2
“Please, call me Thom,” he says in a reedy voice. He’s casually dressed in an outfit that costs more than a new car.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
“Of course, my boy.” Thom and I have met a handful of times, but he’s the sort who fancies himself a mentor.
He makes a show of taking younger men under his wing, giving himself credit for their success, and discarding them the second they fall from grace.
“I’m sure you’ll find this weekend instructive.
” He doesn’t let me get a word in, so I settle for murmuring my appreciation as he continues.
“Farpoint has several pools and tennis courts. And the golf course. I hope we’ll be able to get a few rounds in tomorrow.
They tell me it might rain.” He frowns as if the weather is an employee who needs a reprimand.
Wealth can insulate a person from any inconvenience, but nature is nature.
“I’m just happy to be out of the city.”
“Yes, I’m so glad you could come to my humble abode.
” The humble abode he’s talking about has almost thirty bedrooms. It’s over hundred thousand square feet, not including the guest and pool houses.
“Nester will show you to your room, but don’t linger.
Cocktails will be served here until six, and then we will sit down for dinner. ”
More guests arrive, so I thank him and move on, following Nester up two flights of stairs and down a long hallway to a room with windows that overlook the ocean.
Let me out.
My bear is still clamoring to get outside, into the woods.
I placate him by opening the windows to clear the smell of billionaire. I throw each of them open and breathe in the ocean air. A breeze ruffles my hair. I swear it grows another centimeter as I stand there. I swipe my hand through it and sigh. I have to go back downstairs.
I’m here to work, and the work takes place over cocktails and dinner.
I head down to the reception room where a waiter takes my drink order, and I carry my whiskey on the rocks over to the fireplace.
There's a massive oil painting of Thom over the mantel. He’s in a striking pose, with a younger woman seated by his side. My eyes are immediately drawn to her perfect oval face. Dark hair, dark eyes, plump lips. The woman’s skin is a few shades darker than Thom’s pasty complexion.
She’s the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. The painter must have been a little in love with her. She’s too beautiful to be real.
I did my research on the host before coming here and didn’t find any evidence that Thom was ever married.
The woman is probably his partner, but she’s young enough to be his daughter.
She doesn’t look old enough to be out of college, but I’ve met plenty of men who prefer trophy wives in their twenties.
No, my bear makes his displeasure known.
I ignore him. He’s been increasingly unhappy with everyone and everything.
Living in the city around so many people is hard on him.
I work over a hundred hours a week. Now that my business has its legs under it, I need to be better about taking the weekends off to let my bear out.
Next weekend, I promise him. Until then, I’ll squash him down.
The grand receiving room fills with people. There are a few older men who look like Thom plus a fresh crop of frat boy-types with weak chins, strong cologne, and expensive watches bought with Daddy’s money. The room reeks of entitlement.
These are the people I’m supposed to schmooze with all weekend. For most people, a few days lounging in a mansion with the ultra rich would be a dream come true but not for me. There’s nothing relaxing about glad-handing humans all day and convincing them to invest in my company.
But I didn’t build Mountain Top Investments from nothing without sacrifice. Thom Thompson owns the most successful hedge fund in the world. I’m here to learn his secrets and see if he was serious about partnering with my investment firm for a real estate deal.
I toss back my drink and prepare to wade into the fray.
Before I do, the scent of hothouse flowers catches my attention.
It’s coming from the nearby hall. I wander that way and stop short at the sight of a woman descending the grand staircase.
She’s short and curvy with pillowy lips and shining hair.
It’s the woman from the painting. I was wrong. The painter didn’t exaggerate the flawless balance of her features. She is fifty times as stunning in real life.
She descends slowly, scanning the room. She’s dressed in a modest white dress that makes her golden skin glow. Halfway down, she catches me staring, and her lovely dark eyes are narrow with a glare. Her scent blooms for me, orchids and gardenias, with a bitter undertone.
My chest rumbles as my bear tries to voice his opinions. He’s as transfixed as I am but unhappy with the rotten edge of her scent. I step back, grunting to cover my bear’s growl, and rub my breastbone to settle him.
The woman reaches the bottom step, and two hulking men in black suits and clear earpieces step forward to flank her. Her head bows, and she heads the direction they point. Two more men fall into step behind them.
