Chapter 2 #2
I head in the direction of the kitchen. I need breakfast first, and there’s something labelled “Nantucket pie” in the fridge. I don’t know what that is, but the glazed cranberries on top looked delicious.
I don’t go far because on the way, I find a speakeasy-style room with a full liquor bar. I’m not much of a drinker. I’ve had plenty of opportunities at fancy dinners, galas, and grand openings of this or that museum or opera house, but I’m always working, so I never imbibe.
But I’m a free woman now, so… seventy-five-year-old scotch? Don’t mind if I do.
Before I can find a proper Glencairn glass, the Dread Lord finds me.
The hairs on my neck stand up, but I refuse to turn around and acknowledge him. He calls my name, and his voice is soft, caressing.
Is he trying to charm me? After I flipped him a double bird?
I don’t trust it.
He steps close. The scent of his cologne, along with his body heat, surrounds me. He’s so warm. I close my eyes against this assault on my senses and elbow him in the ribs.
Mistake. His abs are as hard as marble, so all I do is bang my funny bone. “Ow.”
He turns me around, a frown creasing his handsome face. “Are you all right?”
“No.” It annoys me that he’s pretending to care. “Go away.” I whirl and grab a crystal highball glass. Liquid courage, that’s what they call it, right? That’s what I need so I can stand up to him.
I grab the first bottle within reach. My hand shakes as I pour, but I fill the glass to the brim. “You are a Grinch, and it’s time I treated you that way. You’re hopeless.”
I take a sip of my drink and start coughing. This is top-shelf alcohol? It burns!
I shove the glass away and grab a bottle of Baileys. Yes, whiskey and sweet cream. I can handle that.
“Wellesley,” he murmurs. His hot breath hits the back of my neck. He’s standing right behind me.
Santa, make me strong!
I’m tempted to do something drastic, something I’ve always wanted to do: Kiss my boss. Kiss the effing hell outta him. Then bite his beautiful upper lip.
That’ll teach him! I’m going to do it if he doesn’t back off.
But he’s going to back off. That’s what he does.
It’ll be over soon, I tell myself. You’re going to show him all your weirdness, and that will drive him away. I tell myself I won’t be disappointed when that happens.
No, I will annoy him on purpose. He trapped me here, and I’m going to make him regret it.
“Did All Cap make you an offer? Is that what this is?” he murmurs right into my ear. “Whatever they’re offering, I’ll double it. No, triple. Salary, benefits, stock options—”
“Time off? For all major holidays?” My tone is so dry, I risk dehydration.
He falls silent. Of course he does. He has nothing to say to that. The fucker.
He stole Christmas from me!
I pour some Baileys and drink a little before I risk turning around.
Like always, his handsomeness stops my breath, but I let my anger burn my desire away.
“No, I’m not going to work for your competitor.
I’m not going to work at all. I’ve been saving my salary all these years.
And I shorted that big tech stock everyone’s been talking about. ”
His eyes narrow. I know that calculating look. He’s planning on buying the tech company, which will run up the price and turn my windfall into peanuts.
“Don’t even think about it.” I gesture with my glass. “I’ve already moved that money to bonds. Treasuries.” He won’t be able to destabilize an entire country’s economy. A small nation’s, maybe.
“You can’t possibly have enough to retire.”
“I can if I budget. And I’m going to sell my clothes. I won’t need a high-fashion work wardrobe where I’m going.”
“Where are you going? A nudist colony?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I roll my eyes. Consigning my designer boots and handbags will hopefully give me some extra cash to travel the world. I’m looking forward to wearing T-shirts and soft pants all day, every day.
“Whatever you’ve saved, it cannot possibly last.” His golden eyes burn into me, and I’m at risk of losing lung function, so I stare at a point above his left ear.
“I don’t know,” I murmur into my glass. I’ve only had a few sips, but I feel warm and fuzzy.
“The market’s done very well. Don’t worry, I’m keeping my Lord Ltd.
stock.” Always bet on the Dread Lord. Marty taught me that.
Everything he touches turns to gold. “The company’s growth is one of the reasons I’m able to retire so young,” I add, to twist the knife further.
“A million?” he muses. “Maybe one point three. You can’t have saved more than that.”
I hold my breath, because he’s right.
“You can’t live on that.”
“I can.” It’s called geo-arbitrage, but I’m not going to tell him that because I don’t want him to know where I’m going. I’m going to travel, starting with Bangkok or Addis Ababa.
“Not in New York.”
I freeze. I can’t let him discover my plan. “I can if I eat lentils.”
“Lentils.”
“Yeah. I like lentils.”
“No, you don’t.” His voice turns condescending. “You used to bring in that gruel every day for lunch. Homemade lentil stew. At the start of the week, you’d be able to choke it down, but by Thursday, you wouldn’t be able to stand it, and you’d start skipping meals.”
My mouth hangs open. “You noticed that?” That was early in our working relationship. I was saving all my money, afraid the job wouldn’t last. That I wouldn’t make the cut.
“Of course, I noticed. If a woman is gagging in front of me, I’d like it to be on purpose.”
There’s a challenging glint in his eyes, but I’m still caught up in the memory of those lentil soup days.
They ended when he ordered Johann to make extra meals for me.
I need you in fighting form, not fainting from hunger, he said to me.
That way, I can work you harder. He had a little growl in his voice when he said, Work you harder, and I got so turned on I had to escape to a deserted conference room to have a little lie down.
I feel like I need a little lie down right now. My cheeks are flushed from the alcohol, and my thoughts are all over the place.
Was the private chef thing just his way of keeping me around?
No. He probably would’ve found it inconvenient if I fainted. I can imagine him stepping over my unconscious body on his way to his next meeting. The mental image reminds me of my rage.
“If I do run out of money, I can just get another job.”
He stiffens. “Where?”
“All Cap would take me.” I have no intention of working for another demanding boss, but this will piss Piers off. “I could work for Bryan.”
“Brian with an ‘I’?” Storm clouds gather on his brow. He doesn’t just look pissed. He looks furious.
Tread cautiously, a part of me warns. The rest of me wants to pour whiskey on this dumpster fire. “Bryan with a ‘Y.’ But I bet either Brian would have me.” I keep my tone cheerful, but when I remember Brian checking me out at a shareholder meeting, I have to suppress a shudder.
I’m just pretending to annoy Piers. But the way his face is turning red, I may have gone too far.