The Proviso (28 page)

“I wondered about that, especially the part about
clearing out her executive ranks,” Knox muttered absently, “but
that’s not my area of expertise so I wanted you to figure it out.”
He stopped for a minute to think. “I like her. I don’t know why. I
just wanted to give her someone who could make her do what she
needed to do. Did you read Webster’s trial transcripts?”

Sebastian shook his head.

“When I was trying to decide whether I wanted to
prosecute her or not,” Knox said, “I started looking at the dates
of the thefts. It looked to me like if she hadn’t married Webster,
he’d have been able to take everything: pensions, art, other
assets. So I asked her how she found out and blammo. Stray piece of
paper on the bedroom floor about a week after he moved into her
house. She was only able to catch him before he got everything
because
she married him and she
stayed
married to him
to rescue her company. He hid it so well it took her six months to
figure out where it was all going and prove it.”

Sebastian stared at him for a long moment and then
said, “Maybe she’s a better gambler than I thought.” He hoisted
himself up on the kitchen counter and brooded. He did that a lot
and his family had long ago accepted that they just had to wait
until he was finished and then said whatever it was he needed to
say. Knox continued to eat.

“She also owns
Morning in Bed
,” he finally
said.

Knox choked.

“It’s not on the books. She ’fessed up—why, I don’t
know because I would’ve never found out. I can only conclude she
really does value her company more than she values her standing in
the art community.”

“Nobody knows who owns that painting, so she has no
standing.”

Sebastian grunted. “True. I’m thinking about letting
her keep it with no one the wiser.”

Knox got up and cleaned up his breakfast mess.
“That’s very out of character for you.”

“She didn’t have to tell me at all.”

Knox started laughing at once. “Oh, I see. You want
to fuck her.”

“Shut up,” Sebastian snarled.

He held up his hands, still grinning. “Hey, I make
no judgments. I told you I like her and I do respect her. She’s one
of the most unique women I’ve ever met, certainly, and she’s got
brains. But the Jackie O. schtick leaves me cold.”

Sebastian waved a hand. “Camouflage.”

“Say, where’d King Midas go while you were trying to
figure out how to run your freight train over her track?”

“No idea. I was too surprised it was happening at
all.”

Knox continued to chuckle as they left the
conference room and went down the four stairs to the corridor,
shaking him down about Giselle’s whereabouts, which made Sebastian
pissy. It made him so pissy, in fact, that he suggested Knox open
her bedroom door and see if she was there.

He did.

“Gi— Holy shit.”

Sebastian did smile then. The bed was trashed, the
room reeked of sex, and the guilty parties were naked. Giselle
slept curled up against Kenard, her back against his ribs, his arm
her pillow. Knox nearly swallowed his tongue.

“Get out.” That nasty snarl came from the man in the
bed, who had propped himself up on one elbow. With the burn scars
that matted half his face and apparently, the entire left side of
his body, he looked as deadly as he sounded. Sebastian curled his
hand around Knox’s collar and dragged him of the doorway, then
closed the door.

“Well,
that
was refreshing and unexpected!”
Sebastian crowed, poking at Knox, wanting to see him lather up.

Knox punched him in the sternum—hard—and stalked off
to the living room, where he flopped on the couch and turned on the
TV. “If you’re hooking for any more reaction from me, you’re
wasting your time. I’ve got my own problems and nowhere on that
very long list is a notation to be jealous of Bryce
when—Remember!—I went out of my way to make sure he knew she was
ripe for his picking. And
then
I had to go kick Giselle’s
ass into gear. You’d’a thought they were a couple of damned eighth
graders.”

That was true and Sebastian growled, unsatisfied
with the reaction he’d gotten. That was two people in two days
Sebastian had been unable to bait successfully. No matter. He knew
he could get Giselle and how. He scrounged around for the envelopes
he knew he had somewhere.

“Knox,” he said blithely, “you wanna go to the Ford
exhibit tonight?”

“And be treated like a leper? You know I’m
persona non grata
all over town.”

“Oh, good, because I only have two invitations and I
wanted to make sure you didn’t want one before I gave them to
Giselle and Kenard.”

