Bad Boy of Wall Street: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance (9 page)

She'd developed a good eye for suits in her short time at Cartmann Securities, and the cheap fabric wrapped around this man's bulky, muscled body looked like it had come from the bargain bin at an outlet store. The man's big, broad features, along with a crooked and slightly flattened nose, made him look more like a bare-knuckle boxer than anyone who dealt with vast amounts of other people's money.

Something about his crooked grin didn't quite reach his flat, gray eyes, she thought to herself. This was a man who was legitimately dangerous, and shouldn't be given the runaround.

So instead of giving the usual cutting response that put most stockbrokers or uppity clients in their place, she nodded, trying not to swallow in fear. "Er, would that be Mr. Cartmann?" she asked, making one last attempt to remain professional.

"I suppose so," Hook replied with a shrug. "If he's got his name on the place, he's probably the head asshole. Does he have any idea what shit is going on at this place?"

The receptionist wasn't sure how to answer that question. For a moment, she considered telling this newcomer that Mr. Cartmann wasn't in at the moment, but she suspected, rightly, that this sentence wouldn't be well received. Something in the way that the cheap fabric of the suit jacket bulged up around his biceps told her that this man wasn't afraid of using his brute strength to get what he wanted. He reminded the receptionist a little of her former modeling manager, and she shivered at the memory.

"Mr. Cartmann's office is down at the end of the hall," she told Hook. "I can buzz him if you'd like, tell him who's here to meet with him-"

"Nah, don't bother," Hook interrupted her. He gave her what he intended to be a reassuring smile, although it came out as more of a leer. "I'll let it be a surprise, whaddaya say?"

"Of course," agreed the receptionist, who would have said yes to practically anything by that point, just to get rid of him.

Hook breezed past her desk, searching for Cartmann's office, and the receptionist breathed a sigh of relief - and then reached under her desk for her purse. She could tell when something bad was about to happen, and she strongly suspected that she didn't want to be in the area as a potential witness to whatever came next.

Hook didn't have any trouble locating Cartmann's office, at least. One of the offices at the end of the hall was twice as big as all of the others, and Cartmann had a nameplate mounted next to the door. No understated little black metal plaque here - the nameplate was bright gold, and something about the way the metal glinted suggested to Hook that it wasn't just plated. If he wrenched the thing off the wall, it could probably pay for a new car, something quite a bit nicer than his unremarkable rental.

Without bothering to knock, Hook barged into the office.

Chad Cartmann, head of Cartmann Securities, looked up past his feet, propped up on his desk in leather wingtip shoes, as some idiot came in without knocking. What the hell was going on? Wasn't his secretary supposed to keep out idiots like this?

"Who the fuck are you?" he snapped out, glaring back at Hook.

Hook smiled. This idiot, in a fancy suit with leather shoes, sitting behind his big desk, had the right attitude. Brash and blustery, certain that he was the most important person in any room he entered. This was the kind of man who would probably have the answers that Hook's bosses sent him here to get.

"You the head of this shithole?" he asked, grinning as he stepped into the office.

Cartmann had been on the phone, hoping to get some dirt on a biotech company that was about to receive results on its Phase Three trials, but he reached out and hung up the call without saying goodbye. The idiots over at the FDA weren't going to reveal anything to him, it seemed, so that fishing expedition had been in vain. He now focused all of his annoyance at being interrupted on this bozo in front of him.

"Yeah, I'm the head of this place, shitbird," he snapped back, pulling his shoes down off of his desk and rising up to his feet. "And who the fuck are you?"

At least, Cartmann meant to rise up to his feet. He didn't make it more than a couple of inches up from his seat, however, before Hook's thick arm reached across the desk to push him back down heavily into the chair.

"I'm the guy sent by the guys whose money you lost," Hook answered. He frowned for a moment, replaying this sentence in his head, but it seemed to make sense, so he stuck with it. "And Chad? Buddy? They're not happy."

