Fortune (22 page)

G
riffen did surprise Chance. Shocked the hell out of him, actually. Chance hadn't expected the other man to call. In fact, when he'd walked away from their initial meeting, he had wondered why Griffen had even wanted to see him.

Though he could have called out of curiosity, Griffen Monarch had hardly seemed the kind to have the time or inclination to indulge himself in simple curiosity. No, Chance had sensed that the other man had been toying with something, some idea or plan that he hadn't shared with Chance. That he had been, in some way, testing him.

Apparently, he had passed the test.

They'd met a half-dozen times since then, and Griffen Monarch awed Chance. He was everything Chance longed to be: handsome, sophisticated, a well-educated, savvy and respected businessman. He possessed the things Chance longed to possess: fine, expensive clothes; a Porsche that cost more than Chance would earn in the entire year; and the by-product of all those things, power.

Chance had also decided that he liked Griffen. That he respected him.

Another surprise. Chance hadn't expected to. He had expected him to be like other men he had known in the business world who had been fathered and grandfathered into fortune—cocky, shallow and more than a little lazy. Made that way, he supposed, because they hadn't had to work, to sweat and claw their way to whatever exalted position they held. They hadn't had to earn their position of power.

None of those men had impressed him. Typically, they did as little as possible to get by, depending on the backs and ingenuity of their hungry underlings. They lacked the creativity and drive that had fed their ancestors, the ones who had built the companies that kept them in such fine style now. Chance had found that most members of the Lucky Sperm Club didn't give a shit about anyone or anything but themselves.

His own father had been like that. A rich kid who had been given everything he had ever wanted, a spoiled, selfish man who had cherished nothing. And no one—certainly not the love of the pretty little nobody he'd met in a bar or the son he refused to admit he'd sired.

Not so with Griffen. Griffen valued family. And people. Nor was there anything lackadaisical about him; he took nothing for granted. He made it a point of being involved in every aspect of the business, from working the sales floor to controlling the executive boardroom.

He was smart, dangerously smart, with a razor-sharp intelligence and a keen wit. He had an almost uncanny ability to predict moves, to anticipate both questions and responses.

Chance had seen him lay business rivals out with little more than a few words. Chance hoped they always played on the same side, because the other man would make a formidable enemy.

Chance sat at his desk, eyebrows drawn together in thought. Sometimes, when he looked Griffen directly in the eye, he had the feeling that the man knew more about him than he had ever told. Sometimes he had the feeling Griffen knew everything about him.

It felt strange. He didn't like it.

As if his thoughts had conjured him, the receptionist announced that Griffen Monarch was on the line.

Chance picked up. “Griffen. What can I do for you?”

“Got a question. You have plans Friday night?”

Chance cleared his throat. “My calendar's clear. What's up?”

“Granddad's having a thing. There're going to be some players there. Some big money. I thought you might get a kick out of it.”

“Sounds great. Where and when?”

“The Astor Street house. At 8:00 p.m. See you then, Chance buddy, gotta run.”

For long moments, Chance held the receiver against his ear, listening to the dial tone.
Surprise number three. An invitation to a social function, one being given at the Monarch family home.

Chance shook his head. He didn't know what to make of Griffen Monarch. The man hadn't offered him any business yet, though they had met and discussed the possibility several times.

Considering Griffen's position, the invitation was unusual. What was the other man thinking? Chance wondered, setting the receiver back into its cradle. What did he want with him?

Chance realized what he was doing and made a sound of disgust. It really didn't matter if Griffen Monarch had some sort of ulterior motive—Chance smiled at how ridiculous that sounded—this invitation would open doors for him. He was going to grab it with both hands and not look back.

G
riffen watched Chance as he made his way through the crowd of Chicago's movers and shakers. He smiled to himself, pleased. Everything was proceeding according to plan. Tonight, he would learn for certain whether this Chance McCord was the one he sought.

And if he was, Griffen would do whatever necessary to learn everything Chance knew about Grace.

Grace.
She was close now, so close. He could all but feel her presence. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the sound of her breathing, her smell, the feel of her skin under his hands.

She would have changed. When he had last touched her, she had been a baby. Velvet-soft and unspoiled. She had smelled of baby powder; her voice had been high and sweet, like springtime.

Then Madeline had stolen her away. And now she would be different, not so soft or sweet. Touched by others, spoiled.

He controlled the fury that wanted to rush over him, holding it back, away from spying eyes. Over the years he had become adept at harnessing his emotions, then twisting them to fit whatever situation he found himself in.

Griffen shifted his attention back to Chance. Griffen knew he impressed the other man—who he was, the things he had. He saw the admiration—the longing to be those things himself—in the other man's eyes.

Because of that, manipulating Chance McCord had been easy. Griffen had something he wanted, and wanted rather desperately. Griffen could open many doors for Chance and his pathetic little company. He could close many, also.

