She was learning leasing. Learning about Rothstein’s big clients, the ones they had trouble with, the building spaces that didn’t sell. Rose wondered now how to get into Acquisitions. She wanted to get her hands on some of that fiscal data.
She had a nose for these things. The large numbers didn’t scare her, they thrilled her. Sometimes gleaning information was more than reading reports; sometimes it was listening to the way executives talked.
And Dick White sounded scared.
Rose tugged her gloves on a little tighter, took one last sip of her steaming cinnamon coffee, and walked out of her door into the early-morning chill, thoroughly looking forward to Monday morning.
*
Ella Brown fixed her wraparound tie shirt a fraction tighter around her boobs and did that annoying eyelash-batting thing.
Jake almost admired her persistence. She had been after him since the day she was assigned to him. Yeah, it was so like Dad. Send up a personal assistant with the emphasis on personal; huge fake tits, dark hair—his father had noted his penchant for brunettes—long legs, the whole bit, and a crawling, slavish mentality.
Except he’d never liked slavish women. It put him off. Without a challenge, it was just no fun. Sure, he might have thrown her a shot under other circumstances, but this was work. Women were plentiful; good secretaries less so. And he didn’t particularly relish having to fire a woman. She might, he reflected with distaste, cry or something.
He’d canned a bunch of Rothstein executives, but they were all men. Some people had slid over the years; friends of the family, dead weight making loser deals and costing the company money. It was all going to be his one day, and Jake didn’t want hangers-on shaving a few million here and there off his bottom line.
His father never objected to Jake canning someone. In fact, he seemed to approve. Ruthlessness was a trait they shared.
So every morning Jake ignored Ella’s hopeful routine. Today, however, it was bugging him.
Goddamn leasing. He wanted to buy, build, let others take care of the details.
It burned him to be stuck down here.
“Got something in your eye, Ella?”
“No, Mr. Rothstein.” He didn’t go for that “sir” shit from his assistants. People kissed his ass quite enough; it was boring.
Ella looked crestfallen and Jake felt faintly ashamed of himself. She was just a dumb hick, no need to snap at her.
“OK. Fetch me the Fulton file and a cup of coffee, please.”
“Certainly,” Ella said with a full-wattage smile.
Next time, Jake thought, he was going to insist on an older woman, a married woman, with a mustache and German efficiency.
Oh well. He’d stay here a month, a sop to his father. But after that, he was going back to Acquisitions. Or he was quitting.
There were some advantages to this floor. He could keep an eye on what White was doing; Jake had never really trusted him.
And, of course, he could keep an eye on Rose Fiorello.
*
Rose stood in the file room. Mary-Beth hated this place, but it was one of Rose’s favorite spots in Rothstein. A photocopier, no security, and rows and rows of data …
She reached up on her toes, on the stepladder, and slid out the F’s. Follon, Fong, Foxley … Fulton was in here somewhere …
“Hey.”
The voice was a shock. Rose jumped out of her skin and lost her balance. She grabbed at the shelves, missed, and felt herself teeter backward into space …
“I got you.”
Rose shrieked, but she was OK. A pair of very strong arms were holding her weight like it was nothing.
“Jacob.” Angry, she spat the word out. Her skin had prickled with adrenaline, and there was a fine sheen of perspiration all over it. She felt tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead. “Goddammit. You scared me. Let me go.”
“You could at least ask nicely,” he said, mildly. He spun her around lightly so she was facing him. Man, was she ever beautiful. Those wolf-eyes stared up at him fiercely, but she was so slight, so female. He enjoyed the feel of the soft breasts brushing against his sleeves, of her futile struggles against his grip. Jake held her a second longer than he should have, just to make the point. Then he let her go. He never let women dictate to him.
“Maybe I should call you ‘sir’?”
“Maybe you should.”
Rose tried not to drop her eyes. His stare was so unflinching, so dominant. She didn’t want to be attracted to him. And she didn’t want to lose.
“For someone who owes me a favor,” he said lightly, “you sure are angry.”
