Chapter Nine
Madi
Full confession–I’ve never even been inside Tiffany’s before. The Blue Box Cafe is as much an artistic experience as it is culinary, with a bright but luxurious setting. I have that nineties song “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” playing in my head–it’s another favorite oldie of Aubrey’s–as I walk in.
I have to fight the feeling of not belonging with every step I take. Good thing I’m adept at faking it. Perhaps it’s a test–Ms. Harrington wants to know if my table manners are good enough before she brings me into her fold.
I’m ushered to the older woman where she sits in a prime spot by a window. She stands when I approach. I extend my hand and she clasps it with both hands.
Weird.
“Madison. I love that you contacted me.”
A waiter appears to push in her chair when she sits back down.
He comes to mine, but I’m already sitting.
“Yes, thank you for seeing me.” I open my attache case and fish out the crisp resume I printed on a translucent vellum paper. I assume Torrent Cosmetics has a twenty-first century HR department where you upload all pertinent materials, but I’m guessing Ms. Harrington is old-school and likes to hold something in her hand while she interviews.
She takes the resume but doesn’t look at it.
“I should start by saying I’m not actively looking for a position at the moment. I just want to keep my options open in case things change where I am.”
Eleanor arches a manicured brow. “That’s an excellent negotiation tactic. Are you trying to work me, your present employer, or both?”
“Neither at the moment.” I’m unruffled by her attempt to call me out. “As I said, it’s purely networking.”
She nods, apparently liking my answer. “You seem quite bright.” She glances at my resume. “You graduated from Princeton with a perfect GPA and landed a position with a notoriously hard-to-work-for CEO.”
I incline my head. I’m feeling guiltier by the moment for being here. This was a mistake.
“Moreover, your current boss appeared annoyed when I attempted to poach you.”
“I’m flattered you even offered me your card.”
“I know potential when I see it.” She verbally pats herself on the back. “Tell me about yourself. Things I wouldn’t find on this resume.” She waves the paper in the air.
I hesitate. What is there to say? That paper contains the whole of what I would show to anyone who isn’t extremely close to me.
“At the moment, my work takes up most of my time, so I can’t say I have any interesting hobbies, unless you count beating my own record at how fast I can complete a New York Times crossword.”
Eleanor laughs, as if I’m particularly amusing. I’m honestly not used to interviewers being this warm and fuzzy.
The waiter stops by, and I order a salad for lunch. I need to keep this meeting short so Blackthroat doesn’t get annoyed.
“How do you find working on Wall Street? I wouldn’t have expected a sociology major to end up there.”
“No, I wasn’t planning on it, but the opportunity arose, and it seemed the sort of thing to do while I’m young.”
“You didn’t consider graduate studies?” She studies me with great curiosity.
It’s a strange line of questioning.
“I did, actually. I was accepted at Harvard and Yale” –I’m not above a good name-drop when I’m being interviewed by a Manhattan socialite– “but, I decided a change of pace was in order.”
“Aren’t you just a glorified secretary, now, though?”
I give her a professional, unruffled smile. “A very well-paid one.”
She sits back with a smug expression. “So it was about the money.”
I don’t let my irritation show. “The money and the challenge. You mentioned that my employer is notoriously difficult. I found that challenge appealing.”
A knowing smile spreads across Eleanor’s face. “And you succeeded in meeting the challenge, as you apparently have succeeded at everything you’ve tried.”
Ms. Harrington’s interview style is an interesting mix of jabs and compliments. I suppose she’s trying to keep me on my toes.
Our food comes, and I attend to it, trying to keep this lunch from drawing out any longer than it already has.
“What sort of position did you have in mind for me?” I ask, not because I’m actually considering it, but to turn the interview around, so I’m asking the questions.
“Something similar. Assistant to the CEO.” She puts her hand on her chest. “Moi. I’ve been looking for a young protege I can mold in my image, and I think you might have the brains and grit to fill the position.”
I draw in a breath, somewhat taken aback.
What could I possibly offer that any other Ivy League graduate couldn’t? What is it about me that makes her believe I’m moldable to her image?
“Well…that’s extremely flattering. As I said, I’m not looking for a new position at present.”
“Yes. I imagine it’s quite exciting on Wall Street. But at Torrent Cosmetics, you’d be a part of it all–creative challenges, business negotiations, marketing a billion dollar empire. Surely that appeals to your sense of challenge.”
