His Heart's Revenge (49th Floor Novels) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Four months later

“You’re going to have to be quick. I have a flight to catch,” Alexander Evangelista said as his assistant ushered Sara Gable, the head of Dominion’s private banking group, into his office for their bi-weekly catch up.

“I have good news, and I have bad news,” Sara said. “Which do you want first?”

Alexander did not give a shit which came first.

Sara must have sensed his impatience, because she sighed and sat down on the other side of his desk. “We lost Eleanor Southam.”

“It happens,” Alexander said tightly. It did. Clients went elsewhere for all kinds of reasons. It didn’t mean it didn’t irritate the hell out of him, though. And God knew he paid Sara enough to make sure millionaires like Southam stayed happy at Dominion. “Do you know why?” He stood and started loading his briefcase as she spoke. He was hopping a flight to New York for a Knicks game. David, his latest arm-candy, was on a shoot there, and somehow, Alexander had succumbed to the “all work and no play” argument.

“Apparently she started throwing some cash at a new firm just after the new year,” Sara said. “Now she says she’s moving everything over by the end of the month.”

Alexander sighed. This wasn’t the way he wanted to start the weekend. “And who’s won her?”

“Some upstart. Bell Capital. I don’t know it, do you?”

His briefcase clattered to the floor.
Bell
Capital? His jaw locked. “Cary Bell?”

“Oh, that must be it!” Sara exclaimed. “I heard he left Rosemann Investments at the end of last year. He must have started his own company. Well, good for him. To hear it told, he was always the brains behind his uncle’s—”

“Cary Bell left Rosemann?” Alexander ground out through clenched teeth. “
Months
ago? Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me?”

Sara looked at him strangely and said, “I’m not sure. I guess we thought it wasn’t really relevant because…” She trailed off, and he knew what she was thinking. Rosemann Investments, though respected, was more of a boutique firm. Technically, it competed with Dominion’s private wealth management division, but Dominion was a behemoth. What Sara wasn’t saying was that as its CEO, Alexander shouldn’t care about personnel changes at a firm like Rosemann Investments.

But he cared very much about Cary Bell, as much as he tried not to.

He sat, mind churning. He’d spent two decades trying not to let Cary Bell affect him. Maddeningly, it never got any easier. “What’s the good news?”

Sara, clearly a bit thrown by his intensity, swallowed. “Don Liu is moving to Canada. Moving over the management of everything—his private accounts and all his companies.”

That
was
good news. Don Liu was the world’s twentieth-richest man, head of a Hong Kong-based empire that included diverse holdings in several different sectors. He had sent his kids to college in Toronto, and word on the street had been that he was thinking of relocating the entire clan. So far, Alexander had put it all down to rumor, but if it was true, and if Dominion could snag even a fraction of Liu’s business, it would be a huge victory.

“He wants to meet tomorrow,” Sara said. “I’m driving up to his house, but probably at some point you’ll have to wine and dine him.”

“Who else is he meeting with?”

“I spoke to his son on the phone, and I tried to probe a bit,” Sara said. “They’re meeting with us and First Canadian, but he also said his father was considering a few smaller outfits.” She paged through her notes. “He mentioned Evergreen and…” She looked up, and he knew.

To her credit, she gazed at him evenly, showing the balls that reminded him why he had hired her. “Bell Capital.”

He pressed the intercom button on his phone. “Derek, change of plans. I’m not going to New York.”

“All right,” his assistant said. “Do you want me to order dinner in, then?”

“No,” he said. “But call David, will you? Tell him something came up. Maybe send something to his hotel room.” He returned his attention to loading his briefcase. “We’re done here,” he said to Sara. “I’m doing the Liu meeting myself.”

“Oh, he won’t expect you at this point,” she started, but fell silent when he held up a palm.

“Send me everything you have as soon as you can. If you need to courier anything, I’ll be at my place.” He left Sara sitting in his office, which was probably a little rude, but, hell, he hadn’t gotten where he was today by worrying about people’s feelings.

