“I can do this,” Belle said aloud to herself in the mirror early Monday morning. She still wasn’t sleeping well, but she’d managed enough last night to keep the dark circles under her eyes from reappearing. She smoothed the front of her slim-fitting charcoal-grey pencil skirt and tucked in her pale-yellow long-sleeved silk shirt. She left the top two buttons undone. Cleavage and flirtation were tools in her arsenal and she wasn’t above using them to win her case. Especially if it meant saving the bar.
She’d crawled out of bed just past dawn and scavenged through her father’s study looking for the lease agreement. The address listed on the envelope was in Manhattan. When she saw the address, her hopes of him having no clue about the law shrunk. She doubted any landlord with a New York City office was some Joe-Blow who rented spaces for income to avoid a real job. Her only hope was to take the train and do some reading; to see if New Jersey law had variations from New York. Perhaps this was why he was being so difficult on them.
Belle called the number listed on the lease right at eight a.m. to ensure the man would be in the office today, and to try to set up a meeting. After only one ring, a woman with one of the prettiest voices she had ever heard answered.
“Good morning, Beast Enterprises. How may I direct your call?”
“Good morning. My name is Anabelle Lahela and I am a business tenant of Mr. Wolfe. I received word someone was buying my property which I wasn’t made aware of and need to speak with Mr. Wolfe regarding this issue.”
“Of course, Ms. Lahela. Mr. Wolfe has an opening next Thursday at 2 p.m. Shall I add you to his schedule?”
“Well, um, actually, this matter is of utmost importance. I need to meet with him today.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Lahela. Thursday at 2 p.m. is the earliest.” Ms. Sweet Voice wasn’t giving in.
“I truly understand he’s busy, but please, I really need to speak with him … today. My business is very important to me and I am afraid if I don’t see him today, I’ll lose everything. We finally rebuilt after the storm and now this. If we lose our business … I will be nothing less than heartbroken. I only need a few moments. I promise, in and out. Please.”
After a brief pause, the woman spoke. “I’ll tell you what. He’ll be here at 9:30 but has his first appointment right away, then is on phone conferences most of the morning. If you get here soon and are prepared to wait, I can try to catch him before his meeting and squeeze you in. If not, you would have to wait for me to try between calls. Either way, you won’t have more than five minutes. It’s the best I can do.”
Overjoyed, Belle squealed. “Yes!” Trying to sound a bit more reserved, she continued, “Thank you, I’ll be there right at 9:30. I appreciate it so much.” She got off the phone. For the first time in days, she felt optimistic. Leaning back in her seat, Belle used the time on the train to research.
She first searched for information on the landlord listed on her lease. She had never met, or spoke to, the holder of the deed — her father had always taken care of the business side. She learned his name was Viktor Wolfe. After combing online through various news articles, blog posts and forums, and finally gossip columns, she knew she was way out of her element.
From pictures, he appeared in his late 60s. He was attractive — salt and pepper hair, brown eyes, and a kind smile, but from the looks of it, he had an awful reputation. He originally hailed from Russia, moved to New York in his 30s, and had owned a mix of commercial and private real estate — all in the millions. Articles had gone back and forth on his demeanor — some described him as empathetic, passionate, and warm. Others stated he was known for his cut-throat business practices, even nicknaming him, “The Beast.” Why he owned her little bar she had no idea. It seemed out of place when compared to his other multi-million dollar properties.
Her search hadn’t yielded anything about illegal practices, only personality issues. As Belle read, she realized the negative description of him were from more recent articles; nothing in the past few years described him as anything other than cut-throat, or worse. She decided against all odds she still had to try to save her business, even if it meant a meet-and-greet with “The Beast”.
Belle’s anxiety increased the closer she got to the city. To both her relief and chagrin, she arrived with more than thirty minutes to spare. Spying a coffee shop on the corner, she hurried inside and ordered her usual — a double-shot mocha latte, extra foam — then sat at one of half a dozen high-top tables to review her notes.
Wanting to be as prepared as possible when it came to discussing business with a mogul, she spent the next twenty minutes refreshing her mind of Jersey tenant legalities. Prepared as she could be considering the circumstances, she downed the rest of her coffee and took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
Chapter Four
Crossing the street, Belle paused in front of her landlord’s Manhattan address. Covered in tinted windows, the ominous looking building seemed to stretch forever into the sky. With all of the courage she could muster, Belle walked through the front door into a large lobby which looked nothing like she expected. It housed a white marble floor with gold accents, ornate furniture, and the words “Beast Industries”, written in large, gold letters dominating the back wall. She had assumed he owned the top floors for his offices, but it looked as if Mr. Wolfe owned the entire building.
A quick scan of the building directory and she was headed up to the 56th floor — the penthouse office.
She waited in line for the elevator with a few other people in business suits and a kid dressed in a delivery uniform who didn’t look a day over seventeen. He carried two large bags of what she could only guess was breakfast. It smelled delicious.
She couldn’t help but notice each time she looked over, she caught the delivery boy’s eye, and he would quickly glance away, blushing. She had to admit being checked out was a confidence boost, even from jail-bait, for her twenty-six-year-old self. I’ll take all of the confidence I can get today.
