Chapter Three #2
He tapped ash into an ashtray, considering my statement. “Why, Gia, I am extremely flattered. Had I known you to have any carnal interest in me, I’d have let you suck my cock every lunch break.”
“Wha—” My eyes widened as realization sank in. “No, Tate. I’ll solve the equation in exchange for speaking with you. I wouldn’t have sex with you if you were the last man on earth.”
“Surely, that’s an exaggeration.”
“I assure you, it’s not.”
“I’m tall and have good teeth, and the future of humankind depends on us. Be a sport.”
“I really don’t think you should reproduce. Nothing good can come out of your DNA. If it’s down to us or nothing, then sorry. Civilization had a good run.”
He grinned devilishly, snuffing his cigarette on one of the women’s Chanel bags and snapping his fingers. “Perry, Paisley.”
Weren’t they Precious and Paris a moment ago?
“Get the fuck out. I’ve found superior entertainment.”
“But…but…” The blond bombshell blinked, hot-pink lips hanging open in surprise. She was very pretty and comically busty. “Are you seriously going to give up sex with me?” she whined.
“Darling,” he purred patronizingly, the endearment rolling off his tongue with disdain. “I wouldn’t remember your face tomorrow morning if you tattooed it on my fucking palm.”
I was glad I’d been too nervous to eat today, because I was sure he wouldn’t appreciate my vomiting all over his Calacatta-veined floor.
The women huffed and pranced out of the room, flinging hair in their wake and sending me hate glares.
Finally, it was just the three of us.
Me, Tate, and his giant ego.
Tate gestured with his hand to the equation and pen on the floor. I quietly walked across the room and picked it up, sauntering over to sit on the edge of his bed.
“Stay standing,” he barked.
I stood up before my bum hit the mattress.
“Nobody touches my bed.” A flush of pink struck his cheeks.
He sounded like a toddler in the throes of a tantrum. An off-character outburst for this normally blasé creature.
I placed the piece of paper on the nightstand. Still standing, I leaned down to solve the linear equation.
It wasn’t difficult by any means. As the daughter of a late auditor, I did have a natural knack for numbers.
It occurred to me how ridiculous I looked, in full makeup and a ball gown, solving a math problem in my boss’s bedroom in the early hours of the morning. But life around Tate had always been chaotic.
He pulled his pocket watch, frowning at it. “You have five seconds lef—”
“I’m done.” I put the pen down and sauntered over to him. I handed him the paper, careful not to touch him. He surveyed it through sharp, critical eyes.
Though his jaw was taut, I knew a smile was hiding behind it. I’d mastered reading him as one learned to move inside a familiar room in complete darkness.
“Growing up, were you fond of math?”
“I was,” I confirmed. “My father was an auditor. We did mental math together on weekends when it was too rainy to go outside.”
“What did you study in college?”
I was surprised he didn’t know. He had hired me fresh out of college. On a whim , in fact. I’d always found it odd, how Tate swooped in out of nowhere as soon as I gained my degree at a relatively unknown college in Brooklyn and offered me a job I hadn’t even applied to.
“Environmental economics and policies.”
“What would you have done had I not offered you employment?”
“An investment adviser. Perhaps hedge fund.” I hitched up a shoulder. “Those were the few positions I’d applied for after college.”
He stared at me, and I knew he was planning in that twisted mind of his. Something dark and depraved, a way to punish me for simply existing in his sphere.
“I didn’t know you were analytical, Miss Bennett. Although I did have my suspicion. You are too bright to have an intuitive personality.” He paused. “What’s an intuition anyway? Simply a draw of luck. So common. So… random .” He knocked back the rest of his whiskey with a snarl.
Strange, strange man.
“My theory is sociologists divide us into analytical and intuitive personalities because it is politically incorrect to call the intuitive dumbasses. What do you think?”
I think you should seek urgent help.
“As much as I’d love to discuss this fascinating matter with you tonight.” I licked my lips, trying to conceal my anxiety. “There is something I’ve been trying to talk to you about.”
“Oh, right. Go ahead.” He leaned lavishly in his recliner, crossing his long legs. He wore a chunky gold ring on his little finger. “Your five minutes start now.”
Wanker.
Nonetheless, the words rushed out of my mouth at the speed of light. I couldn’t waste one second.
“As you know, my mother is suffering from dementia. She is in the middle to late stages and doing quite poorly by all medical metrics. She is confused, forgetful, and suspicious. One of the side effects is poor nutrition. She lost thirty-five pounds in four years, and she was lean to begin with.” I only mentioned it because I needed him to understand my urgency.
