Where it’s still coming from.
“The dude’s name,” Ari said now, “is already forgotten.”
“So you did have a date! I knew it!” Tasha cocked an eyebrow, a cute little trick she’d recently mastered. “Did you get any?”
“Nope.” Ari forged on, feigning defeat. “It sucked. Everything about the guy sucked.”
In more ways than one…
“Bummer,” Tasha said. “Maybe you should update your dating profile? I mean, no offense, but ‘museum consultant’ doesn’t exactly scream ‘I’m awesome and spontaneous and totally down for sexytimes.’”
Ari rolled her eyes. She’d deleted that “profile” about fifteen minutes after Tasha set it up for her last year. Her sister’s heart was in the right place—she’d been worried about Ari after things finally crashed and burned with the documents forger, a man Tasha believed was an insurance salesman.
But Ari couldn’t explain it to Tasha. Online dating? Even if Ari was a legitimate museum consultant, a girl with a normal job and a regular life, how could she find the kind of man she wanted through an online dating app? The kind of man who could take her to the edge, test her limits, talk dirty to her all night long, and then wake her up with soft kisses and breakfast in bed?
Did that kind of man even exist?
Ari loved the idea of trusting her pleasure to a strong, dominant man, but she’d learned the hard way that those men—real men, the ones who’d know how to take care of her—were few and far between. Her ex talked a good game, but when it came down to it, he preferred to demean rather than dominate. For him it was all about ego, and whenever Ari tried to express her needs, he shut her down—sometimes by withholding sex, other times with a cruel joke, or even public humiliation. The last time she’d tried to talk dirty, push the boundaries a bit, he’d called her a whore. Slapped her hard on the mouth, drawing blood and leaving one hell of a bruise.
That was nearly a year ago. She hadn’t shared his bed since.
Ari’s mind drifted back to the closet, back to her sexy-as-hell Brit. Last night was incredible, a forbidden rendezvous that’d left her wanting so much more. But that’s just what it was—a forbidden rendezvous. A one-time fantasy that never should have gone beyond the closet. In fact, it never should have happened in the first place.
“Tasha,” Ari said, “I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. But I’m done dating. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“In bed?” Tasha teased.
“Anyway,” Ari said firmly, “what about your night? How’d the English final go?”
The word “English” sent another unbidden spark through Ari’s insides. She would’ve loved to dish details about last night’s steamy little interlude, but when it came to her “work” events, Ari had a strict need-to-know policy, and Tasha didn’t need to know. As far as Tasha was concerned, her big sister was a consultant who spent a lot of time looking at old paintings and helping people buy and sell family heirlooms. There were more than a few shades of gray in that definition, but for now, Ari needed to keep the specifics to herself.
Specifics like how his strong, talented fingers had put her vibrator to shame…
“Aced it,” Tasha said. “The professor thinks I might be a good candidate for his advanced literature seminar in the fall. He only takes ten students—mostly seniors—and you have to be invited to even apply. If I get in, I’ll be the first sophomore ever admitted.”
“Tasha, that’s amazing!” Ari beamed. She was so proud of her sister. Tasha’s education—her entire future—was the reason Ari did what she did, and nothing made her happier than hearing about her sister’s hard-earned achievements. Despite a rocky childhood, Tasha had worked her ass off in high school, earning a scholarship to Hunter College in the city, which she supplemented with a coffee shop gig to cover the extras. She was even taking classes in the summer, trying to get some of her basic coursework done early while she figured out what she wanted to study.
Ari might not have had the opportunity to go to college, to follow a path of her own choosing, but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t give that to her sister. Tasha was the best thing in her life, and she deserved the world. There was nothing Ari wouldn’t do to protect her little sister. To make her happy.
“This calls for a celebration,” Ari said, already rummaging through the cupboards.
“But I didn’t get in yet! I won’t know until the end of summer.”
