by Lyz Kelley
He laid his portfolio on the table and joined her at the window, looking down toward 2nd Avenue. The camera crews were no doubt waiting for the Carver employees to exit the building for lunch and at the end of the day to get their newsworthy reactions. Additional news trucks had arrived in the past few minutes, increasing the total count to nine.
This was big news, and every reporter wanted a scoop.
“When is the last time you trusted someone, Ms. Kramer?” he breathed, barely above a whisper.
She flinched as if he’d hit her, but he hadn’t moved. The intuitive question cut to her core. She didn’t trust people. She didn’t trust anyone. Not since…
He studied her profile. “Thought so. We have a lot in common, Ms. Kramer. It’s hard to trust when you’ve been hurt. Who hurt you?”
She shouldn’t have looked at him. Shouldn’t have given him a clue he’d hit a nerve, but those stunning blue eyes were like a magnet, and she couldn’t break free. “What makes you think someone hurt me?”
His lips pressed tight into a disappointed frown. “You like to answer questions with questions. You like to push people away with your wit. And you wear your passionate conviction like armor.”
His piercing eyes challenged her to deny the statement, but she’d be lying to him and to herself. Dave hurt her, and then her father and brothers hurt her even more deeply by forcing her to deny what happened in college. The wounds were deep, and she hadn’t yet been able to let go of the anger. And, unable to reconcile with what happened in the past, she’d been unable to repair her relationship with her family, so she compensated by pushing everyone away to avoid being hurt.
“Very few people get to grow up in happy, stable families.” Like you, she wanted to say, but didn’t.
“My guess is you met the person who hurt you in college,” he waved a hand to hold off her imminent denial. “You switched your major in your junior year to social sciences, which prompts me to ask why. I’m an analyst at heart, Ms. Kramer. I study people. Their past. Their motivations. The combination helps me understand the person I’m working with. I'm only inquiring who might have hurt you because I want to know if I can trust you. Or a better question is, can you trust me? Are you actually able to trust?”
Should she trust a man who wielded his power so smoothly, so easily?
Even now his confidence and unconscious sensuality drew her in. She loathed admitting how striking the starched, blue-striped shirt unbuttoned at the neck looked against his tanned skin.
Well-dressed men had always been her downfall.
The aftertaste of the berries she’d eaten for lunch soured. “I don’t know you.”
“Ah, but you’ve already set your opinion of me in cement.” He settled into the chair at a small round table and gestured to the chair across from him. Intrigued, she took a seat. “If I had to guess, you’re thinking wealthy, powerful, controlling, scary…yet I intrigue you. Am I right?”
Wow. He’d again hit too close to the truth. She forced her limbs to relax, crossed her legs and turned her leather chair at an angle away from him to hide her agitation. “Maybe,” she replied, only to continue the conversation.
“But unlike some people, you’ve met Wes See, my better half,” he matched her body language.
The psychologist in her identified the nuance. He was a skilled negotiator, and had a talent for finding common ground. She executed another micro-shift to determine if he’d follow her lead, and he did. The small victory made her smile. “What other side do you want people to see, Mr. Carver?”
“Ah, a good, leading, psychologist question.” His mouth curled up, but it was a controlled smile, one that didn’t contain an ounce of joy. “I’d like to think of myself as honorable, fair…a family man. But you need to be the judge.”
His fingers tapped in a slow sequence on the table. “I’ve made my move. Now it’s time for you to make yours. I need a new director for Empower House Networks, and I’m extending a great deal of trust that you won’t divulge that I’m linked to the organization.” He pointed toward the window. “Those news crews would love an exclusive story, and this one would be the kind of bombshell they’re hungry for. I’m trusting you will do the honorable thing and keep this conversation between us.”
Was he playing head games, or was he being honest? Deciding between the two made it difficult to swallow. “Honorable thing. Interesting phrasing, Mr. Carver.” She attempted to add sarcasm, but it felt wrong. Dirty. “You seem like a man who needs someone to earn your trust. Do you trust me to run Empower House? It’s a big job.”
“And you have big ideas, and a proven test-case scenario. If I didn’t trust you at least a little I wouldn’t have offered you the position or agreed to this meeting.”
She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. “So here we are. Each trusting the other a little.”
“I’d like you to clarify, Ms. Kramer, what it is you want.”
Phew. The expected question arrived. This time she’d come prepared. “I want to save my business by raising enough funds to buy my building.”
“Ah, there it is. There’s the reason you came here today. Money. It always boils down to money, and I have a sizable bank balance that people can’t resist trying to tap into.”
He made the word money sound like a curse word, which meant his hurt must lie somewhere close. He made her request sound cheap and self-serving to back her off. She recognized the tactic and guessed his reason.
A few women in her shelter had purposely pursued fat wallets. They dressed the part. Played the game. Cashed in the prize. She wasn’t after his money, at least not for personal gain. But she did need help.
She lifted her chin three centimeters higher. “You might think you have me figured out, Mr. Carver, but you’re wrong. The money isn’t for me. If I could help every abused and battered woman and child on the planet without relying on money, I would. Healthy food, educational programs, and keeping a shelter clean aren’t cheap.”
