by Lucy Smith
“Wait, what?” I asked. “Why do you think that?”
“It’s a gut feeling, kid. A very bad gut feeling.”
I clutched the phone closer to my face. Unsure exactly what I was hearing, my mind started spinning like the blades of a helicopter about to lose control. I replayed scene after scene of working with Pierce, trying to trace any signs of betrayal. “How am I supposed to spy on him, Dad? I’m not exactly capable of doing—”
“Start taking back the project like the workaholic I raised you to be. Make sure he’s not doing anything shady. Snoop around if you have to. Look for anything—and I mean anything—suspicious.”
I shook my head, willing this conversation to stop. First Dad wanted me to be Mrs. Cleaver, kind and passive about this project’s creation, and now he wanted me to turn into James Bond, private eye? It was too much to absorb in that moment.
“Expect more calls from me. I’ll want to check in with you about Pierce’s whereabouts. Make sure anything you want to communicate to me is said over the phone, not in an e-mail . . . just in case.”
“Uh, okay. If you’re this skeptical about the Mavericks’ intentions, shouldn’t we just back out while we still can?”
“We can’t, Lauren. Terminating the project with the Mavericks isn’t an option.”
Something about his tone made me worry. He sounded so desperate, so unsure. My father was many things, but when it came to running his business, he never questioned anything. He plowed through and almost always succeeded in his endeavors. But now, he was clearly doubting himself. He sounded so timid, like a mouse caught in a trap with no chance of breaking free.
“Call me if you need me,” he said. “Bye.”
I tossed the phone on my bed and sighed in exasperation. Confusion and paranoia started to race within my chest. I hurriedly paced back and forth in my room as questions bombarded my disturbed mind. Was Dad right? Were Pierce and his father really playing us? Was it already too late to save the company? I replayed the last two weeks over and over again, wondering if I’d missed anything that Pierce had done. I scolded myself for losing sight of the one thing I prided myself in—my work. If I had a better handle on the details of this project, maybe now I’d know what was going on and why Dad was so suspicious. On the other hand, Pierce was so ambitious. He seemed the natural leader of this project, though I realized now that it was a mistake to hand over the reins so easily. Still I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea of Pierce sabotaging the casino. Why would he jeopardize his first real project?
No matter how many details, large or small, I thought about, no matter how many questions I left unanswered—there was one glaring detail that overshadowed them all. It was as unavoidable as my next breath: Was Pierce Maverick screwing me on Sunday nights to eventually screw over Hart Corp?
Chapter Eleven
We were scouting an upscale eatery at a local high-end casino for our research. The best in the city needed to be a mere shadow of what we were planning for Fantasy. No aspect of any other casino would be able to compare. It would have to be spectacular. That is, of course, if Pierce wasn’t going to completely turn the tables on Hart Corp. And me.
“This is decent food, all right. But it’s not nearly what I would expect from a four-star restaurant,” Pierce said cynically to the older waiter.
The waiter’s furrowed brow and wide eyes said he was trying to hide his shock. I doubted he had ever received a complaint about the quality of the cuisine, at least not with the current head chef on staff.
“My sincere apologies, sir, that you did not enjoy the food. I will certainly compensate your meal for you both. Is there anything else you would like to try, sir? We have an excellent selection of—”
Pierce held up his hand apathetically and shook his head. “That’s not necessary. I would like to speak to your chef. Could you please send him out?”
“Certainly, sir,” the waiter said. He swiftly spun on his heel, and we watched his bald head disappear behind the black double doors.
Confused, I looked at Pierce and sat forward in my chair. “This was some of the best food I’ve ever had from a casino here in Vegas. What are you up to?”
“I agree. I actually want to offer the kid a job.”
I raised an eyebrow. “But the casino won’t be opening for at least three years. You think he’ll wait that long?”
“I know. That’s exactly why I’m offering him a job as my personal chef until the casino is ready for business. Don’t worry. I plan on making it worth his while.”
A tall, blond-haired man in his late twenties approached our table. His white smock was laden with food stains. His chef’s hat was a little skewed atop his head, and his gaze was fixed on Pierce.
“I’m sorry to hear you did not enjoy the meal, sir.” His eyes were a beautiful deep blue. I gave him the once-over and looked to see if he had a ring on his finger. He didn’t. I smiled at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He held his hands behind his back as though he was bracing himself for whatever Pierce was about to say. I noticed he seemed to be feigning uneasiness for Pierce’s benefit. Given his size, I doubted he ever got nervous or really cared who did or didn’t like his perfect dishes.
“On the contrary Mr. . . .”
“Hoffman, Lucas Hoffman.”
“Mr. Hoffman, I want to offer you a job. I’m in the process of building a casino, hotel, and restaurant. Until it is open and you can start working there, I want you to be my personal chef. I will offer you three times your daily rate. You will be paid this per three meals a day and extra for anything that takes over an hour to prepare, five days a week.”
Hoffman’s blue eyes widened in surprise. He glanced at me as if he needed validation that this was true.
I nodded my head, prompting him to accept.
“I . . . that’s nearly ten grand a month!” he exclaimed.
