Uncovering You: The Contract (8 page)

“Yes,” I whisper. The speaker’s voice is smoky and smooth all at once. Take one part Morgan Freeman, mix it with another part Sean Connery, and you still won’t hold a candle to the masculine power projected in
this
voice.

It’s enough to make my core clench with the most desperate type of need.

“Good. Lilly, my name is Stonehart. My secretary called you. But I take it she did not leave the most convincing impression?”

I stammer something incomprehensible, shocked to actually be on the line with
the
Stonehart of Stonehart Industries. Instinct tells me this isn’t a joke anymore.

“I’ll make this brief,” he continues. “I heard about what happened. I want to offer reparation for the injuries suffered by my decision. Come to my office Thursday morning. I will have my driver outside your apartment at eight. He will bring you here and back. You don’t know me yet, but you will find I am a man of my word.”

The line goes dead.

I stare at the phone in my hand like it might grow wings.

Did that really just happen?

I fly to my computer and pull up YouTube. I search “Stonehart speech.”

A lot of results come up, most of them useless, except for one: Mr. Stonehart giving the commencement speech to the Wharton Business School class of 2010.

I click the video and read the description while it loads. Apparently, Stonehart is a Wharton alumni. His company donated twelve
million
dollars to the university to establish a scholarship fund that year.

The video starts. It’s shaky and low-quality, so I can’t get a good look at the speaker, but when his voice comes through my speakers… my mind instantly places it.

It’s the voice of the man who just called me.

Holy shit
.

Holy shit! The CEO of an enormous corporation just called me.

Personally.

I walk to the kitchen in a sort of daze. I pour myself a glass of water. Set it on the counter. Walk away.

My mind is buzzing with questions. The most prevalent of which is, “Why?”

Why would Stonehart care about what happened to me? Why would he call me himself?

A Google search reveals nothing about him and very little about his corporation. Their website is a blank screen with the words “Stonehart Industries” in silver lettering across the middle. Nothing more.

Should I go to the meeting? I snort a laugh. I can’t exactly turn it down. A call like that doesn’t happen every day.

If I do go… I will have to keep expectations to a minimum. I should expect nothing, in fact, and be pleasantly surprised if something comes up. It’s a stretch, anyway.

Stonehart is not Paul.

I have two days left until Thursday. The best thing to do is keep planning my future as if the call never happened.

I cannot rely on it.

Chapter Twenty

(Three weeks ago: Thursday morning)

I step out of the black limousine in front of a towering glass and steel building. I am wearing a Classiques Entier Diamond Blend jacket, matching pencil skirt, and Attilio Giusti Leombruni belt pumps. The meeting required a new wardrobe. This one set me back an entire grand.

That’s why all the clothes have their sales tags expertly hidden in the seams.

The doorman offers a smile as I enter. I smile back. My heels strike the shining terrazzo floor. Each stride sends a confident jolt through my body.

I pretend to scan the building directory, but I already know my destination. Stonehart Industries owns this building, and has offices spanning the top three floors. I’m just biding for time.

I have no idea what I’m doing here. There are multinational conglomerate leaders who would kill to be in my position. How often do you get to face the owner of one of the most secretive yet influential American companies to be formed in the last twenty years?

What could he possibly want with me? I refuse to believe this is just an act of charity. Real life does not work that way.

There is always a catch.

A hand touches my elbow, surprising me. I start to turn, but the voice I hear stops me cold.

“Lilly.”

Oh God. It’s
him
. There’s no mistaking that rich, masculine treble.

What’s he doing down here?

“M-Mr. Stonehart,” I stutter, turning. I curse my inability to hide my surprise. He totally caught me off-guard. I have to look up to meet his eyes. Then up some more.

The face that I find is so striking it should belong to a Greek god.

He’s younger than I expected. Late thirties, maybe early forties.

That means he started his company when he was younger than me!

Dark scruff lines his angular cheeks. His jet-black hair is styled in long, natural waves. My fingers itch to run through it.

Totally inappropriate.

