Rough Harbor

by Andrea Stein

  “Oh, nothing, I suppose,” Tommy leaned back in his chair, his hands twirling a pen. “I just heard you two had a history. A fiery one.”

  Caitlyn felt her own face grow tight and considered leaving Tommy’s office right then and there. But she smiled, thinking of the bigger picture. She needed information, and right now, Tommy had the keys to the kingdom.

  “Well, that’s good,” Tommy said when Caitlyn didn’t answer.

  Caitlyn pressed on. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I had a few questions about some of the deals we had in the works.”

  She’d been thinking about Tony Biddle, almost constantly. What would make a man like that interested in paying them to help with his money? It couldn’t be opportunities he got just anywhere. He would want access to a special deal, the status of the insider, or at the very least, he would want to know that firm could get him there.

  “Okay,” he paused for a beat, “may I ask why?”

  It was his right, since he was the one responsible for monitoring their performance.

  “I’m working with a client, a potential client, and I think the fact that we have access to some of these special, private deals would be a big selling point.”

  Tommy looked at her. “We usually don’t get new clients involved in these limited partnerships. We have to know that they can handle the risk before they’re allowed in.”

  “I think this one is different. He has a higher risk tolerance.”

  “Well, they are very risky. Right now there’s a bankruptcy bailout in Tennessee that looks like we may take a bath on.”

  He let that sink in. “However, a number of our standard funds are doing quite well. I know that you are looking for something, that thing that will get him, but I would suggest that you stick with what you know. These limited partnerships are tricky, difficult to value. You need to know your way around accounting, business, finance. Lots of people come to us with bum deals, touting the very next thing. You have to be able to pick the potential winners from the real dogs. And even the potential winners, most of them are dogs anyway.”

  Tommy smiled blandly as if he hadn’t just blown her off, told her to mind her own business.

  “So, you’re telling me that you don’t think it’s appropriate for me to be recommending these to my clients.” She managed to match his blandness, but she was seething on the inside.

  “Well, that determination is usually up to Sam. I assess the deal, but who we bring into them, that has to go past him.”

  “Then do you have anything I could look through, just to get a better sense of what we have, what type of deals we are involved in?” she said in her sweetest voice.

  Tommy looked at her and blinked, head tilted slightly to one side.

  “Well, sure, I guess.” He turned around, his arm reaching towards a row of heavy-duty three-ring binders.

  He paused. “Do you need it now? It would be so much easier if I could have someone make a copy of it and then give it to you later.”

  Caitlyn wanted to see the binder now, but she realized that, technically, Tommy did not have to show her anything. If she made too big a fuss over this, then Sam might even take away her responsibility for working on Tony’s portfolio plan in the first place.

  Sam Harris was supposed to look at client plans before they went out. Caitlyn was trying to circumvent the process, deliberately, an effort to show Sam that she was more than just the party girl, more than the one they sent out to Garden Club meetings and fundraisers to collect business cards.

  She swallowed her defeat. “That would be fine. I would appreciate that. Thanks, Tommy.”

  He smiled at her as she left, and she couldn’t help thinking for an instant that this might have gone just a little bit better if she had taken him up on the offer he’d made over drinks.

  Chapter 25

  Caitlyn went back to her office. She stared at the phone, but perversely it didn’t ring. The talk with Tommy had been a little off, though he was probably just being a jerk, protecting his territory. It was a delicate situation, she understood. He didn’t want to share his hard work, run the risk of someone else taking credit, but still, it wasn’t his firm, any more than it was hers. It was, after all, their clients, the people they were supposed to be helping.

  It wasn’t long before she pulled her computer to her and did a search on “Peter Flynn.” She was surprised when the name came up immediately, a few pages of results, and she wondered why she hadn’t heard of him before.

  Peter Flynn had started out writing about financial matters for a small newspaper in Massachusetts and then steadily worked his way up to a column with The Wall Street Journal, diving into any scandal it seemed he could get his hands on. No, there were no dry and dull spreadsheets for Mr. Flynn. He preferred to talk about how people lost it all, how many mistresses they’d had, and whether or not they had hidden all their money on a tropical island.

  He’d branched into writing books, one a bestseller, as far as Caitlyn could tell, about a gold fraud case. The second book, about corn futures, hadn’t been such a big hit, and Flynn had become embroiled in a few libel suits. Caitlyn saw that his name had slipped from The Wall Street Journal, but now he wrote a blog.

  There were even some stories covering her grandfather’s death and Maxwell’s takeover. Those appeared in his column, all archived online. But more recently, on his blog, Flynn was spinning conspiracy theories about just about everything. He even had one post, titled “Curse of the Sound,” where he mentioned Maxwell’s death and dredged up all the old facts.

  Of course, there were pictures, too, ones that she couldn’t believe he’d found, of her, with Michael, a society photographer’s picture, where he pretty much called her a gold digger. Then there was a picture of Noah, obviously a publicity shot, naming him the prodigal son.

  Caitlyn sat back in her chair, looking at the screen, wondering why she had never heard of him before. True, she hadn’t started reading finance papers until well after Flynn had been pushed aside, but it seemed that when he was writing online, he had no problem writing things that bordered on libelous.

