Wealthy Playboy (Cocky Suits Chicago Book 7) Read online

  I start to speak, and he holds up a hand.

  “You have no idea what taxes I pay and those that I don’t. Nor is that information available for any potential tenants of my building, because it’s not public information, not to mention they each have nuanced circumstances.”

  I shrug. “I guess you got me. I’m just an idealist. No idea how that kind of thing works.”

  “Bullshit.”

  He catches me off guard with that. “Excuse me?”

  “The entire timeline I just gave was extremely calculated. Someone knew my processes and went through a great deal of trouble to sabotage the high rise in a very particular manner, and they knew exactly how to maximize my exposure.”

  I laugh. “What are you insinuating?”

  He stares back at me, but not in anger. It’s a hint of amusement, and maybe even slight adoration. This little sit down might be more dangerous than I suspected. He doesn’t respond.

  “You think I’m responsible for all those things that happened to your project?”

  Still no response.

  “I’m flattered, Mr. Covington, but I don’t know what half of that stuff you even said means. I think you’re giving me far more credit than I deserve, and trust me, I’d love to be responsible for all that.”

  He glances around the room once more, like he’s taking a mental picture of every detail, then stands up and leans over my small desk. He’s so tall he’s damn near right in my ear, totally invading my personal space.

  I want to punch him in the face or scream, but I don’t, because at the same time my heart redlines in my chest and my face flushes with heat. I smell his expensive cologne and aftershave. Part of me, I think, enjoys it.

  What the hell is wrong with you?

  He exhales warm breath in my ear as he speaks and says, “I guess we have no more to discuss then.”

  At that, he leans back and starts for the door. My face is so hot I want to fan it, but I don’t. I won’t let him intimidate me or turn me on. Not going to happen.

  When he gets halfway to the door, he freezes in his tracks but doesn’t turn around to look at me. He just says, “The bullshit stops today, or I’ll be back.”

  He’s so mysterious and arrogant and rude and—hot.

  Wait what?

  I have to be honest with myself. I’m turned on right now and it’s not just the physical, even though it’s overwhelming, and I hate myself for it. It’s the mental part of it. I’ve never met anyone who seems to see the world like I do, the calculations, ten moves ahead like a chess game.

  He worked all that out in his head, and he knows I’m responsible for it. It doesn’t matter. He could never prove any of it.

  How the hell did he figure it out, though? Now, I have to know.

  Wells Covington

  “Did you really say all that to him?” Dexter Collins, one of my best friends and my financial attorney, snickers as he pours himself a drink. Paisley Williams, the other financial partner and fiancée of Donavan Collins, shakes her head.

  I shrug. “Of course, what else would I say?”

  Dexter laughs. “I don’t know, maybe just ‘you’re fired.’ Or wait for an actual vote to take place on the board of directors?”

  He hands me a drink. Paisley remains silent, probably judging both of us.

  “Where’s the fun in that? Revealing how you beat someone is almost as good as beating them. Almost.” I sigh. “Anyway, I need you two on top of the paperwork and procedures…”

  Decker Collins, managing partner of the firm and big brother to Dexter, walks in and interrupts. He glares right at me. “Sorry I’m late.”

  We don’t like each other. Everyone is aware of this.

  “Not to worry. I’m sure there were important things you were doing.”

  Dexter mumbles, “Fuck.”

  Decker’s eyes narrow farther. “I apologized.”

  I shake my head. “A sincere apology, I have no doubt. I’m sure you were combing through every last record of mine to make sure my business remains pure as snow, one hundred percent ethical. It’s why I pay you.” The Collins brothers run the Chicago offices of The Hunter Group, a now national firm. I have to dig in with these assholes, because they are stubborn as shit, even if they are good friends.

  Dexter cringes.

  Decker’s face reddens. “How was I supposed to know you were an FBI informant, taking down a trafficking ring?”

