Bentley_Vested Interest Read online

“Have a good day.”

  She spun on her heel and walked away, peeking over her shoulder with a wave.

  I watched her until she disappeared around the corner, my grin fading as she did.

  Chapter 2

  Bentley

  “Who was that?”

  I glanced over at Aiden with a shrug. “Some girl I spoke with in the coffee shop.”

  “You spoke with some girl?”

  “We had a conversation, yes.”

  “She’s hot. You get her number?”

  I rolled my eyes. “She’s a university student. I highly doubt she’s interested in spending time with a thirty-two-year-old man.”

  He looked concerned. “She looked older than the normal student. What’s her name?”

  “Emmy . . . I think.”

  “You think?”

  I waved my hand. “Inside joke.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Did you approach her or did she approach you?”

  “For fuck sake, Aiden, don’t start. She isn’t someone out to get me. I was looking for a place to sit and there was an empty chair at her table. I sat there. We chatted. No big deal.”

  I turned, checked for traffic, and hurried across the street, hoping Greg had finally made it into his office. Aiden was right beside me, mumbling.

  “It’s not like you to chat with someone, that’s all. Or say ‘inside joke.’ Never mind the fact I saw her kiss your cheek. You don’t let people get close.”

  He was right on all his facts; I couldn’t argue. I rarely went out of my way to talk to a stranger, even pretty ones. I never got close to people because I liked my personal space. But I didn’t want to talk about it. I pulled open the door and strode to the elevator, pushing the button.

  “Give it a rest, dude.”

  He gaped at me. “Did you just call me ‘dude’?”

  I hid my amusement.

  He crossed his arms, the material of his shirt stretching across his shoulders. “What’s going on with you, Bent?”

  I ignored him, scrolling through my phone.

  “I wish you’d gotten her name. I could vet her; make sure she’s on the up and up.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It was a chat in a coffee shop. It was two people sitting at a table, being polite. I’ll probably never see her again, so there is no need to vet her. You are driving me crazy with this shit!”

  “It’s my job.”

  “To protect me or drive me crazy?”

  He grinned. “Both.”

  With a huff, I walked past him and into Greg’s office. It was too early for his assistant to be at her desk, and since his door was open, I went in. He was at his desk, two coffee cups already empty. I swore he lived on the stuff. He stood, reaching to shake my hand. He was tall and heavy-set, with a thick neck and chest, a head of wiry, brown hair brushed high off his forehead, and brown eyes. His face was long with heavy jowls, his expression impassive. He looked older than his years. He never gave anything away, which made him a great lawyer.

  “Greg.”

  “Bentley. Sorry about the delay. Faulty battery, it seems. I had it replaced last week, and the one they put in was defective.”

  “I assume they will be replacing it.”

  “Oh, yes. And then some.”

  Knowing Greg, “and then some” meant a lot of free mechanical work for his car. He was a master of manipulating situations to go in his favor. His negotiation skills were infamous.

  We got down to business, going through some new deals I was structuring. He made notes, offered suggestions and opinions. Aiden was silent, but I knew he was absorbing the entire conversation. He had a knack of remembering details. I pushed the last of the paperwork Greg’s way. “I don’t like the wording in these two contracts. It’s too vague.”

  “I thought so, as well. I’ll get it changed.”

  He pushed another file my way. “I took the liberty of changing some wording in this one. The non-compete wasn’t long enough.”

  I scanned the document and signed it. “Good catch.”

  “It’s my job,” he stated dryly. “You should know by now I have high standards.”

  “And rates. Your bills rival every other expense in the company.”

  “You get what you pay for. I’m sure you agree I’m worth it.”

  Before I could respond, Greg’s assistant arrived, bringing him in another large coffee and a plate of dry, whole-wheat toast. She brought me in a mug of coffee and a bottle of water for Aiden. She had been with Greg since he opened his business. He still addressed her as Mrs. Johnson. I did, as well. Greg didn’t believe in treating employees as anything other than that. Employees. He didn’t particularly approve of my less structured way of dealing with my staff, and he disapproved of working with “friends.”