“She is the only remaining living member of my immediate family. We were a very tight-knit family. Really, they were my entire world. So now she is my world—”
The words tumbled out of my mouth clumsily. It wasn’t often I lost my footing, but speaking about Mum did that to me. I twisted my fingers in my lap.
“And this week, well, I met with her doctor. And he mentioned that there is this trial…I mean, experimental treatment here in the States. In New York, in fact, for dementia patients. It’s an in-patient, all-encompassing treatment for people who are in the middle stage of the disease.
There’s a lot of red tape and fine print, of course, but the doctor mentioned that the initial results of people who enrolled in the program twelve weeks ago are groundbreaking.
They were able to reverse some of the symptoms back to the early, mild stages and gain these people years more to live rather comfortably,” I said breathlessly, getting animated despite myself.
If there was one thing Tate loathed, it was melodramatic people.
Tate’s apathetic gaze told me he was losing both his patience and interest.
He checked his watch again. “Can you cut to the chase? My trainer’s coming at five thirty, and I’d like to have my bulletproof coffee beforehand.”
Curling my fingers into fists to prevent myself from slapping him, I answered slowly, “I am tired of living away from Mum, of hopping between continents to see her. I would love to secure her a place in this program.”
Tate elevated an eyebrow. “Is anyone stopping you?”
He was going to make me spell it out for him. Bastard .
“I need someone with connections. Someone who’d be able to pull some strings and get her into the program.”
“I assume I am that lucky someone.” He knotted his fingers together, tapping his indexes over his mouth.
My gaze dropped to my feet.
“I haven’t pegged you as a rule breaker,” he mused, a hint of a smile hiding behind his perpetual snarl. “First time?”
“Yes,” I lied. I’ve done so much worse. You have no idea. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for the little that is left of my family.”
“And what, pray tell, am I going to get in return for ‘pulling some strings’?” He used his long fingers to mimic quotation marks.
I gulped.
I knew we’d reach the bargaining portion of the conversation. And though I hadn’t many haggling chips, I did come up with a few ideas.
“I thought you might do this from the goodness of your heart?”
“I possess no such thing, and you know it.” He waved me off. “Next?”
“Helping me get Mum into the program is to your financial benefit. It would ensure I’d be on top of my game. I wouldn’t have to be preoccupied all the time. Wouldn’t have to go to London so frequently. That’s at least once a month. It would be a good investment for you.”
“How tempting.” He stroked his square chin. “Even so, I am afraid wasting my resources and power for the pleasure of you doing your damn job sets a dangerous precedent. See, I am, first and foremost, a businessman, Gia. This is a transaction like any other. Make it worth my while.”
Now he did smile, and I almost wish that he hadn’t.
He looked so arrogant, so wildly pleased to see me squirming and vulnerable.
I wondered if he’d ever loved someone. A parent. A sibling. A friend. A pet .
Likely not. To love was to relinquish control, and Tate was too fond of that particular ingredient.
“Right, then.” I clapped my hands together. “This brings me to my third and final offer. I would love to pay you back by working for free. I’ve enough money saved up, and I could do my job without any monetary imbursement if y—”
“Christ, how unimaginative.” He threw his head back and groaned, shaking his head at the ceiling with a chuckle.
“This is how you Brits lost an empire. What a constricted way of thinking. Shaving a few hundred thousand dollars from my company’s two-billion annual expense sheet is a terrible stimulus. ”
“What do you want, then?” I actually stomped, losing my patience.
“ You .”
“I beg your pardon?”
I misheard him. I must’ve.
“If I’m going to break the law and likely a few fucking families standing in line for this bullshit experimental trial, I want your life in exchange for saving your mother’s. It’s symbolic, symmetrical, and one of the very few things money can’t buy me.”
“Me, as in…?” Ice wrapped around my bones. My stomach roiled.
Do. Not. Vomit.
“You, as in you become my wife. You wear my ring. You live under my roof. You take my name. You suck my cock.” He paused, examining his fingers in sheer boredom.
“You bear my children. I’m thinking four, minimum.
We’re bound to make mistakes on the first few before we create someone worthy to inherit the company.
Oh.” He snapped his fingers. “Maintaining my friendships. Socializing is my least favorite pastime. Rhyland’s and Row’s wives seem to like you. Keep up our appearances.”
He was mental.
More alarming than that—he was dead serious.