“You’ll get in. I know it.” Ari pulled out the flour, sugar, and a bag of chocolate chips. “Banana chocolate chip pancakes sound okay?”
“Uh, yeah? But what about work?” Tasha asked.
Ari shrugged. “I can go in later.”
“We should’ve planned this better! I’m on the lunch shift at Perk,” Tasha said, reaching for her cell. “Lemme see if I can get Darcy to switch—she owes me.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got a lunch thing anyway.”
Tasha’s smile slipped. “Oh. No problem.”
Ari hated that she’d put that disappointed look in her sister’s eyes, but she understood all too well where it had come from. Between Tasha’s classes and Ari’s crazy job, the girls had barely shared a meal all month, let alone spent any quality time together.
“Hey,” Ari said. “I can’t get out of lunch, but why don’t we go out tonight, just the two of us?”
Tasha brightened. “For real?”
“Definitely. We’ll grab dinner somewhere, maybe see a movie?”
“Let’s go to Bryant Park!” Tasha said, bouncing on her toes. “They’re showing Sleepless in Seattle tonight. We can do a Shake Shack picnic.”
Ari dumped the chocolate chips into a bowl, her anxiety about Davidson melting away. After all the craziness last night, a picnic and outdoor movie with her sister was exactly the kind of chill girls’ night out Ari needed. “Brilliant. I’m in.”
Tasha hugged her from behind as she leaned in to steal a chocolate chip. “What did I do to deserve you?”
Ari smiled.
You showed up, she thought. And you stayed.
Chapter Nine
That fucking closet was going to haunt him for the rest of his retched life.
Jared couldn’t even hang up his suit coat in his office this morning without his dick getting hard—a situation that would become problematic if he didn’t do something about it.
Like find that woman and bring her home for the night, tie her to the bed, and show her exactly what she’s been missing out on her whole life.
Jared sighed. He was the one missing out. Last night he’d let her walk away without a fight, and now he’d probably never see her again.
Maybe it was for the best.
Behind those seductive hazel eyes, that woman was a deep vault of secrets. Nothing about her was innocent, and with everything else going on in his life right now, Jared didn’t need that kind of trouble.
But God, how I want it…
Sipping his coffee, Jared stood before his 40th floor office windows and took in the view, a vast sea of skyscrapers that stretched from his building in Tribeca up to the northern edge of Manhattan. In the distance, the top of the Chrysler Building gleamed beneath a gorgeous sapphire-blue sky, making it nearly impossible for his foul mood to linger.
At least she didn’t walk away with the Whitfield.
“Rough night, mate?” Evan Drake, Jared’s business partner and best friend, barged into his office with the usual lack of decorum. “You look like hell.”
“And you look like someone who thinks he can show up without an appointment.”
“So rude, right?” Evan made himself at home, kicking back in Jared’s leather executive chair. “Yet you never make good on those threats to fire me.”
Jared scrubbed a hand over his face. “Bit of a long night, is all.”
Long was an understatement. Trouble or not, the woman from the auction had gotten to him. Badly. No matter how many cold showers and stiff drinks later, h
e couldn’t get her out of his system. Even a morning run around lower Manhattan couldn’t clear his head. The feel of her velvety skin, the sounds she’d made as she writhed in his arms, the taste of her still lingering on his lips… He’d taken charge of her pleasure. Commanded her, just like she’d wanted. But everything about her had invaded his senses, and now he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
The memories of their rendezvous made his cock strain against his pants.
“What’s her name?” Evan asked. When Jared didn’t respond, Evan laughed. “I’ve known you since your first wank, Blackwell. You think I don’t recognize your morning-after look? Must’ve been one hell of a row.”
“Stop talking,” Jared said, “unless you’re looking for a severance package.”
Evan laughed again. “You know I’m right.”
Of course he was right. They’d grown up together in Bristol; their families had been chums for a century. When Jared finished business school in New York and told Evan about his plans, Evan didn’t ask questions. He simply booked the next flight from Heathrow to JFK.
