King of Wall Street: a sexy, standalone, contemporary romance (15 page)

All I cared about was we were being given an opportunity. I was going to make the most out of it. Whatever Jayne’s intentions were, I was going to make it difficult if not impossible to say no to me.

“We need to divide our time carefully. First we work out what we know about JD Stanley, Jayne, and the other executives in the business. I want to know everything from what they fed their dogs for breakfast to their mistresses middle names.” I shot a glance at Harper. That had been insensitive. Fuck. But this was war and we weren’t in Vegas anymore. I wasn’t used to having to second-guess what I said at work because I had a single focus and I had to keep that and pretend Harper was just another employee.

Her face was blank, which was a relief. “Then we look at their trading history. I want to understand what they react to, why they invest where they do, why they prefer certain products over others. Look for patterns.”

Marvin stuck his hand up. “I’ve started some of the stuff on their investment history and product preference. Just in my spare time. I knew we’d have this moment at some point.” Marvin’s capacity for research and modelling was the best I’d ever seen, and it didn’t surprise me he had a jump start. He was a hard worker.

“Good. Jim and Harper, you work together on the more personal stuff. Use the agency if you need to.” I’d gotten Harper’s okay to tell the team about her personal connection, but I wanted to make sure I told them in a way that they understood she was here for her skills. It was obviously a sensitive issue for her. But unless it came up, I wasn’t going to raise it.

“I may have some useful insights about their investment decisions,” Harper said. She reached down to her laptop case and brought out a thick folio, placing it on the desk in front of her. “But I’ve also been tracking their investments for the last five years and noticed some interesting choices. I’d be happy to share these.”

Jesus, it looked as if she’d skipped business school and dedicated the last five years to researching JD Stanley.

“I’d like to work with Marvin on that, too, if that’s okay?”

“Marvin, work with Harper,” I said.

Marvin was practically salivating at the sight of her papers. “Sure,” he said, blushing when she smiled at him. I knew the feeling. There was something unaffected in her approach in the office that was totally disarming. She didn’t have the hard veneer of so many of New York’s Wall Street workers.
Focus.

“Let’s meet at seven thirty each morning to update the team. I want us to start thinking propositions, looking for angles. This isn’t research for research’s sake. We don’t want analysis paralysis here.” Heads nodded around the table.

“We also need to determine our method of presentation. Do we do PowerPoint? Is it likely to be in an auditorium or boardroom? Talk to your contacts. We need more information than we have, people.”

“You should request a preliminary lunch meeting,” Harper said, looking directly at me. “Call his assistant personally. Tell her you want to take him to La Grenouille. It’s his favorite.”

The memory of the smooth skin of her breasts under my hands paralyzed my tongue for a second, and I had to look away before I could answer. “You don’t think that’s too pushy?”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t understand the concept of too pushy. He’ll be testing your mettle. He didn’t give you much information about your meeting, right?”

“Nothing,” I replied.

“He’s trying to send you on a wild-goose chase. Don’t waste time. Take control. Ask him what he wants.”

I nodded. Of course, she was right. “Donna, put some time in my calendar for me to do that.” Harper looked glum, but I was grateful for her insight, despite the fact I hated the restaurant she’d suggested. I’d never been because it seemed so stuffy.

“And then in terms of who’s presenting, that will be me and Harper. We’ll need plenty of time to rehearse.”

I glanced at Harper. Her eyes were wide, as if she hadn’t expected me to take her. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asked. “Of course I want to, but—I’ve never pitched before.”

I took a deep breath and tapped my fingers on the back of the chairs. She could be useful, like a carrot we could dangle in front of Charles Jayne. “Donna, what pitches do we have coming up?”

“We have the Asia-Pac for Goldman’s,” she said. “A week from Wednesday.”

“Good. Harper, get read into that. You can be my second chair in that meeting. Give you some experience. I can make a final decision after that.”

“Goldman Sachs?” she asked.

“Yes. They’re looking for someone to help them with a project in Asia.”

“Okay.” The slight quiver in her voice was the only thing betraying her lack of confidence. I doubt anyone else noticed. “I’ll speak to—”

“Jean,” Donna interrupted. “She’ll get you read in.”

“Good. I’m looking for your best work everyone. We’re going to nail this.” I smacked my fist on the table. “See you here tomorrow morning at seven thirty.”

Silently, people filed out of the room and I crossed my arms. Working with Harper would hopefully help my brain redefine her as a colleague, rather than someone I wanted to fuck—someone from whom it was my job to extract their best work. I needed those barriers between my worlds repaired and restored. Leaving Vegas Harper as part of my history with women would be the first step toward maintaining my distance.

First meeting down.

It would get easier to stop focusing on her neck, her legs, her ass, right? My dick would stop twitching at the thought of her hands spread against the glass of my office door while I fucked her from behind. Soon I’d no longer worry if her frown hid something I could ease or resolve. We were all business and that worked. It would have to.

* * * * *

Beginning the prep for the JD Stanley pitch had fired up the competitor in me, but the evening with my daughter and sister put things back into perspective.

“You can’t just ban me from wearing makeup,” Amanda whined as she twisted on the stool in front of the counter. Scarlett had brought Amanda to town so the three of us could spend Saturday shopping for Amanda’s dress. Hopefully it would be the last shopping trip for this dance, and Scarlett would back me up on the whole age-appropriate thing.

“I’m sure he’s not saying no makeup at all,” Scarlett said.

I ignored them both and continued to stir the spaghetti sauce. The Manhattan apartment had been something of a sanctuary to me over the years—everything was how
I
wanted it. My place in Connecticut was always overrun with my parents, Pandora’s parents, my sisters, and various friends of Amanda’s. I had no complaints. I loved that side of my life, but it was all the sweeter because I got to escape it every week and come to my quiet, modern New York apartment where I got to watch the game uninterrupted and fuck one of the women who seemed to drift in and out of my life.

