At the Brink

by Anna del Mar

  Chapter Three

  Lily

  I clutched my purse against my chest as if it were a lifejacket. I didn’t want to be there, sitting on the posh chair outside Mr. Lane’s office, but Martin’s project meant everything to him and success today could translate into respite for me and security for Mom. In the end, I’d had no choice but to tell Martin about the meeting with Mr. Lane. Martin had made it clear that if he failed at persuading Mr. Lane to invest in WindTech, I’d suffer the consequences. If his world was brought to a sudden end, so would be mine.

  Martin had insisted I come. He told me if the meeting went well, there might be some paperwork that would require my signature. It made sense. I knew he needed to rush the deal if WindTech was going to survive. Besides, I had to come. Mr. Lane had said so. But the prospect of seeing him again had my stomach in knots. He was such a daunting presence. I admired the way he’d stood up for the wounded veteran, but I feared his scrutiny. Intensity radiated from him like the hum of a high voltage cable. He terrified and intrigued me at the same time. And his questions. God, they felt like an outright interrogation.

  My eyes fell on the modernist painting on the wall. It featured a lot of grays, ash gray like the sky outside and my mood inside. I hadn’t been able to paint in months. I had no money for canvas, let alone oils. I’d taken on two full-time jobs just to keep up with the rent, but the electric was past due and the gas was about to be disconnected. Worst of all, after a six month grace period, the nursing home was asking for payment again, and this time, they weren’t going to cut me a break.

  The phone on the assistant’s desk buzzed. The stunning brunette picked up the receiver. “They’re ready for you,” she announced in a practiced falsetto.

  I took a deep breath and stood up. I smoothed the wrinkles off my black pencil skirt, straightened the jacket I wore over my blouse, and took quick stock of my reflection on the frosted glass wall. With my hair fastened into a bun, I’d wanted to look professional and yet I looked straitlaced instead.

  For a moment, I feared my knees would give out, but I managed to walk all the way to the door without tripping. Martin had insisted I wear heels again today. At least they weren’t the stilettos.

  Martin. He believed the reason he’d been booted from MIT was not so much his failure to show up to teach his classes. It wasn’t his “alleged” involvement with the students who interned at the WindTech facility in Ohio that got him fired either. He maintained that we—which really meant me—didn’t fit in with the rest of the faculty.

  Surely, his boss would’ve never fired him if I’d been a more eager participant in the department’s social activities. Surely, people would have seen him in a different light if I’d gotten over my hang-ups, attended more events and generally acted more supportive of his career. Fraternizing with students had nothing to do with it. Yep, that was Martin for you.

  The assistant opened the door for me. As I entered Mr. Lane’s ultramodern office, I was certain that my overactive imagination had been playing tricks on me at the gala. There had been no connection between Mr. Lane and me, no overwhelming chemistry, no erection—I blushed just thinking about that. Any odd vibes I’d gotten from him had to be of my own making, a product of my stress-induced panic attack.

  Well, I wasn’t going to have one of those now. Nope, I wasn’t. I didn’t dare look in Mr. Lane’s direction. I avoided his disturbing gaze. The mere memory of those implacable eyes had kept me unsettled all weekend. Instead, I focused on Martin’s face.

  “There you are, dear.” He gestured toward the empty chair next to his. “Mr. Lane and I have been having an interesting discussion. I’d like to consult with you on something.”

  Consult with me? I kept my mouth closed. Martin never consulted with me on anything. The knots in my belly tightened. I made my way to the chair, managing a passing glance at Mr. Lane.

  He nodded a sober greeting. “Lily.”

  His eyes. His voice. His presence. I shuddered with the memory of his touch. He sat on the other side of a massive glass desk, impressively attired in a three piece suit of the latest cut, accented with a brown and cream silk tie that brought out his eyes’ caramel tones. He looked striking, no doubt about it, but in a totally intimidating way. His gaze followed me as I took my seat. The intensity in his eyes was disconcerting. It had haunted me in my dreams just as surely as it haunted me now.

  Looking around, Josh Lane fit precisely into his stark, beige-and-white, cutting edge environment, where everything had a place and an inordinate number of wall-mounted screens streamed massive amounts of information. Yikes. Surely no one, not even him, could make sense of all that gibberish.

  Martin cleared his throat, started to say something, then stopped. “I’ve changed my mind.” He stood up abruptly. “It’ll be better if you two tackle this without me. You must understand, dear.”

  “Understand what?” I said.

  “Mr. Lane will explain, won’t you, Mr. Lane?” Martin headed for the door. “He’s better suited than I am for this kind of discussion.”

  “Martin?” I called out, unable to suppress the panic in my voice. “Come back. Don’t leave me here. Where are you going?”

  “I need a drink of water.” He pretended to cough.

  I watched Martin’s escape through the glass wall that separated the sprawling office from the posh reception room. While waiting outside, I hadn’t been able to see past the frosted glass wall. But from where he sat, Mr. Lane could see everything, including the reception room and beyond. As far as I knew, he could have been watching me the entire time I’d been sitting out there.