Then he reached out and traced the angry line of her mouth with his fingertip.
Desire rushed through her groin like an electric shock. Rose pulled back.
“I don’t want you to touch me,” she hissed.
“Liar,” Jake said.
He grabbed her by the waist, pulled her to him, and kissed her.
His mouth was on hers, his strong lips crushing her soft, full ones, his teeth raking over them, like he wanted to devour her. Waves of desire for Jake pulsed through her; Rose felt her hands come up, but they didn’t push him away; they curled gently against his collar. Traitors. She felt as though time had slowed down, and she was seeing everything through a blood-red mist. Her heart was thudding, crashing against her chest, her palms were sweating.
Oh, fuck. She wanted him so much she ached.
Rose’s brain tried to rein her in. It was that small part that let you know you were drunk when you were drunk, not that her control had ever slipped far enough to get drunk. Right now, it was a small voice telling her to get out of Jake’s arms.
But she wasn’t listening. Her body was lifting to him, almost helplessly, pressing against him, so she knew he could feel the hot blood pooled in her belly, hear her heart racing …
Jake took a step back. Almost a step. He was struggling with himself. He wanted to rip her clothes off right there in the file room, but that was no good.
Control yourself, Rothstein thought.
She excited him. Her responses were profound, her mouth was soft and yielding, her pulse was light, fast … she was so soft, so slight … he wanted to push her down on the floor and take her. But this was work. A public area. For a wild second, Jake considered dragging Rose upstairs to his office, locking the door, and thrusting her over his desk …
But no. No. He breathed in, hard, forcing his blood to slow. Not for Rose Fiorello. She was a prize, a quarry, he thought. She was different from the other women. He wanted to take her home to the penthouse, and spend a long time on her total and abject conquest. An entire weekend, making love to her hard, slowly, a hundred different ways, until she lay nestled in his arms, utterly spent and ready to beg him to see her again.
Jake snapped out of that pleasant fantasy and looked at Rose. She was panting, gulping little breaths, fighting to snap out of it. He saw her pupils were slightly dilated, her plump lips parted just a touch.
“You know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” he asked.
“I’ve got some idea,” Rose said. Then, enchantingly, she blushed. He couldn’t remember when he’d last seen a woman blush.
“I want to take you out to dinner,” Jake said.
“I’m busy,” Rose said instantly.
He chuckled. “No, you’re not. Or are you about to retreat back into pretending you don’t want anything to do with me? It’s really not going to fly, you know.”
She hesitated. Goddammit, he was right. If she turned him down now it would look real odd.
“I meant I’m busy tonight … maybe later in the week.”
“Friday night.” His dark eyes drilled into her. “Come over to my place.”
“Great,” Rose said weakly.
Jake reached out and traced the line of her jaw, which almost made her knees buckle. Then he said, “See you then,” and turned and left her.
Rose steadied herself, leaning against the fili
ng cabinets. She had to get a grip. It was crazy, getting a crush on a Rothstein. This Rothstein, the crown prince, no less. She was here to crush him, not kiss him.
Never mind. I can lull him into a false sense of security, Rose told herself.
She wanted him. Badly.
Disgusted with herself, Rose strode into the women’s bathroom and splashed cold water on her neck.
Her pager buzzed against her side. Rose lifted it out and looked at the number.
It was nothing she recognized. She went into Mary-Beth’s office—the coast was clear, she was probably in with Richard White, leaning over his desk, giving him his schedule for the day in that fake, breathy voice. Quickly, Rose lifted Mary-Beth’s phone and dialed.
“Yeah?”
“Somebody paged me.”
“Who is this?”
“This is Rose Fiorello. Who is this?” Rose asked, but she already knew. Her heart started to race again, but this time it wasn’t desire.
“Don Salerni wants to see you.”
“I can be there after five-thirty—”
“He wants to see you now, chickie.”
“Right.” Rose breathed in sharply. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”
“Hurry up,” the voice said, and hung up on her.