My heart beats erratically. The achiever in me is tempted by the position. Especially knowing things with Brick could blow up any day. But that fundamentally loyal part of me refuses to walk away.
Not until things actually do implode.
He’s become something integral to my identity and purpose. I need to see this thing out with him, whatever it is.
“Is this a limited-time offer, or would you be open to me contacting you in the future when my situation changes?”
The older woman appears slightly disappointed but not surprised. “Contact me any time, Madison. I’m interested in you. I’d like to see you at Harrington now or in the future.”
Color me surprised. It’s an unheard-of opportunity. I’m used to working hard for things, not having them dropped in my lap. Apparently my position with Blackthroat has raised my social status more than I realized.
“Thank you so much for your offer–and for lunch.” I wipe my mouth, set down my napkin and stand. “I do need to get back to work, but I appreciate your time and consideration.”
“Stay in touch, Madison.”
I walk out, feeling more confused and guilty than I was walking in. Am I really turning down the opportunity of a lifetime to stay in a situation I know will end up crushing me emotionally if not professionally?
Yes, I am. Because even though I know I’m racing toward a cliff’s edge, nothing would stop me so long as Brick Blackthroat is involved.
* * *
Brick
Madison left the building for a lunch appointment. I’m already edgy as hell because she seemed cagey about where she was going, but when she comes into my office smelling like Eleanor Harrington, my wolf rages.
Those damn high society humans. We mix with people like the Harringtons at our charity events. We’ll take their money, we’ll manage their investments, but they are nothing like us.
I’m not pissed at Madison. Scratch that. I definitely am, but my wolf isn’t. My wolf wants to protect her.
Sully believes she is, most likely, the unacknowledged daughter of Brett Harrington, Eleanor’s son. It’s not clear whether he knows he has a daughter and wants nothing to do with her or whether he’s been in the dark the entire time.
What is clear is that Eleanor anonymously paid for Madison’s prep school education and made phone calls that ensured her entry into Princeton with a generous financial aid package. I gauge Madison’s mood. She doesn’t seem shaken up or disturbed now, not like she would if she’d just learned the old lady’s secret.
“I’m sure you remember the company holiday ball is tonight.” She’s in a sweater dress with cutout shoulders and a peek-a-boob chest. I already had her up against the window this morning, but I’m feeling territorial, and that makes me desperate to get inside her again.
“Yes.” I purposely direct my attention at my computer because I’m not fully in control at the moment. My wolf needs to tone it the fuck down.
“I have to be there early, but we need you there by seven or eight to formally greet everyone.”
“We’ll drive over together,” I clip, still not looking her way.
“I have to be there by five-thirty to make sure everything is running smoothly.”
Now I give her my full attention, and it’s with the air of a reprimand. “When I gave you the task of liaising with HR for the party, it was not for you to run it. It was for you to represent me and my interests. You’re not their staff; you’re mine. So you’ll go when I go.”
My wolf is disgruntled by the lie. She’s not mine. Not the way he needs her to be.
She hesitates for a beat. “You’re the boss.”
“Big Bad Boss,” I mutter as she turns to sail away.
“Madison.” I catch her before she reaches the door, my tone business-like.
She pivots. “Yes, sir?” She still plays subordinate seamlessly which tells me what I always suspected–that it’s been an act and a game from the very start. I never had her respect, nor her fear.
Why do I love that so much?
“With whom did you have lunch?”
She hesitates a second before tossing back, “Why do you ask?”
“Answer the question.”
She must hear I’m not fooling around, but she still cocks a hip. “Am I not allowed to take a lunch break?”
I don’t answer. Don’t release her from my gaze. But I should remember that Madison has negotiation skills that far exceed her age or station. She simply lifts a brow, staring right back.
“Are you looking for a new job?” My voice is deadly now because the thought of losing her makes my wolf surge to the surface. He’s jealous. Possessive.
Very, very dangerous.
Regret flickers over Madison’s face, and my wolf thrashes beneath the surface. “No. Though I am keeping my options open.”
I get up from behind the desk and walk around to the front of it. I don’t trust myself to get close to her for fear I’ll snatch her up and never let go. Instead, I lean back on my desk and fold my arms. “Why?”
She lifts her shoulders, and the scent of her regret agitates me. Or is it pain? Either way, I can’t stand it. I want to do everything in the world to change it. “I’m screwing the boss.” She sounds sorry, like something sad but inevitable has happened. “This probably won’t end well for me.”