And together, from their humble beginnings in a shite Chelsea storefront shoehorned between a highly questionable Indian restaurant and an even more questionable no-name drug store, they’d built FierceConnect, an online social gaming platform with 500 million worldwide users.
“You’re a git, that’s what you are,” Jared said with a smirk, settling into the chair across from Evan.
“Does this mean we’re not talking about her?”
Jared shot him a warning glare.
“Keep your secrets, then. But here’s something that’ll put your dick on ice.” Evan tossed a folder across the desk. “Hastings hired a new firm. They’re requesting a lot more access than the previous chumps.”
Jared flipped through the file, a series of legal briefs outlining the types of information Hastings’s new watchdogs wanted: SEC filings, P&L statements, trademark and patent filings, interviews of key staff, and the worst part—a bunch of informal meetings and get-to-know-you dinners.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Jared dropped the file, running his hands through his hair. Investigations were standard procedure during mergers and acquisitions—FierceConnect had been through them with every last one of the dozens of software companies they’d bought over the years, all to ensure the deal was aboveboard and the companies were a good match—but this felt downright invasive. Meetings? Dinners?
On Evan’s strong suggestion, Jared had already invited all of the Hastings executives and their spouses to the fundraiser he was hosting this weekend—a fiasco of an event that was also one of Evan’s strong suggestions—and now they wanted more face time?
“No,” Jared said. “Absolutely not.”
“No choice, I’m afraid.” Evan grabbed Jared’s coffee mug, helping himself to a drink. “Not if you want the acquisition to happen.”
“Did you just put your filthy mouth on my favorite mug?”
Evan raised his pinky alongside the mug, and in a high, formal voice, said, “I wouldn’t be stooping to such pedestrian levels if you’d been a proper host and offered me refreshment upon arrival.”
“How about a beating upon arrival?” Jared smiled. He’d never known Evan to be in a bad mood, even when Jared was doing his best to push his friend’s buttons. But despite Evan’s cheery disposition, the gorgeous weather, the sunshine streaming in through his floor-to-ceiling windows, Jared couldn’t shake his funk.
“Talk to me, Jared,” Evan said. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
“Why are these guys jerking us around?” he asked. “They’ve seen our numbers. They know we’ve made every acquisition profitable, and with very little staff reduction. What are they worried about?”
“Come on, mate,” Evan said. “Hastings is old money, conservative as hell—especially for a dot-com. The old man doesn’t want his son to sell off the family business to—”
“To a nefarious ne’er-do-well? Tell me about it.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Exactly why you’re not the nefarious ne’er-do-well in the room.”
“Touché.” Evan offered a small smile, and then drained the last of Jared’s coffee. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any biscuits?”
“Christ.” Jared rose from the chair to fetch the box of cookies he kept hidden in a file drawer.
Despite their sparring, Jared was grateful as hell for the guy. Not only did he keep the business in the black, he put up with Jared’s moods, and he’d stood by him through all manner of hard times. Namely, when Jared’s engagement crashed and burned last year, and the ex—a well-known Broadway performer who’d marked Jared’s first and last foray into celebrity dating—gave a tell-all interview to the trashiest rag in the city, spilling details about their relationship, about Jared’s personal life, about his business, and most infuriating—a whole lot of shite she’d simply made up.
Public relations nightmare was putting it mildly.
The phone rang for months, tabloid reporters and photographers stalking him at home, at work, on his morning run. Dating was out of the question; with his face splashed across the tabloids at every newsstand in the five boroughs, Jared couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized.
There was nothing to do but ride it out, Evan working overtime with their PR firm to smooth things over, doing his best to keep Jared in good spirits—not an easy task. Eventually the scandal faded, the media piranha ready to gorge themselves on a new victim. But even now, more than a year later, the headlines haunted Jared’s memory. The English Patient: Is FierceConnect tycoon fit to rule the roost? Sources say no. And, Online gaming king gets ‘pwned’. And Jared’s personal favorite, Broadway baby says billionaire Brit is nefarious ne’er-do-well.