For a second, the words didn't click in Cartmann's head, but then, just as he'd started to open his mouth, he made the connection. Hook smiled as he saw the head trader's face lose color, turning a rather ugly gray color as the blood drained from his cheeks.

"Look, I don't know what this is about, but I'm sure that I can make things better-" he began, but Hook just tightened his grip on the man's shoulder. Cartmann's words cut off with a wince of pain.

"Sure, you can make it up to us," Hook said, after he was sure that the expensively clad trader was paying attention. "Give us our goddamn money. How's that for a start?"

"But you still have access to all your money-"

Hook sighed. The idiot was going to try and lie to him. Right to his goddamn face. He'd almost admire the balls on the trader, if he wasn't such a fucking idiot.

"Not the insider trading, dumbass," he said, shaking his head. He let go of Cartmann's shoulder, slipping his hand down into the pocket of his suit pants and feeling for that little paper packet tucked into his wallet. "I'm talking about the fact that you've been skimming money off the top of our accounts, for a while now."

Cartmann just gaped back at him, his mouth hanging slightly open. Hook tightened his fingers on the packet and pulled it out. Well aware that Cartmann's eyes were still on him, he casually reached into the packet and withdrew one of the fish hooks. He turned it back and forth in his thick fingers, inspecting the glint of the razor sharp point and making sure that the barb was intact.

When he turned back to Cartmann, he saw the trader swallow, his eyes locked on the fish hook in the big man's fingers. Hook grinned, running his eyes over his victim, trying to select a target point.

"Okay, okay, okay!" Cartmann's voice sounded breathy with barely contained panic. "Look, it's all the same thing, right? It's the same guy, guilty of both activities! Rob Hendricks is who you want!"

Hook hesitated. "I'm listening," he said finally. "Go on, tell me more."

Cartmann immediately babbled on, revealing more and more, his eyes remaining locked on that fish hook glinting in Hook's fingers. He talked and talked, until Hook finally held up his hand, signaling that he'd heard enough. The trader's mouth snapped shut like a mousetrap.

"So you're telling me that this dumbass has my bosses' money, and he's hiding out in the Hamptons?" Hook summarized. He'd never visited the Hamptons before, but he'd heard that they were filthy with rich people. If this dumbass trader had ripped off his bosses for millions, the Hamptons seemed like the perfect place for him to hide, in amid all the other rich people. Why slum it with broke losers if you were sitting on stolen millions?

Cartmann nodded, his bobbing head making him look like a puppet. "Yes, that's it exactly! I don't know where he is, but-"

"I'll find him," Hook said. He looked down at the trader, still flopped in his chair behind his fancy desk, and put on a grin. "Hell, it looks like we're on the same side, aren't we? We both want this shitty trader of yours to give back what he stole, and then maybe turn up floating in a river somewhere."

"Yes, we're on the same side," Cartmann echoed back. Hell, he'd say anything right now. He'd give his own mother over to this intimidating hitman if it meant that he'd avoid that fish hook sliding into a finger, a cheek, an eye-

Hook glanced over at the little bit of metal in his fingers. He wouldn't need to use it now, it seemed. Still, he had a new target in mind, and he'd get his chance to put his skills to use.

He glanced over at Cartmann as he tucked the hooks back into their little packet in his wallet. "Now, there's no need for anyone else to hear anything about this, is there?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

It was almost comical how fast he saw Cartmann's head shake back and forth. The idiot would probably give himself motion sickness.

"Great." Hook started to turn to leave, but he paused as his eyes swept across the trader's desk.

He reached out and picked up the nameplate sitting on the desk. It had the same gold sheen as the plate bolted to the wall outside, and the weight of it in Hook's hand confirmed his guess. "Souvenir," he said to Cartmann, grinning as he hefted the chunk of metal.