I narrow my eyes, not liking any of this. “That’s pretty fatalistic, isn’t it?” I beckon her to me, desperate to touch her, to have her scent closer, but still not trusting myself not to throw her over my shoulder and carry her home to mansion row. To tie her to my bed, mark her with my scent and keep her forever.
She comes as bidden, arms wrapped around her middle. I force myself to move slowly when I settle my hands on her waist, dislodging her hold of it.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
She blinks those long, curled lashes at me.
“I also don’t want to stop…” –It seems to crass and reductive to say fucking you– “...this.”
She says nothing, just sways unsteadily on her feet, her gaze searching mine.
“What would it take to make this work for you?”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. She has that frightened look she gets right before she comes. But then it’s over. It passes. She shakes her head. “Nothing. I mean, this works for now.” She drops her gaze. “I’m just exploring options in case that changes.”
Fuck.
“You saw Eleanor Harrington, didn’t you? Did she offer you a job?”
“No. She left it open. I made it plain I wasn’t actively looking.”
“Do you know who she is, Madison?” The softness of my tone makes Madison go still. I’ve been debating telling Madison about this ever since Sully presented me with the information, but I wasn’t sure if it benefitted her. Leaving her in the dark isn’t a kindness, though.
“What do you mean?”
“I noticed her interest in you at the ball.” I pull her closer. “I also observed what I thought was a family resemblance.” It’s only a half-lie. I smelled the resemblance.
Madi’s brows drop. “What?”
“I asked Sully to look into it, and it seems I was right. She’s most likely your paternal grandmother. She secretly got your mother the job at Landhower Prep and funded your education there. She also ensured your admission to Princeton and–”
“No.” Madison cuts me off. “Wait. What are you talking about? You hired a PI? What is this?”
“Her son, Brett Harrington, was in college with your mother. They dated briefly, breaking up eight months before you were born.”
“Christ.” Madi’s face goes pale. “I think I’m going to be sick.” Tears brighten her eyes.
“Come here, beautiful.” I pull her against my body in an embrace. “I’m sorry it’s a shock. I was debating how to tell you.”
I sense her belly shudder like she’s holding in a sob. I drop my lips to her silky hair and cradle the side of her head to press it against my chest.
“I…hate that,” she sputters in typical Madi fashion, pushing away. When I release her, she merely repositions herself to lean against my body sideways, crossing her arms. “I hate everything about it.”
“You mad at me?”
“No, I’m just–” she paces away from me. “I just hate it.” She whirls and spreads her hands. “Why in the hell did she wait until now to make contact? Ugh!” She grimaces. “Don’t answer that. I’m sure I know.”
I cock my head, not certain what she thinks she knows.
“She was waiting to see how I turned out. Whether I was worthy to claim. Or something sick like that.” The tears never fell, and Madi’s already composed herself in that surprising way she has of quickly mastering her emotions. “And what about my dad?” She shakes her head. “I guess he’s the real asshole here.” She stares at me for a moment then visibly gathers herself. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your problem. Thanks for the information.”
“I’ll give you the file my PI put together.” I walk around my desk to pull the manila envelope from a drawer.
She takes it and spins on her high heel for the door.
“So you’re not quitting me for her?” I ask mildly as she reaches it.
She sends me a look over her shoulder that probably isn’t meant to look sexy but goes straight to my cock. “Not in this lifetime.”
“Good,” I mutter, but she’s already out the door, her spine straight, shoulders back as she departs.
My female may be human, but she’s as strong and resilient as they come.
Of course, she’s not my female.
As I walk around my desk, my wolf growls at that mental pronouncement. He wants her. Twenty-four hours a day he’s driving me in her direction. To mark her. To claim her. To keep her.
As impossible as it may be, it’s hard for me to deny the pull. The attraction isn’t just sexual, either. I can’t blame it on pheromones and my wolf. I find everything about Madison Evans fascinating. She has all the qualities of an alpha female–if only she were a wolf.
She’s capability-porn in motion. Brilliant. Well-spoken but sassy. She’s not dramatic or particularly manipulative, but she does manage to get her way. When she doesn’t, she handles it with more grace than anyone I’ve ever seen.
I’m falling in love with her.
I drop into my chair.
Fell. It’s already in motion. My heart’s in play.