Knox turned around and stared at him, then started
laughing. “Oh, you’re a bastard.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Yes, I am. Couldn’t crack that
damn façade Eilis has and your reaction to our newly deflowered
Giselle in there was highly unsatisfactory. I’m scraping the bottom
of the barrel for cheap entertainment this morning.”

“Cheap entertainment? Open her damn door and watch.
Any woman who’d bring a man home and
not
lock her door wants
to be watched.” And so saying, Knox turned up the volume on the TV.
“I’d love to be at that exhibit just to see his face. You should’ve
seen him when I told him she’d threatened Fen at gunpoint.”

“I’m guessing, since he’s in there with her, that he
finds her fuckable
because
of her proclivities, not in spite
of. I mean, any man who can bed Giselle is not a man to be fucked
with. He’s so beyond bitter and angry, he could chew concrete.”
Knox made no reply. “Oh, here they are. Hey, are you still serious
about not wanting OKH?”

“Dead serious.”

Sebastian went into the living room and as he passed
Knox, he walloped him in the back of the head. He dropped into the
club chair across from him and put his feet up on the coffee table.
“Out with it. What does Giselle know that I don’t?”

Sebastian watched as Knox flipped through the
channels until he settled on
Animaniacs
. Naturally. “There’s
a woman I want. That’s what Giselle knows. All I need is to get
through my birthday alive and go get her.”

Sebastian couldn’t fault that logic. “But does she
want you?”

“Yes. And I have no interest in running a
company.”

“You have a degree in accounting.”

“And so I’m a prosecutor who understands
white-collar crimes better than most and I’m a whiz with paper
trails. I can’t imagine being chained to a desk poring over the tax
code.” Knox shuddered. “I should’ve stayed in California.”

Sebastian made no reply to that. It would be futile
to point out that Knox wouldn’t give up his job for anything, even
to be a professional surfer.

“I might have a solution for your issues with being
a CEO,” Sebastian said slowly, staring at the coffee table,
thinking out loud. “I’d make Eilis Logan CEO.”

Knox grunted. “Good luck with that. She can’t even
manage what she built herself.” With that, he hauled himself out of
the couch and started toward the front door. “I’m out of here. I
can’t take any more of the second-hand fuckfest.”

“You should’ve heard her last night.”

“Make her go downstairs.”

Sebastian’s mouth thinned. “I think not. That’s
my
bedroom.”

“When was the last time you used it?”

That hit its mark and Sebastian’s teeth ground. Knox
laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You better figure out a way
to get Logan in bed and quick. Now that you’ve got a woman in your
cross hairs that you’ll actually have to spend time to seduce,
you’ll be insufferable. Oh wait,” Knox said blithely as he opened
the front door, “you can’t. You’re her trustee. That would be . . .
immoral. And I think it’d be funnier’n’hell to figure out how it
might be illegal and throw your ass in jail for it. Check and
mate.” He smiled benignly at Sebastian, then slammed the door
behind him.

Sebastian shook his head and went back to work. He
knew
how
he was going to haul Eilis out of bankruptcy; it
was a matter of how fast he could make it happen and how hard she’d
fight him. He wanted her and he’d made up his mind he
would
have her. Somehow.

What Sebastian wanted, Sebastian got.

Always.

* * * * *

27:
STANDING ON HIGHER GROUND

A soft knock sounded on Giselle’s bedroom door.
“Hey, Giz,” Sebastian called politely, “when you come up for air, I
want to talk to you. Bring Kenard.”

Giselle sighed and looked over at her clock. “It’s
three o’clock and I’m hungry.”

“You always do what he says?” Bryce muttered from
beside her, his face buried in the pillow and his arm in the curve
of her waist.

“Absolutely not. Sebastian’s all about wine, women,
and song and thinks everybody else should be, too. He wouldn’t
interrupt if it weren’t important to him. Plus, it’s Saturday.
He’ll have Bryant’s.”

“Oh, that’s all you really needed to say.”

An hour later, wrapped up in terry cloth from head
to toe, she waddled, still groaning, out to the conference room
holding hands with Bryce, who wore only a low-slung towel around
his hips. A solid twelve, thirteen hours of fucking, and she could
feel every minute of it in her muscles that hurt oh, so badly she
could barely walk.