  Decker kept pushing and sending his PI to investigate several of my holdings earlier in the year, even though I told him to back off. That’s the problem with nosy people. They can fuck things up, and Decker did exactly that.

  “You weren’t. That’s the whole point of being an informant; anonymity and secrecy.” I turn to Dexter and Paisley, completely ignoring Decker’s brooding looks of contempt. “As I was saying, I need all the legal paperwork in order to begin dismantling the corporation, restructuring the equity, valuating the assets.”

  “Raided another company?” Decker snorts.

  “Turning a piece of shit into something profitable, so it can be replaced by something better. I’m sure you earned all this—” I crane my head around the room. “With altruistic standards and practices, but losses are unacceptable to me, or my clients go elsewhere.”

  He’s emotional because he fucked up. I get it, but I can’t tolerate it. It’s saying something, coming from me, but he’s maybe the most egotistical man I’ve ever met. He’ll never admit he made a poor decision.

  “I, at least, try to have some ethics.”

  I take a step toward him and look down my nose, considering I’m about two inches taller. “Let me make one thing clear. I stick around as a client of yours because of Dexter and Paisley. They’re my best option, mathematically. Donavan is the best criminal attorney in the world. This place is like family to me.” I point a finger at him. “But don’t push me. I’m a bad enemy to have. This relationship between our companies is malleable. Bennett Cooper is willing to accept me back with one phone call, or I could move a lot of this legal work in-house and take half your employees with me. I have far deeper pockets than you ever will. All these little clients you have from Wall Street came here because of me. That can change. I’ll hire your cousin Harlow and keep her busy for a decade and end your new stream of clients from her advertising strategies. I dismantle companies when they fuck with me and my business, so get on board or get fucked up.”

  You could hear a pin drop in the room. This conversation needed to happen. He needs to understand his place if he wants his law firm to survive. His vanity is a weakness.

  Decker glares across at his brother, then turns back to me. It takes a moment, and he stares into my eyes, but all he’ll see is the truth; that I mean every single word. Dexter and Paisley look on as if the fate of their firm depends on what comes out of Decker’s mouth next.

  “We will no longer research anything about your companies that is not laid out in our engagement letter.”

  I nod. “Apology accepted.”

  Decker’s eyes widen a little. “I didn’t apologize.”

  “We both know that’s what you just did. Now, I need some PR work. Your brother can fill you in.”

  Decker remains silent.

  I turn to Dexter. “We all set then?”

  “We’re all over it,” says Paisley when Dexter doesn’t respond and keeps his eyes trained on Decker.

  I wouldn’t want to be in the room when I leave. They’ll have it out. Decker will need to lash out at someone who doesn’t have authority over him. It’s what men with his temperament do.

  “Thank you, Ms. Williams. Look forward to attending your wedding.”

  Finally, she smiles, glad for the change of subject no doubt. “Do we need to reserve a plus two for you?”

  I smile. She knows me so well. “More than likely. Have a good day, everyone.”

  I walk out of the conference room.

  On my way to the exit, I spot Dominic Romano and his fiancée Mary Pa
trick. Fuck me if these two didn’t cause me a ton of stress over the past six months, but this is fortunate. Dominic pauses when he sees me, but Mary continues on to her cubicle.

  “Covington.” He holds out a hand.

  I shake it, then pull him to the side. “I need you to take on a side gig. You free over the next few weeks?”

  “Not at all.”

  He’s lying. This man has a genius IQ and is even more of a genius at hiding that fact, but I know what he’s capable of. He’s by far the best investigator I’ve ever met in my life.

  “Enough bullshit, Romano. Let’s get to the heart of this transaction. What do you want in return?”

  Dominic grins. “I love how you don’t fuck around. It’s refreshing. Let’s see.” His eyes roll up to the ceiling, then he turns in the direction Mary just walked in, then back to me. “I want one of your yachts for a weekend.”

  “Done.”

