The Insider (11 page)

Jay grinned, embarrassed at how transparent his attraction to her must be.

“I saw the chemistry today,” Oliver said. “And look, as long as you two keep it out of the office, it’s all right with me.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t—”

Oliver held up his hands. “I’ve said what I’m going to say.”

“Oliver, you’ve been very decent to me.” Jay’s voice was raspy. He’d never been good at this kind of thing. “I really appreciate what you’ve done.” Oliver was a good man. A man who had caved in to temptation, but realized now that he needed help. And that was the first step. “I hope I can repay all of your kindness someday.”

“Just repay the loan on bonus day. And find me some takeover stocks soon.” Oliver turned to go, then hesitated. “One more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to be late to the office tomorrow morning. Will you do me a couple of favors first thing?”

“Sure. Name them.”

“First, execute the Simons trade we talked about yesterday morning. I know Bill said it was a boring company in a boring industry, but I like it.” He raised an eyebrow.

Jay’s gut was telling him no, but Oliver was the boss and he’d just accepted a hundred thousand dollars of the boss’s money. “Okay.”

“Good.”

“What else?”

“I want to buy a big block of shares of another company.”

“Which one?”

Oliver hesitated. “Bell Chemical. Use Jamie and buy three hundred thousand shares at the market as soon as you get in.”

Instantly Jay recognized Bell Chemical as the name on the piece of paper in the Austin Healey’s glove compartment. “Okay,” he agreed hesitantly.

“Good.” Oliver moved toward him, patted him on the shoulder, then headed toward the door. “Come on,” he urged, holding it open.

Standing in the hallway outside the door were two silver-haired men dressed in conservative gray suits and holding snifters of brandy. Physically, they resembled each other closely. “Hello,” one of the men said stiffly to Oliver. The other simply nodded, a pained expression on his face.

“Hi, Harold.” Oliver shook hands with the man who had spoken to him. “Harold, this is Jay West. He’s recently joined the arbitrage desk at McCarthy and Lloyd.”

Oliver turned to Jay. “This is Harold Kellogg, my father-in-law, and his brother, William.”

Both of the older men nodded, but neither offered his hand.

Jay nodded back. He had heard that together the Kellogg brothers were worth well over a billion dollars.

“Still going to pay me back for the property someday, Oliver?” Harold piped up, an impudent grin on his face.

“Yes,” Oliver said quietly. “And it will be the happiest day of my life.”

“My real-estate people tell me that property is worth close to fifty million dollars these days. And you’ve lived there for seven years, so we’ll call that another thirty million in interest.” Harold laughed, but his jaw was tight. “I can’t wait.”

“I’m sure you can’t.”

“Oliver, when did you become a member here?” William asked.

“He isn’t,” Harold answered. “Barbara’s the member.”

“Oh, that’s right. I remember now. We had to campaign heavily, didn’t we? The members would allow them in only if she was the member of record.”

Jay saw that the brothers had consumed a great deal of alcohol. “Come on, Oliver.” Jay touched him on the arm. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, Oliver,” Harold called.

Oliver turned around slowly. “Yes?”

“I’m sure some people appreciate your attempt to be stylish,” Harold said sarcastically, pointing at Oliver’s bright red shirt. “But tone down your act when you come around here, will you?” Harold nudged his brother. “You know what they say, Billy?”

“What?” William asked, finishing his brandy.

“They say—”

“They say you can take the boy out of the Bronx, but you can’t take the Bronx out of the boy,” Oliver interrupted, his voice wavering. “I should know. I hear it every damn time I see you.”

CHAPTER 8

“Why didn’t Abby go into the office today?” Barbara asked, slamming her pocketbook down on the pristine, white kitchen counter, her voice shaking. It was the first time she had spoken since they had left the yacht club. “What was the real reason?”

“She was sick,” Oliver answered calmly. “You heard Bullock.”

“She wasn’t sick,” Barbara snapped, turning to face him. “She was probably just exhausted.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you were with her last night. I’m not stupid. She probably couldn’t walk this morning, she was so sore.” Barbara’s fingers curled into tight fists as the image of Oliver with Abby flashed through her mind.

“Sweetheart, I—”

“Do you take me for an idiot?” Barbara shrieked, losing control. “Do you really think you fool me when you don’t get home until eleven at night and I haven’t been able to reach you at McCarthy and Lloyd all day?”

Oliver fidgeted with the Suburban’s keys.

“I called you yesterday at three o’clock, but you were off the desk.” Barbara’s body was shaking. “That adolescent bastard of a fraternity brother of yours, Carter Bullock, said you were in a meeting, but he couldn’t seem to tell me where or with whom.”

