So I pivoted, because it was less painful than sitting still any longer, letting that reality sink in. Running the numbers over and over in my head, I combed through my accounts, the projections for my investments, and every asset I had at my disposal.
I had a hefty trust fund. I could start my own firm. Perhaps my own hedge fund. I could probably move to New York and start fresh. I would be fine.
My dad and brothers didn’t want that, though. They expected me to land that heir, to take over his portfolio, and to fold his influence neatly into ours. I was the best at what I did and they knew it—even if they’d never admit it out loud or acknowledge the value of what I brought to the table.
Yet, if I took the client as my own and kept their fingers out of the bag, I could actually prove it. Prove I could play the game by my own rules. I hesitated before running the numbers again, but even with my my trust fund, there was no way I could come close to what Harrison had offered.
Cash. Upfront. Untouchable. A clean deal. Unless I took him up on his offer to work something out.
As day turned into the dark of night, I looked out at the skyline and thought about what he’d said that night outside the bar. Unbidden, a smile spread across my lips. I didn’t know the guy. Hell, I’d only figured out which of the Westwoods he was when I’d looked him up after he’d interrupted my meeting, but as I looked out at the Christmas lights lining the streets, I wondered if his offer was my Christmas miracle.
He was my age, though he’d already turned twenty-four just a couple months ago while my birthday was still coming up. Like me, he had three brothers. That didn’t mean I could trust him, but I picked up my phone and scrolled through his social media.
My eyes rolled at his yacht-boy pictures, but I lingered on some of the photographs. Those that were just of him, smiling in that cocky, carefree way with his dark brown hair windswept and his blue-hazel eyes unguarded.
Finally, I inhaled a deep breath and tapped out a quick message, telling him to meet me at a coffee shop nearby first thing in the morning. I followed it up with the location pin of the place I’d suggested.
Within seconds, before I’d even put my phone down, it pinged with his reply.
@TheRealHarrison: Say please.
I stared at the screen. Part of me wanted to chuck the damn device against the wall, but the other part, the larger, much more stubborn part, wanted to find out just how far I could push this. When that part won out, I blocked him.
Then I went to bed, knowing with perfect certainty that he would be there. Strangely, right now, that felt like the only thing I could really count on.
CHAPTER 5
HARRISON
Ipushed open the door to the coffee shop, inhaling the scent of pastries and roasted beans and immediately deciding that I could do business with someone who insisted on meeting at a place like this. A fire was crackling in the hearth, Christmas music playing softly over the speakers, and a little Christmas tree decorated in the corner.
It was festive. A happy place. Not an impersonal boardroom where guards were already up and the stale coffee didn’t help anyone’s mood.
Aurelia was already there when I walked in, her laptop open on the table in front of her and a mug of something steamy in her hand. In contrast to the revealing red dress she’d had on the other night, she was covered from neck, to wrists, to ankles today, wearing a black turtleneck, jeans, and leather boots on her feet.
Her posture was as perfect as her face, making her look as graceful as a prima ballerina even though she was just sitting there, fingers flying across her keyboard. I walked over, trying to summon the effortless charm I usually relied on.
“Your coffee’s on me,” I said, sliding into the chair opposite her before she’d even seen me coming.
She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, not even bothering to look up. “Thanks, but I’ve already paid.”
I chuckled, sliding out of my coat and hanging it over the back of my chair. “Fine. The pastries are on me.”
“I’ve already eaten.”
I smirked. “Maybe, but no one could work in here for hours and resist that smell. Just take a deep breath and tell me I’m wrong.”
Finally, her gaze lifted from the screen and those huge, deep, but stormy blues focused on me. “Order whatever you want, but you can turn off the charm, Westwood. It’s not going to work on me.”
I realized then that she hadn’t come to play. She also clearly wasn’t interested in mixing business with pleasure, which was a pity, but nothing I hadn’t been expecting. As wickedly intelligent as she was beautiful, if I was to believe what I’d heard about her once I’d started asking around, she wasn’t just going to throw her lot in with mine unless I took this seriously.
“Obviously, you’re not interested in enjoying my sparkling personality, so this has to be about business. Have you reconsidered the offer I made?”
“Yes,” she said directly, surprising the crap out of me. I’d thought for sure she was going to make me work for the admission. Those blue eyes glinted with something fiery as she pushed her laptop away and folded her hands on the table, her gaze never leaving mine. “You said we could work something out. I’m curious to find out what you had in mind.”
Instantly, I dropped the banter and the charming playboy act. I couldn’t—and wouldn’t—deny that I was attracted to her. While I’d have liked nothing more than for this meeting to end with her in my bed, I knew better than anyone what it was like not to be taken seriously just because of looks. Or age.
“What’s going on?” I asked, returning the favor she’d done me by not beating around the bush. “Tell me why Aurelia van Alen wanted to see me in a coffee shop at eight am on a weekday. I know you’ve got better things to do. Bigger fish to fry. I’ve been asking around about you and you’ve made quite a name for yourself.”