  She flipped through the pictures on the blog and through its archive, reading everything she could. Flynn apparently had some sort of obsession with Maxwell and the Randall Group’s every move – whether it was a new hire, a charity event, or a new investment detailed.

  There was a phone number on the blog, and she wrote it down, not sure what she was going to do with it, if anything.

  Chapter 26

  Caitlyn was home early enough to get dinner started. Unlike Noah, she had learned to cook, at least a few go-to dishes, while she’d been in Paris. Tonight, she had planned steaks with a blue cheese sauce, a mixed green salad and some crusty bread she’d picked up from the market.

  Before she did anything else, she went to her room and opened the lid of her jewelry box, the polished wood cover lifting to reveal the red velvet lining. It had once played “Greensleeves,” a long time ago, but it was broken, and she’d never gotten around to having it fixed.

  She picked up the ring from the bottom of the velvet-lined drawer, where she had tossed it, carelessly almost. She’d kept it only because he insisted she should, a way to remind her, to force her to reconsider. But now she knew for certain there wouldn’t be any reconsideration. She didn’t need Michael or his promises, the allure of his perfect, well-ordered, elegant life. Deep down, he was a treacherous, cheating bastard. And she didn’t need anyone like that in her life. It was time to send it back.

  <<>>

  Noah showed up for dinner with a bottle of wine and more flowers. He kissed her, a passionate, hot, kiss, but through it she heard his stomach growl.

  “Are you hungry?”

  He nodded sheepishly as she handed him a glass of wine. “I kind of got caught up in things. I forgot to eat.”

  She pulled him to the kitchen.
“Come, we have all night. We can eat.”

  Caitlyn had set the small pine table in the kitchen, and had their salads ready to go. The steaks took just a moment, and she watched as Noah nibbled on some of the cheese and olives she had put out as appetizers.

  “This is nice,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” she asked as she put the steaks on.

  “Just sitting here, talking.”

  She looked at him. “What are we talking about?”

  “I don’t know. How about you? What have you really been up to the last few years?” His eyes strayed to her hands again, and she held them up.

  “I guess you heard?”

  “Someone mentioned you were engaged,” he said, his voice neutral.

  “I was, and then I called it off.”

  “Oh,” he said, his eyes questioning.

  She sighed. She knew she needed to tell him, no matter how painful it was. Caitlyn took a sip of her wine, letting it roll off her tongue. “It’s nice, the wine.”

  “I live near Napa,” he said, “and you’re avoiding the question.”

  “Turns out he had an interesting notion of monogamy.”

  “How did that come up?”

  “Let’s just say that I got the picture.” Caitlyn picked up a knife and put it down, unsure what to do with herself.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “Better before the wedding than after. But our circle of friends was small, tight. It was his circle, really, and… well, things got nasty. There were other factors, and I started to feel a little lonely over there.”

  She didn’t, couldn’t let her emotions show. “It seemed like a good time to return to the mother country, if you know what I mean,” she finished.

  Noah nodded.

  “And you? Ever married, engaged?”

  “You would have heard.”

  “I’m not sure that I believe that. You seem like you’d be quite a catch.” She meant it. She would have thought Noah Randall would have been off the market long ago.

  “Internet billionaires are a dime a dozen out there in California. You have to be rich, spout poetry and speak five languages to really stand out,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

  She laughed. “Ahh, the perils of success.” She took their steaks off her grill pan and set them on plates, drizzling her sauce over them and adding small heaps of onion straws on top.

  “Wow, that looks fancy,” he said, as she placed it in front of him.

  “I learned a thing or two about cooking in Paris.”

  “My very own Julia Child,” he said, taking a bite. “Delicious.”

  “Thanks,” she took a bite herself, chewed, swallowed and then asked, “And what else is going on with you, now that you’ve cashed out and are a man of leisure?”

  “Well, I took a trip. Six months. Traveled the world, catching waves, eating, drinking, hanging out.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I woke up one morning, bored.”

  “I hear that happens to billionaires.”

  “You’d be surprised. But I met some people on my travels. And I decided that it was time to start something new.”

  “New?” Caitlyn’s eyes had lit up, matching his own enthusiasm.

  “Well, not that new. Solar power.”

  “Solar power?”

  “It’s big out West, as you can imagine, and it’s catching on in the rest of the country. It’s because technology has advanced so that the solar panels are much more efficient.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yes, well, they need someone who’s comfortable with technology to help them develop some custom software, the stuff that will help turn your home into its own little power plant. Plus, the fact that I have successfully built a company before doesn’t hurt.”

  Caitlyn smiled. “No, I’m sure it doesn’t. It sounds good – good for you and good for the earth. Profits and passion.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, excited. “It is. It’s what I’ve always dreamed of, and now it’s happening. All of the hard work, all of the choices paying off.”

  “You mean dropping out of college…heading out West with a few friends and a laptop?”

  His decision had created something that had never been fully addressed by them. He had thought she hadn’t wanted him to go because she didn’t believe in him or, worse yet, because she was a snob – that she wanted him only if he stayed in college, graduated, went to business school, worked at the firm.

