Total pages in book: 224
Estimated words: 215705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1079(@200wpm)___ 863(@250wpm)___ 719(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1079(@200wpm)___ 863(@250wpm)___ 719(@300wpm)
“That, and I too live in Battery Park.”
I blanch. “How is that even possible?”
“Exactly what I said when you left me in that hotel room.”
My eyes go wide. “Did you, Reid Maxwell, actually just make a joke and at your own expense?”
“Never. I don’t tell jokes.” He motions me forward. “Let’s walk.”
But he did. This hard-as-stone man made a joke with himself as the punchline. This tiny glimpse of the man beneath all the hardness has me curious enough to happily comply. I turn and start walking and Reid is easily by my side, keeping pace. “Not that I’m trying to get rid of you or anything like that,” I say after a few steps, “but isn’t it hard on your firm for you to be away like this?”
“Gabe runs the firm day-to-day,” he says. “And I make a hell of a lot more money doing what I do instead of managing a regular caseload.”
“How did you even start doing this kind of thing? It’s not exactly standard corporate lawyering.”
“When I was still fresh out of law school my father managed corporate takeovers for Jean Claude Laurette.”
“The billionaire behind some of the biggest hostile takeovers ever done, and who is also a real estate developer?”
“Exactly, and no, he’s not involved with your company.”
My company. I like that he says this.
“I handled a great deal of the legal filings for my father in relation to his affairs, and it slowly morphed into more.”
“So, you’re more corporate raider than attorney?”
“My father’s the corporate raider, or he was until he had a stroke last year and finally decided to slow down.”
“He’s okay now?”
“As okay as a bastard like my father can ever be,” he says dryly.
I decide to leave that alone for fear he’ll stop talking, and I focus on him. “If you’re not a corporate raider, what are you?”
“Where my father would look for the big win at all costs, as would Jean Claude, I’m in the position now to pick or choose my moves. I work with a group of investors that home in on companies where everyone is losing, and we then ensure everyone wins.”
“Except my father.”
He glances over at me as we step on the sidewalk that leads to my building. “I can’t save your father from his mistakes. I can only save everyone else.”
Despite the truth of his words, they cut, and I look away, thankful that we are now in front of my building. I turn to face him. “Good luck with the stockholders’ meeting,” I say, the wind lifting off the nearby ocean, the Statue of Liberty alight in the near distance.
“I don’t need luck. I need to be good on my word.” He changes the subject. “You heard the conversation between myself and my brother.”
It’s not a question and I don’t play coy. “Yes.”
“Then you heard me tell him to stay away from you.”
“Loud and clear,” I assure him.
He arches a brow. “You aren’t going to ask why?”
“You want to own me,” I say. “Which means I know why.”
His hand snakes out and snags my hip, jolting me with the unexpected impact as he drags me to him. “I do own you,” he says. “Until the profit I’ve promised the board is delivered, I don’t want you distracted.”
My hand is somehow now firmly planted on his even firmer chest; my legs pressed intimately to his. “And you don’t think touching me like this a distraction?” I challenge.
“It is a distraction. One we can fuck right out of our systems and then it’s over.”
“Or you decide you really do own me and I’m not taking that risk.”
“Better safe than sorry, right?”
“Better stop while you’re ahead.”
“And yet neither of us are ahead now.” He surprises me by allowing his hands to fall away, a silent invitation to stay pressed intimately to his hard, perfect body, or move away.
It takes all that I am, but I step backward. I’ve barely recovered from his touch and the chill I now feel blasting off the water, which didn’t seem to be there moments ago, when he offers me an envelope. “What is this?” I ask, reaching for his offering, but he holds onto it, those blue eyes burning into mine.
“I never make a promise I don’t keep, good or bad.” He releases his grip. “Remember that,” he adds, and then he just walks away.
Chapter twelve
Carrie
The envelope in my hand scorches me the way the man who handed it to me does as well.
I watch Reid disappear around the corner, the path between my apartment and his, a well-frequented community area that runs along the beach, lined with buildings, most of which have outdoor restaurants, and all of which offer ocean views. I will not open this envelope where I might be seen. Therefore, only when Reid is out of sight do I rush into the building and make my way to the elevator, punching my floor. Once the doors shut, I stare down at the envelope, but I don’t open it. I dread opening it and while I’m not one to avoid or hide from trouble, the biggest, cruelest way, Reid could punish me for those cuffs would be to build me up and then push me right back down. To give what he’d taken and then take it away. I don’t want to believe that’s who he is, but he learned from Jean Claude Laurette a man nicknamed “The Beast of Wall Street.”