Devil You Know

by Bagshawe, Louise

  They were sitting on the balcony of his farmhouse in Dutchess, sipping mint juleps. It was sunset, and Daisy was staying over before her flight in the morning. Magnus had provided her with her own room. She loved this house; it was old, for an American house, anyway—dating from the eighteenth century, with some modern additions. Magnus had filled the place with antiques, many of them Swedish, and it felt rustic—very, very luxurious, but rustic. He had stables and horses, fields full of clover, and, endearingly enough, two mongrel dogs imaginatively named Brown and Yellow. Brown was part-terrier, and Yellow was part-Lab and all enthusiasm. The dogs bounded onto the deck, almost knocking over the original Quaker table their drinks were resting on.

  “If I ever had a burglar they’d lick him to death,” Magnus said, scratching Brown behind his ears.

  “Would you ever have one?”

  “Not up here. People don’t bother locking up their cars.”

  Daisy sighed. “Gorgeous, but I suppose that’s what you get when you live hours and hours from the city.”

  “It’s only twenty minutes by chopper,” Magnus explained reasonably.

  Daisy sipped at her mint julep. It was delicious. “Magnus, you are disgustingly rich and you have an insane amount of toys.”

  “Yup.” He grinned. “Isn’t it great? All you have to do is buy and sell companies and then one day you wake up and you have all this.” He waved. “Of course, it would be nice to have someone to share it with.”

  “I hear you have someone to share it with every week.”

  “Well, you can’t expect me to be lonely and bored, can you?”

  Daisy laughed. “At least you’re honest about it.”

  He looked her over. It was a stripping, assessing look. Daisy felt some heat between her thighs. She put down the mint julep. Now was not the time to weaken. Magnus wasn’t the one for her; she didn’t want to end this weekend in his bed, when her heart belonged to Edward Powers.

  “Look, Magnus … I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  “How disappointing,” he said, easily enough. “Or it would be, if you meant it.”

  Daisy bristled. “I do mean it.”

  “No. You mean you’re not going to sleep with me this weekend. But you are, in fact, going to sleep with me. I want you and I mean to have you.”

  He said this with such seriousness that Daisy didn’t know where to look.

  “And I don’t just mean to have you in my bed. Although that will be a good start.”

  “Are you about to tell me you think we should get married?” Daisy scoffed. “Come on, Magnus. You’re young, you’re single, you’re rich and powerful.”

  “You forgot handsome.”

  “You’ve already admitted you play the field,” she said, ignoring the last remark. Handsome, was he ever. “And I don’t intend to be one of those girls who drape themselves over the arm of some billionaire—”

  “I’m not a billionaire. At least not yet. Maybe next year if the Raton deal goes through—”

  “And then gets dumped for a newer model or something. I’m not interested in your money. I have my own. It may not be this much, but it’s more than enough for me. And I’m also not interested in being, what do you call them—”

  “Trophy wives, arm candy,” Magnus said helpfully.

  “Yes. Exactly.” Daisy had the uncomfortable feeling that Magnus was laughing at her, even if he wasn’t doing it out loud.

  “I have a career. I write romance novels. I’m good at it, I sell well—”

  “Yes, I remember the marketing reports.”

  “And I intend to continue doing it. Work is very important for the soul, even when you don’t need to work.”

  “I agree completely. I don’t need to work.”

  “So, you know you’d be better off with somebody different.”

  “If you’ll be so good as to allow me to pick out my women myself,” Magnus said. “I tend to do the best job in that regard.”

  Daisy looked at him. He had been nothing but a perfect gentleman. Showing off wasn’t a crime, and he was sexy and he made her laugh.

  “Look, Magnus. You’re very nice, but I think I should be honest with you.” She sighed. “I’m in love with someone else.”

  “I don’t care,” he said, calmly. “Eventually, you won’t be.”