  I took a long sip of the hot brew, leaning back in my chair.

  “What’s the word on the Lancaster deal?”

  Greg swallowed the last of his toast and drained his coffee. “Dead end.”

  “How is that possible?”

  He shook his head. “Whoever bought those two parcels of land doesn’t want to be known, Bentley. There are so many numbered corporations; I can’t track down who really owns them. I’m not even sure if they’re the same person. The red tape is endless.”

  I stood, pacing the room. “I still don’t know how they bought them right out from under me.”

  He shrugged. “It was a closed bid. They bid higher.”

  “I overbid. I was certain I’d get them. You were, also.”

  “I thought you would. They obviously wanted them, and you were outbid.”

  I fisted my hands, flexing the fingers, tightening them, trying to relax. “But why? I own all the land between them. They’re only small pieces. It hardly seems worth the effort.”

  “And they’re standing in the way of you building. I think they’ll come to you with an offer soon enough. I assume they’ll be looking for a lot of cash.”

  “Right. The parcel of land I want is still going up for sale in September? The large one?”

  “Yes. Bids are due mid-month.”

  “I want it.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Once I have that piece, I can build, even if they don’t sell.”

  “Not to the same specs.”

  “Close enough. Once I start, they’ll sell.”

  “Unless they outbid you again.”

  “Don’t let that happen, Greg.”

  “Again, it’s a closed bid, Bentley. I’ll put in the offer you want, but I have no control what they are going to bid.”

  Shoving my hands into my pockets, I stared out the window as I rolled the small beads hidden in the folds of the material. The action always calmed me.

  I had bought some land a few years prior, with a vague idea in mind. As it grew and developed, I realized I needed to purchase more of the area. Slowly, I accrued additional land in the neighborhood. Then, it was as if I became cursed. I got into a bidding war for the large piece, which went up for sale last year, and it had cost me way more than I wanted. When the two parcels of land that sandwiched the middle piece became available, I overbid, determined to get them so I could move ahead with my dream of revamping the neighborhood. Upscale homes, expensive boutiques, restaurants, and clubs. Furious didn’t describe my state of mind when I lost the parcels of land to an unknown entity, and all efforts to reach out and purchase them had proven fruitless. Greg was like a dog with a bone, but even he and all his resources couldn’t find the identity of the purchaser. It was frustrating.

  “Any other threats?” Greg inquired to Aiden.

  “A couple. Only a few people know of Bent’s plans for the area, but they seem to be fully aware.”

  “A leak, perhaps? Computer hacking?”

  “We’ve checked and double-checked. We’ve added security, changed passwords, encryption, and protocols. We have even cut back on the number of people with access to information. It’s down to a handful.”

  “Is it
worth it, Bentley? Is this project that important? You usually walk away when a deal isn’t working and move onto something new.”

  I spun around, facing him. “I’ve been working on this for a long time. I want to see it through.”

  “Someone is threatening your life.”

  I waved my hand. “It’s not the first time. It’s a couple of anonymous, vague notes.”

  “And pictures of you that mysteriously appear.”

  I had to admit those were troublesome, but I shrugged. “They want me to back off. They see what I do—the huge potential. If I step back, they’ll move in and do exactly what I am going to do, making themselves a fortune.”

  “There are other projects. Other ways to make money.”

  “I’m not letting some coward hide behind miles of paperwork and numbered companies, and scare me off. No one is going to kill me over a land deal.”

  “Stranger things have been known to happen,” Aiden interjected. “You’re not taking this seriously enough.”

  “And you’re taking it way too seriously. We’ve dealt with this in the past.”

  “I don’t like it. This situation feels different.”

  Greg reclined in his chair, contemplative. “I agree with Aiden, it does.”

