The Billionaire Bargain 3 (2 page)

“This
is not a PR spin!” Kate snapped, a little too loud. The sound
of the blender in the kitchen stopped; could my mom hear? Kate
quickly lowered her voice. “This is your
life
, Lacey.”
She hesitated for a second, and then tentatively offered: “You
could send a message back with me, if…if you’ve got
anything to say to him. If there’s anything you think he needs
to know—”

“Grant
knows everything relevant,” I said. But my voice began to crack
on the last word.

“Girl,
did you forget who you’re talking to? I’ve been your best
friend since kindergarten; I know when you’re putting up a
front. I’ve heard you rant about this man, I know how you
feel—”

“Feelings
aren’t important,” I said, looking away. “Love—or
whatever it was I was feeling, attachment or affection or whatever—”

“
Love
,”
Kate insisted.

“It
wasn’t real,” I argued. “It was just—an
extreme situation, and emotions were running high, and there were
hormones and that oxytocin thing you were reading about in Women’s
Health and—and it doesn’t really matter, Kate. Whatever
it was, it’s over, and feeling anything about something when
it’s over doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“Right,”
Kate said with an exasperated eye roll. “Because everything
worthwhile in life definitely makes complete and total one hundred
percent sense.”

“I’m
not going to indulge myself,” I said. “I’m not
going to sit around thinking about my emotions and feeling sorry
they’re not reciprocated.”

Kate
tutted. “And that’s not what you’re doing out
here?” She stood, gathering her things. “Tell your mom
sorry I couldn’t stay for the smoothies. And remember,
Lacey—you can’t hide out here forever.”

Kate
has this annoying habit of being right. I couldn’t hide. Not if
I wanted to keep my job, and my pride. And let’s face it, those
were the only two things I had going for myself right now.

So
Monday morning, I girded my loins for battle, by which I mean I put
on the latest set of lingerie Kate had brought me, plus a perfectly
tailored Italian cut suit, and I headed back to work.

For
a moment when the car rounded the corner and the Devlin Media Corp
tower loomed in the distance, I felt exactly like a princess sent out
to the lair of a dragon. Somehow the building seemed even taller and
more imposing than usual, a black slash against the sky, ready to
crush me beneath the weight of my inadequacies.

I
took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and went inside.

A
sudden silence descended on the lobby as I entered, people openly
staring at me as if I were the Loch Ness Monster. I stared straight
ahead, not deigning to acknowledge their rudeness, trying not to hear
the furious whispering that began the second my back was to them,
little snippets of words just reaching my ears:

“—how
she can show her face—”

“—five
thousand on the reception alone, I read—”

“—no
way she’s not fired, not after—”

I
tried to brush it off until I got to my office, where I shut the door
and let myself take a few deep breaths until I could fight off the
need to sink to the floor, curl up in the fetal position, and start
sobbing.
Sticks and
stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Sticks and
stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Sticks and
stones—

Yeah,
who was I kidding? I’d take the entire stick and stone supply
of a national forest adjacent to a quarry over one more hurtful
insult or insinuation.

But
I didn’t have the luxury of feeling sorry for myself. I
straightened, reminding myself that the best revenge would be a job
well-done. And there was a lot to catch up on if I wanted my work to
even remotely resemble success: there were meeting minutes to review,
new meetings to be scheduled, allied companies to reassure, and
merger possibilities to investigate. Not to mention the fact that I
had to coordinate the final wrapping-up of the PR hatchet job on
myself. How ironic.

A
knock on the door caught me before I’d made it halfway to my
desk.

Grant.
For a second my heart stuck in my throat—what would I say? How
should I act?—but then I saw that the silhouette through the
frosted glass was distinctly feminine, and I felt the anxiety drain
out of me. Well, some of it.

“Come
in!” I called, trying to sound like I hadn’t been
fighting off a panic attack seconds ago, and the door creaked open,
revealing a timid young lady with mousy brown hair and thick
black-rimmed glasses, wearing a plaid skirt, vest, and suit jacket. I
felt myself relaxing more. Anyone wearing that amount of plaid
couldn’t be dangerous to anything except possibly my retinas.
“Can I help you?”

