Chapter 2
Harrison
Oh, the way she looked over at me was delicious.
The alarm. The flash of anger behind those eyelashes. The way her entire body tensed beneath that blue dress.
My smile deepened, and she quickly looked away.
I was a whiz with numbers. That skill had fast-tracked me through school and earned me a place as an analyst at my first firm by the age of twenty-one.
But it was my gut that had carried me beyond the life of a basic desk job.
I’d learned to trust my instinct, whether it involved dumping a girlfriend or a medical stock with a bad earnings report.
I considered it my spider-sense. Whenever I had that feeling in my gut, I followed it.
That’s what had helped me build my empire more than intelligence alone.
And when I realized Caroline Fairfax was the one writing the Wall Street Journal piece that was up for auction?
My gut started screaming at me.
The bid, which was quite literally an order of magnitude higher than the previous one, created a stir in the room.
Gasps and whispers. I probably could have won the lot with a smaller number.
But to a man of my wealth, there was functionally no difference between two hundred thousand and two million.
And I had learned that it was worth using your money to make a statement.
Sometimes it was about sending a message.
“Two million from Mr. Harrison Blackstone!” the auctioneer announced with new enthusiasm. “If anyone would care to match that…”
Rafael leaned close and whispered, “Is this wise?”
“Probably not,” I replied truthfully.
He gave me a look, then relaxed back into his seat. He knew when I couldn’t be talked out of an idea. And even if he could, it was too late.
Nobody outbids me. And not just because the number was so high. Everyone in this room, at least everyone who mattered, knew it was a mistake to go head-to-head against me. Especially when I wanted something.
A gavel banged. “Sold! To Mr. Harrison Blackstone, who is single-handedly keeping this charity running for the foreseeable future!”
There was another round of applause. This time, my smile was genuine. I so loved getting what I wanted.
After the piece in the Journal, there were four more items in the auction.
The grand finale was an invitation to Taylor Swift’s wedding reception, which created a bidding war that lasted several minutes and involved a dozen people in the room.
Eventually, the owner of the New York Jets won with an eight-figure bid, which created several unhappy patrons across the room.
As soon as the auction ended and everyone began to leave their tables, Caroline headed toward me like a dark-haired heat-seeking missile. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Bid on my item!”
I frowned in puzzlement. “Well, that’s how auctions work. You make a bid, and if your number is the biggest one, you win. I thought you were familiar with the whole concept.”
Anger flared behind her eyes. “You know what I mean. I’ve already written plenty of articles about you.”
“Nothing truthful,” I replied smoothly.
Caroline stiffened. “I would beg to differ, Mr. Blackstone.”
“Please, call me Harrison.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“You say that now.” I picked up my champagne from the table and smiled. “We can discuss this when we sit down to write my puff piece. I’ll have my people call your people.”
“It won’t be a puff piece,” she insisted. “It won’t be anything. This is a massive conflict of interest. I refuse to be bought.”
“I wouldn’t dream of trying to buy you, Caroline. Have a wonderful evening.”
I lightly touched her arm in passing. The last thing I heard was an angry scoff from the woman, and Eddie telling her to relax.
The event was at the Met, which was close enough for me to walk home to my Upper East Side loft, but Rafael insisted we take the car.
The angry protester last week still had him spooked, and he was in charge of my security.
He exited the car first when we pulled up to my building, checking both directions on the busy street before opening my door and guiding me inside.
“You don’t need to pretend to be a Secret Service agent,” I said as we took the elevator up to the penthouse.
“Nobody’s pretending,” he replied. “I get a daily report about threats to your life. You’re a target, Harrison.”
“If you say so.”
My sprawling penthouse took up two full floors at the top of the building, giving me three-sixty views of the greatest city in the world. But it felt cold and empty tonight. It had felt that way since Suzanne and I broke up three months ago.
Not that I missed her. Suzanne was fun for a while, but she didn’t challenge me. I wanted a partner, not a pet.
For some reason, that made me think about Caroline.
She’d been my biggest critic, publishing critical articles about Blackstone & Moreau at the worst possible moments, or attacking our investment strategies and taking the wind out of our sails.
I’d always tried to ignore her, to remind myself that she was beneath me and wasn’t worth any of my time or attention.
But when I met her tonight, she wasn’t at all like I expected. She was young. Gorgeous. Full of life and fire.
There was something about her…
I glanced over and caught Rafael looking at me. “What?” I asked.
“You know what,” he replied, walking down the hall to the bedroom he used when staying on-site.
He thought I was making a mistake. And he was probably right.
But I didn’t care.
Like I said: I so loved getting what I wanted.