She liked it. She didn’t know if any other event in
her life could ever compete.

“I know you’ve met already. Sorta. Bryce, Sebastian.
Sebastian, Bryce.”

“Sorry about punching you at Fen’s party.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. It was worth it.”
Sebastian shot a glance at Giselle. “Having a little trouble
walking this afternoon, Giz?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.
Who
hasn’t gotten laid in the
last four years?”

Sebastian curled his lip at her and she
chuckled.

As soon as they’d settled themselves in with the
barbecue, Sebastian’s irritation with her gave way to a calculating
smirk and she caught her breath, wondering how he would retaliate.
First Knox, then her. Sebastian was on a roll today.

He slid two white envelopes across the table at her
and said, “Giz, I would like you and Kenard here to come to the
Ford opening tonight.”

She sucked in a deep breath. No. Not that. Anything
but that. Sebastian grinned when she slouched down in her chair and
glared at him, folding her arms over her chest.

“Something wrong, Giz? Is there some
reason
you don’t want to go to an exclusive Ford showing tonight?”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

She could sense Bryce’s confusion, but she didn’t
care to explain and finally Sebastian got down to business.

“I’m actually glad—” He shook his head and let loose
a chuckle, his eyebrows raised. “—although
extremely
surprised—that you’re here. I was going to contact you next
week.”

That startled Bryce, distracted him. Yay.

“I need a secret trust,” Sebastian explained. “I had
heard you were especially good at those. And I’m curious. Why
are
you so good at this? You’re a trial attorney.”

Bryce shrugged. “I was getting divorced and wrapping
up my assets so she couldn’t get to them.”

“Ah. That’s a bitch.”

“Yes, she was,” Bryce muttered emphatically, and
Giselle hurt for him all of a sudden, without knowing why.

Sebastian cleared his throat to dislodge his foot.
He pulled out a thick file and slid it across the table. He began
to eat while Bryce looked them over. “Knox asked me to be the
trustee for this receivership and I’m starting to lay some
groundwork.”

Giselle leaned over Bryce’s arm to read and her eyes
widened at the very high eight-figure numbers—all in red. Giselle’s
bankruptcy didn’t even begin to approach that. HR Prerogatives.
Eilis Logan.

“That’s a
beautiful
name,” Giselle whispered
reverently.

“It’s Gaelic,” Bryce murmured and Giselle smiled.
“Irish for Elizabeth.” While Bryce and Sebastian discussed this
woman’s situation, she relived the most magical hours of her life.
She could afford to be a little cavalier about it because she had a
man who’d be in a lot more trouble with the church than she would
be when they chose to repent later—and he knew it.

She was unreasonably glad she had something to give
back to this man who had given her what she thought she would never
have.

“Giz? Earth to Giselle.” Sebastian snapped his
fingers in her face to get her attention. “Keep your mind off his
cock for more than three seconds, would you?” Bryce slid her a
glance and chuckled, but Giselle sighed. “Did you hear me say this
woman owns
Morning in Bed
?”

Giselle sputtered and she sat up to take a long
drink, unable to speak for a moment. “Are you serious?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I haven’t seen it and it’s off
the books, so I can only assume she was telling me the truth.
Nobody in her situation would just spin that out of thin air
because it’s a waste of time.”

“Okay, stop.” Bryce leaned over the documents, one
elbow on the table, his hand rubbing his forehead. “I’m lost. Start
at the beginning. Who’s Ford and why are these paintings that
valuable?”

Giselle touched his arm and he looked at her with
lust in his expression, his thoughts clearly split between business
and sex—with her. She smiled softly, but explained anyway. “Ford is
an artist. This lady,” she said, tapping the papers, “owns nine
extremely valuable paintings and selling them would cure over half
of her ills.”

Bryce looked suitably impressed, but Sebastian said,
“The one she doesn’t have on the books is worth about four of the
others put together.”

“Why?”

“Ford is a recluse,” said Giselle. “No one knows who
he is or anything about him. The people who do know aren’t talking.
Part of the value of his paintings is exactly that—that no one
knows who he is. The work itself is just sublime. People don’t just
like his work, they have orgasms over it. People who
don’t
like his work still like his work. It’s a fascinating
phenomenon.”