  But it hadn’t been like that. “I should have been more supportive of you,” Caitlyn told him. “You needed someone to believe in you, and what I said, well, you must have thought that I didn’t.”

  Noah shook his head slowly. “I don’t need an apology, Caitlyn. I probably should be giving one to you. I called you snob, and worse.”

  “I think ‘tease’ was another one of the insults.”

  Noah reached out his hand and took hers, holding it tight. “And for that, I am truly sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “It’s not that I didn’t want to be with you Noah, it’s just that…”

  “You were young. I was older.”

  “I never felt like you were taking advantage of me,” Caitlyn told him, and she hadn’t. The Noah then, just as the Noah now, had made her safe, wanted.

  “Good. It’s just… I wanted you, badly. In case you couldn’t tell. My pride was wounded.”

  “Not what I meant. I just got scared. And then my grandfather…”

  He nodded, still holding her hand. “Bad timing. I know. I’m sorry. I was pretty self-absorbed back then. My dad wouldn’t give me the money I wanted, as an investment, and you were telling me to think it through. I see that now. I thought you were saying ‘don’t be stupid’ but you were really saying, ‘be smart’.”

  Caitlyn nodded. Finally, he understood. “Yes.”

  He kissed her hand gently, tenderly, and looked at her, “And are you scared now?”

  She closed her eyes, swallowed. “Not about this.” She stood up, and he rose with her. Caitlyn led him to her bedroom, turning to face him, pulling him close to her. He kissed her deeply, slowly, savoring her, taking his time being gentle with her as they fell together on the bed, exploring each other, loving each other.

  <<>>

  They were lying in her bed when she finally asked him, “Have you ever heard of a Peter Flynn?”

  Noah’s hand was stroking her bare back, sending pleasant shivers down her back. It stopped suddenly.

  “What is it?” she rolled over and looked at him, propped up on her elbows. His brown hair was mussed, his eyes dark in the shadowy moonlight. She’d forgotten to pull down the shade, but her room overlooked the water, and there shouldn’t have been anyone to watch them.

  “He came up to me at the funeral,” Noah said.

  “He did?” She didn’t remember that, but then so many people had gone up to pay their respects to Noah.

  “Yeah, why, do you know him?”

  Caitlyn sat up, drawing her knees up and pulling the comforter up around her. “No, but he called.”

  Noah rose up, too. “He’s a kook.” His voice was urgent.

  “How do you know?” she asked, though she couldn’t disagree.

  “I don’t know, something about him. I had my guy look into him. He writes some crazy blog, trying to sling dirt at anyone he can – mostly business people and investors.”

  “I know; I saw,” Caitlyn said. “Wait, you have a guy? What kind of guy?”

  “A lawyer, with a team of investigators.” He must have seen the expression on her face, even in the dark, because he explained, “Listen, I didn’t think I needed a guy like that, but you know, once you’re in the paper, people come out of the woodwork. People with ideas for the next big thing. Someone even claimed to be my mom’s long-lost third cousin three times removed and wanted ten thousand dollars.”

  “Really?” Caitlyn said
, not quite believing him. “You’re teasing.”

  He ran a hand up her leg. “A bit. But still, I have a lawyer, his name’s Ted and he checked Flynn out. Seems like the guy had it out for my dad. And your grandfather. Sort of stalking us on the Internet.”

  “Yeah,” Caitlyn agreed, her mind spinning. “Did you look at it?”

  “What?” his voice came up to her sleepily.

  “The blog.”

  He snorted. “No. My guy said he’d take care of it. Send him a letter, get him to stop posting stuff about me. I’ll make sure he adds you to the list, sound good?”

  “Sure,” Caitlyn answered. Noah’s hand had stilled, and she heard the change in his breathing. He was asleep, apparently comfortable that his guy, Ted, could handle it.

  Chapter 27

  Heather delivered the deal book to Caitlyn a few days after Caitlyn’s conversation with Tommy.

  “He asked me to make copies for you,” she said, dumping three large binders in front of her.

  Caitlyn looked up from the papers that were spread all over her desk. She was still putting together Tony’s presentation, spending too much time on it. He was coming the next week. She had put Peter Flynn out of her mind, focusing instead on what she needed to do now.

  “Don’t forget you have that meeting with Mrs. Smith-Sullivan,” Heather told her.

  Caitlyn swore. It was this afternoon, and there was no way she was going to be able to make it. “Could you please call and reschedule?”

  Heather nodded, and Caitlyn was pleased. A few months ago, Heather hated to speak to clients, claiming that they always yelled at her for some reason or another. Now she seemed better able to handle their complaints, learning that it was in people’s nature to be argumentative where money was concerned.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” Caitlyn looked up. Heather was twenty-two, really just a few years younger than Caitlyn. Caitlyn could vaguely remember that age. She’d been living in London, sharing a flat, working, going out every night. She wondered what a girl Heather’s age did for fun in a town like Queensbay. Probably head down to the local hangout, The Dory, most nights when she didn’t want to watch TV.