As in unhappy enough to be royally pissed off at me for refusing to undercut the deal. According to Chase, who was one of few people I trusted explicitly, Yuri had taken to wondering out loud if no one would rid him of my troublesome self.
We both got, as Yuri undoubtedly intended, the reference to Henry II’s bemoaning of his problems with the Archbishop of Canterbury back in the 12th century. Shortly thereafter, several knights eager to curry the king’s favor had taken it upon themselves to slaughter the archbishop, hacking him to death in front of the altar of Canterbury Cathedral. As professional relationships went, that one could be said to have ended badly.
The problem was that there were men--and women, Yuri was a true equal opportunity employer--in the Russian’s circle with a mentality no different from that of Henry’s ambitious knights. Yuri knew that better than anyone because he’d made use of them in the past to deal with various annoyances.
“Oh, yes,” he said as though he’d only just remembered. “The Qatari. More money than taste, if you ask me. Are you calling to tell me that Prince Rashid has changed his mind?”
“No, Yuri, I’m not. I’m calling to say that I get it, you’re pissed. No one likes to be disappointed. But this is New York and something better will come along.”
I wasn’t entirely sure why Yuri wanted yet another property in the city. He already owned several, all spectacular. But he’d made it clear that he was in the market for something truly special and he wanted it pronto.
Sounding slightly mollified, he asked, “Then I’m assured of your best efforts?”
“Absolutely. In fact, I’m working on something right now that makes what Rashid got look like a walk-up in the Bronx.”
That was a bit of an exaggeration. Prince Rashid had purchased all four of the penthouse apartments available in a building currently under construction on Central Park South and was planning to turn them into single blow-out residence. He’d paid an obscene amount for that coup, something I knew because I’d handled the deal on both ends.
Nonetheless, the Russian chuckled. He and the Qatari owned rival European football teams, which made losing out to the prince all the harder to take. I should have realized that without needing death threats, however obscure, to get my attention.
“I knew I could count on you,” Yuri said.
Apparently, he’d decided to let bygones be bygones. Assuming, of course, that I delivered for him. But then everything in my world was conditional on that, all the time. I accepted it as a simple fact of the reality I lived in.
We chatted a little longer, him trying to tease out details of the property and me being coy. I did drop him one little hint.
“You ever watch old movies, Yuri? Say from the 1950s?”
I knew perfectly well that he did and more, that he was a particular fan of Margo Stark, the actress who had owned the tower apartment in the Arcadia.
He hesitated a moment, then said, “On occasion I do.”
“I thought I might kick back this weekend and watch a couple.”
“While you’re working on finding me the right property,” he admonished.
“Absolutely.”
By the time I got off the call with him, I was reasonably certain that Yuri was over his Henry II snit. Now I just had to hope he let his henchmen and henchwomen know that I was back in his good graces.
With that little matter taken care of, I was free to turn my thoughts once again to Emma. Given what she’d done, I had to conclude that she wasn’t short of either courage or initiative. That was just as well given what life had handed her.
I also appreciated that she hadn’t let me think I was responsible for her passing out. Plenty of people I knew would have laid that guilt trip on me without hesitation and looked to benefit from it. Instead she showed every sign of being a genuinely decent person, just one in a really shitty situation.
Maybe.
I couldn’t dismiss my lingering suspicions about her father and whatever connection she might still have to him. Not to mention my willingness to use her, if I could, to get to him.
All of which made my physical reaction to her short-sighted at best. Granted, I was a healthy guy in good condition and at twenty-eight, my libido didn’t require much encouragement. But even so--
What was it about Miss Emma Whittaker that had my cock twitching at the mere thought of tying her up again and having my wicked way with her?
To distract myself, I made a few more calls. By the time I was done, Isaac was pulling the car up in front of the address I’d given him. Schaffer Realty had offices in a building just off Fifth Avenue. Heather Schaffer had earned that, clawing her way up from a storefront in Rego Park, Queens. She was as tough, savvy, and ruthless as anyone in the business.
I respected that but I sure as hell didn’t like what she’d pulled with Emma. Giving a desperate young woman hope when the sole intention was to exploit her was low even by New York standards.
But maybe I was wrong. Maybe Heather had been keeping her warm, nurturing side under wraps all this time and was genuinely committed to mentoring Miss Whittaker.
I resisted the urge to look up on the chance that a pig might be flying by.
As it turned out, I had the timing down almost to the minute. Just over an hour after she’d walked out of the apartment, Emma stumbled out of the building housing Schaffer Realty.
Chapter Seven
Lucas
My chest tightened with an emotion I didn’t care to identify.
Emma was pale and her lips were pressed together like she was struggling not to cry.
Damn.
I love New York but there are times when I really don’t like what the city can do to people.
All the same, I didn’t think Miss Emma Whittaker would react well if she caught me feeling sorry for her. Stepping out of the car, I put on my best shark smile and waited until she saw me.