  Dominic continues. “Want to take Mary out on Lake Michigan, five star—” His eyes dart to mine. “Done?”

  I nod.

  “Must want this pretty bad. I think I undersold myself.”

  “Don’t fucking push it. You still owe me. You’re lucky I’m entertaining this yacht idea at all.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Meadow Carlson.”

  He snickers. “That a person? Fucking Meadow.”

  I nod. “Want to know everything about her. She’s trying to sabotage one of my developments, forcing a loss on it. I need everything there is, no detail left out.”

  “Seems easy enough.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t let the name fool you. Won’t be easy at all, trust me. Why do you think I gave up the yacht so easy?”

  Dominic’s brows narrow on me, and he nods. “Give me a week or two.”

  “Thanks.”

  He starts to walk off when I spot a guy named Penn, one of Donavan’s good buddies who came from Cooper and Associates. I used to see him around at the Cooper offices in Manhattan. I hold a hand out and stop Dominic from passing by. “Penn Hargrove. He handles all the non-profit entities now?”

  “Yeah. He’s all about the charity shit. Slays a lot of ass but seems to actually care about the work he does around here. It’s how Donavan got him on board. I don’t work with him much.”

  “I want a meeting with him.”

  I walk off before Dominic can respond. Things to do, chess pieces to position.

  Meadow Carlson

  My phone rings, an unknown number, as I push a cart down the aisle at Home Depot. When I answer, it’s an automated message.

  “This is a collect call from Butner Federal Correctional…”

  I end the call. I have no desire to talk to the person on the other end, sitting in the nicest, white-collar prison in the country, probably playing cards with Bernie Madoff.

  I have more important things to do, like gather some supplies for the next stage of shutting down Wells Covington’s project. I really shouldn’t expose myself as much as I have, but there is something about that man and his arrogance. I shiver a little, just at the sound of his name in my head.

  I glance at my list on the Notes app on my phone, then take inventory of my basket again. As I approach the end of the aisle, an extremely tall man steps around the corner and stares right at me.

  I nearly shriek and have to clutch my chest. The complete shock of the moment slowly turns to rage as I take a few deep breaths. My face heats up, skin prickles, adrenaline spikes.

  Play it cool. He wants this reaction. What the fuck is he doing here?

  “Ahh, Ms. Carlson.” He cocks his head a little. “What a coincidence. Small world.”

  I start to push past him, and his hand comes out and slams into the end of the cart, stopping me in place. It’s forceful and deliberate, but a smile remains on his face. His eyes dart down to the contents of my basket, as if he already knew what he’d find.

  Does he know what I’m doing?

  Don’t be ridiculous. He’s smart but he can’t know everything.

  He knows.

  I wish my brain would shut up for two seconds. How does he make me so paranoid?

  “Get out of my way.”

  He leans over slightly, his lips morphing from a smile into a thin line. “How long are we going to do this?”

  I huff out an irritated sigh. “Do what?”

  “This back and forth.” His eyes dart down to my supplies again. “Like we don’t know what this is that’s happening right now.”

  “Listen, Christian Grey.” I glare around at the obvious irony of this situation. “Stop fucking stalking me.”

  He snickers and seems to understand the Fifty reference. “Yeah, you vandalized a twenty-five-million-dollar wall of mine, and I’m stalking you.”

  Shit. He has a point.

  I shake my head. “Why are you even here? You live on the other side of town.”

  “So, you also know where I live? Seems like data a stalker would possess.”

  Ugh. I pride myself on being able to remain calm and rational, and this man makes me want to rip his eyes out. I take a deep breath and collect myself, then slowly move my gaze up to his. “What do you want?”

  His eyes don’t leave mine. “To get to know you better. What else?”