  I looked between them. “Well, I never thought I would see the day the two of you agreed on something.”

  “Think about it, Bentley. I heard of some other parcels of land coming up for sale. Take on a different project.”

  I shook my head, stubborn and defiant. I hated manipulation, especially by a faceless enemy.

  Greg shrugged. “Okay, fine. I’ll keep digging.”

  “Good.”

  I stood and shook his hand. “Keep me posted.”

  My day was a busy one, and I went from meeting to meeting, finally ending up back in my office late in the afternoon.

  It was strange how every time my mind was free, memories of the morning filtered through. The sound of Emmy’s voice. The way her eyes flashed with wit. The dimple that appeared when she smiled in a certain way. For some reason, I wanted her to smile at me. I wanted to hear her laugh. I even liked the gentle way she teased me about my life. In the short time I had sat with her, she made me feel . . . lighter. As crazy as it seemed, I wanted the chance to see her again.

  My phone rang, and I picked it up.

  “Ridge.”

  “It’s Greg. I have those contracts redone. I’ll have them sent over tomorrow, and you can sign them. I’ll have the courier wait and he can bring them back to me.”

  “Great.” I paused as an inane idea formed. “Wait, I’ll come to you, and sign them there.”

  He sounded surprised. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll be over same time as this morning.”

  “Do you have other meetings this end of town?”

  “Yes. See you tomorrow.”

  I hung up, and turned my chair around, studying the bustling city outside my office window. I didn’t have a meeting. I had no business in that area of the city tomorrow or the rest of the week.

  Except . . . I fancied a scone.

  Perhaps if I were lucky, a smile from the girl who made it.

  Chapter 3

  Bentley

  The next morning, I was inexplicitly nervous. I picked out my favorite suit—dark gray with pinstripes—and added a brilliant blue tie. I studied my face in the mirror. I was okay to look at. My hair was thick, a sandy brown in color, curly and unruly. I had to use product to keep it in place. I only allowed a slight wave at the top where it was a touch longer. I was tall, and because of the workouts I did with Aiden, my shoulders broad and my waist narrow. My eyes were a bright blue, something I inherited from my mother. My brains from my intelligent father. My personality came from my upbringing. Quiet. Staid. Always able to control my emotions.

  Boring, Aiden would tell me.

  I withheld my plans from Aiden today. I knew he’d be pissed, but I’d deal with him later. I slipped into the car, holding my paper. Frank raised one eyebrow in a silent question.

  “Mr. Tomlin’s office.”

  “Mr. Callaghan?”

  “He won’t be joining us.”

  His lips thinned, but he didn’t say anything. The drive was silent, as I read my paper undisturbed. When we arrived, I stepped out. “I’ll call you when I’m ready. It will be about an hour.”

  He drove off, and I crossed the street. I tugged down my shirtsleeves, feeling edgy. I didn’t even know if she’d be there. Perhaps she wouldn’t even want to speak with me again. I thought how much I liked the soft press of her lips on my cheek, and the way her voice sounded in my ear. I straightened my shoulders. I was being ridiculous. Chances were, I would get a coffee and a scone, and head to Greg’s office.

  But if I was being truthful, I hoped she would be here.

  I pulled open the door and joined the line. It was as busy as yesterday. This time, I got a larger coffee, and was pleased to see a pile of scones. Cinnamon raisin today. After adding one to my order and paying, I went directly to the back, making sure there was no rucksack waiting to trip me. She was at her table, head bent over as she scribbled away. Her hair was in a thick braid hanging down her back, and today I could see clearly the tattoo behind her ear. A bass and treble clef twisted to form a heart, the black and red ink vivid against the creamy white of her skin. Glinting in the light was a row of earrings that went right from the lobe to the top.

  She tilted her head, her voice dry. “Did you want a picture?”

  “Good morning, Emmy. Or should I call you Freddy?”

  She chuckled. “Whichever you prefer.”