Cary Fucking Bell. He hadn’t been able to avoid seeing him all these years, of course. Avoidance was impossible given that Alexander had risen above his former station so dramatically that he now ran in the same circles as Cary’s old-money family. And they worked in the same industry, though Alexander had more occasion to run into Bart Rosemann, Cary’s uncle and the Rosemann family patriarch. Bart’s father had founded Rosemann Investments, and Bart had been grooming Cary to take over—though word on the street was that although Bart was technically in charge at Rosemann, Cary had always been the actual brains of the operation. Alexander didn’t doubt it. Cary had always been smart.

The point was, Cary was around. So Alexander had just made sure the bastard knew the score. They didn’t speak, limiting themselves to curt nods when forced into proximity. And, to be honest, Alexander also made sure Cary knew the score in other ways. If he flashed his Rolex a little too overtly—or flashed whatever hot guy was his flavor of the month a little too overtly, or flashed the bank’s last quarter’s financials a little too overtly—it was just to remind Cary of what Alexander had become.

And, more importantly, to remind himself. Money really could buy happiness. And it could buy other, more important things: respect, security, freedom. Power.

Alexander Evangelista had made himself into a titan.

And a titan could tolerate a man like Cary Bell.

Correction: A titan could tolerate a man like Cary Bell as long as he stayed where he belonged, in his box. In his box that was beneath Alexander’s notice.

But if that fucking upstart thought he was going to steal clients out from under Dominion? If he thought he was going to use that honeyed mouth of his to sweet talk the twentieth-richest man in the world out from under Alexander?

Alexander rolled his wrists like he was warming up for a sparring session with his jujitsu master.

Bring it.

…

Cary tried to calm his out-of-control heart as he sat alone in an antique-stuffed, vaulted-ceilinged sitting room in Don Liu’s sprawling mansion in King City north of Toronto. It wasn’t the house that had him wiping sweaty palms on his suit pants, though. He had grown up with wealth and privilege, so he wasn’t intimidated by pools, butlers, and millions of dollars of original art hanging on the wall, although the Liu compound was lavish even by Cary’s standards. No, his unease was rooted in the knowledge that scoring Don Liu as a client would
make
Bell Capital. Cary wasn’t deluded. He knew it was a long shot to expect the multibillionaire to choose his fledgling wealth management firm over established, big-name banks offering the same services. He had been prepared for it to be tough going when he struck out on his own, to have to painstakingly and gruelingly build his client list, proving himself over and over. But if Liu came on board so early—Cary was only four months in—the success of Bell Capital would be guaranteed.

He would have proven to his uncle—and everyone—that he had what it took to make it on his own.

He had arrived five minutes early for his noon appointment, yet it seemed like ages since the housekeeper had deposited him in this anteroom, pointed at a closed door that must be Liu’s office, and said, “Mr. Liu will come get you when he’s ready.”

Somewhere in the house, a grandfather clock came to life, playing its time-honored tune. When the chimes denoting the hours started, Cary began counting them, though he knew full well a man like Don Liu wouldn’t let his clocks go unwound. The counting served to center him, though, the slow
bong, bong, bong
like a metronome that steadied his breath. He had this. The Liu family had approached
him
, he reminded himself.
Six, five, four.
He was the new kid on the block, yes, but it wasn’t like he was new to the industry. He had a sterling reputation and a track record of returns that spoke for itself. He could be Don Liu’s wild card pick.

Three, two, one.

Cary turned to the door, his state of hyper alertness allowing him to sense that the knob was just beginning to turn. He stood and prepared to greet—

Alex Evangelista.

Oh, shit.

Alex smirked. “Well, well, well.”

“Do you two know each other?” Liu asked, coming to stand next to Alex. “Alexander, this is—”

“Cary Bell,” Alex finished, extending Cary’s short name on his lips, drawing the three syllables out in a way that stopped just short of being a sneer.

Alex and Cary had not spoken for twenty years, since that horrible day in the dining hall at camp. Cary had seen him at the odd event, of course, but somehow they never ended up seated next to each other. And in his heart, Cary knew that “somehow” was actually Alex, throwing his weight around to ensure he didn’t have to be near Cary. That was how much Alex hated him.

So Cary had
seen
Alex speak, had watched him talk to other people, wry smile flashing and brown eyes twinkling. And in moments of insanity over the years, Cary had Googled and turned up a few YouTube videos of Alex—an interview with him as part of a profile in a national business magazine, a recent clip of him yelling at a paparazzo as the guy tried to get video of Alex and that preternaturally good-looking model he was currently dating.