“So will you do it?” Pierce was clearly unmoved by Lucas’s shock. I personally couldn’t blame the chef for being over the moon; it’s not every day a person gets such an increase in pay.
“When will your casino be open, sir?” he asked.
“Two, maybe three years. Is that a problem?”
“No, sir,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “I’d be more than willing to be your personal chef for as long as necessary.”
“Good. You will start Thursday. If you have any issues with your employer, have him call me and I’ll make sure it’s not too big of a loss for him.” He suavely pulled a business card from his suit jacket. “Here’s my number. I’ll let my assistant know to expect you. Call her number tomorrow, and she will give you my address and further instructions.”
Lucas nodded. “Yes, sir, thank you.”
“And one last thing,” Pierce added.
“Anything.”
“Drop the ‘sir,’” he said with the flick of his wrist. “It reminds me too much of my father.”
“Yes . . . uh, okay. Thank you very much.” He beamed at us both before he took the card and walked back to the kitchen.
“Speaking of your assistant, where is April? Normally her bony little hips are attached to yours.”
“She has nights off. She chooses to come out with us only when she wants to. I don’t make her do anything she doesn’t volunteer to do.”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “So when you had her on that date in New York, the night before we flew out here . . . that was her doing as she pleased?”
He took a sip of his soda. “Now, now, Lauren. Do I detect a hint of jealously in your voice?”
I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms. “No, no. Not at all. It’s nice you give the poor little thing a job, I suppose.”
“Actually I took her to that restaurant to piss off my father. He hates it when the paparazzi come to him with photos of me and an assistant. ‘Billionaire’s wild son out partying again,’” he said in his best 1960s newsies accent.
“Sounds like a familiar title,” I said.
&nbs
p; “I’m sure you know what I mean. Money attracts cameras for some reason. And Dad will do just about anything to avoid them. He’ll pay hundreds of dollars for the photographs just to avoid a potential scandal even though there never is one. Those damn journalists have a habit of pole-vaulting over mouse turds.”
“Lucky you.”
“Then again, I never slept with any of my college professors . . .”
I almost knocked over my wine glass. “How did you know about that?”
He rolled his eyes, those eyes I was so very fond of. “Please, Lauren. It was all over the news. You dropped out of school. The old geezer was forced to retire. I’ve never seen my dad so thrilled about the bad press your father received.”
“It was the absolute worst time in my life. I couldn’t go anywhere, do anything. Everyone knew all the details of my life.”
“I bet you couldn’t. It’s impossible in our position, with families as wealthy as ours, to screw up. Like I said, wealth attracts those goddamn cameras. But scandal and wealth? That’s walking into the hornet’s nest.”
I shook my head, dismissing the painful memories. Why hadn’t I connected the dots? Of course, Pierce would know about the blemish on my otherwise pristine public record, but he was the last person I wanted to discuss that particular memory with. It didn’t seem appropriate in light of our current relationship—and what my father had warned me about yesterday. Making a mental note to keep Pierce at a distance, with the exception of Sunday evenings when I wanted him as close as he could possibly get, I tried to change the subject. “If you hate it so much, why do you provoke the paparazzi?”
He shrugged. “I like to see my father squirm every once and a while, especially around April. There’s something about her in particular that he really hates. You should see him. I swear the veins in his head look like they’re going to explode when he sees us together.”
“Why do you try so hard to make your father upset by taking blonde bimbos out on a date?” I asked. “Seems a little . . . beneath you.”
He reached for the plastic straw in his glass and began folding it up like an accordion. “We’re done scouting here. There’s not much else to see now that I’ve taken the one great thing about this place.” He quickly got up from the table and walked away.
I frowned. He had deliberately not answered my question, and I couldn’t help but wonder why. Ever since my conversation with my father, I questioned everything Pierce said or didn’t say. I hated it. The insecurity and paranoia made me nauseous.
I placed enough money on the table to pay for our meal and give the waiter a generous tip for putting up with Pierce’s show. I followed him out to the valet. By the time I got there, he was already speeding off in his Shelby Cobra. Apparently, I had stepped over a line. At the same time, I couldn’t help but feel a bit miffed at the thought that he’d brought April to my favorite New York restaurant that night, but then got mad when I asked about it. Now I was forced to find a cab. This wasn’t at all how I thought this evening would play out.
~*~*~*~
We had a speech to give to more potential inspectors, and I was working on my half—nothing huge, just an update to keep them involved and interested in the process. It’d been a week since our last communication with the ten wealthy men who wanted a piece of the casino’s pie. They needed to know where we were.
Pierce was focused and silent, working on something across the table from me. If he was still bitter about last night’s escapades, he didn’t show it. April looked busy enough, but I frequently caught her stealing glances at Pierce. For the thousandth time, I wondered what in hell Pierce was doing with her. She was pretty in a stereotypical, Playboy kind of way. But she added nothing to our team, and she sure as hell added nothing to our business. If Pierce saw something in her, I wondered what that said about me.
“April, did you create the Excel spreadsheet with all of the investors’ contact information like I asked yesterday morning?” I said. I knew she hadn’t, but I wanted her to have to say it out loud, especially in front of Pierce.
