Wealthy Playboy (Cocky Suits Chicago Book 7) Read online

  If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that I don’t have time for a relationship, and one with Wells Covington is right between lighting myself on fire and bathing in horse piss on a list of my greatest desires.

  This just may be fun, though. What I have planned for him.

  Wells Covington

  The second I walk into Alinea, an upscale restaurant that was a very interesting and adequate choice for the date with Meadow, I know it’s trouble.

  She sent me a text message earlier this afternoon, two days after our Home Depot encounter. I’m almost positive it came from a burner phone, too. I thought eight pm sounded a little later than she would’ve chosen if this date were real. She would’ve wanted to keep it closer to five-thirty, less formal, and Alinea would be anything but less formal.

  You’re an idiot.

  Still, my hopes were raised. For the first time in my life, possibly, I ignored reality and hoped for the best. Lesson learned.

  Now, I want her even more.

  As I stroll through the dining room, the confirmation this was a set-up verifies itself right in front of me.

  Oh yes, there at a large table in the center of the room is every single partner at The Hunter Group, and most of the other employees. Dexter’s eyes widen when he sees me, then he walks over and shakes my hand.

  “Hey, little late for the party, but I’m not surprised. No women on your arm tonight?”

  Damn, I didn’t even shout, “Fuckers,” at them, like I usually do. Meadow Carlson is doing a number on me. Come to think of it, I haven’t so much as looked at or thought about another woman since I met her.

  I decide to embrace the moment and be honest. I shake my head at him. “Wasn’t invited to your party. A date stood me up, orchestrated this encounter.”

  Dexter laughs, then straightens up when he sees the serious look on my face. “Wait, you’re not fucking around?”

  I shake my head, grinning. “Not even a little.”

  Meadow must have someone on the inside at The Hunter Group to know they’d all be here. “What are you guys celebrating?”

  “Firm’s ten-year anniversary.”

  That information wouldn’t have been hard to come by. I’m sure Decker did a press run on it. They wouldn’t announce the restaurant or the party, though. Still, I’m sure the information could’ve been gained with minimal social engineering skills. She probably just called the firm, pretended to be an employee, and asked to verify the time and location of the party with some secretary.

  Well done, Meadow. You’ll pay for this, trying to humiliate me in front of all my friends.

  I downplay her achievement, but inside, I’m impressed. I’ve never met anyone as intellectually capable as her. Or am I just building her up in my mind because I want to bury my face in her pussy? Blinded by how attractive she is mentally and physically? There’s just something. Something more to her, that x factor I’ve never experienced with another woman.

  I have a seat at the firm’s table, because why not? I’m here, and they have booze, and Decker will foot the bill. Everyone looks halfway to being hammered already. It’s a fun atmosphere. I imagine working at The Hunter Group is a good gig for someone right out of law school. There’s prestige and money. It’s a good place to work your way up to a position of authority, plenty of opportunity for advancement, and there’s always the Dallas option too, if you want a change of scenery.

  “Hi, Covington!” says Abigail.

  “How are you?” I give her a kiss on the cheek, and Dexter glares at me as I do it. These assholes are so protective over their significant others. It’s hilarious. I’ll never understand them.

  Why would they want to be tied down? They’re in the prime of their life, in their thirties, rich as fuck, can do whatever they please.

  “Good, just planning the wedding. You know?”

  I shake my head. “No, no I do not know.”

  Everyone laughs.

  “I’ve already prepared myself for you to show up late to the wedding and make a fool of yourself. Don’t worry.”

  “I never worry. That’s guaranteed to happen.” I cheers her with a water glass because I currently have no booze in front of me.

  I sit there and hang out, having a good time.

  But there’s only one thought racing through my brain the entire time everyone jokes and laughs around me.

  Meadow Carlson.

  I need to figure out my next move.

  The next day, I walk into the war room. That’s what I call the bullpen of cubicles in the center of my hedge fund.

  Lipsy materializes next to me out of nowhere, looking disheveled like he went on a coke bender all night long. I don’t really care what he puts in his body, as long as he gets results. His eyes are fully dilated, and he looks like he could drink a gallon of water if one were provided.