“If you accept my offer, the financing for your building and down payment would be secured.”
He picked up his pen and rolled the metal between his fingers, letting the silence between them settle. The motion allowed her back-and-forth what-ifs to float into her consciousness. “If I work for you, how am I supposed to run my business? I can’t be two places at once.”
“Valerie can run the business,” he suggested the option without blinking an eye.
“The poor woman is eighty-two years old and can barely manage the stairs some days, much less manage eighteen residence rooms.”
He crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, and she got a peek at his Van Gogh Starry Night socks and wondered again at the contrast between Weston Carver the executive and Wes See the man.
“Wouldn’t you like to see your processes implemented across the city—set the bar, demonstrate that your ideas are scalable? You said you have better success than any other shelter in the area. Wouldn’t you like to help more women?”
Oh, man. Her neck muscles tightened. He sure knew how to throw punches. He just described her dream. Valerie’s words came trotting back. Would she accept the position if it were offered by a woman? Heck, yeah. She’d accept the position in less time than it took for lightning to strike if offered by anyone other than a handsome, sexy, powerful man like Weston Carver.
“Sure. I’d like to help everyone who wants to improve their situation, but I’d need funds and time to delegate my workload. Right now there isn’t anyone trained.”
Not that she had the money to hire someone. Most months she was scraping the bottom of her bank account just to keep everyone fed, clothed, and safe.
A flash of joy leapt across his face. He looked like a man who’d been given the keys to a Maserati. “You haven’t asked me what the position’s salary is yet.”
“You say you’re a fair man. See? I’m showing trust.”
He tore out a piece of paper from his portfolio, scribbled a number, and slid the
paper her way.
The urge to squeal, laugh, whoop, hip-hop and dance in circles made her body tingle with energy. Trembling hands picked up the piece of paper. “This salary offer is three times the going rate for a social worker in the city.”
He pointed at the paper scrap. “You’ll receive medical benefits and four weeks’ vacation to start. I don’t like having my executives burn out.”
Four weeks of vacation? In the past three years there hadn’t been time for one. Happy tears stung her eyes. She looked at the paper, wishing now she hadn’t let Stacia use her hair for a cosmetology exam. The extra four inches would have helped her hide the embarrassed excitement. Then it hit her.
Wait. Is he trying to buy me? Groom me for sexual favors?
Sure, he disguised the first step in the process with a fancy job title and big salary, but he’ll still be the one in control.
No. She quieted the ugly voice of fear.
She’d read about the company’s discrimination policy, and seen the news flash about the sales executives fired for misbehaving while on the job. Not one article she read about the company showed Weston Carver as anything less than honorable. In fact, most writers portrayed him as a saint among executives.
But she needed to be sure.
She turned the paper facedown on the table to avoid feeding her emotional reaction to the tempting offer. “What if you disagree with my approach? What then?”
“Why would I mess with something that works? I’ve confirmed that your process is producing excellent results. My team has done their homework. The women transitioning through your shelter are doing well and say good things about their experience while there. You keep doing what you’re doing, and we’re good.”
“You surprise me, Mr. Carver.”
“Good. I like to keep people guessing.” He slapped the table and stood. She mirrored him. “Linda will prepare the paperwork for the position. Plus, my legal team will draw up a purchase offer for your building. If you want you can buy the property back from me at a reasonable interest rate. Right now I need to run to another meeting, but I’ll send in Linda. She’ll fill you in on the rest of the details.”
“I’m curious, Mr. Carver. What if they find your brother guilty? How will that impact the Empower House organization?”
His expression grew distant, and then blank. “My brother is innocent.”
“Yes, but what if he isn’t? What if there’s proof beyond any doubt that he is guilty? What then?”
He scratched his cheek, staring off into the distance. “Then my brother would serve time.”
“You wouldn’t spend your last dime defending him?”
His blue eyes hardened into a steely gray. “I know where you’re going with this line of questioning. Rich white male, hiring the best lawyers money can buy, avoiding punishment even though guilty. But you would be wrong, Ms. Kramer. My grandfather immigrated to this country and prided himself on working hard, making smart decisions, and showing respect for others. He taught his sons, and my father taught us kids. ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’”
His hands dropped to his side. “If Liam committed a crime, he will do his time.” He took a step around the table. “Now I really must run. Thank you for coming in.”
He extended his hand, and she slid her hand into his to share a firm grip. The warmth of his touch made her mind go blank, and she held on to the tingling sensation spreading up her arms. His smiling eyes stole her breath.
“Is everything all right, Ms. Kramer?”
“Um…uh…yes, why do you ask?”
He looked down at their still-clasped hands.
She yanked her hand back. “I’m fine.” She rubbed her hand over her slacks to get rid of the sensation.
“I look forward to meeting with you again soon. Let Linda know when you can start, and she’ll work out all the details.”
“Sure. Great.”
Holy crap. What have I done? Her intention had been to talk him into buying the building and then turning down the job. She had her arguments ready, but one look at the man and she was doomed.