The elevator came and each passenger entered and pressed their corresponding floor. By floor 32, the delivery boy and Belle were alone.
“So you’re going up to the Beast’s lair, huh?” he asked, rolling his eyes.
“Lair?” Belle inquired, eyebrows raised at the analogy.
“Yeah, you know, his office. It was a joke. Too bad about Viktor, he was awesome. And tipped great. After he died, the jerk took over and it hasn’t been the same since.”
Died? How had she missed her landlord dying? “I’m sorry, did you say he died? The Beast died?”
The kid shook his head. “No, Viktor died. The Beast is his son. Did you get a job there or something?”
Belle’s mind raced, but she didn’t want to be rude. The delivery boy seemed sweet, and this was his floor.
“No, I don’t work there, I just have to meet with Mr. Wolfe about property I own. Any chance you think with him being so difficult, he’ll help me with an issue I’m having?”
“I would if I were him. I would even ask you to lunch,” he murmured with a slight smile as he exited. She couldn’t help but smile back.
As the door closed she took a deep breath, anxious for the elevator to finish its ride.
When the elevator doors opened, Belle walked around a privacy wall to a large carpeted waiting area with a reception desk ahead. Behind it sat a very pretty red-head, whom Belle assumed to be Ms. Sweet Voice from this morning.
“Hi, my name is Anabelle Lahela. I spoke with someone earlier about squeezing me in to meet Mr. Wolfe about a property issue.”
The woman raised a brow and looked her up and down before smiling. “Good morning, Ms. Lahela. Take a seat for a few minutes and at his next available opening I’ll squeeze you in.”
Belle was too nervous to sit. She looked around the room in an attempt to calm her nerves. Behind the reception desk a hallway led to a heavy-looking metal door. Black and white photographs of different buildings taken at awkward angles lined the hallway walls. To the right o
f the reception desk, a door opened to a room with a large oval-shaped table and chairs.
“Feel free to help yourself,” the woman at the desk piped up, pointing to a coffee station, complete with a Keurig and water cooler off to the left in front of a large bank of windows that ran the entire length of the room.
Full from her earlier cup, she decided to take in the view instead. From her vantage point, she could see the tops of many of Manhattan’s buildings, as well as a good amount of the city itself. Her body tensed when the voice behind her caused an immediate rush.
“Enjoying the view, Anabelle?”
She slowly turned, certain she was mistaken. It can’t be. Leaning against the door frame, hands in his pant pockets was him — “Dangerous Sex” himself, Aleksandr.
What the actual fuck?
“It’s making me a bit dizzy,” she muttered, fighting to speak intelligently.
He looked even more amazing than he did a few days ago. He wore a solid grey suit with a white collared shirt. The navy blue tie and matching pocket square complimented the vibrant blue of his eyes.
“Well then, why don’t you come to my office and we can talk without you getting dizzy? I’d hate to see you trip … again.” A ghost of a smile lined his face.
Fat chance. Belle doubted the dizziness she currently felt had anything to do with the height of the building.
He straightened as she walked towards the door, their conversation from their meeting at the bar running through her head. She’d never told him her name, so how did he know? She stopped and turned to face him in the door frame, their bodies only inches from each other. “How do you know my name?” she asked, her mind still reeling from seeing him here.
“I try to know all the names of those I am meeting with,” he retorted, brow raised. “Especially the ones who slip themselves into my tight schedule.” A glimmer of amusement shone in his eyes. “I haven’t formally introduced myself. I’m Aleksandr Wolfe.”
Belle could feel the color coming up her neck. I told the secretary my name. She would have told him. How does he turn me into a blubbering idiot so quickly?!
“You’re Viktor Wolfe’s son?” She pieced it together as he spoke. Viktor was her landlord, until he died and the property, along with his company, transferred to his son, Aleksandr. How did I miss this information?
He nodded, gesturing for her to walk down the hallway behind the reception desk. He waited until she’d made it through before he followed. As she walked towards his office, she could feel his heated gaze on her backside.
He stepped forward to open the door and Belle caught a whiff of his scent again; strong and earthy. He placed his hand on the small of her back, leading her inside, his touch scorching her skin through her silk shirt. She took a deep breath and fought to control her reaction. Keep it together, Belle. This is about the bar. Focus.
Aleksandr guided her in front of him, both to get a glimpse of her figure, and to subtly adjust the growing erection in his pants. When he felt her tense at his touch, his pulse quickened.
Finding her in his office was nothing short of a surprise. He made a habit of visiting every property prior to selling, and the bar had been no exception. He expected to stay for a bit, see if there was anything there worth holding onto the property in his own interests for, then leaving. No more than a brief visit. What he hadn’t expected to find at the bar that night was her. From the moment he walked in and spotted her — smiling, leaning back on the bar, swaying to the music — he couldn’t avert his gaze. He’d watched her, imagining how she would look underneath him; her smell, her sounds, her movements.
When she looked at him, he could tell the attraction was mutual. He’d seen the same reaction more times than he could count. Women tended to gaze in awe the first time they met him. He often silently thanked his parents for his good genes.