“Um…hi?”
she said, edging into the room uncertainly, as if rattlesnakes might
be hiding in the corners, ready to leap out at her. “I’m…supposed
to help you? I’m your new assistant? I was just, um, hired?”

Normally
that Valley Girl verbal tic where every single sentence turns into a
question bugs the hell out of me, but this girl looked so terrified I
found it impossible to be annoyed with her. It was have been like
getting annoyed at a small bunny.

“Well,
congratulations,” I said, trying to give a reassuring smile.
“I’m pleased to meet you, and I’m sure we’ll
work well together, uh…”

“Oh!
Tina? I’m Tina, Ms. Newman. Tina Harper.” She thrust her
hand out at me like she was surrendering herself into police custody,
and trying to suppress my amusement, I shook it.

“It’s
lovely to meet you, Tina,” I said. She smiled hesitantly back
at me, and I vowed that I would make this job a pleasure for her. I
wouldn’t torture her the way I’d been tortured by
Jacinda. If I did nothing else of import for the rest of my time at
Devlin Media Corp, I’d do this—make sure the cycle of
verbal abuse and bullying didn’t continue in my office.

I
led Tina over the pile of work I had been contemplating before her
arrival.

“Now
why don’t we get you started on tracking down time commitments
for the department heads…”

• • •

Tina
was a dream, and between the two of us, we managed to clear out most
of the backlog before noon. I had just sent her out for a
well-deserved lunch break when my cell phone rang. My heart, as it
had each time my cell phone had rung that morning, sped up until it
could have been a competitor in the Indy 500.

But
when I checked the call display, it wasn’t Grant. It was my
landlord.

“Laney—”
His nasally voice buzzed in my ear like a bee with dyspepsia.

“Lacey,”
I corrected automatically.

“Whatever
you want to call yourself,” the bee masquerading as a human
landlord snarled. “Do you know what a deadline is? Did they
teach you that at your fancy-pants school? Did you not get it when we
went over your lease, how the due date for your rent is—”

Oh,
shit. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark, I forgot, I’ve been
so—”

“Busy,
busy, yeah, I’m sure you got a hectic schedule sucking your
boss’ cock until the bank runs dry, tell me another one,
sweetheart. Better yet, just get the goddamn cash in the mail!”

I
gritted my teeth. “I’ll drop the check off this evening.
I promise.”

“You
better,” he said. “And don’t forget the late fee.
That comes to a total of—”

“Yes,
I know,” I interrupted. “It’ll be in full, I swear.
I have to go now, I’m at work—”

“Working
hard or hardly working?” he cracked, and cackled as though he
were the first to toss off that oh-so-original bon mot. “And
hey, that check better not bounce, or—”

“It
won’t!” I snapped, and hung up.

Damn.
Damn damn damn. Alright, I could do this. I crossed my fingers and
typed the website address for my online banking system into my
laptop. I might have enough in my bank account. Just enough. As long
as I didn’t mind not eating for the rest of the month. Oh well,
there was always lurking in Whole Foods, eating food samples,
pretending to really consider buying that olive oil as I took another
cherry tomato from the sample tray…

I
typed in my password, and then a miracle happened.

There
should have been less than a thousand dollars in my account. Instead
there was a quarter million.

“What…the…hell…”
I whispered, staring at the screen.

This
had to be a mistake. Some kind of programming bug or computer virus.
My hand moving as though I were in a dream, I clicked on the tab for
more information. A single transfer one day ago. A two, followed by a
five, followed by four zeroes. And then a decimal point, and two more
zeroes.

A
payment from Devlin Media Corp.

From
Grant.

But
I had told him not to—

I
didn’t do this for the money. And he couldn’t write off
what I did, or what we had, by sending a check. I could feel my heart
beating faster. I picked up the phone and dialed.

“Mr.
Devlin’s office,” his secretary’s brisk voice
announced.

“This
is Lacey Newman,” I said, trying to match her professional tone
even though in my mind, I was dangling Grant over a pit of hungry
tigers. “I would like an appointment to speak to Mr. Devlin at
the earliest opportunity.” We had to talk this out.