Jared handed over the cookies.
“Very kind of you, thanks,” Evan said. “So… free advice?”
“Remind me again what I’m paying you for, exactly?”
“Play the game, mate. Just until the acquisition goes through. Then you can go back to being that reclusive billionaire jackoff we know and love.”
“You’re a prince, Evan. A real fucking prince.”
“You’ve got to make an impression at the fundraiser, Jared. A good impression. That’s why you’re hosting it.”
“I don’t like hosting parties.”
“I don’t care what you like.” He grabbed a cookie from the box and shoved it into his mouth, powdered sugar coating his lips. “Louse it up, and these guys will walk. We’re not the only ones interested. Wow, are those lemon biscuits? They’re wonderful. Don’t mind if I have another, do you?”
“We don’t even know if they’ll show.” Jared pressed the intercom for his assistant. “Paulina, do we have an update on the final head count for Friday?”
Seconds later, she poked her head into the office. “Two hundred and sixty-one confirmed tickets sold.”
“And the Hastings people?”
“They’ve all RSVP’d.”
Jared rubbed his temples. “I don’t suppose we’ve any regrets?”
“Not one.”
“Fuck me.” His foul mood was back with a vengeance, rapidly turning into a headache that drilled right through the base of his skull. All those people, parading around his house, poking at his things, taking selfies in his sculpture garden. Sneaking into the closet for a night to remember…
“Don’t they have anything better to do?” Jared snapped.
“What did you expect, Mr. Dark and Mysterious?” Evan asked. “They all want a little look-see behind the curtain.”
“I shouldn’t have put in that infinity pool.”
“I tried to tell you,” Evan said.
“People are drawn to money like flies on shit,” Paulina said. “Rich flies. On solid gold shit. But still, I stand by the metaphor.”
Jared looked at his assistant in the doorway. He’d hired her right out of college, best decision he ever made. Ten years later,
she was still his most valued employee—she practically ran the whole place, and unlike most of the other women in his life, she’d never betrayed his trust.
“Paulina,” he said, “if you and Johnny had children, would you ever send them to a preschool that cost more than a university?”
Paulina laughed. “Oh, sweetie. If we had kids, we’d send them to your house. You have a pool.”
On the desk, Jared’s phone beeped with an appointment reminder.
“That’d be your one o’clock,” Paulina said. “I’ll call for your car. And make sure you’re back for your two-thirty with Mr. Hastings.”
“Thank you, Paulina.” He’d almost forgotten about the two-thirty. The old man’s pain-in-the-ass son wanted to meet with Jared for another walkthrough of the acquisition, an exercise in futility that would involve a lot of corporate-speak like “help me understand the narrative” and “I’m just not seeing the whole vision, Mr. Blackwell.”
Total fucking waste of time.
“Alright.” Evan rose from the chair. “I’m heading out too.”
“Great. Does this mean I can have my chair back? And my desk? And my goddamn coffee mug?”
“Of course, your highness. I’ve got a lunch date—Ella from marketing. Wish me luck.”
“Workplace romance?” Jared said. “Now there’s a right terrible idea.”
“Who said anything about romance? I’d be happy with a shag in the copy room. Or maybe in the boss’s office, since he’ll be out.” Evan leaned across the desk, scooping up the last cookie and smacking Jared twice on the cheek. “In the mean time, I trust you’ll behave yourself?”
Jared flashed a wolfish smile. “Mr. Drake, when am I not a perfect gentleman?”
Evan waited until he was safely out the door before he replied. “Would you like my response in an e-mail, a photo essay, or a spreadsheet with sortable columns?”
Chapter Ten
“To say that I’m disappointed is an understatement, Arianne. Really.” Davidson drained his martini and set the glass hard on the patio table.
Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series Page 6