  *

  Daisy flew back to London first class; the only part of her trip she’d wound up paying for. Maybe just as well, she thought, as she accepted a chilled glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. She had to be careful; her money was great, but it wasn’t like Magnus Soren’s. Next time she felt miserable and needed a break, she should go somewhere cheaper, like Rome.

  She was decidedly better for the long weekend, she thought. Her ego had needed a boost, and Magnus had been perfect. And she’d been honest with him, she hadn’t used him, even though the temptation to do so had been strong. She’d told him straight out there was somebody else, somebody she was tied to through destiny and fate. He could not overcome those odds.

  But he’d said he still wanted to see her. Well, she couldn’t object to that. He knew that she wasn’t going to be Mrs. Magnus Soren.

  Daisy found herself hoping that he would call. Soren was a lot of fun.

  *

  When she got home it was pitch-black. She paid the taxi, then went into her building to see if she’d had any post.

  “No letters,” Enriquez, the receptionist, said. “But something come for you, something very nice. Hold on a sec.”

  He reached behind his desk and pulled out a gigantic bouquet of dark red roses, almost as big as Daisy.

  “Wow,” Daisy breathed.

  “I count them.” He winked. “Six dozen. Very nice. Who they from?”

  Daisy didn’t bother to open the card. “Magnus Soren,” she said.

  “Who’s he?”

  “Just a friend.”

  “Some friend,” Enriquez said. “Goodnight, Miss.”

  *

  Magnus waited until lunchtime to call her.

  “Thanks for the roses, they were beautiful.”

  “Six dozen roses are not as beautiful as one Daisy,” Magnus said gallantly.

  Daisy groaned. “That’s terrible. Stick to Brown and Yellow.”

  “You’re the wordsmith, no?”

  “Thanks for calling. I really had a good time with you,” Daisy said.

  “Don’t make it sound so final. I’m going to be in London next week. I’ll be seeing you then.”

  “Magnus—”

  “Gotta go,” he said, hanging up.

  Daisy shook her head. He was stubborn, that was for sure. But after all, he wouldn’t have got to be so successful so young without being bullheaded. She didn’t mind; but she hated to see him waste his time like this.

  She went to her computer, switched it on, and started to write. The words tumbled out of her; it was a Zen-like experience, the flow she got when she was really cooking. For a while, she could forget about Edward and Magnus and lose herself in the world of her new book, where everything worked out the way she designed it. But in the back of her mind, the thought simmered below her consciousness: it was time to come back to England, back to reality, and start thinking seriously about Edward Powers, and how to make him see he had made the wrong decision …

  Forty-Five

  “Get me the files on Rose Fiorello,” Jacob said.

  “Files?”

  Ella was hovering in the doorway, nervously. Jacob had strode into the office, flung his coat on his chair, and started to bark orders. She had never seen him like this. Angry. It made her want to run away.

  “Yes. Personnel, whatever we have. Do a search. Talk to Dick White’s office. I want complete results on Fiorello. Whatever she sat in on, whatever she did.”

  “Is something wrong, sir?”

  “I don’t know.” Jacob was grim-faced. “But I’m going to find out.”

  *

  The winter winds whipped down across Queens. The m
ild snap was over; it was back to normal, New York weather at its most unforgiving. Rose stood shivering in her boots at the construction site. Nothing could keep the bone-chilling cold from her skin; not the luxurious cashmere cloak, the fur muffler, the soft pashmina, or the supple black leather gloves. Inside her Jimmy Choo boots, her toes were frozen.

  She didn’t think she’d ever been this happy.

  “No time to waste.”

  Rose had selected her construction firm after diligent research. Paul Igorsky was the foreman.

  “I want this job done in four months.”

  “That’s almost impossible.”

  “Nothing’s impossible, Mr. Igorsky. The skeleton of the building is going to stay intact. You’re just constructing a fence and a gatehouse, and doing some minor cosmetic work. Your firm has a good record.”

  Igorsky, in his fifties, looked askance at the young woman. How could this tootsie possibly know what she was doing?

  “That’s because we build quality, Miss Fiorello. You want this place real nice, it’s gonna take some time.”

