“I want you to know that my standards are high in everything I do. Be it business or women.” He smiles wider. “Speaking of women, I’m so glad your sister Marilyn recommended that friend of hers to join the firm. She’s a great new addition. And a great piece-of-ass, if I might add.”
My skin prickles. Warning bells go off in my head, but I’m too damned stubborn to ignore, too torqued up to stop myself from asking a question whose answer I’m not sure I want to hear.
But twenty-eight years of hardheadedness take hold of me, and the words come out against my will. My eyes taper into slits as I stare at the elder man.
“And which friend would you be talking about? Marilyn has many,” I comment.
He lifts his chin. “Violet Keats,” he declares, not a hint of humor in his voice. “She’s our newest junior partner. From what I’ve heard…she might be as good in the bedroom as she is in the courtroom.” He winks. “And she’s very, very good in the courtroom.”
My pulse jumps into my ears, pounding heavily. I have an out-of-body experience. I don’t even hear myself say the words until seconds later, when I realize that I snarl—out loud—a sentence very similar to this: “Stay the fuck away from Violet Keats.”
David beams. “I might stay away from Violet Keats…but I can’t guarantee she’ll stay away from me. We’re colleagues, after all. And besides…it’s my goddamned firm, Sparrow. Or haven’t you figured that out?”
“It’s my fucking father’s, you aging asshole. Ever since you both took the company public. The firm has been in my family for years. And it’ll stay that way…at least, according to my father’s Will. Or haven’t you figured that out?”
I watch his falsely-tanned face pale, the skin turning white. “Your father’s leaving you his shares?”
It’s my turn to grin. “And the Managing Partner status that comes with it… If I want it. And let me tell you, King…” I angle towards him. “I’m really close to wanting it.”
He bluffs. “You’ve never been interested in law.”
“Who says I have to be? With my father’s shares, I essentially become your CEO. That’s the risk you run when you turn a law firm into an IPO. Someone has to own the biggest piece. And right now, that someone is me, King.” I sit back. “Like it or not.”
David’s face turns red, his normally even breath coming out in huffs. His shoulders puff to twice their size, and he purses his lips together as if he might implode, a pressure building in his body that I can practically see.
I tighten a fist under the table, tempted to see how much pressure he can really deal with. I hold back as he finally finds the words to say to me. My body tightens like a taut string.
“Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, then, Sparrow? Can you handle a better bet than this?” He nods towards the table, his heated stare bearing into mine.
I eat his animosity like its breakfast, wanting to push the bastard to the breaking point. I grin.
“I can handle anything you can throw at me, Prince,” I counter, changing his self-absorbed surname. “Just name the terms.”
“You got it. The firm. And Violet. They’re mine.”
“In what fucking world?”
“This one.” He sneers. “You know stocks, right?”
“I should. It’s my fucking job.”
“Well, now that you own the most stocks as the top shareholder, we should be on easy street, right? I mean, we should be on easy street unless the firm has some sort of scandal…” He pokes at my unruly past.
“It won’t,” I say, a silent promise to myself.
“Because,” he continues, “if the company stock were to fall, you know exactly who would be blamed, don’t you? Who would lose the trust of his own employees?”
“Wow, Prince. Subtly really isn’t your strong suit, is it?”
He smiles. “Glad you think so. Then it’s settled. Two weeks it is.”
“To do what?”
“To ensure that our stock doesn’t fall.” He smirks. “If anyone can keep our stock trading high, it’s Heath Sparrow, right? Investor extraordinaire.”
He’s mocking me. I know it. I don’t give a shit, really, but it’s that competitive streak in me, that whisper of insecurity that nags at my throat making it dry.
I’ve never lost a bet at this table. Not even once. King knows this. More than most.
His pride is on the line in front of the players, and I glance at the surrounding circle of wealthy men around us, who eat our drama as if savoring every morsel. This will be the most dangerous bet I’ve ever made. The biggest.
But to back down from a dickhead like David King at this type of table was a fate worse than death. Because in a city like New York—with its high rollers and royalty, with its stockbrokers and businessman and career white-collar criminals—respect?
Well, that was the one thing you couldn’t barter.
And I wasn’t losing a shred of it to the likes of David King. Wouldn’t sacrifice one bit of it at the altar of his oversized ego.
No matter what the loss entailed.
This was the man I was.
I think for a second about what a bet like this could mean to whatever Violet Keats and I had—or didn’t—and before my good sense can step in, I stand to my feet, sticking out my hand for David King—dickhead that he is, to shake.
I watch him take it, his hand wrapping around mine as I grin.
“You’re fucking on.”
Chapter Eight
VIOLET
Monday morning
Don’t spill the coffee in his lap. Don’t spill the coffee in his lap. Do. Not. Spill the coffee in his lap.
They’re the only words I can think off while my hands shake on an already strange Monday morning. My legs are shaking even worse, and as I set the steaming cup of coffee in front of my boss, David King, it’s the only thing I can focus on.
Well, that…and the huge bulge lying limp in his crotch. I can’t help it. I can’t help but notice.
He’s freaking hot. He’s also the closest thing I’ve had to a mentor in a long time, and the more I look at him, the more I wish I didn’t.
Why can’t I lose myself in a David? Granted there’s only the one and the teeny tiny crush I have on my boss is probably nothing more than the product of too much male testosterone in the room—a combination of cologne and raw masculinity with a hint of musk.
And the suits. Holy shit. The suits. The midnight blue stunner on David’s sculpted shoulders is worth more than my first year of law school, and as I lean in to lay the java in front of his paper and pen, he smiles, making me fumble the large mug in my right hand. My cup spills, splashing some cold coffee on my right hand, and as I shake the liquid away, I feel my knees do the same, nearly knocking as they try to carry me through the rest of the oval-shaped circle that borders the boardroom.
I manage to make it all the way around without spilling another drop. I grin, feeling triumphant, but nobody notices me. They’re too busy in the middle of some senior partner meeting that I probably shouldn’t even be listening to. I sneak out of the well-lit walls with my hands clasped gently around the porcelain mug held to my navel, my head down, strawberry-colored strands of my hair falling over my face.