“I was with several outside consultants. Bill has put me in charge of an important project, a big-picture thing.”

“I tried calling Abby, but Bullock picked up again,” Barbara continued, ignoring Oliver’s explanation. “He said she was in a meeting, too, though not the same one as you, of course. He was very careful to mention that fact. But what do you know—once again he couldn’t tell me where she was or with whom.”

Just keep denying,
Oliver told himself.
She can’t prove anything, and she doesn’t really want you to admit it. She’s just venting.
“You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

“Am I?” Barbara banged the counter with her fist. “I found a little note from Abby a couple of weeks ago in your suit.”

The color drained from Oliver’s face. Despite his objections, Abby was constantly writing those damned things. He was usually so careful to rip them up and throw away the tiny pieces in several different trash cans around the trading floor. But this one had slipped through the cracks because one of the equity traders had rushed up to him with an emergency only moments after Abby had placed the folded piece of paper in front of him. He’d stuffed it in his pocket, then forgotten about it.

“‘I love you so much.’” Barbara’s voice became dramatically sarcastic, repeating the words of Abby’s hand-scribbled note. “‘I can’t wait to have you again. All of you.’” She grabbed two fistfuls of her hair.

“Barbara, I don’t know what to…” Oliver swallowed his words, his chin-out defiance evaporating.

“How could you do this to me?” she screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’ve tried to be so good to you. I’ve tried to love you, tried to understand you.”

“I know. I’m terrible,” he said hoarsely, holding his hands out, a signal that he was guilty as charged. There was no use trying to defend himself any longer. It was time to raise the white flag and plead for mercy, a strategy that he knew tugged powerfully on her heart-strings and had never let him down before. “I need help. I think we should go to a marriage counselor together. Please,” he begged.

“You need more than a marriage counselor.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked tentatively. Usually the mention of a counselor calmed her down.

Barbara rushed to a kitchen drawer and yanked it open, causing several implements inside to clatter to the floor. From far back in the drawer she pulled out a tiny piece of paper folded into a small triangle. She held it out in front of her. “I may be naïve,” she sobbed, teeth clenched, “but I know what’s inside this. Cocaine.”

Oliver reached out again, this time moving forward a few steps. “What the…” His voice faltered.

“I found this in the same suit as the note, you bastard! You and your girlfriend must have had quite a party.”

“I don’t have any idea how that got there,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Liar!”

“I swear.”

“Admit nothing.”

“What?”

“The guiding principle of your life,” she sobbed. “Never admit anything incriminating, because then there’s always that seed of doubt in other people’s minds as to your guilt even if the evidence is overwhelmingly against you. Jesus, you probably wouldn’t even admit that you’re really nothing but a poor boy from the Bronx who’s scratched, clawed, and married his way into wealth and society.” The wine from dinner was affecting her, and she was slurring her words. “You’ve probably deluded yourself into believing that you didn’t actually begin life in a nasty little sixth-floor apartment overlooking a trash-strewn parking lot, watching your daddy get drunk every afternoon on cheap malt liquor.” She ripped open the paper triangle and sprinkled the white powder on the floor. “I hate you, Oliver.” She dropped the shredded paper, turned, yanked a butcher knife from the drawer, and hurled it at him.

He dodged the knife, then dashed forward and grabbed her.

“Let go of me!” she screamed.

“No.”

“I’m going to my father,” she warned, sobbing uncontrollably. “I’m going to tell him everything.”

“No, you aren’t,” Oliver snapped. “You hate him as much as I do. You know if you go to him, he’ll just laugh and tell you how right he’s been all along. How you’ve screwed up your entire life. How he can’t believe you’re really his daughter. How he thinks you must have been adopted.” Barbara’s father had never said that, but Oliver had told her of overhearing Kellogg make the comment to a friend at a cocktail party, and she’d believed him.

“No!” Barbara pressed her hands over her ears tightly. “I hate you both.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Oliver released his grip on her, and she sank to the floor, her head coming to rest against the counter. He had always been able to manipulate her any way he wanted to, the way he could manipulate almost anyone now. He had tried to convince Barbara that she hated her father all these years, to drive a wedge between them, and now, just at the moment he needed it most, it had worked and she believed him. She was defeated, just a quaking mass of empty threats. There had been no reason to worry. He could conquer anything. “You’re going upstairs and you’re going to bed. And we’re never going to speak about this incident again.”

“You’ve lost your mind, Oliver,” she murmured forlornly, her lips pressed against the wood.

“Shut up.” Suddenly he felt the urge to wrap a tie around her neck and watch her eyes bulge and the veins in her neck rise.