Something about the way her bodyguards hover upsets my bear.
No.
He’s never been so vocal. For a moment he wrestles me for control, and only years of subduing him allow me to keep the upper hand.
What the fuck is happening?
I dart through the doorway, keeping the woman in my sights. This settles my bear. She’s standing beside Thompson now, silent and pouting. They had a tiff, perhaps. Her sugar daddy didn’t give her the Mercedes she wanted.
When we all head to the dining room for dinner, the bodyguards surround her again. One of them holds the chair out for her, like he’s a combination bodyguard / butler, and she sinks into the seat opposite the head of the table.
Something makes me slide into the seat beside her, and she gives me another cold look.
She smells wrong–like poison. Is she sick?
Up close, I note the dark circles under her eyes.
They’re not enough to diminish her beauty but could be a sign of poor sleep.
Perhaps a headache. That would explain the bad temper.
Thompson stands at the head of the table and clears his throat. “Thank you all for coming.” He paces around the table, like he’s our school master teaching us a lesson. “This will be a weekend to remember.”
Everyone murmurs their assent.
He stops behind the young woman's chair. “And I’m so pleased to present my daughter, Paloma, to you all.” He places a hand on her shoulder.
Daughter. My research didn’t turn up the fact that Thom had any children. He must have worked hard to keep that information under the radar.
I study Paloma’s face for any hint that she might be related to Thom but can’t find any. Her mother must have been a rare beauty with dominant genes.
“She’s been working hard at her trader position with Thompson Capital, but I was able to convince her to take some time off,” Thom continues. “She’s done great things at the firm, and I’m so proud of her.” There’s a smattering of applause.
Paloma doesn’t appear moved by his praise. If anything, it seems to deaden her.
Thompson picks up his daughter’s hand and kisses it. Her expression never changes. She stares straight ahead as if in silent protest.
If Thompson notices her attitude, he doesn’t seem to care. “By the end of the weekend, I might have another announcement regarding a merger of a more personal variety.”
More applause, this time louder, with an eager edge. A few of the older businessmen lean in and whisper something to their younger counterparts. “...bidding…tomorrow night…” I hear one say. My shifter hearing is sharp enough to pick up on the words, but they make no sense.
What did Thompson mean by a merger of a more personal variety? Something’s going on.
Thompson proposes a toast to his daughter. We all raise our glasses. Paloma doesn’t move to take her glass, and one of the bodyguards leans over her and prods her arm.
That’s when I notice the purple marks marring her skin between shoulder and elbow. They look like someone grabbed her arm and gripped hard. She lifts her wine glass, and her dress sleeve falls away, revealing more bruises.
My bear rears up. He’s going crazy, wanting to burst from my skin.
Damn, after all these years living in New York City, I thought I’d learned to suppress that wildness.
I blink at my plate, hoping to hide any brightness in my eyes.
My fangs sharpen, and I grit my teeth, forcing my bear to retreat. Stay back, I tell him.
I force myself to focus on eating, but it’s a struggle not to watch Paloma. Three courses in, I dare to look back at her. She’s sitting with that hardened look on her beautiful face. If I hadn’t seen the bruises, I might think her haughty.
But now I think it’s a result of abuse.
Her head bodyguard leans forward again. “Eat,” he orders her. She subtly shakes her head, but he reaches over her and cuts her steak like she’s a child. He forks a piece of meat and holds it in front of her lips.
A muscle clenches in her jaw. “No,” she mutters. “I’m not hungry.”
“Stop.” There’s bear in my growl. My outburst attracts the table’s attention. Thom and his conversation partners go silent. I half rise out of my chair before I know what’s going on. I face off with the bodyguard. “The lady said no.”
“It’s getting late. Perhaps you’re tired,” Thom says to his daughter. He doesn’t wait for her to respond. “Take her to her room.” He gestures to her bodyguards. They draw back her chair and take her limp arm to guide her away.
My alarm bells are ringing. No one seems to think this is odd, but I am weirded out by the whole interaction between Thom’s brooding daughter and her controlling bodyguards.
Something rotten is going on in this mansion, and I intend to figure out what.