“Are you saying that I can’t wear any makeup, Dad?”

“Of course he’s not.” Scarlett interrupted again and I took another opportunity to stay quiet. The less I said, the less of a chance there was to have an argument.

I loved my daughter and my sister, and it wasn’t as if there wasn’t room for everyone here in Manhattan. But it did mean I didn’t have any mental space—a beat after my working day. The edges of my separated worlds were softening, growing fuzzy.

Everything was changing.

“I’ll speak to your mother,” I said, grabbing the oregano from the counter.

“We’re not having pasta, are we?” Scarlett asked.

“You just watched me make the sauce.”

“I wasn’t watching. I was talking. You know I’m not eating wheat at the moment.”

I shut my eyes, took a deep breath, then looked at Scarlett. “Why would I know that you’re not eating wheat?”

“Because I’ve been whining about it non-stop for the last month.”

“Come on, Dad. You know she’s not eating wheat,” Amanda said.

Why did the women in my life have the ability to make me feel so hopeless? In my day job I was respected, some would even say admired. With my family, I was just some guy who forgot that my sister wasn’t eating wheat.

Jesus.

“So don’t eat it,” I snapped. “I have some popsicles in the freezer.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes in the exact same way Amanda always did. “I’m not five. I can’t have popsicles for dinner.”

“Good. So you’ll eat spaghetti,” I replied.

Scarlett hopped off her stool. “We’ll go out,” she announced.

“You’ve just watched me make spaghetti sauce.”

She shrugged. “It’ll freeze. Come on, Amanda. Get your shoes on. We can go to that place on the corner. I like the sea bass there.”

Unbelievable.

In the office if I shouted “jump,” a cacophony of voices would ask how high. At home I got an eye roll and shrug, if anyone heard me at all.

But, as was becoming my mantra, some battles weren’t worth fighting. I turned off the stove and grabbed my wallet and my keys and followed them out to the elevators.

Amanda linked her arm into mine and instantly I felt better. She was fourteen going on twenty-seven most of the time, but every now and then she was happy just to be my daughter.

We stepped into the elevator. “Tomorrow, can we go back to the store we tried last time?” Amanda asked.

“The one where I hated everything you tried on?” I wasn’t going to change my mind. Surely we weren’t going to have the exact same fight in front of Scarlett this time?

“I met a lady in the laundry room the other day. She gave me an idea about a dress I think you’d like, and I think I saw some that might be similar at that store,” Amanda said.

“The laundry room?” I asked. Why had Amanda been in the laundry room? I had a housekeeper to do the laundry.

“Yeah. The other day.”

“Why were you doing laundry?” I asked, glancing at Scarlett, who was staring at herself in the mirrored wall of the elevator and applying lip gloss.

“Sometimes girls just need to do laundry,” Amanda answered as if it were obvious.

I glanced at Scarlett, then back at Amanda, expecting one of them to provide a more detailed explanation.

The elevator stopped prematurely. The doors opened and Harper appeared. I watched in slow motion as she began to grin at my daughter. Her mouth froze when her eyes lifted to mine and then behind me to Scarlett.

I should have seen this coming.

In the same way there was a time lag between the impact of a bullet and the pain being recognized by the brain, I savored the few tenths of a second before I knew things would get messy. Harper looked beautiful. Her shiny chestnut hair was swept up into a ponytail that highlighted her long neck. Seeing her dressed in her workout clothes, I found it difficult to avoid touching her.

“Harper!” Amanda said.

I couldn’t comprehend what was happening. How did Amanda know—

“Dad, this is who I was telling you about.” She stared up at me, then clearly registering utter confusion on my face, she said, “In the laundry room.” She waved at Harper.

I glanced at Harper, who had yet to step inside the car. “There’s plenty of room,” Scarlett said as she pulled Amanda back, leaving more space next to me. “Hey, we met the other day,” Scarlett said.

What the fuck was going on? My separated worlds were literally and figuratively crashing into each other.

“Harper, this is my dad,” Amanda said. “Dad, this is Harper.”

I cleared my throat, hoping it would help my words come out in a normal pitch when I replied. “Yes, I know Harper. She works for me.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “She does? Well that makes sense. She’s smart. I told you she had some good ideas about dresses.”

The doors shut.

“You’re right. She is smart,” I replied, glancing at Harper, trying to catch her reaction. It wasn’t as if we had a personal relationship, but given what had happened between us, the fact I’d not told her about Amanda seemed wrong all of a sudden. Harper wore the same expression she had in the war room when I’d given people tasks for the JD Stanley research—blank and cold.

“This is perfect,” Amanda said. “Like Scarlett says, it’s fate.”

“You shouldn’t listen to everything your aunt says. Use the eighty-twenty rule. I’ve told you about this before.”

Scarlett punched me in the arm and I caught a reaction in Harper’s face that I couldn’t quite place. “Harper, this is my sister, Scarlett.”

Harper’s beautiful brown eyes softened slightly as she smiled. “Nice to see you,” she said.

“You poor thing, having to work with my brother. I expect he’s a total tyrant, isn’t he?”

Harper shrugged and Scarlett said, “She’s got you pegged, brother.”

“He’s not a tyrant. He lets me have anything I want,” Amanda said.

“I may not be a tyrant, Amanda, but neither am I an idiot who can be easily manipulated by flattery. I do not, and will not, let you go to your eighth grade dance dressed like a twenty-five-year-old.”

Amanda ignored me. “That’s why this is perfect.” She smiled and turned to Harper. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

Harper squinted, trying as hard as I was to keep up with my daughter’s train of thought.