My executive team is right. This problem with the assistant has gotten out of hand. Way out of hand.
Yet, I can’t find it in me to pull back.
Every cell in my body screams for me to just move forward. Claim the girl with her inferior genes. Make her mine, even though it could mean losing everything–my position as alpha, even my pack.
* * *
Madi
I compartmentalize for a few hours, focusing on the fires that need to be put out around the office, then I pick up the phone to call my mom.
Her last class ends at four, so she should be available to pick up. “Hi, sweetheart!” she exclaims, like she’s shocked that I called. A stab of guilt hits me for being so engulfed in my job that I haven’t called her at school in weeks. “What’s going on?”
“Well, I’m still at work. I had lunch with Eleanor Harrington today.”
“What?”The shock in my mom’s voice is all I need to confirm Brick’s suspicions. “I’m sorry, who did you say?”
“Eleanor Harrington. Do you know her?”
“Uh, well…I’ve met her once or twice. She’s one of the donors at Landhower.”
“Yes. I understand she was the donor who funded my education there.”
“Did she tell you that?” I sense a note of hysteria in my mom’s voice.
“No.” I don’t say any more. I know from all the books I’ve read on interrogation and negotiation, the less you say, the more power you hold.
“What did she tell you?”
“Who is she, Mom?”
There’s a pause. “What do you mean?”
“Who is Brett Harrington? What do I need to know here?”
“Maybe you should come over for dinner tonight.” My mom sounds defeated. “I can answer all your questions.”
“I can’t come tonight,” I snap. “I have the company holiday party. I need the answers now, Mom. Please. I really hate when I don’t have a full picture, especially when it comes to my own life.”
“It sounds like you already know, Madi. What do you want me to say?”
I fling my free hand in the air in exasperation. “Give me the abridged version. Just some concrete facts.”
“Okay.” She draws in an audible breath. “Brett Harrington is your dad. I met him at Oxford when I was there for my PhD. When I told him I was pregnant, he asked me to get an abortion. I refused, and we broke up. Eleanor flew out and paid me a visit. She offered me a large sum of money if I would end the pregnancy. I told her to go fuck herself. She got nasty–threatened to get me thrown out of Oxford through her contacts there. I decided if the Harrington’s were so eager not to be associated with us, I didn’t want any part of them. I called Brett–your sperm donor–and told him I’d miscarried, and he didn’t need to worry about the baby. He never followed up, but his mom wasn’t so easy to get rid of. So we came to an agreement.”
Nausea rolls over me again. “What was the agreement?”
“She paid off my student loans and gave me a lump sum in exchange for my signature on papers relinquishing all rights to any Harrington inheritance or paternity suits. I don’t know if it would actually hold up in a court of law, but I wanted nothing to do with that vile family after that. I figured we were better off without them.”
I blink back tears. “Yeah. Agreed. But you let her pay for my education?”
“I didn’t realize she was the one pulling strings at first. By the time I did, you were already a sophomore. You didn’t like it socially, but you were excelling so much academically, I couldn’t bear to pull you out. I talked to you about it, remember? You wanted to stay because you could take six AP classes a semester there. You loved the challenge.”
She’s right. I did. Academic success was a new game for me then. I loved pushing myself to see how far and fast I could go. “I remember.”
“I’ve debated telling you, but I wasn’t sure it would do anything but hurt you.”
“Yeah. I get that. Knowing does hurt.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I really am. They’re classist assholes. She has no right to contact you now. What–she waited to see how you turned out, and now that you’re a Princeton grad working on Wall Street, you’re good enough? That’s a steaming pile of bullshit, as far as I’m concerned.”
My mom doesn’t usually resort to cursing, and I suddenly want to hug her. The Harringtons’ assholery affected her far more than it has me. I was oblivious to the rejection, while she had to live with it and hide it from me all these years.
“It’s fine. But you’re right. That’s exactly the score.”
After a moment of silence, my mom asks, “What are you going to do?” The fact that she sounds scared–like she might lose me to these assholes–guts me.
“I’m going to tell her to go fuck herself,” I say although it’s more for my mom than for me.
My mom lets out an audible breath.
“I love you, Mom.”
“Oh, Madi.” She’s choked up. “I love you so much. I’m sorry if this hurt you.”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry it hurt you. I have to go, but let’s do dinner tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’d like that. Bye, sweetie.”