Anyone spending five minutes had to be captivated by him. He was up-front and personable. He wasn’t a schmoozer or a player. He demanded loyalty, and in return he helped his staff meet their needs and further their own goals as well as his.
Yet what move would he make next? He was a chess player.
If she wasn’t careful, she’d be in check before she had time to position her pieces.
Chapter 8
“Where are we with Liam’s defense?” Weston studied Mike, Haley, and Linda’s body language. The signals weren’t good. “What are you guys not telling me?”
Mike shifted uneasily. “Ten days ago someone hacked into the Carver computer mainframe.”
Weston leaned back in his executive chair and tossed his pen on his desk. “And I’m just now finding out about this?”
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Mike returned his sparing glare. “According to the IT Director, dozens of access attempts are made every day. Safeguards are in place to alert for outside activity, and dummy files have been created to attract and trap intruders. However, someone from inside this building hacked into the security video logs and downloaded a bunch of files.”
“An inside job.” Weston’s fingers pressed into the leather armrests. “I spend several million a year to make sure our data is safe, and someone from the inside hacks in. How did this happen?”
“We’re working on it.” Mike glanced at his wife.
Haley opened her laptop. “There’s more.”
“More?” Weston took a deep breath to tamp down his exasperation.
She set her laptop on the edge of his desk, turning the screen in his direction. “Someone leaked this security clip to the press this morning.”
The image of what appeared to be Liam touching a young woman’s rear end appeared on the screen. Weston blinked several times to wrap his mind around the still image. His gut clenched. “Where did this come from?”
Mike ran his hands down his jeans and then pointed at the screen. “This is the security footage from the eighth-floor lobby camera.”
“I want to see the entire tape.”
“So would we. The problem is this file and several others were downloaded and deleted. We’re working with IT to get the backup files now to find out what they edited out. We should have the tapes restored within a few days.”
“Days? I want those tapes available by the end of the day today.”
Weston pushed away from his desk and paced to the bank of office windows. The sky over Manhattan was gloomy...dark gray, just like his thoughts. He organized the pieces of data on a mental grid, arranging and rearranging and assessing, trying to make sense of what was happening.
“Let’s focus on what we know.” He moved to the whiteboard, picked up a dry erase marker and drew a straight line. “Jessica Pallson was hired six months ago as a marketing intern.” He inserted a line and date. “During her six months here, she filed two complaints with Human Resources. One for discrimination. One for sexual harassment.” He added two more lines. “She quit three weeks ago.” Weston turned. “When were the tapes stolen?”
Haley grabbed her computer. “The day before Jessica quit.”
“Right.” Weston added the information to the timeline. “Which can’t be a coincidence. So the question is, did Jessica steal the tapes, or is someone else involved?” He drew a circle with a question mark inside.
“Someone else is involved,” Haley pointed at the computer in her lap. “The hacker covered his tracks with fake files. If we hadn’t gone looking for these tapes, we wouldn’t have known they were missing.”
“He?”
Haley looked up.
“You said he. The hacker is a guy?”
“I believe so.” Haley shrugged. “Some hackers leave calling cards. This particular hacker created a back door and embedded a signature code. If I’m right about who it is, the
guy isn’t cheap. Someone paid a buttload of money to have your systems hacked.”
Weston arched to stretch his back. More data pieces fell into place. “Mike. See if you can connect Ms. Pallson to Medical Supply Tech. It’s a hunch, but my gut tells me they might have something to do with this.”
Mike’s eyes flared wide. “The company who three months ago was ordered to pay Carver International twelve million for patent infringement?”
“That’s the one. Haley, please work with IT and determine if we can speed up the delivery of those missing tapes. Linda, I’d like you to work with HR. I want to confirm each new hire has signed a confidentiality agreement and gone through training. If there are any additional leaks, I want legal to be prepared to prosecute.”
He drew a thick line under his whiteboard notes. “Someone is trying to sabotage our brand and hurt our image. I don’t like bullies. We will fight this. Let’s get to work.”
When Mike, Haley and Linda didn’t move his mouth dried. Linda opened a file sitting on her lap, her face pale. “Linda? What is it?”
“I got an email from Legal this morning.” She swallowed hard and wetted her lips. “There’s a problem purchasing the Lower East Side building. The owner won’t sell. More specifically, Mr. Tickman won’t sell the building to you.”
“Tickman? As in Alex Tickman? I was classmates with the guy in high school. What do you mean he won’t sell me the building?”
“Legal said something about you kicking Mr. Tickman out of your house and hell freezing over before he’d sell the property to you.”
Weston took a step back to process the information. Personal emotions should never be tied to a business decision. He clenched and unclenched his fists. “When Tickman was seventeen, my parents took exception to him feeling up my sister on the living room couch. That has nothing to do with me.”
Linda nodded and pressed her thumb into her palm. “Legal says he won’t budge.”
“Oh, he’ll budge for the right price. In the past week, the real estate prices have dipped three percent on the Lower East Side. If he wants to sell, he’ll want to sell quickly.” Weston pinched his lips with his fingertips and let the strategies take shape in his head.