The point was, Cary had seen Alex talking from afar, and had heard him talking on video clips, but he hadn’t heard that voice in real time, coming out of that mouth, in forever. Hadn’t matched up the sensations of hearing him and seeing him at the same time.

So he hadn’t known. He hadn’t known the power Alex Evangelista still held over him. He had told himself, over the years, that the off-the-charts attraction between them at Camp Blue Lake had been the product of teenage hormones crossed with, at least in Cary’s case, the exhilaration of having acted on a same-sex attraction for the first time. They had been fumbling kids, circling around each other for an entire summer, and when they’d finally made out, it had been searing, electric. Cary had been chasing that sensation the rest of his life, even though he knew it was illogical to compare the experiences of a grown man to a lust-addled boy’s first kiss.

Hearing Alex say his name took him right back there. He could hear the waves lapping and feel the uneven slats of the wooden dock against his back. The skin-prickling sensation of knowing he was inches from Alex Evangelista nearly stole his breath, just as it had then. They had bobbed in the lake, looking up at the sky, counting shooting stars, screwing up their courage to kiss each other. The perfect night.

Before he’d gone and ruined everything.

And just like that pitch-black night, as he stood outside Don Liu’s office, Cary had no way to see what was coming and nothing to grab onto once that low, knowing, smooth voice hit him, saying his name like it was a cross between a curse and a benediction.

“Cary and I go way back,” Alex said, drawing Cary back to the present. His face was as blank as an empty picture frame. Their proximity obviously wasn’t affecting Alex like it was Cary.

Liu smiled broadly. “Glad to hear it. There’s nothing like a little healthy competition to keep a man on his toes.”

Cary had to get back in the game here, concentrate on the man in front of him instead of the boy he’d hurt so badly. “I couldn’t agree more.” He turned to Alex. “Nice to see you, Alex,” he said, extending his hand to shake as if touching Alex Evangelista skin to skin was no big deal.

Alex evaded him, though. He’d been holding a briefcase in one hand, and his coat had been slung over the same arm. But by the time Cary fully extended his arm, the coat had moved to cover Alex’s other hand, and Alex did it all so smoothly that Liu didn’t notice the deflection.

“It’s Alex
ander
,” Alex said, stressing the second part of his name. He’d always gone by the shorter nickname at camp and was so quintessentially
Alex
in Cary’s mind, it was jarring to be corrected.

“I’ll be in touch,” Mr. Liu said, and then, turning toward Cary, added, “I told Mr. Evangelista, and I’ll tell you, that I won’t be making any decisions right away. My children and I will be considering a variety of scenarios for moving things over. We’re in no hurry.”

“I would expect no less,” Cary said. “It’s not a decision to make lightly.” He forced himself not to look back as Liu led him into the office. “But I’m confident I can make a compelling case for Bell Capital.”

“Yes,” said Liu, smiling as he shut the door behind him. “You’re my upstart. I do love an upstart.”

…

Alexander had an advantage. He had known Cary would be in that sitting room outside Mr. Liu’s office. Liu didn’t fuck around. He was direct, and Alexander appreciated it. When he’d asked the older man who else he was seeing today, Liu hadn’t hesitated to say that he was meeting Cary just after Alexander left.

And Alexander knew the black BMW X1 parked on the street at the foot of the house’s long gravel drive was Cary’s. Equal parts sleek and sporty, the car was Cary to a tee. It was tasteful and luxurious, but it didn’t scream stuffy old money. A man could fill a car like that with camping gear—he wondered if Cary was still outdoorsy—or he could take it to meet with a billionaire. It was exactly the kind of car a rich guy who’d turned his back on his family’s wealth would drive.

Alexander still marveled that at age thirty-five, Cary had walked away from Rosemann Investments. Though Cary’s uncle was the face of the company and was technically in charge, Cary’s time there had to have made him a wealthy man. Well, he’d been born a wealthy man, but he’d proven himself capable of taking the huge advantage life had given him and running with it. Alexander wondered why he was shaking things up now.