He has a prominent nose that might be too big on a less imposing man, but on him, it’s perfect.

In short, he’s a package of the purest masculinity I’ve ever seen.

And then there are his eyes. Oh my God. His eyes. They pierce into me like honing missiles. They are the deepest black I have ever seen. They would be frightening if they weren’t so beautiful. When the light reflects a certain way, you catch a glimpse of the purple underneath.

They are like midnight sapphires. His eyes reveal a cunning intellect. Those eyes do not miss a thing.

Add all that to his towering height, his wide shoulders, his confident-yet-at-ease posture… and Stonehart cuts an intimidating figure.

My gaze darts to his left hand before I can stop it. No ring. He’s unmarried.

He looks down at me, expectantly. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and I feel like I’m being dissected, measured up, and tucked away in some small corner of his brain. I imagine this is what a gemstone feels like under the magnifying class of the most critical appraiser.

Stonehart clears his throat. I come to with a start, realizing I haven’t said anything in ages. I open my mouth, but the capacity for speech seems like a foreign concept to my brain. “I—”

Somebody bumps into me from behind. I stagger forward. I’m not used to these shoes, so my heel steps the wrong way. My ankle twists under me, and I start to fall.

I don’t fall far. The hand still on my elbow tightens, and Stonehart pulls me into him.

I plaster myself onto the solid steel wall the man has for a body. I catch a scent of his cologne. It’s a deep, musky smell with a hint of charred spruce that is all male. It scrambles my thoughts even more.

“Sorry!” a rushed voice calls out. From the corner of my eye, I see the postman giving a hurried, apologetic wave.

Although the sequence lasts less than a second, it feels like an eternity. Pressed up against
him
like that, I don’t want to move. I know that I couldn’t have made a worse first impression.

Stonehart eases me off him with a firm yet gentle grip. Our eyes meet. I flush the most vibrant red. His fingers graze my forehead as he brushes a lock of hair out of my face.

Any tenderness I may have imagined vanishes when Stonehart takes out his cell. He long dials a key and growls an order. “Steven. See the delivery boy leaving right now? Have his building pass revoked.”

I gape. Stonehart keeps speaking. “Wait. I thought of one better. Bar his company from accessing the building.” There’s a pause. “For how long? Indefinitely. FedEx can talk to me when they have an improved employee selection program in place.”

The phone call gives me just enough time to compose myself. My heart’s still beating out of my chest. But nobody has to know that.

I speak without thinking. “You’re going to restrict the entire company from serving this building because of
that
?”

Stonehart humors me with an answer. “A company’s employees are its most important asset. Their behavior reflects the organization as a whole. If FedEx decided that clown is good enough for them, it tells me they’re sloppy. I do not do business with sloppy organizations.”

“What about the other tenants in the building?” I ask. “Won’t that piss them off?”

When I hear myself and realize how
improper
my question is, my cheeks flame red again.

Stonehart’s eyes darken, as if he cannot believe I asked that question. I open my mouth to apologize for my imprudence, hating the way my professional skills have evaporated into thin air. I’m cut off by a short, barked laugh.

“Miss Ryder.” He sounds amused. “I believe that is the most direct and honest question anybody has dared ask me in weeks.” He takes my elbow again and leads me to the elevators. I have to take two quick steps to match one of his long strides.

“Yes,” he continues. “They will be ‘pissed off.’ But the perk of owning a building—” he hits the elevator call button, “—is that you get to make executive decisions.” He gives me an unreadable glance as the doors open. “That is, at the risk of being questioned by inexperienced interns.”

If that isn’t a loaded remark, I don’t know what is. I flush scarlet red for the third time since I’ve met him. I’ve never had a man throw me so off balance.

The elevator is packed, for which I’m infinitely thankful. The trip up will give me some time to
properly
compose myself.

Gratitude turns to panic when the crowd files out, meek as mice, when Stonehart steps in. None of the people waiting in the lobby follow us.

The doors close. I’m alone in here with him. My heart’s beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

He catches me staring. “Impressed?” he asks.