  “Lily.” His voice startled me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, unable to keep the disgust from my voice. If Martin was, as usual, incapable of getting the deal done and getting us out of the mess he’d gotten us into, then I’d have to do it myself.

  “You’re very brave, Lily,” Mr. Lane said. “I like that about you.”

  I didn’t feel brave at the moment, but I put on a calm front and stayed seated, mostly because my knees were too wobbly to carry me out of the office.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked quietly.

  “I’m here because you implied you might be willing to fund WindTech,” I said, still hopeful for a positive outcome.

  “I am considering funding WindTech,” he said evenly. “It would take a lot of money and a lot of work, but...”

  “But what?”

  “Sometimes extraordinary rewards require enormous efforts.”

  The way he looked at me ignited waves of heat, scorching me from the inside out. A blow of anger and confusion clobbered my stomach. What gave him the right to look at me like that, as if he knew me, as if he owned me? What was this overwhelming emotion rattling my senses? Why couldn’t I think straight?

  I forced the words out. “Are you going to give Martin the money or not?”

  “It depends,” he said, leaning back on his chair. “It’s a matter of whether he—and you—are willing to meet my conditions.”

  This was just business. Then why did I have such a bad feeling about being here? I looked away.

  “Lily. Look at me. There’s nothing to fear.”

  His voice was gentle, his tone soothing. I forced myself to meet his stare.

  “Better,” he said. “You’ve got beautiful eyes. You’ve got to learn to show them off. Keep up the eye contact, even when it gets hard to do so. There you go. Now, let me ask you again. Why are you here?”

  “You know very well why I’m here,” I said a tad too sharply. “You said I had to come and Martin said that I might have to sign some papers. Can we get those out of the way so that I can leave?”

  “Not yet,” Mr. Lane said. “Are you aware of the nature of your husband’s proposal to me?”

  “I d
on’t know all the specifics, no, but you should know that Martin is committed to this deal and so am I.”

  “Is that so?” His eyes flickered with an emotion I didn’t recognize. Surprise? Disbelief? Desire? “Your husband’s proposal included some very unusual elements that pertain to you.”

  Unusual? “I’m willing to co-sign for him if it helps.”

  “That’s not what he proposed.”

  “No?” I frowned, confused.

  “Your signature would be inconsequential to any deal I made with Martin,” he said. “I don’t want to waste your time or mine. By now you must at least have an idea of what your husband proposed. Your consent is a must to me.”

  My consent?

  The weight in my belly coalesced into a brick of pure horror. I wasn’t a complete fool. At twenty-nine, I was an educated woman with a master’s degree. Even if I’d made some mistakes, I was smart and the last few years had taught me a great deal about winging life solo. Sure, I’d grown up under Mom’s overprotective watch and I hadn’t had a lot of experience in the male department, but even I wasn’t that naïve and, well, I knew what Martin was capable of.

  The heels and the dress he’d gotten for me. The way he had fretted over my hair and makeup, both on the night of the gala and today. The way he insisted I attend the gala first, then this meeting...

  “Oh, my God.” My throat tightened. My face burned. Please God, no. “Did Martin tell you that I would...that you could...that you and I would...?” My voice trailed off as my lungs ran out of air.

  “Are you all right?”

  Fine, perfect, peachy, fantastic. I just couldn’t say so at the moment.

  “Lily?” Mr. Lane tapped softly on the desk. “I need you to work with me here. Talk to me. I need you to verbalize.”

  I sucked in the air and called on every ounce of courage available to me. “He said I’d sleep with you, didn’t he?” I knew the instant I said it aloud that it was true. “He said I’d do it if you agreed to fund WindTech. Martin had nothing else to offer, so he offered...me.”

  The look on Mr. Lane’s face confirmed my suspicion. His low bass caressed my ears, smooth as silk. “How do you feel about that, Lily?”

  “How am I supposed to feel?” I clenched my jaw until my teeth hurt.

  “Does the idea bother you?” he said. “Are you mad?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know!”

  “Which one is it?”

  “All of those,” I rumbled like a volcano about to explode. “Frankly, right now, I’m too angry with Martin to think straight.” I got up and snatched my purse from the floor. “I’m sorry that my husband is a creep. I’m not a business asset Martin can redeem at the bank. I’m sorry that he put you in this position. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I headed for the door. “I’m going to tell that SOB exactly what I think of him.”

  “I told him myself.”

  I stopped in my tracks and turned around. “Why...why would you do that?”

  “Because it needed to be done.”

  I gulped dryly. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing.”

  The bluster just fell out of me. I gnawed on my lips until they hurt.

  “Come back and sit down, Lily. I need to ask you some questions. Hear me out. You can’t do anything about Martin. He’s just who he is. Please.” He motioned toward the chair. “Sit.”

  I inched my way back to the chair and, reluctantly, sat down. God, the things that Martin did! I could’ve killed him right now. To put me in this position. Worse, to put me in this position and then run away like the freaking coward he was. What was I supposed to think? What was I supposed to do?

  Poised, cool and detached, Mr. Lane sat at his desk, studying me as if I were a laboratory specimen smeared on a glass slide and displayed under a microscope. Blank face unreadable, he clasped his hands on his lap.