  He didn’t hesitate, didn’t stutter, didn’t show any signs of deception. He’s being sincere. My heart races at his words, and maybe there’s a little flutter in my stomach that’s out of my control, but I have to keep it together. It’s tough, though. I almost gasp a little in shock, then stare back at him. Not a harsh glare, but just a look of uncertainty. Uncertain as to what his motives could possibly be. “Why?”

  He slowly walks around the cart.

  It’s the one barrier between us, providing not only physical distance, but safety in my mind, and it’s evaporating in front of me. My heart beats louder in my ears, with each of the steps he takes coming toward me. It happens in a matter of seconds, but it seems like eternity.

  I read his eyes, his reactions, anything for a clue as to what he’s doing, but it’s difficult. He has a look of pure determination on his face, the same way he did when he leaned over my desk the other day.

  My body reacts the exact same way as it did then. My brain tells me to scream for help, berate him, do something that lets him know this is not okay. But I’ll be damned if there’s not a physical attraction there. Some pretty wild thoughts go through my mind as well, sexual thoughts. Thoughts of climbing him like a tree.

  Finally, he bends over to my ear again, where nobody else around us could possibly hear. “I go to war against the smartest minds in this country every single day, and have yet to find a worthy opponent, until you. I don’t like boring things.” He leans back, and ever so gently pushes a wayward strand of hair back behind my ear.

  I should cringe, shudder when he does it, but I don’t. I stare back at him, letting him know I won’t be intimidated by his ridiculous suits and his bullying, alpha male behavior. I’m not scared of him. Not of any man.

  He says, “You are the furthest thing from boring I’ve ever found.”

  I should hate this. I really should.

  But I don’t. What just happened there? What does he mean? Finally, I say, “Sorry, I’m confused. Are you asking me on a date?”

  “If that’s how you want to define it, I won’t object.”

  Why is my heart racing so hard? Why are my palms so clammy? Why does my collar feel like it’s strangling me? I hate this man.

  Think, Meadow! Can you really do this? Do you want this?

  A plan appears in my mind. It’s not great, but it should do. Finally, I nod. “Okay, Covington.” This time, I walk toward him the same way he walked toward me.

  This time, it’s he who looks nervous. I should’ve been on the offensive from the beginning. This is my comfort zone. It’s always better to be on offense than defense. He tries to play it cool, but I can see the tiny twitches in his fingers, the way his tie seems to stran
gle him, the tiny beads of sweat across his brow.

  So, the mighty Wells Covington is human after all.

  I reach for his pocket, and his eyes widen. I smile right at him and rummage around for his phone, but it definitely looks and might feel like I’m doing more than that.

  Part of me does want to reach down, see what he feels like, how big he is. But I don’t. Making him think it might happen is far more effective, and I have to play this just right.

  He knows better than to react. If he reacts, I win. We both know what’s going on here.

  I pull his phone from his pocket, then take his thumb and slowly unlock it, our eyes not leaving each other. Once unlocked, I go to his settings and look at his phone number, memorizing it, then I return the phone back where I got it.

  “I’ll text you a time and a place.”

  His lips curl up into a devilish grin. I know the look. It’s the look on any man’s face when they think they’re about to get money, power, or laid. It’s universal, no matter what their net worth is.

  Not to be outdone, he gets even closer to my ear this time. So close I feel his breath play across my neck and shoulder. Involuntary goosebumps break out up and down my arms, and I know he notices. I would notice.

  “See you then, Meadow.”

  He walks off.

  I turn and say to his back, “How do you know I won’t ghost you?”

  He doesn’t even turn around. “Found you once. Can do it again.”

  Without even realizing it, I bite my lip and stare at his ass in his slacks. What the fuck is wrong with me? I never bite my lip like some thirsty heroine in a romance movie, fawning all over the rich asshole. I mean, at least Ana got spanked and fucked. There was a legit reason for her behavior. This thing between Covington and me will go absolutely nowhere.

  Regardless, I’m a walking cliché right now, reduced to a stereotype I detest.

  At least, that’s the impression I gave Covington.