She looked at me, a scowl on her face. “I’m making the final adjustments to it now, actually.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize it would take you so long since there are only ten investors.”
“I’m not in the habit of turning over mediocre work. My perfected spreadsheet will be e-mailed to you shortly, Ms. Hart,” she said with a forced grin on her face.
“Well, all right then, it’s not the Sistine Chapel.” I knew I was being snarky, but part of me wanted to see how Pierce would react to the bickering between the two women in his life. He was either too preoccupied with what he was doing, or he simply didn’t care to acknowledge our little spat.
I grabbed my phone to text Kat. Remind me again why you’re attracted to women, I wrote.
Almost immediately, my phone lit up with her reply. Two words: BOOBS.
I suppressed a soft chuckle at my friend’s bluntness. Good point. But what happens when that thing above her boobs won’t shut up?
Better question, why is this conversation turning me on? her response read.
Typical. Come visit me already. I miss you.”
I miss you too, Lo! I’ll be there next weekend. Forgot about my dad’s birthday this Sunday. L
I set my iPhone down on the long conference table. Secretly I was thankful Kat had something come up at the last minute. I missed her, but I didn’t want her visit to interfere with my plans for Sunday. No matter what kind of paranoia my father had caused me to feel lately with Pierce, I still desperately wanted to have sex with him. My instinct wasn’t sending warning flares in the air, so why not? I couldn’t let a perfectly decent video camera go to waste, now could I?
The only sound in the room was the mad clicking of laptop keys. April looked confused as she stared at her Macbook. Pierce looked resolute as he typed away without hesitation.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when Pierce’s cell phone went off next to him.
He stared at the caller ID for a moment before he answered. “Pierce Maverick.” He frowned as he stared at the pale green conference room wall. “How did you get my number?” His eyes narrowed. “You know that was a lie. It never happened like that.” His hand resting on the table formed into a fist. “I tolerated you then for her sake. I don’t have to put up with you now.” He hung up on the caller and pushed the cell phone away from him on the table.
“Is everything okay?” I asked. I jumped again as his phone rang another time.
He ignored the call. “Yeah, just a demon from my past.”
“What kind of demon?” April asked. She leaned in close to him. “Anything I can take care of?”
I rolled my eyes at the naiveté of this girl. It was a good thing she was beautiful because she clearly didn’t have much else working for her.
The phone went off again, and once more he ignored it. “It’s a demon that I’m apparently going to have to block.”
~*~*~*~
The rest of the week passed in a blur as we scouted different venues to see what they had to offer, created proposal drafts, held meetings with concerned investors, and checked on the progress of the model Toby was designing. I felt better about getting down and dirty with the details of the project again. No longer was I letting Pierce just have his way. I protested when I felt it was necessary, I offered more input, and I think we were both better because of it. Dad would be happy, and it helped the week pass by immensely faster than the week before. I barely had time to finish all my phone calls, my exploration of the city, and my e-mails, let alone worry about the sex video I was going to make with Pierce.
Over all, I’d simply been dealing with a moody Pierce, who had become a brick wall of indifference since Wednesday when he got that mysterious phone call.
When “Beethoven’s Virus,” the peculiar song I appropriately set as Pierce’s ringtone, blared throughout my room early Sunday morning, I was surprised. This was the first time he’d ever called me. Normally,
we were together enough that he never needed to reach me via telephone. “Hello?” I answered groggily, trying to wake up.
“Interesting little gift I got this morning,” he said simply.
I sat up in bed and ran a hand through my tangled hair to move it out of my face. “You got it?”
“Yes. I was wondering if you would mind if I added to it?”
It was too early in the morning for my brain to process his question. How was he going to add to my fantasy of being recorded? I licked my lips. “Sure. Of course.”
“Good. We’ll meet at my place then. I’ll see you tonight at nine.” He hung up the phone, and I fell back into my Tempur-Pedic pillow. My heart pounded with anticipation. I wondered how he was going to add to it. Unless he wanted me to wear something specific again? Maybe he even had a videographer in mind? I cringed at that idea. Recording a sex video was intimidating enough without the added pressure of a third party capable of activating the zoom feature on the camera. The cellulite on my thighs didn’t need its own close-up.
Reluctantly, I headed to the office to finish up some last-minute things and hand off my thumb drive to Pierce so that he could add his part. He didn’t come in to hand me his half of our new proposal. Instead, much to my chagrin, he sent April in his place. I wasn’t particularly pleased to see his pretty assistant, but I supposed it was better than seeing Pierce in light of this morning’s phone call. The next time I wanted to see him was tonight, naked and in front of the camera.
April arrived, dressed casually. It was the first time I’d seen her without heels. Her dark jeans were snug on her petite frame, accentuating the curves of her ass. Her long hair was up in a loose pony tail, and she hardly had any makeup on her face. I hated that even when she didn’t try at all, she still looked breathtaking. There’s no way Pierce isn’t banging you.
“Pierce said he had a prior commitment today. Something about a new chef at his apartment. He sent me to get your half of the proposal,” she said. She smiled brightly, and it seemed genuine.