“I didn’t know for certain until this afternoon when I watched you crank Jay West up the mast,” she whispered. “You love forcing people to do things they don’t want to do.” Barbara wiped tears from her face and sniffed. Her sobs had abated. “My God, you’ve probably never enjoyed Abby as much as you enjoyed hoisting that young man seventy feet into the air. You adore power, Oliver. No, you crave it. It’s driving you insane.”

“We were just having fun. I wouldn’t put a friend in danger.”

“You don’t have friends,” Barbara whispered sadly. “You have disciples. That poor young man is trying his best not to become one. I can see it in his eyes. But you have this way, this horrible, sick way about you that sucks people in. Jay’s a fine young man, but I pray for him. He doesn’t know who you really are. He doesn’t know how far you’d go. I should do him a favor and tell him,” she said, laughing sarcastically, “but he wouldn’t believe me.”

“You’ve had way too much to drink, Barbara. I can always tell when you’ve reached your limit because you become melodramatic.” He jabbed at her leg with his shoe. “Let’s get you up to bed so you can sleep it off.”

“I’m surprised you hired Jay,” Barbara said groggily. “He doesn’t fit the profile, and that disgusting friend of yours Bullock obviously doesn’t like him at all.” Her eye-lids fell slowly shut. The long day of drinking and hot sun had exhausted her, and it was all she could do to remain conscious. “I thought you two didn’t let anyone you didn’t like play in your sandbox.”

CHAPTER 9

“Do you like the beach?” Jay asked, taking a deep breath of salt air.

“I love it,” Sally answered, clutching her sandals in one hand as she walked beside Jay, cool, dry sand pushing between her toes. “I didn’t have much of a chance to enjoy it as a little girl.”

“But I thought you grew up in Gloucester.”

“I did,” she agreed quickly. “But the ocean water up there is cold even in the summer, and a lot of the beaches are rocky. And you know when you live near something, you don’t take full advantage of it. Like most New Yorkers have never been to the Statue of Liberty or the observation deck of the Empire State Building.”

“I have.”

“God, look at the moonlight on the water.” Sally touched his arm gently. “It’s beautiful.”

Jay watched Sally enjoy the brilliant reflection, gazing at her profile in the faint light. She was something else. He felt himself becoming more attracted to her by the minute. She had suggested that they take a walk after bidding good night to Oliver and Barbara outside the yacht club, and he’d accepted immediately even though it was getting late and they both needed to be at McCarthy & Lloyd early in the morning.

He groaned to himself. Dating a woman with whom he worked was a recipe for disaster, and ultimately he wouldn’t allow himself to become involved—at least not as long as Sally was at McCarthy & Lloyd. He knew himself too well. He was too career-oriented to allow a personal relationship to endanger the opportunity that lay before him.

But he was lonely. He’d realized that when he’d held her in the ocean and felt her skin against his as they awaited the
Authority
’s return. As they’d joked and laughed in the bow of the sailboat on the trip back to shore, drinks in hand and their ankles intertwined, Oliver and Barbara far away in the cockpit.

Sally spoke up. “I’ve never really done much in New York City.”

“Well, it isn’t as if you’ve had much time,” Jay pointed out. They caught each other’s eye and looked away. “You’ve just started at McCarthy and Lloyd, and you were in San Diego before that.”

“That’s true.” She kicked at the sand. “You know, one thing I’d really like to do is get a good view of the city from way up high. From the top of a tall building or something. And not from the Empire State Building or the World Trade Center towers, where everybody else goes. From a place off the beaten track.”

“My building has a great view of midtown.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

Sally smiled flirtatiously. “Does it really, or is this part of an intricate plan to get me back to your—”

“You could come by after work sometime,” he cut in, aware of what she was thinking. “Before the sun goes down on a day when we can sneak out early. Before Oliver and Bullock turn into vampires.”

“I didn’t know time of day made a difference to the two of them as far as bloodsucking went.” She laughed. “From what I hear, they work people to the bone twenty-four hours a day.”

“It’s a grind at McCarthy and Lloyd,” Jay admitted. “No doubt about it. You better be ready.”

“I am.” She hesitated. “But I’d love to come by one day and check out the view.”

Jay sensed a trace of disappointment in her tone. “Would you prefer a night view?”

She gave him a sidelong look. “Definitely a night view.”

“How about a tonight view?” He cleared his throat, aware that his voice sounded strained.

“Perfect.”

They turned and started back toward the club, and as they did, she stumbled, falling against him. He caught and steadied her, wondering if the fall had been accidental.