  “Yes. Four months. There’ll be a bonus in it for you when you complete on an early schedule.”

  He sighed. Save me from amateurs.

  “Everybody offers our firm an early-completion bonus. That’s just standard practice. But four months—”

  “I’m not talking about the firm, I’m talking about you,” Rose said. “Look out of the window.”

  He glanced outside his office and saw a sleek red Ferrari parked in the lot. The very sight of it made him drool.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I thought so,” Rose said.

  Now the trucks were parked in the lot. Already the Dumpsters out front were full of debris; acres of run-down carpet and broken fixtures. Workers poured in and out of the front door like little ants. Electricians for the re-wiring, painters, guys to strip the floors. She loved it. She almost wanted to grab a sander herself, and rush in there and get that ugly black glue blasted off one of her precious hardwood floors.

  But she had better things to do. Rose got back into her car and drove home to Manhattan. She could stay there all day, but if you rest on your laurels, Rose thought, they become funeral wreaths.

  *

  “These are the results, Mr. Rothstein,” Ella said. She leaned over his desk, giving him the undone-button special. This was her big chance!

  But, aggravatingly, Jake didn’t even notice her.

  “Here are the projects Rose sat in on. And here’s her entire file.”

  Jake flipped through it. “What’s this?”

  “Oh, that’s some other Fiorello. I just ran the name through the company records to be extra-sure. The IT manager gave it to me every time the name ‘Fiorello’ appeared. I guess that’s some other person…”

  “Thank you. That will be all,” Jake said.

  He stared at the memo in front of him for a long time, an icy chill running down his spine that had nothing to do with the soft snowflakes tumbling outside his windows.

  Then he picked up the phone and dialed his father’s extension.

  “Dad, hi, it’s me. I think we may have a problem.”

  *

  “Sure, I remember her.”

  William Rothstein sat in his brother’s office, his fleshy body almost completely filling the leather armchair he was wedged into. Fred Rothstein was looking mildly aggravated; William’s nephew Jacob was dark-faced.

  Lot of fuss about nothing. Jacob was a kid, way too keen. Worrying about everything. William knew his nephew held him in contempt; he really didn’t care. Spoiled brats thought they were too good for the men who had brought home the bacon.

  “You shoulda seen her, Fred. Great piece of ass.”

  “There’s plenty of cooch in this town.”

  “I know, but this one…”—William’s tongue snaked out and moistened his fleshy lips—“… young, real young, like sixteen. Looked like a model, but with tits, nice little ass, too. Would have done anything to save her father’s shitty lease. I got mad because she tried blackmail.”

  “You should have banged her. We could have gone a little higher.”

  Jacob struggled with himself. He wanted to tell his father to stop talking that way about Rose. But she was, after all, an enemy.

  “I should have.” William shrugged. “Ah well. She was gonna be difficult, threatening to go to the press. Too much trouble for a piece of pussy, you know?”

  “So what did you do?” Jacob asked shortly.

  “Whadda ya think? Sent her away with a flea in her ear. And we ran her father out of his lease without a payment.” William blew a smoke ring out of the cigar he was puffing on. “He should have settled.”

  “Fricking tenants. Always think we’re gonna hold up a multi-million-dollar project, build it around their crappy flower stalls and coffee shops.” Fred nodded at his brother. “I’d have done the same thing.”

  “I think she’s been nursing this for her entire life. That’s why she was so cold to me in school. And why she got the intern post. I think she was trying to copy our data.”

  A shadow of concern flitted over Fred Rothstein’s face, but only for a second.

  “Sounds like it. But, son, who gives a shit? What can she do? She’s some little twenty-something piece of cooze. Next time you want to bang some broad, don’t bring her into the company, though. Got it?”

  “Yes sir,” Jacob said.

  Fred rather enjoyed watching his kid squirm. Mr. Know-it-all junior hotshot caught with his pants down.

  “She can’t do anything to us, Jakey. We don’t worry about women unless they’re filing paternity suits. Her dad was a loser.” He shrugged. “Not my problem.”

