Chapter Twelve

Carrie

The envelope in my hand scorches me the way the man who handed it to me does as well.

I watch Reid disappear around the corner, the path between my apartment and his, a well-frequented community area that runs along the beach, lined with buildings, most of which have outdoor restaurants, and all of which offer ocean views. I will not open this envelope where I might be seen. Therefore, only when Reid is out of sight do I rush into the building and make my way to the elevator, punching my floor. Once the doors shut, I stare down at the envelope, but I don’t open it. I dread opening it and while I’m not one to avoid or hide from trouble, the biggest, cruelest way, Reid could punish me for those cuffs would be to build me up and then push me right back down. To give what he’d taken and then take it away. I don’t want to believe that’s who he is, but he learned from Jean Claude Laurette a man nicknamed “The Beast of Wall Street.”

And so, I watch the floors tick by, which is quick since I live on the third floor and for a reason. It was cheaper. It’s what my first three bonus checks with the company allowed me to buy and three seemed a lucky combination. I thought it was and yet I’ve now put my place up for sale. Just the thought knots my belly, but it’s the right move. It’s what I need to do before I get in over my head.

The elevator dings and it’s only seconds later when I exit the car, walking left and sticking my key into the lock of my first home purchase, wondering if I will ever feel secure enough to buy in a building in Battery Park ever again. Shoving aside that negativity, I enter my little place, its dark hardwoods beneath my feet, and toss my keys on the table to my right. I walk down the hallway and through my living room without dwelling on the three oval windows that line the front wall that I completely adore, and the realtor assures me will help the place sell quickly, even despite the fact that my view is of the walkway, rather than the water, and the apartment is small with a rather compact kitchen to my left. It’s a beautiful space and location.

I head up the stairs and into my bedroom, the only other room in the apartment, and set my purse on the teal-covered bed. I then walk to the lounge chair in the same color, which is by a drape-covered window, kick off my shoes, and stare at the envelope with dread in my belly. It’s possible that Reid wanted me to say good things about him to the staff before he gave me my walking papers. I know this, though I don’t think that’s something Reid would do in such a cowardly way. He’s hard, arrogant, and impossible, but not a coward. I seem to be, though, since I haven’t opened the stupid thing.

I rip the seal and quickly scan the document inside. It’s a promise to double my pay at the six-month mark from the date of the takeover, in a lump sum. Part of me revels in this promise he has kept. The other part fears that he knows my demise will eventually be confirmed. Of course, this idea assumes he has a heart. Does he? I go back to the case he took for free, for the families of murder victims and the word “save.” He chooses takeovers that save everyone involved. If he does have a beating heart in his chest, is this payment his way of ensuring I leave with more, not less, but I still leave?

My stomach knots all over. I need to know. Straight up. Head on. Tell me how it is. I stand up and walk to the bed, grab my phone and return to the chair where I snuggle back down, ready to take whatever is thrown my way. I don’t hesitate. I dial Reid. “Decide you want to be owned tonight?” he asks, answering on the first ring.

“Reid,” I say softly, skipping all the games.

He knows what I want immediately. “It’s a testament to my confidence in you,” he promises. “Don’t read more into it. I say what I mean. I do what I say.”

“But the board doesn’t believe in me.”

“They will,” he says.

“That’s a no. They do not.”

“Did you find the card inside the envelope?”

“I didn’t see it. Hold on.” I dig for it and find his business card. I flip it over to find the words: Call-in number, stockholders’ meeting, nine am. “You’re letting me listen in on the meeting in real time?”

“Yes. I am. It won’t be easy to hear what is said about your father.”

“I’m not in denial over my father,” I say. “I can handle it.” I soften my voice. “Thank you, Reid.”

He’s silent several beats and I almost think he’s hung up when he speaks. “The case I’m managing, with the murder victims’ families. The brother of one of the victims attacked my client’s wife. He was under mental evaluation. We were supposed to be told before he was released. We weren’t, and he went after her again.”

“Oh God. Is she okay?”

“Yes, but I’m going to need to deal with this after the stockholders’ meeting tomorrow.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take a piece of the DA’s ass. I think he did this on purpose, just to show us who has control, and it backfired when the guy came back at my client.”