An hour later they were on the roof of his sixty-story Upper West Side apartment building, side by side, elbows on the brick parapet, gazing at the skyline. It had taken Jay a few minutes to coax Sally to the low wall— the street was more than six hundred feet below them, and the parapet hadn’t seemed sturdy—but now she was comfortable enough to make it to the edge.

“There are so many lights,” she remarked. She slid her hand to the back of his arm. “It’s beautiful.”

This was insane, Jay thought. The next morning they’d have to go to work and act as if nothing were going on. However, it had been Sally’s idea to come to the roof. And after all, the touch of her fingers was exactly what he wanted. He was still waiting for the rational side of his brain to take over and convince him of how stupid this was.

“Oliver’s quite a character,” she remarked.

“He really is.” Oliver’s hundred-thousand-dollar check lay neatly folded in Jay’s shirt pocket, and for a moment he wondered if Oliver had given Sally the same deal that night. “A tough man to figure out.”

“Exactly. I’ve already seen that he can be a real—” She stopped short.

“A real what?”

“You’ll think I’m terrible.”

“No, go ahead,” Jay urged.

“He can be a real pain,” she said. “I can see that even after being around him for such a short time. I mean, that business of forcing us overboard in the middle of Long Island Sound. And sending you up the mast with the waves as nasty as they were. Ridiculous.”

Her fingernails dug gently into his skin, sending chills up his spine.

“But,” Sally continued, “he’s got this way about him. Just when you think you’re starting to really dislike him, he does something that turns your emotions completely around.”

“I know,” Jay agreed. “He’s quite a charmer.”
So charming he would accost a subordinate in a storage room,
Jay reminded himself. “Did you see those elderly women at the table on the porch tonight?”

“Yes.” Sally laughed. “They wanted to strangle him at first. You could see it. But by the time he took the chair, they loved him.” She hesitated. “Did you notice anything strange about Oliver and Barbara?”

“What do you mean?”

“She was trying to get his attention all day, but he completely ignored her.”

Jay nodded. “I heard her say she loved him a couple of times, but he didn’t respond. He must have heard her, though. They were standing right next to each other.”

“Exactly. He doesn’t seem very happy with her.”

“I don’t know.” Oliver had made it clear that Jay wasn’t to discuss this issue. If Oliver wanted to tell Sally about his marital problems, he would.

“It’s as if they don’t look right together.”

“What?” Jay turned quickly to look at her.

“You know how most couples sort of look right together?”

“I guess.” So she’d noticed, too.

“I pictured Oliver with someone different.”

“How so?”

Sally thought for a moment. “Someone sexier. I mean, Barbara’s very attractive,” she said quickly. “Don’t get me wrong. But in a matronly, still-trying-to-hold-on-toher-prime way.” She gave Jay a strange look. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because I noticed the same thing.”

“Really?” She smiled at him, happy that they were on the same wavelength.

“Yeah, I thought Barbara would be a little more exotic.”

“Exactly.” Sally squeezed his arm. “Do you think Oliver and Abby have something going on?”

“Huh?”

“Oliver must have called her five times yesterday while he was taking me around the firm. He’d cup his hand over the phone while they were talking so I couldn’t hear, and he was giggling like a teenager.”

“I don’t know.” Jay wanted no part of this discussion. “Why do you ask?”

“Barbara’s nice. I feel bad for her. It’s pretty clear to me Oliver would like to be with anyone but her.”

“Maybe your interest is sparked by something else,” Jay teased, smiling at her suggestively. “Maybe you’re looking for an opportunity.”

“You’re terrible.” Sally punched him on the arm.

“You never know.”

Sally rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, Oliver and I have actually been secretly seeing each other for months, and that’s why he’s picked now to hire me. We have this place over in Brooklyn Heights. We meet at Henry’s End for dinner several times a week, then go to Basement of Blues for some mood music before hustling back to our little love nest and wrestling the sheets off the mattress.”

Jay tilted his head and gave her a long, inquisitive look.

“What?” she asked self-consciously. “I was only kidding.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“What is it, then?”

“Henry’s End and Basement of Blues are kind of outof-the-way places. How do you know about them?”

“What are you talking about?”

“For a woman who hasn’t spent much time in New York City, you sure know about some obscure spots. Spots I doubt many natives even know about.”

“I’ve visited the city a few times.”

“And you went to Brooklyn?” he asked curiously. “Nothing against the borough, but most tourists stay in Manhattan.”

“I read travel magazines. I don’t think it’s a big deal.”

“You’re right, it’s not.”

She glanced away and pointed toward Central Park South. “Which building is the Plaza Hotel?”

