swallowed, as if she were trying to find her control, and it was a moment before she spoke again.
“I know you didn’t care anymore, but I did. About my grandfather, Maxwell and the firm. I know it seems trite and silly to you, but it means something to me. My grandfather, he wanted me to be a part of it. He wanted it to be a legacy passed on to me. It was who I was meant to be.”
Noah felt his blood burn. There had always been that between the two of them. The firm. A goddamn piece of what? Offices and filing cabinets, tradition and responsibility, and he had wanted none of it – and she had wanted all of it.
“You never told me what you were doing in my father’s house the other day.” He took a sip of wine. It was heavy, bold with a hint of spice. Caitlyn’s eyes watched him over the rim of her glass, her gaze inscrutable. She was an excellent poker player; he remembered that. He and Chase had lost their shirts, figuratively, and once literally, playing with her. He saw nothing in her face that gave anything away.
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” She made a move to get up and away from him, but he snaked his arm out and pulled her close to him, so he could look into her eyes.
“Babe, it’s all my business now.” The term of endearment, which she had once loved, made her nostrils flare and her breath quicken. Firelight danced over her skin, pale, almost ivory-like. He could smell her, a combination of the spicy wine and her own perfume, a heady and overpowering scent.
Caitlyn smelled rich. He was reminded as he had been a long time ago by Lucas, that he was out of her league. Quickly he tamped the thought down and sent silent curses out to the ghost of the old man who haunted him still. Noah had vaulted several leagues ahead, hadn’t he?
She dropped her eyes down to his hand on her arm, and he let go. She answered, “I gave your father a letter. A formal proposal for buying Queensbay Capital from him.”
She pulled away from him so he could no longer smell her, no longer feel her warmth. God, she was killing him, the look of her, the way she had filled out in all the right places, the way she looked angry. He felt himself grow hard with want, the desire to touch her and kiss her overwhelming him.
“You wanted to buy the firm?” If he’d been twenty again, he would have thrown himself at her to see if she would have him. Still, he was a grown, successful man. He took a deep, cleansing breath and put another step between them, knowing that disbelief showed on his face.
She drew herself up to her full height, five-seven in her bare feet yet still managing to glare at him down her nose.
“I told you that, yet you still sound surprised.” Her voice was dangerously quiet, and he knew he should retreat.
“It was a rather expensive purchase.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized just how pompous they sounded.
“Then you probably paid too much,” she said coolly, lifting her wine glass to her lips and drinking.
“I...” He didn’t know what to say to that. He considered the fact that perhaps his father had been playing him after all and that Caitlyn, with her advantage of having worked there, might just have known more than she was letting on.
“I hear that’s what paper billionaires like to do ... overspend in certain areas to overcompensate for deficiencies in other areas.” Amusement tinged her words, but there was a dangerous glint in her eyes.
“You might be surprised. Care to find out what you’ve been missing all of these years? I can assure you that all my assets are impressive.”
He knew as soon as the rough proposition was out that it had been a mistake. Caitlyn made a move, a sudden, violent move. He wasn’t sure if he expected a slap, but it was the warm, red liquid that hit him square in the face.
Noah managed a smile and licked his lips slowly, as if savoring every last drop of it.
“Get out,” Caitlyn said, her voice quivering with carefully controlled anger.
He swiped a hand over his face, not caring what dropped on the floor. He backed away, his eyes holding hers, until he was in the doorway. Then and only then did he turn his back to her and leave her house.
Chapter 21
She managed to put thoughts of Noah out her mind, although not quite successfully, as she pulled out the mop and cleaned up the mess she had made in her own house. Dramatic moves like that were better done with white wine, or someplace with a cleaning crew, she thought as she mopped up the liquid.
But what he said had bothered her. An accident. Maxwell had stood there, on the bluff night after night – and had never fallen. But that night? His frame of mind had been, what? Angry, mean, nasty. Had he been despondent? There was something wrong with the firm. She had figured that out soon after being there. Yes, she had dug around a bit, saw that things were on shaky ground. She knew he needed money and had offered it. But he had pushed it away, going to Noah.
Had he been so upset, so defeated, he’d given up? Had things been that bad? She’d done her part to bolster things, but was it enough? Had he been hiding more losses from them? Had Noah known, or had Maxwell seen an easy target in his son?
She wrung the mop out and made her way up to bed, her thoughts troubled. Sleep didn’t come easily, and her body twisted and turned as she thought about Noah. She had finally given up about two in the morning and found some outdated investor magazines to read down in the study. Those had done the trick, and she had woken, cramped and stiff, but with the light of dawn in the sky.
She was tired and cranky when she went into the office, and it seemed as if everyone else had had a restless night, too. The office was subdued as everyone watched, looking for glimpses of the new boss. She saw him here and there, in Max’s office, talking with Sam Harris, pacing, talking on the phone. At one point, she was certain he was staring at her from across the row of cubicles, but he had looked away before she was sure.