  Jacob stood. “I’m going to check on what she’s doing.”

  “You worry too much,” Fred Rothstein said. “Go get yourself laid.”

  *

  Jacob wasn’t convinced. He went back to his desk and buzzed Ella.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get someone to pull the property records. MLS listings, whatever you have. I want to know what Rose Fiorello owns and where. Have someone get back to me within half an hour.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When the answer came back, Jacob listened intently. He didn’t like what he heard.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  *

  His personal limo took him to Rego Park. It took the driver a few minutes to find it on the map; this was not the kind of place that Rothsteins usually asked to be taken to.

  Jake got out and looked at the shabby, run-down building. A swarm of workmen were all over the site, digging, measuring, carting off. There were more workmen there than he ever usually saw on Rothstein projects. Something else; the site was a hive of activity. Nobody was sitting down chewing sandwiches or swigging from hot thermos flasks. These guys were actually working.

  It only took him a few seconds to find the foreman.

  “You’re working for Rose Fiorello?”

  “Who’s asking?” said the guy.

  “My name’s Jacob Rothstein. I’m a friend of hers.”

  “Then she can tell you her business, can’t she? You got a pass, fella? This is private property.”

  Jake grinned. “That’s OK. I’m leaving.”

  He went back to the warm, heated comfort of his Lincoln Town Car and opened up the file on Rose. She lived down in Tribeca. He gave the driver the address.

  *

  She was sitting at her kitchen table with a large yellow legal pad and a pen. Empires had been built on far less than this. Ten versions of ad copy were crossed out with thick black marks. She was determined to get the pitch exactly right.

  Her doorbell buzzed.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Jacob Rothstein.”

  Rose wondered what to do. She buzzed him up, then ran to open the safe and locked her ad copy inside it with the Rothstein papers. He’d never find it. She kept the mobile phone in her hand, just
in case he tried anything stupid. Jacob wasn’t violent, Rose knew that. But the rap on the door still found her jumpy.

  “Come in—”

  He looked gorgeous in that dark suit. But from the ice in his eyes and the thunderous scowl of his brows, Rose knew at once that he knew.

  “Rego Park, huh?”

  “You’ve been to my site,” Rose said, trying not to seem surprised.

  “And why not? You’ve been through my papers. Nice touch with the panties. That was really slutty. A good distraction.”

  “This isn’t your fight,” said Rose after a second.

  Jacob laughed. “Oh, really? Let me tell you something, Fiorello. I came here to give you a warning. Rothstein is my company. Mess with it, you mess with me.”

  “This is between your father and me—”

  “My father. My uncle William. Oh, don’t look so surprised, you think you’re the only one that can do some digging? I know about your father, about the deli, about that stunt you pulled in high school. And I know you’ve been nursing some stupid idea of vengeance all these years. I’m warning you not to push it, Rose. You’ve been treated well.”

  “Like my dad was? Forced out of his lawful lease?”

  “He was offered good money. More than good.”

  “Fifty doesn’t buy you a new career.”

  “He chose to turn his nose up at that money, and your blackmail didn’t cut it. Blame yourself if you must; don’t blame us.”

  “My father,” said Rose, drawing herself up, her voice turning to steel, “had a legal lease. He didn’t want money. He wanted to keep his lease. Your family had no right to do what they did. And as for me being treated well, your company is a bunch of assholes. If you take my advice, you’ll keep out of it.”

  “I have no intention of allowing you or anyone else to threaten my inheritance. Take on Rothstein Realty, and you take on me.”

  “So be it.”

  Jacob bowed slightly. “Goodnight, Rose. I’ll see you around.”

  He let himself out.

  Yes, you will, she thought.

  *

  The aggravating thing was that she couldn’t start with Rothstein Realty. They were too big for her to attack right now.

  First, it was a question of getting established. But Rose didn’t wait. She finally decided on ad copy she was proud of, and ran the spots the next day.