“I’m
afraid Mr. Devlin is rather busy at the moment, would two p.m.
tomorrow afternoon do?”

“That
would do nicely, thank you.” Come to think of it, the extra
time would be good. I needed preparation in order to adequately
explain to Grant exactly how far he’d crossed the line here.

Twenty-four
hours might not be enough, but I’d have to make do.

• • •

I
was putting the final touches on my presentation for the upcoming
interdepartmental meeting, when a knock came at my door before it
swung open. I looked up with an indulgent smile: “Tina, you
don’t have to knock every single time—”

It
wasn’t Tina.

Grant
sauntered into my office looking like the cat who ate the proverbial
canary. He grinned. “Miss me?”

Damn,
but that man looked good enough to eat. My dreams hadn’t lied
to me—he was ripped, almost bursting the buttons of his white
starched pressed shirt, black slacks complementing the powerful lines
of his legs. A lock of golden-brown hair dangled above those mocking
blue eyes, his full lips twisted in a sardonic smirk.

“I—I—I—”
I stammered. “I wasn’t expecting you—”

“Yes?”
he said, distantly amused. “Presumably you did have something
to say, however, so why don’t you get on with it.” He
yawned, strolling to the window and examining his cuff link in the
light there. “Could you hurry it up a little? I’ve things
to do.”

His
voice was ice cold, his humor nothing more than a knife. He spoke to
me as if I were insignificant.

He
spoke to me as if I were a stranger.

I
took a deep breath and tried to tamp down my feelings. Professional,
I was going to be professional. “What’s with the money in
my bank account?”

“Surely
you’re familiar with the concept of payment for services
rendered,” Grant said cuttingly. I could feel my cheeks
burning, but a worthy comeback eluded me.

He
turned to me, and looked my body up and down with a distant sort of
distaste, as if I were a poorly planned purchase he was glad to have
returned to the store. “You performed…a service. You’ve
been compensated. End of story.”

“I
told you that I didn’t want money—” I choked out.

“It
will hardly fit the PR profile if I don’t pay you off with
something,” Grant said, cutting me off with a dismissive wave
of his hand. “Certainly no one could argue that you didn’t
deserve it. Yours was a flawless performance of affection and
loyalty—no one could have doubted it.” He smiled, and
there was no joy in it, but for a moment I caught a flicker in his
gaze, almost caught sight of the old Grant hiding there before he
turned his back on me and stared out the window. “Your artifice
helped buy time to turn this company around.”

“That’s
not the point,” I said, stung without really understanding why.
I hadn’t really been performing, I really had loved him—but
he wanted the performance, so why was he upset? Why was I insulted?
“I can’t accept—”

“It’s
not like you don’t need it,” he interjected. I felt my
cheeks flame again, hating that he was right. Grant turned and edged
toward the door, making to leave. “I’ve seen the state of
your apartment, remember. Of course, there are some things this won’t
be able to fix, like your propensity for John Steed posters. It
really is a pity that money can’t buy taste.”

Fresh
anger rose in my veins like magma in a volcano. “Dammit, Grant,
we still have to work together. Can’t you at least be civil!?”

It
was the wrong thing to say.

Grant’s
entire body locked tight, and he wheeled around, stalking slowly
towards me while the rage built like blue flames in his eyes. “Oh,
I doubt you’ll be working here much longer, Lacey. A talented
girl like you, I’m sure you’ll find somewhere else much
more suited to your ambitions.”

His
words were like a slap in the face. “Oh, are you firing me
now?” I snapped, refusing to back down. “That’s
your modus operandi, isn’t it, as soon as someone disagrees
with you or doesn’t give you exactly what you want—”

“Don’t
talk about things you don’t understand,” Grant snarled.
The ice was completely gone now, replaced by fire. “You never
understood me, and you never understood the company. You just needed
us as stepping stones on your way to bigger and better things, so I
suggest that while we have to ‘work together’—”
he was right across the desk from me now, his hands gripping the
wooden edge—“you stay the hell out of my way, and don’t
try for one second to pretend you ever cared about…about this
company.”