He had the power to make—or break—Chance McCord.

Griffen nodded at something the woman across from him was saying, hardly listening. The wife of one of Monarch's corporate attorneys, Louella Peterson was as vain as she was boring. She had, however, made it obvious to him on several occasions that she would be more than happy to sneak off sometime and fuck his brains out. That he and her husband were business associates was the only thing that would make that rendezvous interesting to Griffen, and he hadn't yet decided when—or if—he would take her up on her invitation. Perhaps immediately before a round of golf with her husband.

Griffen's mouth curved up. Wondering if the other man could smell his wife on him would be more pleasurable than the act itself. It might even improve his swing.

Griffen returned his attention to Chance, noting that he had finished his first drink and had started another. As he watched, Chance stopped and spoke to the mayor, introducing himself to the other man. Griffen shook his head, amused. Nothing shy about his boy Chance.

No, Chance was a smart guy, he was confident, ambitious, motivated. Actually, he was all those things to a fault. Those qualities made him easy to read; they made him even easier to control.

Time to say hello, he decided. Kissing Louella on the cheek, he whispered something provocative in her ear, then excused himself.

Moments later he was across the room. “Chance, buddy. Glad you could make it.”

“Happy to be here.” Chance smiled and gestured with his nearly empty glass. “Quite a place you've got.”

“Home sweet home. What can I say?” Griffen motioned to the bar, where his grandfather was surrounded by a group of his admirers, bankers mostly. “Have you met Granddad yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Let me introduce you. Come on. And while we're there, I'll buy us a drink.”

As they crossed the room, Griffen nodded to various people they passed, stopping to greet a few, introducing Chance when he did, though careful to keep the introduction simple and noncommittal. When they reached the bar, Griffen led Chance through the throng around his grandfather, stopping before him. “Granddad,” he said, smiling. “Chance McCord. Chance, Adam Monarch.”

“Mr. Monarch.” Chance stepped forward, hand out, expression almost reverent. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Same here.” Adam shook Chance's hand heartily, then slapped him on the back. “Griffen's told me about you. He says you're good.”

“Thank you. That's great to hear.”

“Get yourself something to eat. It drives me crazy, I pay a fortune for food and no one eats.”

Griffen laughed. “That's because everybody's too busy drinking. Including Dad.”

Adam's expression tightened, and he shifted his gaze across the large room. Griffen's father had obviously had more than his limit and was acting it. He was an embarrassment to the Monarch name and Griffen used every opportunity to point that out to his grandfather.

Griffen saw Chance's gaze follow his grandfather's. Griffen smiled. And now Chance knew it, too. He tucked that away. One never knew what might someday come in handy.

“Excuse us, Granddad. There are some people I want Chance to meet.”

As they moved away, Griffen leaned toward Chance. “You look impressed.”

Chance laughed. “How could I not? Adam Monarch's a legend in Chicago.”

“Quite so.” Griffen paused, then murmured, “Sorry about you being in on that family thing. That's my father over there. Pierce Monarch, reigning family embarrassment. He's not supposed to drink. He has a heart condition and has already had two major attacks. It's really hard on Granddad when he gets like this, especially in public.”

Griffen made a sound of disgust. “As you can probably tell, there's no love lost between me and my old man. Actually, Granddad was more a father to me growing up than my own. I suppose the thing that bothers me most is the way Dad's behavior affects Granddad.”

Griffen shook his head. “Enough of that. There's Daniel Conrad, general manager of the Drake. I want to introduce you.”

For the next forty minutes, Griffen took Chance around, introducing him to the party guests, telling everyone what a great new talent he had discovered, all but outright calling McCord Public Relations and Special Events the new firm of record for Monarch's Design and Retail.

Griffen saw the speculative looks. The curiosity. He saw the subtle shift in expressions, autopilot cocktail chitchat becoming sharp-eyed assessment, pleasant disinterest becoming pointed appraisal.

Chance was being considered worthy of their interest—because of
his,
Griffen Monarch's, entrée. Because of
his
word, it would be accepted that Chance McCord was good at what he did, that he was a comer to be taken seriously.

Finally, Griffen left Chance on the pretense of needing to do some business. He backed off and watched Chance, curious to see what he would do, laying odds that he went back to the biggest plums he had met tonight and struck up conversation. He would lead the conversation around to business—their businesses and how he could help them. And by the end of the night, Chance would have collected a half-dozen business cards and probably set up a couple tentative meetings. He would be half in the bag and riding an adrenaline high of biblical proportions.

Griffen smiled. Then he would approach Chance about Grace. The timing couldn't be more perfect.

Several hours later, as the party began to break up, Griffen found Chance again. “Hang around, man. There are a few people I need to say goodbye to, then I'd like us to rap.”

“Great.” Chance swayed slightly on his feet.