When she did, she stopped, glared at me, and said, “If you’re here to gloat, don’t bother. Nothing you say or do can make today worse than it already is.”
I straightened away from the side of the car that I’d been leaning against and opened the door to the rear seat, hoping she’d take the hint and get in.
So softly that I surprised myself, I said, “Then how about I see what I can do to make it better instead?”
“You and your proposition?” She all but spit the last word.
I ignored the dangerous gleam in her stunning blue eyes, and said, “Sheath your claws, wildcat. All I’m asking is that you hear what I have to say.” For good measure and because she still wasn’t budging, I added, “It’s not what you think.”
What I’d let her think because it amused me to do so. It didn’t any more. She looked like she was holding onto her self-control by only the thinnest thread.
Before it snapped, I said, “Please, Emma. At least let me give you a lift to wherever you want to go. If I haven’t convinced you to take my offer by the time we get there, no harm done.”
She hesitated long enough to make me think that she really was going to turn me down. When she finally nodded and moved toward the car, I felt like I’d won a victory.
I got in beside her, mindful that she put as much distance between us as she could in the confines of the backseat.
Ignoring that, I asked, “Where would you like to go?”
She gave me an address in Brooklyn that made me frown. Much of the borough east of Manhattan had been gentrified but areas of it were still gritty and potentially dangerous. If she was living in one of them, the sooner I convinced her to take my offer, the better.
We were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge when my phone rang. Glancing at the caller I.D., I sighed.
“Caroline,” I said, “what a surprise.”
My sister heard the note of resignation in my voice and laughed. “I kind of think it’s not, big bro. If what I just heard about Margo Stark’s apartment finally going on the market is true, you had to know that I’d be calling. You got th
e listing, right?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. With her formidable tech skills and her talent for spotting opportunities to monetize social media, Caroline should have been busy 24/7 running her successful consulting firm. But she insisted on balancing work with a personal life.
If that wasn’t a crazy enough idea, she’d developed a fascination with true crime back when she was a teenager--not very many years ago--that she still pursued. I worried that one of these days, it could lead her in a dangerous direction.
Cutting to the chase, I said, “As usual, your information sources are impeccable. Someday, I’d really like to know what they are. But in the meantime, on the remote chance that I come across anything you’d be interested in, I’ll let you know.”
My prompt surrender was greeted with silence, followed by a snort. “Jeez, that was too easy. I have an hour’s worth of argument ready to go.”
I chuckled. “Save it. I’m sure something else will come up. You can torment me then.”
Glancing across the backseat, I saw that Emma’s hands were folded in her lap. She had her head down and was staring at them with a look in her eyes that made it clear that she wasn’t listening to my conversation. On the contrary, her thoughts were far away.
I mentally cursed Heather Schaffer as I said goodbye to Caroline and got off the phone.
When I’d done so, I asked, “Are you all right?”
That came out more gently than I’d intended. I frowned, wondering at the need I felt to go easy on her. Why should I? She was obviously used to taking care of herself.
She looked up and met my gaze. Softly, she said, “You knew I was going to be fired.”
“I had a pretty good idea,” I admitted. “I’ve known Heather long enough to be aware of how she operates.”
Emma managed a faint, sad laugh. “I actually thought that she was giving me a chance. But after what she said just now, it’s clear that even if I had helped her get the listing, she wouldn’t have had any further use for me.”
I’d come to the same conclusion myself but it didn’t make me feel good to be right. To the contrary, I was surprised by how affected I was by Emma’s unhappiness.
Firmly, I said, “She did you a favor. Now you can do something that you’re really interested in.”
The look she threw me was cautious but I thought I saw at least a faint stirring of curiosity. Maybe she’d stopped thinking of me as a total bastard and was willing at least to consider that I might not be all bad. The sudden sense of pleasure that I felt at that thought was startling, not to mention unnerving.
“How so?” she asked.
Briskly, I said, “I need someone to curate the contents of Margo Stark’s apartment. That person has to have an appreciation of artistic value as well as good business sense, and be extremely well-organized. From what you told me, you’re a perfect fit.”
Before she could respond, I added, “Plus I need someone who is available immediately and who will put in whatever hours it takes to get the job done both well and fast.”
Her eyes widened as she listened to me but her mood didn’t lift.
“There must be people better qualified than me,” she said. “Specialists in 1950s memorabilia at the major auction houses, for instance.”
I nodded. “That’s undoubtedly true but they’d be working in the interest of the auction house, not mine. I want someone with no other agenda except to give me the best possible sense of what I’m dealing with.”
“I see…” She tilted her head a little to one side and studied me. Her gaze was direct and, I thought, a little too perceptive for comfort.
“When did it occur to you to offer me this job?” she asked.
“I knew that I needed someone yesterday, after I got my first real look at the apartment. When you described your background, I realized that you were more than qualified.”
