Melanie Laurent got under my skin tonight. Not only because she’s a knockout, but even more so because of her fire.
I didn’t expect the wholesome-looking beauty to agree to my proposal. I know she wanted to refuse. The way those glittering pale blue eyes of hers turned stormy gray and crackling with offense when I suggested she pose nude for me made it clear she would’ve liked nothing better than to smash one of her delicate fists into the center of my face.
She might yet, before all of this is over.
Fear for her boyfriend’s wellbeing was probably the only thing that kept her fury in check tonight. Fear, and caring. It’s obvious even to me that Daniel Hathaway is important to her. She’s protective of him. Loyal. She stood up for him, fought for him.
But does she love him? I’m hardly one to guess.
Does Hathaway love her? He’s already told me over half a dozen cocktails at one of our business lunches that they’ve only been together about three months. More than enough time for a man to get himself twisted into a knot over a woman like Melanie Laurent.
Any man but me, that is.
As for the state of their romance, I don’t give a damn one way or the other, although there’s a side of me that hopes he does love her. It will make seducing her away from him all the sweeter.
A ruthless smile pulls at the edge of my mouth as I bring the glass of single-malt to my lips.
“You look awfully happy for a man who just ate a seventy-five-grand overdraft for someone.”
I glance over at my friend Nathan Whitmore as he joins me at the bar. Dressed in his bespoke dark suit and silk tie, few would guess that the polished, Ivy League-educated attorney spent the first fourteen years of his life scrapping around the city as a homeless runaway.
Our backgrounds couldn’t have been more different, but eventually we both ended up in the same place. Both of us narrowly surviving dark nights filled with predators of every stripe. Both of us spared from that life by the grace of God, sheer tenacity, and the generous favors of a wealthy socialite with an unapologetic fondness for the companionship of younger men.
Nate and I weren’t the only boys and young men Kathryn Tremont scooped out of oblivion or ruin and helped make into something better. There are others, including one of Manhattan’s most celebrated titans of business, billionaire Dominic Baine. As some of Kathryn’s “boys” we’ll always share a bond, but over the years Nate and I have remained as tight as brothers.
I shrug at him, my grin lingering. “I’m not worried about the money. I’ll get it back—and then some.”
“I have no doubt.” When Adam comes over to ask for his order, Nate waves the bartender away. “What the fuck happened in here tonight?”
His expression is concerned, sober. Too much of both when I’m feeling my whisky and still coasting on a sense of cold satisfaction that the night went even better than I’d hoped.
“What do you mean, what happened?” Chuckling, I clap the solid muscle of his bicep. “It shouldn’t be a mystery to you, Nate. You drew up the contract.”
“Yes, I did. I also drew up the contract with Crowne and Merritt, the firm we hired to do the Gramercy Park hotel and gallery project. Daniel Hathaway is the lead architect on that deal.”
I nod and take another drink. “So he is.”
Nate stares at me for a second, then exhales a low curse. “As your lawyer, I feel it my duty to point out there’s about a hundred reasons why it’s a bad idea to gamble with current business colleagues.”
“I never gamble.”
It’s a fact, and he knows it. He’s one of the few people who also knows why. But not even Nate knows everything.
He frowns at me. “Until tonight, I wouldn’t have questioned you on that. But what do you call it when you invite someone like Hathaway to a seat at your poker table without first making damn sure he’s liquid enough to be there?”
I did look into Hathaway, months ago. I’ve been watching him for a lot longer than that, but Nate isn’t aware of how far my interest in Daniel Hathaway goes. If he were, he’d only try to talk me out of it. I’ve known Nate long enough to have seen his unmatched prosecutorial skills and his uncanny ability to apply logic and reason to untangle or defuse any situation.
I don’t want to be talked out of anything.
I’m not an impulsive man, but in this, I have no use for logic or reason. My mind is made up. It has been for years.
It’s too late now, anyway.
What was done before cannot be undone, and tonight the wheels have been set in motion on a long-overdue reckoning.
Nate’s shrewd gaze narrows on me like a laserbeam. “I can’t believe you didn’t run background on him, Jared. That Las Vegas debt should’ve disqualified Hathaway from playing, right out of the gate. Hell, it ought to disqualify him from the hotel project, too. If you want him off the deal, say so, and I’ll make it happen.”
I shake my head, contemplating the last few drops of liquor in my glass. “I’m not concerned about the project. I’ll deal with that when the time is right. As for tonight’s game, Hathaway’s a big boy. He knew what he was doing. He shouldn’t have accepted my invitation if he wasn’t willing—or able—to pay for his potential losses.”
