Mr. Corporate (Mister #3) (4 page)

I pull the door open and walk into a hazy restaurant filled with men in suits.

This must be the good ol’ boys club. I should’ve figured. Weston has good ol’ boy written all over him. Old money with even older attitudes about women. He was always trying to protect me. Tell me to do things for my own good. It was patronizing and borderline sexist. I hated it.

But when every head near the front bar turns to look at me, I let it go. I’m used to the attention of men. It’s not my fault I was born looking this way. I tried my best to be a tomboy all growing up. I just don’t have the body for it. So when I hit puberty and my aunt told me to play up my best assets instead of hiding them behind big shorts and loose pants, I took her advice.

Maybe it’s cheating, maybe it’s not. But here I am, fifteen years later, still in the game, still scoring points, and still letting everyone think I’m a stupid bimbo.

A beautiful woman couldn’t possibly be ruthless.

That’s what I like them to think.

But I am ruthless. In every way that counts. And I know Weston Conrad is in this restaurant somewhere with the answer to every problem I have.

All I need to do to get those answers is show up.

I smile at a table of gentlemen wearing casual suits as they stop their business and stare, but keep my eye on the prize.

Which is missing at the moment.

Where did he go?

Ah. There’s the bastard now.

West slips behind a scarlet curtain on the side of the restaurant that faces the water and I follow.

A few other people go through as well and they are all greeted by name.

Hmmm. What is going on behind that curtain?

“Excuse me?” I say to the host standing guard. He’s wearing a different kind of uniform from the rest of the servers. They are all in black pants and white shirts. But this man wears a suit with a red tie and matching red pocket square. “May I go through and look for my husband?”

I realize too late that I have no wedding band on my finger to shore up the lie, and even as I’m thinking about being turned away, my heart has a little ache in it.

“Are you on the guest list?” he asks, smiling, even though he knows perfectly well I am not or I wouldn’t be asking for permission.

“No, but my husband is.” I have my left hand behind my back so he can’t notice I have no ring.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the host says. “It’s invitation only. What’s his name? I’ll see if I can find him.”

My eyes dart to another part of the restaurant and I say, “Oh, there he is! Never mind, thank you.” And I slip away, hoping I didn’t draw too much attention to myself.

Shit. I know West is in there getting info. Hell, Wallace might even be there. If he is, I’ve lost.

Think, Victoria. Think
.

I go outside onto the patio where people are eating and drinking underneath large canvas umbrellas, and walk along until I reach the end. There’s a kitchen door propped open, so I look over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching, then open it up and go inside.

There’s commotion and bustle as cooks and servers do their thing, but I raise up my head and walk through like I own the place. Everyone glances twice, but that’s because I’m a beautiful woman. Not because they feel like stopping me.

Where was that back room? I bet they have an entrance from the kitchen.

I spy a server with the same red pocket square as the host, and follow them down a hallway and through a swinging door. On one side of the hallway are restrooms, the open kind that have a curvy wall made out of stone and not the kind with a door. On the other side is another door.

“Please don’t let this lead to the front,” I mutter, ducking into the women’s restroom when the door starts to swing open again. I turn around as soon as I get around the corner of the marble wall and head right back into the hallway, smiling at the server carrying a tray as I let him pass towards the kitchen. I push open the door he came through and smile.

OK. I’m in. Everyone in here has that same uniform on. So this is the private area where Weston is surely meeting some contact.

I scan the room, which is partitioned off with hand-painted folding screens depicting scenes of Cuba, but come up with no Weston Conrad.

Dammit. Where is he?

I’m just about to give up when I hear his familiar laugh.

He’s on the other side of a screen. And even though there are at least fifty diners in here, now that I know he’s here, I can’t miss him. That arrogant voice carries through the screen and across the room. I find myself leaning in to try to hear what he’s saying. And in another moment, my feet are traveling that direction.

His voice grows louder as I approach, unseen because of the screen, and I take a seat at a table that has been recently vacated.

I look around for a server, but they are all busy.

I look down at the table setting and realize this is some kind of event. A party or some luncheon for a club. So I relax and concentrate on Weston’s words.

Chapter Four - Weston

“OK,” I say, barely managing to contain my bad mood through the whole Mr. Mysterious act Paxton puts on. “What do you have for me?” I don’t know why Pax always has to fill me in on his life these days. But he does. It’s always something with this guy. These jobs he takes. I can’t stand it. I liked him so much better when he ignored me. But ever since that whole thing with Mr. Romantic went down he’s been over-sharing like a motherfucker. It’s way too much TMI for me.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Pax says.

“What was the question again?”