“You can’t see it from here. It’s on the far corner of the park, and it’s blocked by that building there,” he explained, motioning toward a high-rise to their left.

“How about New Jersey?” she asked. “Can you see New Jersey from here?”

“Why?”

“My apartment is in Hoboken.”

“Really?” he asked, taking her by the hand and moving toward the west side of the building.

“Yes, and don’t give me that look of pity.” She slipped her fingers into his as they made their way around a huge, rusting compressor. “It’s not as bad as you think—”

“I know,” Jay interrupted. “Some areas of Hoboken are pretty nice.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I didn’t realize I was going to have to drive you over there,” Jay answered. “It’s already after midnight. By the time I get you home it’ll be past one.”

“You don’t have to drive me home.”

Jay shook his head. “I’m not letting you ride a train by yourself at this time of night, and a cab would cost seventy bucks.”

“Who says I have to go home?”

He stopped a few feet short of the parapet. “Well, I—”

“I brought a change of clothes. Business things I can wear tomorrow. They’re down in the bag we left in the Austin Healey. Oliver said it might be a long day, so I came prepared.”

Suddenly he was fighting the feeling of physical arousal.

“I know your place is a one-bedroom,” she continued, “but I assume you have a couch in the living room.”

“Of course I do. I’ll take the couch and you can have the bedroom.” Now he fought disappointment, cursing himself for even considering the possibility of sleeping with her.

“I accept.” She smiled at him sweetly. “That’s very nice of you.”

“Sure.” For a few moments they stared at each other, then Jay dropped her hand and jogged toward the parapet.

“What are you doing?” she screamed, hands over her mouth. “Stop!”

But he didn’t. When he reached the parapet, he jumped up, putting one foot on the bricks, then pulling himself to a standing position atop the low wall, wavering for a second before regaining his balance. Then he turned, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave her a triumphant nod.

“Get down right now!” she ordered. It was all she could do to look up at him standing on the parapet, his body silhouetted against the inky sky. “You’re scaring the hell out of me, Jay.”

He smiled, dropped nimbly back down to the roof, and ambled calmly back to her.

“You’re insane,” she said gravely. “You could have killed yourself.”

“Nah.”

“I’ll never understand men,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“It has nothing to do with being a man.” He brushed hair back off his forehead and quickly passed a fingertip over the scar beneath his eye.

“Then what does it have to do with?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She peered up at him. “Why do you do that so much?”

“Do what?”

“Touch that scar beneath your eye.”

“I don’t do it
so
much.”

“Yes, you do. How did you get it?”

“High-school football. Now come on.” Jay guided her toward the doorway leading back inside. “It’s getting late.”

Minutes later they were in Jay’s bedroom.

“Well, this is it,” he said, gesturing around the small room. “It’s not much, but it’s home.” He moved toward the closet. “Let me get a few things and I’ll be out of your way.”

“Take your time.” She walked over to his personal computer, set up on a table in one corner of the room. “Are you on-line?” Her eyes flashed around the tabletop. Two boxes of disks sat beside the CPU.

“Isn’t everybody?” he called, gathering his things. “All right, I’ve got what I need. I’m taking the alarm clock out into the living room with me. I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

“Okay.” She turned away from the computer and met him at the door. “I had a wonderful time today.”

“So did I.”

For several moments they said nothing, then she placed her hands on his shoulders, lifted up on her toes, and kissed him on the cheek, allowing her lips to linger.

Jay could resist no longer. He slipped his arms around her, pressed his lips to hers, and kissed her deeply. He felt her response instantly—her hands at the back of his neck, her mouth pressing back, the skin of her legs against his. After several moments he pulled back, but she brought his mouth back to hers immediately. Finally their lips parted.

“I liked that,” she whispered.

“Me too.”

She rubbed the backs of her fingers over his cheek until they came to the scar. “Now tell me how you really got that.”

“I already told you.”

“You told me a story, but you didn’t tell me the truth.”

“How did you get so good at determining whether or not someone is telling the truth?”

“Tell me,” she said, ignoring the question.

He drew in a long breath. “It’s nothing you’d be interested in.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“Okay,” he said, setting his jaw. “My younger sister drowned in an abandoned quarry near my home in Pennsylvania. We used to swim there in the summer. I was sixteen and she was nine at the time. Her foot got trapped in some old mining equipment way below the surface. I tried as hard as I could to free her.” He hesitated and swallowed, touching the scar without realizing it. “The second time I went down she grabbed on to me. I was running out of air and I pulled her hand away. I had to. She was wearing a ring and it cut me as she was trying to keep me with her. When I got back down she was gone.”