“They know you,” I manage.

His dark eyes flash with amusement. “Astute.”

He swipes his left wrist in front of a card-sized scanner. A beep sounds, and the light to the highest floor turns on.

“Biometric NFC chip,” he tells me in an off-handed way. “A tiny kernel I had implanted six months ago. Developed by the research team at ZilTech. One of my subsidiary firms. I understand you’ve dealt with them?”

Stonehart’s phone buzzes before I can answer. He looks at it. “Excuse me.”

I step half an inch back so I can admire his profile without being caught. He has one of those faces that only get better with age. I try not to eavesdrop on his conversation. I’m struck by the fact that sharing an elevator this way must be a very rare occasion for him.

And so far, all you’ve done is make yourself look like an idiot
, a tiny voice derides me.

The elevator shoots up. Just three floors from our destination, it comes to a sudden halt. At the same moment, Stonehart drops the phone from his ear.

The doors stay closed.

He turns to me in a predatory move. “Going higher requires a retina scan,” he tells me. I can literally
feel
the reverberations from his rumbly voice. “The first swipe can be faked. This cannot. We have thirty seconds before the elevator goes back down.”

He looks at me. I blink dumbly.

“You should know,” he adds, “that I hate wasting my time.”

He takes one step to me as the words sink in. Only the slimmest margin of air separates our bodies.

“
Lilly
.” The way he says my name sends a shiver of arousal down my spine. I crane my neck up to look at him. “
Impress me
. Prove that I’m not wasting my time.”

My nerves are beyond frazzled. My palms are sweaty. My mind races for the right thing to say, but all it finds is blank space.
His
smell fills my lungs with every breath, destroying my composure.

“W-what do you want?” I stammer.

“I want…” his powerful arms jut out against the mirrored wall on either side of me. I’m trapped. My breath catches as he leans in and his cheek scratches against mine.

“I want,” he rumbles in my ear, “your
mind
.”

My knees go weak. Thank God he doesn’t see me falter as he pushes off and turns around, back to me. The insane attraction flaring to life inside me is all wrong. The incomprehensible power dynamic Stonehart seems to revel in confuses me even more.

He clasps both hands behind his back. “I want to take the company public,” he announces, the same way an arrogant professor would to his understudy. “My board disagrees with me. But, I don’t care. I made them. They owe their livelihoods to me.”

He glances briefly over his shoulder. “What do you say to that?”

“The board—”

“Fuck the board!” Stonehart’s shoulders tighten. “I want to know what
you
think about my desires.”

“Mr. Stonehart, I don’t know anything about the inner workings of your company…”

“Yes, I’m aware of that,
Miss
Ryder.” He places special, derogatory emphasis on the title. “I’m not looking for the vague textbook answer all you consultants like to offer to protect your own asses.”

He whirls around, and his eyes bore into me like augurs. “I want to know what
you
think, Lilly. Should I take the company public? Yes or no.”

I square my shoulders and rise to his challenge. “Yes.”

“Reasons. Now!”

I lift my chin. Business questions like this were what I expected. “Stonehart Industries has the richest portfolio of subsidiaries I’ve ever seen. Investors will be chomping at the bit to get a taste. A company its size going public after being private for so long is unheard of. You can raise billions in equity, expanding your economic power. Keep available shares low. Make owning a piece of Stonehart Industries a prized commodity. And never give up majority control.”

Stonehart looks at me. His impassive face gives nothing away.

I’d imagine most people would break under that stare. But he’s already seen me at my worst. I have nothing to lose.

I meet his gaze, back straight, eyes unwavering.

Suddenly, the corner of his mouth twitches up in a small smile. He nods once. “I knew I made the right decision about you.”

He turns, and brings his eye to the scanner. The elevator rises the remainder of the way.

I steady myself against the railing when he’s not looking.

What the
fuck
was all that about?

I’d just given him the biggest bullshit answer in the world. Instead of challenging my assumptions, he seemed pleased with my spark.