“But you’re not a good guy taking care of people who need you for free, right?” I tease.

His response is hard and fast. “No, Carrie. I am not a good guy. Don’t forget that either.” He hangs up. It’s a real Reid move. I get it. He doesn’t want a thank you and me looking beneath his skin. He doesn’t even care about me and his brother. He just doesn’t want me distracted. In fact, his need to own me and my focus is probably why he gave me that money. Now I don’t have to worry about finding another job, in case this one ends. In other words, this is his way of reminding me that he might want to fuck me, he might need me for financial reasons, but he doesn’t really like me, and he doesn’t even want me to like him.

***

I wake up the next morning in a ball of nerves over the stockholders’ meeting. I run five miles in the park and still manage to be at work an hour before the rest of the staff and dressed in a red power statement suit dress. I even have time to pick up scones and set one on Sallie’s desk with a note on the bag that reads: Now you have to make me some of your butterscotch cookies, because I love those cookies and because she loves that I love them. By eight-forty, I’m well caffeinated and nervous about the stockholders’ meeting.

Sallie buzzes my office. “Connie is on the line. She’s Reid’s secretary. And FYI, she is setup with security clearance.”

“Great, thanks.”

The line buzzes and I answer. “Hi, Connie.”

“Hi, Carrie. Looking forward to meeting you soon.”

“I thought you were coming here today?”

“Reid meant after the stockholders’ meeting, which we’re hosting, which I know because I have learned to decode his meanings over the past ten years. So that most likely means tomorrow. Aside from that, I just wanted to tell you that if you have any trouble dialing into the meeting, call me. Sallie has all my contact numbers.”

“Oh. Great. Thank you.”

“Thank you. There is a novel combination of words. Perhaps together we can teach them to Reid. No. Never mind. We’ll just get drunk together at some point.” Reid’s voice sounds in the background. “Speaking of the beast. Gotta go. Bye, Carrie.” She hangs up.

I like her. I like her a lot. Sallie pokes her head in the door, giving me a thumbs-up that means she likes her, too. And she’s been with cranky, mean Reid for ten years? I shove aside that thought for later reference and ten minutes later I dial into the meeting, though no one in the room knows who is on the closed line.

Reid calls the meeting to order and he cuts right to the chase. “As you all know at this point, I’m now partnering with Carrie West to reach our profit projections.”

Partnering.

It’s not a word I expect him to use.

There are several questions about me that follow and Reid shuts them down. “I don’t waste my time or money, or yours. Carrie is not her father. She was against the bad decisions that were made, which are documented in each case. She’s CEO material: smart, sharp, embraced by the staff and the backbone of the profits for the corporation. I expect to recommend a power shift from me to her in the next thirty days.”

There’s debate and talk of that timeline being too fast, but Reid is strong in each turn that is taken. Once they get past talking about me, the talks turn to financials, future projects, strategies, overhead, and the list goes on. I take detailed notes on my open computer. During lags in the meat of the meeting, I type out my rebuttals to each question, comment and statement I feel deserves them.

It’s a full two hours later when the meeting ends and I resist the urge to text a thank you to Reid. He made it clear last night that he doesn’t want that from me. Instead, I quickly finish typing my notes and email them to Reid, when my cellphone rings with Reid’s number.

“Hello,” I answer quickly.

“Get me answers to every question in that meeting,” he says without preamble. “I need your point-of-view to compare to mine before I head into a lunch meeting.”

“Already in your mail.”

“I need details, Carrie.”

“I typed as I listened and perfected when I was done. You have what you need.”

He’s silent two beats. “I’ll be into the office by five. Plan for a later night.” He hangs up in full asshole mode again, which worries me.

Just how much pressure is he getting outside the boardroom and on what? Me? Is that why he wants my notes? Are the board members rejecting me even as I sit here and push Reid to the point of no return? I think of exactly what that man wants me to think about; him between my legs. And from there, I can almost feel his big body crowding me against his door or some wall. He keeps touching me. He keeps pushing every female button I possess. And maybe that’s the point. It’s not the board that’s the real issue. It’s Reid who wants to push me to the point of no return, but to what end?