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

“What?” I know my expression says,
Come the fuck on
, but I hold it together. Pax has info I need. And I need it now. Before Victoria gets it first. She has something up her sleeve. Or down her bra, more likely. “Shouldn’t I be asking
you
that question, Mysterious? I’m the headhunter here. Besides, I’m on track. I got it all planned. You, on the other hand, I have no idea what you’re doing.”

“I got a track. I’ve got many tracks, in fact.”

“Name one,” I say, the annoyance leaking through.

“You name one. I’m the one who asked.”

“Is this what you need to fill me in? Fine. In five years I’ve gone global. I’ve got offices in LA, New York, London, Paris, Moscow, Berlin, Hong Kong, and Tokyo.”

“Is that where you’re headed? Global?” Pax takes a sip of his drink, which is a fucking mint julep of all things, and I suddenly feel like I’m being played.

“Yeah,” I say. “Global. I’ve got the London office set up. Hong Kong is next. And after that, it’s on to Russia. I’ll be in Tokyo and Paris in three years. Hell, in five years, I might retire.”

“You ever think about doing something else?”

I don’t have a word for the look on my face or the depth of confusion in my mind. “What? What the fuck else would I do? This is my job. I fucking rock this job. I’m heading out and moving up. Why the hell would I do something else?”

“Hey,” Pax says. “I’m not knocking it, man. I’m just asking.”

“Why, are you? Gonna do something different?” I ask him.

“Sure. Why the fuck would I be a fixer for the rest of my life? People get old, Weston. Shit gets old. My shit is getting old. I’m ready to do something else.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno,” Pax says, sipping that ridiculous drink.

Is
he playing me?

“Well, you can do something else after you give me my info. I need to know where Wallace Arlington is
today
.” I knock my knuckles on the wooden table to emphasize my point.

“Do you like the party?” Pax asks, changing the subject.

“What?” I look around as he pans his hand, like he’s showing off this event. “Whose party is it, anyway?”

“Some charity thing. Do-gooder awards. You win any of those things, Weston? Do-gooder awards?

“I’ll let Mr. Perfect corner that market, thanks. And yeah,” I say, one hundred percent bored and well on my way to irritated. “It’s a great party. Now where is Wallace?”

“Well,” Pax says, lowering his voice and leaning in, “I hear he’s going to be on some island tomorrow for a corporate event.”

“What kind of event?”

“What do I look like, fucking Google? I don’t know.”

“What island? I need to make arrangements.”

“Well, you can’t take the jet, it’s float plane or boat access only. And the water is gonna be rough, so I doubt you’ll get a charter boat to take you.”

“Who fucking cares? Fuck the boat ride. I can get a float plane. Just tell me where I need to be.” Why is he dragging this shit out?

“Sandcastle Cay. The northern part of the Exuma Cays. It’s about fifty miles southeast of Nassau. He’s gonna be there tomorrow, but after that I have no clue where he’s going. I only got this tip after I threatened to expose a secret I’m holding for a friend of his.”

“Shit. How the fuck am I gonna get a private flight out there with half a day’s notice?”

“I got a guy if you need a reference.”

I almost don’t stop my eye roll. A reference. Jesus Christ. “Yes, Pax. I’d like a reference. Just get me to this guy tomorrow and I’ll knock off half a mil from that debt you owe me.”

“I pay my debts, Corporate. I don’t need your charity.” He laughs hard as he tries to take a sip of his girly drink, and doesn’t quite succeed without dribbling it down his chin.

I can’t even with this guy.

“Here,” he says, pulling a business card out of his wallet. “Give my friend a call this afternoon and tell him Mysterious gave you his number. He’ll take care of you.”

I take it and stand up, ready to get the fuck away from him. “OK, well, thanks. And hey, if you’d like to pay that debt off, it’s seven point five million now. With the interest.”

Mysterious sends me a wide grin and shoots me with his finger. Something that reminds me a little too much of the equally cocky Mr. Match. They have been spending far too much time together if he’s picking up his mannerisms.

“See ya around,” Pax calls, after I’m already walking away. “And don’t fuck this up. We can’t afford any more mistakes.”

I’m not the fuckup. What kind of drugs is he on?
He’s
the fuckup. But I don’t stop. He’s crazy. We all know he’s crazy. I got what I needed and I’m gonna nail down Wallace Arlington tomorrow. This whole deal will be one and done and then I can get back to building my global empire.

Chapter Five - Victoria

I met Weston Conrad the night before the night before the big night. You’d think that it might get lost in the hustle and bustle of what happened over the next two days, but it didn’t. Because the night before the night before the big night was the best one of my life.

Even up to this very moment.

No other night, before or since, will ever be able to compare.

He wasn’t Mr. Corporate when we met. He was just Mr. Conrad.

He wasn’t sweet, he wasn’t particularly smart—I mean, everyone at Brown was smart, so I’m just saying he didn’t stand out—and he wasn’t particularly motivated.