But while her initial reaction had been common, she turned out to be … opposite … of most women. Rather than fawn all over him, she had rejected him. He chalked it up to her not wanting to be unfaithful to her fiancé, yet still debated returning the following weekend, certain a second interaction would guarantee she would give in to him. Seeing her in front of him again, the competitive side of him screamed to break her resistance, and to take what another man already laid claim to, just for the night.
As he walked behind her to his office, he couldn’t help but notice how her skirt hugged her curves. He remembered her legs from the other night, firm and shapely, and he imagined grabbing her hips from behind as he rammed into her. At the thought, his cock pulsed against his already strained pants. A slight annoyance crossed his mind at another man touching her intimately — feeling her in ways he wanted. I must have her.
He walked around his desk and took a seat in his chair, grateful he could hide the bulge in his pants. Although, perhaps I should allow her to see how fortunate I really am.
“Now, Ms. Lahela, what is it I can help you with?”
She looked at him with a set of luminous brown eyes — deep, with specks of amber, flickering like flames. “Well, Mr. Wolfe—”
“Aleks,” he interjected.
“Aleks,” she started, as if it pained her to speak to him so informally. “I came to talk to you about your illegal activities regarding my bar.” She shifted her shoulders back and he stifled a smile as she feigned toughness.
“Enlighten me. What ‘illegal activities’ do you think I’ve committed?” He leaned back into his chair, impressed with her fierceness.
“In the state of New Jersey, you first must file a complaint for non-payment, and give us thirty days to respond. You cannot sell the bar without our knowledge, and without giving us an opportunity to remedy the situation. Especially when we’re barely a month behind.” He swore she huffed.
Her statement surprised him. It wasn’t everyday a beautiful bartender quoted the law. “Have a date with Google over the weekend?” he couldn’t help himself — he wanted to continue their banter from before.
“I’m finishing my law degree. Concentration on real estate.” Her eyes narrowed, challenging him, again. Angry and determined … I like her.
“Where exactly are you in your degree? What year?” People didn’t stand up to him often, and he reveled in it, coming from such a delectable female.
She paused for a moment, no doubt wondering where the question came from, before squaring herself and answering, strongly, “Third year, only electives and second internship left.”
Her tone added “so there” to her statement. Keeping his voice impassive he countered, “Then you should be aware I have every right to sell your property. I’ve given you notice; three of them, over the past six months.”
He watched her face fall from conviction to confusion at his statement. Her eyes opened wide as the color drained from her face. “I-I’m sorry, what do you mean six months?”
Aleks softened his voice to explain. “I sent the third notice about a month ago, right after the storm hit. Poor timing, I know, and for that I’m sorry. When your father reported the amount of damage, I declined to fix it, figuring I would be repossessing the property anyway. I hadn’t had time to however; I never tried to sell the bar, your fiancé sought me out to buy it as a gift for your father.” Your fiancé … who has no idea of what I’m going to be doing to you very shortly.
Belle cocked her head to the side as her brows scrunched. “My what?”
“Your fiancé, Mr. Avenant. He came to me about a week ago with knowledge of your financial hardship. He said he wanted to buy it as a gift for his ‘future father-in-law’. As you were more than six months past due, there was no reason for me to say no.”
Her eyes narrowed and a flush came to her cheeks. “He is not my fiancé!” She stood up and walked towards the window, displeasure obvious. It wasn’t often he was surprised, and this revelation was just that. He remembered the man who came into his office — and had immediately disliked him. Yet he was willing to pay the debt, then the subsequent three year
s, in full immediately.
A voice broke through the speakerphone, “Mr. Wolfe, your 10 a.m. is here.”
“He’s a bit early; I’m not finished here yet. Make him wait.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Wolfe.”
Belle turned back to face him. He could see her shaking.
“Please. You cannot sell him the bar. What do I need to do to keep it?” Her voice was full of desperation.
He kept himself from smiling. He could choose to do whatever he wanted with the property. It was his. She could not make another payment as long as she lived and he still didn’t have to sell it if he didn’t want to. What he did want was to see what she was willing to do, however.
“Are you propositioning me, Ms. Lahela?” Because I would absolutely accept.
She glared at him while she crossed her arms, the move lifting her breasts higher. “I’m not that kind of woman, Mr. Wolfe. I want to know what I can do to keep my bar. How much money would I need to get you to hold off the sale?”
“I’m not sure there’s much you can do,” he lied in order to see her reaction to his next statement. “He’s the 10 a.m. client; we’re going to sign the paperwork today.”
Her face instantly changed from ferocity to fear. She played with her hands as she turned towards the door, as if she was scared he would walk through at any minute. ”Please, Mr. Wo — Aleks. Don’t sell him my bar. I understand if you need to list it. Sell it to anyone but him … please.”
The change in her demeanor interested him. She was definitely nervous. Why would a woman be afraid of a man who claimed to be her fiancé? His curiosity piqued, he made up his mind to hold off on the sale of the bar, if for no other reason than to see her again.
“I’ll give you one week to develop a repayment plan to present to me. At that time, I will decide the fate of the bar; it’s the best I can do.”
Stealing Beauty (Fairy Tales After Dark Book 1) Page 4