  I slid into the empty chair across from her. “Not much into selfies, I confess.”

  She snorted. “That’s when you take your own picture, Rigid.”

  “Ah. So taking yours would be?”

  “Stalking,” she deadpanned, making me chuckle. “You need to learn the lingo if you’re gonna hang with the cool kids.”

  I broke the scone in half, taking a bite and savoring it. She certainly could make delicious scones.

  “Is that what you are, Emmy? One of the cool kids?”

  A pained look passed over her face, and for a moment she looked sad. Her smile reappeared and she shook her head. “Nope. Never have been.”

  “How long ago, exactly, were you a kid?” I asked, trying to appear nonchalant.

  “I’m twenty-five. How old are you?” Her eyes widened mischievously and she leaned forward, her voice almost a whisper. “Are you like, ancient? Thirty?”

  “Thirty-two, actually.”

  She laid a hand on her heart. “My God, one foot in the grave. No wonder you act so oddly.”

  Oddly? My lips curled in amusement as I repeated her word in my head.

  “If you mean polite and respectful, then yes. Ancient is a good word.”

  “I mean you need to loosen up a little. Act your age.”

  I scowled as I sipped my coffee. I thought I was acting my age. I didn’t know anything different.

  I studied her. It was warmer today, but she was dressed in a man’s pale blue shirt that was miles too big on her and wrapped in a cropped navy sweater with loose sleeves. I had noticed her leggings when I sat down, and the old sneakers on her feet. The sleeves of her shirt hung down past her wrists, leaving only the ends of her fingers showing. She was almost huddled in her chair, her shoulders bowed in as if warding off the cool air. Without thinking, I stood, pulled off my jacket, crossed to her side of the table, and slid it around her shoulders. When I retook my seat, she was staring at me, her hand clutching the lapels of my jacket.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “You looked cold. I thought it might help.”

  “Thank you.”

  I inclined my head with a teasing grin. “Men of an older generation know how to treat a lady.”

  I noticed the way she burrowed into my jacket. The odd thought of wanting to wrap her in my arms and help her get warm drifted through m
y head. It bothered me to see her chilly.

  “You’re only seven years older than I am. Hardly a different generation. It’s nothing really.”

  I ignored her remark. I had a feeling the vast differences between us were more than simply age. “May I buy you another coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I’ve had two.”

  I held up my bag. “Scone? I assure you, they are delectable.”

  “Such a charmer, but no.”

  “Where did you learn to bake scones like that?”

  “My grandmother. She was Scottish and loved her scones. She made them all the time when I was young. I had her recipe book, and I practiced until I got it right. I started adding different ingredients to them to make them interesting. I needed help to persuade Al one day about an idea, so I made them. They were a hit, and Al and I came to an agreement.”

  I wondered what sort of help she required as I wiped my fingers on my napkin. “Smart man.”

  She chuckled, the sound low and soft. “I’m glad you like them.”

  I sipped my coffee. “They are the only sweet thing I have allowed myself in a long time.”

  She made a face. “Oh. One of those.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Rigid is a good name for you, isn’t it? I bet you live your life planned to the letter. Your diet is perfect, you have a work out regime, you get your suits made by the same tailor, and your hair cut the exact same way by the same barber. You know what suit you’ll wear with what specific tie. Everything organized and in line.”

  “Nothing wrong with being organized.”

  “Nope. If it works for you, then great.”

  “Not your style?” I asked, curious.

  She fiddled with the edge of her dog-eared notebook. “No. I’m lucky to be on time for my classes. I’m grateful sometimes to find clean clothes because I forget to go to the laundromat. I rarely plan my day, because I like to see what happens during the course of it, and go with the flow. I tend to get caught up in the moment, and it leads to me being late for things. I get into a lot of trouble at times, but I handle it.” She grinned. “I bet you’re punctual, aren’t you? For everything.”

  She had me there. “Yes, I like being on time. What about school?”