Rose hadn’t noticed Richard White’s office door opening. Mary-Beth stood there, her face a picture of rage. Rose realized she was still holding the receiver in her hand.
“You aren’t allowed to answer my phones!”
“It wasn’t an incoming call.”
Mary-Beth’s lips tightened with pleasure. “You mean you were making an outgoing call on the company phone lines? Well! That’s a dismissal offense for an intern. I’m gonna tell Mr. White.”
Rose smiled. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
“You’re not me.”
“Not unless you want me to go to Jacob Rothstein about it. He asked me out. We’re having dinner on Friday night.”
Mary-Beth’s face was a picture. Rose had to admit she enjoyed watching the emotions sweep across it. Disbelief, then envy, then fear.
“I—I—might have been a little hasty. I guess it’s OK. Actually, it’s fine. No hard feelings, Rose?”
“No hard feelings,” Rose replied.
Mary-Beth was still staring at her as though she’d just been told Rose had won the lottery.
“Jacob never asks any of the girls at work out,” she said. “Oh, my. You’re soooo lucky…”
“Actually, I think he’s the lucky one,” Rose said. “Will you tell Mr. White I was taken sick with a migraine? I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Oh sure thing, Rose, sure thing,” Mary-Beth said deferentially, but she couldn’t do a very good job of hiding her rage. Jacob the lucky one! Who the hell did this arrogant minx think she was? She glared at Rose’s retreating back. It just wasn’t fair! She, Mary-Beth, had been making eyes at Jacob for ages, like every other girl around here, and this un-feminine harridan had managed to snag him instead.
Mary-Beth stamped a high-heeled pump. Bitch! Jacob Rothstein must be a weirdo, that was about all there was to it.
Rose’s cab deposited her in front of Salerni’s brownstone fifteen minutes later. She hoped to heaven that was fast enough. Rose paid the guy, and grabbed a Kleenex out of her purse to wipe her sweating hands.
She hoped they meant her no harm.
Surely they meant her no harm.
It would be crazy of Salerni to do her this way. He could have had her jumped at any time, if he were really mad. She had no doubt at all that George Benham would have told them whatever they wanted to know. All her personal details.
Her hand trembled on the restaurant doorknob. Maybe she should run.
No point, Rose decided. If they were going to rub her out, they could find her wherever she went. She lifted her head. She was Paul Fiorello’s kid, not a coward.
She walked into the restaurant. Yep, same as before. There was Salerni, seated at his table, his goons around him, glasses of wine on the table. This time she didn’t go up to the bartender. She marched straight up to him; the conversation at the table died.
“Don Salerni.” Rose gave a slight bow, feeling awkward. At least today she wasn’t in a T-shirt and jeans. “You summoned me.”
“That’s right,” he said.
He drew a cigar out of an inner breast pocket and lit it up. Fragrant smoke curled up as he puffed at it, regarding her. Rose felt like an insect under a magnifying glass and wanted to scuttle back to the darkness, away from him.
“I accept your offer,” Salerni said.
“You…”
It took her a second to get his meaning. Then a wave of excitement swept across her.
“You’re going to let me buy the hotel?”
“Subject to certain conditions, to which you will not object.” That was a statement, not a question.
“Of course,” Rose said, thrilled. “Thank you, Don Salerni … you will be very pleased with the results of this deal, I guarantee it…”
“I’m sure I will,” Salerni said. He seemed amused; his men chuckled. “You made me curious. I want to see for myself just how good you are.”
“Oh, I’m good,” Rose said confidently. “You won’t regret it.”
“Well.” Salerni puffed out smoke at her. “If I do, you will. Now, sit down—Louis—”
He made the slightest motion with his little finger, and one of the fat-bellied men sprang up and awkwardly pulled out his seat for Rose. Nervously, she thanked him and slid into it as gracefully as she could.
“Tell me about yourself,” Salerni said. He leaned forward. “I want to know everything. And I do mean everything.”
Thirty-Five
Rose went to work early the next morning.