  “Did you know what Martin intended to offer me when you came to the gala the other night?” he asked as if he were the prosecutor and I the defendant.

  “No!”

  “Did you know what he intended to offer me today?”

  “No.” Then, in a small voice, “Well, perhaps deep inside I suspected he’d try something, but not this. This is a reach, even for Martin.”

  “What do you mean?” Mr. Lane frowned. “Has he done this before?”

  I shook my head. “No, not this, not exactly, not that I know of. But he once tried to sell my womb to the highest bidder. God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

  I sank my face in my hands. I wanted to cry. No. I wanted to scream in frustration. But I was not going to cry. I was furious with Martin, with myself.

  Mr. Lane’s face showed no shock, sympathy or change. When he asked his next question, he did so briskly, as if he were discussing the price of stocks or the market’s quirks. “Why do you feel you can’t divorce your husband?”

  I glared at him. “That’s a completely inappropriate question.”

  “Perhaps it is,” he admitted, “but I could recommend a competent attorney.”

  The only person in the world who could help me was me. All I had to do was face the facts and be done with it. But my mom. What about my mom?

  “Mr. Lane, I have an attorney and this is none of your business.” I finally grew a backbone. “If you’re done, I’d like to leave now.”

  He melted any semblance of me having a backbone with his glare. “I’m not done yet.”

  He leaned back in his chair, measuring me with his unsettling stare. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, the whirring of his calculating brain and the ticking of an old-fashioned clock that marked each passing second, even if it only existed in my mind.

  “Lily, I’m not going to beat around the bush,” he said. “You can change your situation if you’ve got the courage to do so. Would you consider going along with Martin’s plan?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You should weigh all of your options.”

  I’d tried to help Martin succeed. Short of selling my womb and compromising my dignity, I’d done everything I could to support his efforts, until today, when he went too far and smashed the bounds of decency.

  And even if I’d been crazy enough to consider going along with Martin’s plan—which I wasn’t—there was still the matter of Mr. Lane himself. I stole a look at him. He hadn’t made his millions by stumbling from one scam to another. He’d never incur the risks of such an outlandish idea. He’d never consider taking someone like me to his bed. He’d never go along with Martin’s deranged scheme.

  Right?

  “Lily,” he said, as if he’d been listening to my thoughts. “Have you considered what my reply to Poe’s proposal was?”

  I was afraid to ask. “What did you say?”

  “I listened to everything Poe had to say,” he said. “And then I told him that if you were willing, I was interested.”

  Holy Mother of God.

  My mind exploded into bursts of color. Or was it bursts of black blotching out the spinning color wheel? Mr. Lane had said he was interested. In me. Mr. Lane was willing to consider Martin’s proposal. If I were willing?

  I opened my mouth and closed it. “I don’t understand.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he said. “I’m interested.”

  “But...” My mind groped in the dark and reached out to grab onto something, anything. “Why?”

  “Look at you,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be interested?”

  Because WindTech was probably a bad investment and so was I. Because I was common, dull and plain. Snap out of it, Lily. I needed a shot of self-esteem. There were a lot of other reasons why this could never happen, starting with the fact I had morals, for God’s sake, and I wasn’t in the habit of hooking up with strangers. I wasn’t a sl
ut, or remotely interested in becoming one, and I wasn’t about to be traded like a baseball card.

  “Why would someone like you be interested in doing something like this?” I said, deceptively calm. “Why would you agree to something so sordid?”

  “Good questions,” he said. “Why do you think?”

  “Because you can’t get a woman to your bed without the benefit of a transaction?”

  He didn’t even blink. “You brought it up, so let’s deal with it.” His voice whetted with a dangerous edge. “Getting women to my bed isn’t usually much of a challenge, except—it appears, based on your current reaction—when it comes to you. I don’t need to pay for sex. And so that you know, although I’ll admit I’d be a beneficiary, this transaction would primarily be for your benefit.”

  “My benefit?”

  “As to my motives,” he continued unabated, “suffice it to say that I enjoy a challenge. I have my pride, you know, and I do like to win.”

  A challenge. That’s what I was to this man. A business proposition. Martin had riled his ego and now Martin would pay. Did I have to pay too?

  “But first things first,” he said “There’s no point to having this conversation unless we have something to work with. I need to know whether you find me sexually attractive.”

  My mouth fell open.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Do you really expect an answer from me?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Clarity is at the basis of any good agreement.”

  “Agreement?”

  “I felt something between us at the gala Saturday night,” he said, “an unusual—no—

  an extraordinary burst of chemistry. I need you to tell me the truth. I want to know if you experienced the same jolt, the same erotic pull I felt.”

  Erotic pull? Is that what it was? I remembered the feeling, the universe darkening around us, his massive star pulling on my puny planet, altering my orbit, and the sense of an impending collision rattling my senses and obscuring my reason. I also remembered my toes curling in my shoes, my center tightening into a knot, my skin heating, my face burning, the air rushing out of my lungs, the same paralyzing emotions I was experiencing right now.