That was all true as far as it went but it didn’t begin to address the elephant in the car, so to speak. I understood why she was suspicious. Neither of us could pretend to be unaware of our physical reaction to each other. Or how it complicated the situation.
Ordinarily, I would have never considered becoming involved in a relationship with someone who worked for me, much less someone I had reason to be suspicious of. The fact that I was actively imagining it in Emma’s case told me more than I wanted to know about how she affected me.
Still, I could put a fig leaf on it.
“You’d be working as a private contractor, not an employee of Phelps Properties. Do you have any problem with that?”
“No, I don’t suppose so--”
“Good. And, of course, given the time constraints, it would be best for you to live on the premises.”
She gapped at me. I couldn’t tell if she was more surprised or appalled.
“In the apartment…? Didn’t you say that you were staying there?”
“Only until my place is habitable again. I’m using the master bedroom suite on the main floor. You can have one of the guestrooms upstairs.”
Playing my last card, I added, “There’s a separate entrance on that level. You can come and go as you please. All I ask is that the work gets done in a timely manner.”
I should have asked Isaac to turn the AC on. The air in the car felt very close. I was acutely conscious of the warmth of her skin and the faint, tantalizing scent of her perfume. If that’s what it was. I was beginning to think that the fragrance zapping my brain on the way straight to my groin was pure Emma herself.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked softly. “The truth, please.”
The implication that I wasn’t being completely up-front with her rankled, if for no other reason than it was justified. Still, the job was real and so were her qualifications. Her living in the apartment only made sense for exactly the reasons I’d said; I needed the work done fast and right.
As far as the attraction between us was concerned, we were both adults and we’d deal with it. Or at least I would once I was sure of her true motives when it came to her father.
If she was still connected to him, that would be it. Once she realized what I intended, she’d never want anything to do with me again.
I bit back the regret that rose in me and gave her a partial version of the truth.
“My father died suddenly seven years ago, when I was just about the age you are now. His competitors wasted no time circling. They saw me as unprepared and unqualified for the challenges that I faced as his heir.”
That was putting it mildly. Up until then, I’d lived life strictly for my own benefit. Backed by family money and with a god given ability to charm almost anyone, I did what I wanted and let the rest slide.
Until I realized that everything my father had spent his life building was in danger of being lost. And worse yet to a pack of wolves who would tear it--and me--to shreds.
Far from being dismayed, something in me that I’d never acknowledged before woke up, stretched, bared its fangs, and smiled.
I didn’t see any reason to tell Emma that. All I said was, “They were right but even so, I managed to fight and in the end I won. When I did, people who had bet against me lost money. In your father’s case, a lot.”
“He was one of those who bet against you?” She sounded not so much surprised as resigned.
I nodded. “The scale of his losses was so great that he was faced with two choices, both bad. He either had to find a way to conceal what had happened or confess to his investors. If he’d done the latter, he would certainly have lost his business and seen his way of life destroyed. He couldn’t accept that so instead, he crossed the line into what ultimately became one of the biggest financial frauds in history.”
Emma paled. Softly, she said, “I always wondered how it started. But what does this have to do with your willingness to hire me?”
I wasn’t used to discussing my motives for anything I did, except in the most impersonal terms. And I sure as hell wasn’t about to reveal all of them in h
er case. But the way she was looking at me spurred me to tell her more than I’d intended.
“When the fraud was exposed,” I said, “and the impact on the investors became clear, I asked myself if I could have done something to prevent it.”
“I think I understand what you’re saying,” Emma replied softly. “You feel some degree of responsibility, but you must realize how misplaced that is. My father chose his own course; only he was responsible for what happened.”
She paused. I waited, silently urging her to go on. After a few moments, my patience was rewarded.
“Unlike you,” Emma said, “I still have to live with the fact that I benefited materially from what my father did, at least until it all collapsed. And even when I should have faced up to the truth, I defended him in front of the world.”
Her voice dropped. As though she was confessing a great sin, she said, “I’ve long since accepted that he really was guilty but I still can’t bring myself to regret speaking up for him.”
My throat tightened. If she was telling the truth, I couldn’t help but be struck by her loyalty to a man who had done nothing to deserve it. What would it be like to actually earn her faith and trust?
As soon as the question occurred to me, I dismissed it. I was dealing with enough confusion when it came to Miss Whittaker as it was without adding more. Was I a nice guy who wanted to help her? Was I a horny guy who wanted to fuck her? Was I a ruthless s.o.b. willing to use her to get to her father?
Yes, to all of the above.
For the moment, I took refuge in what I really understood and was good at. I kept the focus on business.
“Do the job I’m offering you,” I said, “and people will have something to associate you with other than the past. Once that happens, I think you’ll find that doors will open a lot more readily.”
She lifted her head and looked at me long and hard. Doubt lingered in her eyes. I waited, hardly breathing until finally she managed a tentative smile.
Softly, she said, “All right.”
Chapter Eight
Caress Part One (Arcadia) Page 4