It's been a big night for the little man.
Griffen smiled. He supposed he might have had four martinis, too, had the situation been reversed.

“Five minutes,” he said. “I'll meet you in the library.”

Ten minutes later, Griffen headed to the library, anticipation crackling along his nerve endings like sexual arousal. The library door was half-closed. Griffen pushed it the rest of the way open and stepped into the room. Chance was standing in front of the fireplace, studying the row of framed photographs that lined the mantel.

“What did you think of our little party?”

Startled, Chance swung around, his expression almost guilty. “I didn't hear you come in.”

“I move like a cat.” Griffen smiled and crossed to where Chance stood. “At least that's what Nanny used to say. She always accused me of sneaking around.”

Chance indicated a photo of Griffen as a teenager, holding a junior-golf association trophy. “Is there anything you don't do well?”

Griffen laughed. “Do you play?”

“I flail at the ball as best I can, if you call that playing.” Chance bent to study another photo, one of him and baby Grace, standing in front of the Christmas tree in Marshall Field's Walnut Room restaurant.

Griffen had prepared himself for this. He knew that Chance would eventually learn about Grace. The trick would be to make sure he never connected Grace to Skye.

Griffen bent, as if also studying the photo. “That was my sister. Half sister, actually. Grace. She…died.”

“I'm sorry.”

“So are we.” Griffen straightened. “I had two half sisters, I lost them both. This family…” He cleared his throat. “We've had our share of tragedy. Money can't protect you from life's big fuck-yous. The little ones, maybe. But not the big ones. Remember that, Chance.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I think I need a drink. A brandy. Join me?”

Chance smiled ruefully. “I think I've had more than enough.”

“It's Friday night. Cab home.” Griffen poured them both a brandy. He would rather Chance's head thick, his reactions slow. Happy and drunk and much more likely to talk, Griffen thought, crossing to the couch and handing Chance the drink.

The other man gazed at it a moment, as if uncertain whether he had said he wanted it or not.

“I don't usually go for these things. I'm a beer man, usually. That or a glass of good red wine.”

Griffen brought his own drink to his lips. “A beer and burgers kind of guy, huh?”

“What can I say?” Chance laughed. “Throw a ball game into that mix, and I'm in heaven. Life just doesn't get much better than that.”

“We'll have to catch a Cubs game one day.” Griffen took a seat across from Chance. “Make any good contacts tonight?”

Chance shook his head as if to clear it. “Unbelievably good contacts. I have a pocketful of business cards and a couple tentative meetings.”

Damn, he loved being right.
Griffen took another sip of brandy. “Where are you from, Chance?”

“Everywhere. Nowhere.”

“Great answer, buddy. I'm serious, where are you from?”

“California originally. Los Angeles.”

“And then?” Griffen brought the brandy snifter to his lips, but this time he didn't drink.

Chance leaned back against the overstuffed leather sofa. “And then to Pennsylvania to live with my aunt on her Amish farm.”

Griffen laughed and shook his head. “No shit? You? On a farm?”

“No shit.”

“So, how did a boy from California get to Chicago via an Amish farm?”

Chance laughed. “The story gets weirder.”

“I'm up for it.”

“A traveling carnival. A two-bit piece-of-crap carnival, complete with a fortune-teller and a rickety roller coaster. Marvel's Carnival,” he mused aloud. “Old man Marvel kept us all in line with a baseball bat. What a strange few months those were.”

Marvel's Carnival. That was it, the name of the show Madeline and Grace traveled with that summer.

Griffen breathed deeply through his nose, struggling to keep his triumph from showing. If he tipped his hand now, it would ruin everything.

He leaned forward, smoothing his expression. “No kidding? A fortune-teller and everything?”

Chance's smile faded. “And everything. But that was a long time ago.” He stood and crossed to the bar and set his untouched drink on it. “Left the show, bummed around for a while. And ended up here.”

“I like that story, Chance. I like it a lot.”

“Yeah?” Chance met the other man's eyes. “And why's that?”

Griffen arched his eyebrows. “It's different. A lot less boring than my life story, that's for sure.” He lifted his shoulders. “Look at this place. I grew up here, in this house, in Chicago, and I never left. Went to university in Evanston, for Christ's sake.”

“I see what you mean.” Chance laughed. “Boring.”

Griffen got to his feet. “How would you like the exclusive contract to handle all PR for Monarch Design and Retail? We'll see how you do, and depending on the way things go, we might add some of our other ventures, as well.”

Chance shook his head, as if not quite grasping what Griffen had said. Griffen laughed. “Yeah, I'm offering you the contract. I think you have what I need, what Monarch's needs. So, Chance McCord, former carny, you want it?”

“What do you think? Hell, yes, I want it.”

“You've got it, then.” Griffen held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”

Chance took his hand, his expression stunned. Griffen smiled again, thoroughly enjoying himself. “I told you I'd surprise you.”