For just a second, he thought that the trader might grow a spine and protest. The man apparently thought better, however, his self-preservation instinct overriding his anger at this brazen theft. "Sure, take it," he said, although the words came out through gritted teeth.

Hook whistled to himself as he strolled out of the office, tossing the nameplate idly in his hand. He didn't pause until he got to the receptionist's desk. Just above her desk, he'd noticed that Cartmann Securities had a large glass sign installed, with their name sand-blasted onto the big sheet of glass.

The receptionist wasn't around, so Hook spun and hurtled the nameplate overhand, straight into the big glass sign. He grinned happily as it shattered with an ear-splitting crash.

There. Maybe next time, they'd put the damn sign on the outside.

He headed back down to his car, turning over this new name in his head. Rob Hendricks. The thief.

Hook would find him, soon enough. And the last thing that Rob Hendricks would see would be Hook's grinning face, his hands tightening around the asshole's neck.

Chapter Eleven

*

I woke up the next morning feeling surprisingly refreshed and alert, the first rays of the sun streaming in through the window next to my bed and casting glimmers across my pillow. I blinked and sat up so that the light didn't go right into my eyes.

After getting back from the beach, I climbed into the shower in the little house to wash off the sand, but soon found myself all but staggering with exhaustion. I barely managed to dry myself off and pull on some flannel shorts and a top before I fell into bed and passed out.

Now, I rolled out of bed, wincing as my bare feet touched the freezing cold wooden floorboards of my bedroom. I wished that I'd brought a pair of slippers. Of course, that would require me to own a pair of slippers.

If I was staying here for more than another day or so, I decided as I hopped out of my room, I would go see if I could find a cheap pair in town.

I made it down to the kitchen without hearing anyone else moving around in the house. I could really use a cup of coffee, but I didn't know if there were any nearby shops where I could get a cheap cup. I did notice a coffee maker sitting out on the counter, one of the classic types with a reservoir of water and an opening for the grounds. That meant that there had to be some filters and grounds around, right?

I found the canister in the pantry cupboards after a bit of slightly guilty digging around, with the filters stacked on top. I pulled out a paper filter, filled it halfway full of coffee grounds, and then loaded up the reservoir and pushed buttons semi-randomly on the front of the coffee maker until I heard the tell-tale dripping sound. I next went looking for mugs, finding a cupboard full of chipped examples.

Just as the water line of brewed coffee in the pot was reaching the level where I could serve myself, I heard footsteps outside the kitchen. A second later, Rob entered, looking adorably sleepy as he reached up to rub at his eyes.

Although despite clearly having just rolled out of bed, he still looked amazingly sexy, I observed with a little stab of irritation. His golden hair was mussed, rather than perfectly styled, but it just made him look more human, like the kind of man who could effortlessly whip up an omelette for his one night stand as he let her out of his luxury penthouse apartment in downtown Manhattan. I wanted to see him look messy and unkempt, just one single time!

"Coffee?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

I grabbed another mug out of the cupboard for him. "I found the coffee grounds and filters in the pantry, and figured I'd brew some," I replied. "After all, we've got a fun, exciting day ahead of us, and we'll probably want some caffeine to help us get started right away, won't we?"

The sarcasm seemed to go over the man's head. Maybe he couldn't process it until after he'd finished off his first cup. Instead, he just frowned at me for another moment, and then helped himself to the coffee pot.

"Part of me thought that you wouldn't be here this morning," he said, as he lifted the steaming cup up to his lips for a sip.

I raised my eyebrows at him. Popping open the vintage 1950s-looking refrigerator, I found a half-used carton of half and half, and added a generous splash to my own cup before taking a gulp. Ah, that's the stuff.

"Why would I be gone?" I asked, after I'd set my cup back down.

He shrugged. "I told you last night that you probably wouldn't get the story that you were after from me."

"And I told you that I was going to help prove your innocence, and that this would be just as good of a story," I answered, narrowing my eyes a little at him. "Remember? Or did your ears get filled with sand?"