She got up at five. It was pitch black outside her windows, and desperately cold, but she hardly noticed. Rose tugged on her clothes and rushed out of her apartment, forgetting her gloves. The frozen air sent hundreds of tiny daggers into her skin, but she didn’t notice. Her heart was pumping blood, like a smuggler walking past customs.
This would be her last week. If she was going to destroy Rothstein, this was it; her last chance.
She had used her internship, studied well. Rose thought she had a wonderful overview of the company structure; she knew their weak spots. They didn’t consolidate, and they were overpriced. Sure, the buildings were nice, but so were the competition’s.
From what Rose could work out, it was the perks that filled most of these buildings. Dick White and his leasing team were world-class ass-kissers. As long as Rothstein’s prices were market-comparable, he could get clients to take leases out by schmoozing the managers. Gifts, hookers, booze … probably drugs, she thought … everything was supplied. Lunches at Lutece and 21, tins of caviar, a diamond ring for a wife, a high-class call girl.
None of it was listed on the balance sheets, but White wasn’t as discreet as he thought.
Now Rose had to get specific.
George Benham had received his phone call at 3 P.M. yesterday, after Salerni had done probing her. He was already rolling over her other properties. She was starting to think of them as chicken feed.
Rose had no doubt. This was it, right here. Everything she had built up was on the line.
This was her last week at Rothstein. She had to make it count.
Rose stood outside of the revolving doors and pressed the nighttime bell. After a few seconds, the security guard appeared. Rose flashed her security pass, and he buzzed her in.
“It’s not even six A.M.,” the guy said, looking at her approvingly. His professional caution was mitigated by the fact that the chick had a willowy figure and a great pair of tits. Damn, she looked like a model. He could hardly take his eyes off that tight little cashmere sweater she was wearing. Gawking at the secretaries here was one of his favorite job perks.
Rose pouted. “I know, but they want me to catch up on some filing … you know how it is.”
&nb
sp; “Absolutely,” the guard said. “Just sign in at the desk.”
He wanted to see her butt when she bent over. Great pins, too. Man … he wished he were one of those fancy executives. What he wouldn’t give for just five minutes.
Rose waggled the tips of her fingers the way the Southern belles did as she jumped into the lift. She wouldn’t have any trouble from him.
*
Mary-Beth’s area was deserted. Rose passed her desk and tugged at the drawers. They weren’t locked. White’s office was locked, but this was good enough. Her heart beating wildly, she ran to the photocopier. Rose’s hands shook as she fed the papers through the machine. What if Mary-Beth decided to come in early? Or anybody, for that matter? Were there more guards, doing their rounds?
She carefully slotted the papers back together and fitted them back in Mary-Beth’s desk drawer. Next up, the filing room.
Rose checked her watch. Ten past six. She had a lot more papers to get through. Better speed this up …
*
Mary-Beth watched Rose Fiorello through narrowed lids, artfully done in a wash of green-and-gold shadow.
She couldn’t stand her. Look at her, that little cow. Thought she was better than Mary-Beth, better than all the girls here. Her well-cut clothes and minimal makeup felt like a reproach to the Southern girl. She reminded Mary-Beth of her sister Louisa who was always going on about being a “career girl.” Mary-Beth didn’t like Louisa all that much either.
And somehow, this chick had scored a date with Jacob Rothstein!
Jacob. Mary-Beth sighed. She had been concentrating her fire on Richard White, because she knew to pick the easy target. Richard was lousy in bed, though, despite the pretty trinkets he bought for her, and he showed zero signs of moving the relationship forward to the ring stage. But Jacob would have been a much bigger prize! Water-cooler consensus was he didn’t soil his own doorstep.
If only she’d known.
Jacob’s reputation had reached Rothstein Realty. Some of the girls avidly kept scrapbooks of his appearances in the press; the gorgeous society chicks he was seen out with seemed to change every other week.
Legendary between the sheets, gave awesome jewelry, good-looking, and heir to … everything she saw around her.
Devil You Know Page 27