  I shake my head at him.

  “Don’t shake your head at me. The paranoia is warranted.” He gulps. “Feds are in conference room A. I had to show them to their seats.”

  I pat him on the shoulder, trying not to laugh. “Maybe stay away for a bit.”

  He straightens up. “Don’t have to tell me twice. On my way to a VC meeting for those fucks who diluted their shares on the nanotech play.”

  “Kick them in the dick for me.”

  “Absolutely. Gonna light them up like Apocalypse Now.” He sniffs. “Love the smell of napalm in the morning.”

  And just like that, he’s gone.

  I shake my head, snicker for a moment, and head up to the conference room. I swing the door open. “Boys.”

  Two men in suits shake my hand. “Mr. Covington, thanks for taking the meeting.”

  “Absolutely, where are we in concluding this little operation of ours?”

  “Thirty-two arrests were made, a hundred and twenty-five women ages twelve to nineteen currently being identified and processed, hopefully reunited with their families soon.”

  I cringe, just thinking about what their future may have held for them, then shake my head. “Fuck.”

  “Hey, their lives are all changed, because of you.”

  “The government is also providing resources they need? To get them back on their feet?”

  “Definitely. We’ll take care of them.”

  “Good, I can set up a private foundation if it’s needed, if your resources are spread too thin.”

  “Not necessary. This is good press for the Bureau and Washington. Makes it look like we’re making progress on trafficking. We’re trying, you know? But DC is all about optics, playing politics. There’s no way they won’t give these people everything they need. The political fallout would be too great.”

  “Beautiful fucking world we live in. I think politicians might be worse than me.”

  “Well, you actually helped people without being asked. More than I can say for them. Like I said, you changed these people’s lives. Saved them from a dangerous situation.”

  I lean back in my chair. “Nonsense, what I did was easy. I just think about the others who aren’t as fortunate.”

  The other suit leans in. “We have paperwork to wrap this up, but we wanted to talk to you about the PR on this. It’s part of the job, as unsatisfying as it may be. We want to—”

  I cut him off. “Absolutely not. No mention of my name. No mention of my firm.”

  Both their eyes widen. One of them starts again. “But—”

  “You may need me in the future. It creates a million problems with clients and relationships I’ve spent years building. Some don’t possess the same moral compass as me. And I didn’t do it for attention. I did it to help. How many other trafficking rings operate in the world right now?”

  They both concede and hold up their hands. “Fine, whatever you want.”

  One of them sighs. “Not doing yourself any favors though. You know how the world sees billionaires right now. This could help change public perception, if they knew a few people in the top income bracket actually give a da
mn and are actively helping.”

  “Fuck everyone else on Wall Street. They deserve their reputation, and so do I.” I grin. “Most of the time. Still, I’m no saint. Not by a longshot.”

  They both nod along and seem to give up on the idea of publicizing my involvement.

  I call my in-house attorney in and verify a few things, then sign their documentation. My attorney leaves. The two agents stand up and we all shake hands.

  “At least come to the press conference, as a guest. Get a firsthand look at what you helped us do. It’s later today. You can just blend in with the crowd.”

  I shake my head, but then think about it for a moment. Slowly, I grin. “You know what? Maybe I will stop by, unofficially.”

  They both turn to me. “We’d like that a lot. Seriously. There are a few other agents who want to say thanks. They know we couldn’t have done this without you.”

  I nod. “Okay, I’ll be there. But no credit. My name is need-to-know only. No name on the record or to the press. Don’t even tell anyone I’m coming, or there will be no assistance in the future. Our relationship will terminate.”

  They shake my hand once more. “Fair enough. Thanks again.”

  I open the door and lead them down the stairs to the elevator, eliciting several glances from my analysts. I’m sure they’re not used to seeing me in such a good mood when feds are in the building.

  Once they’re on their way out, I turn around and stare at my sanctuary, my empire, the one place in the world where my brain has no limits and I can see the matrix clearly. The only place that has ever made sense to me in a world devoid of logic and rational behavior.

  This is my crowning achievement, and I had to learn some difficult lessons to mold this place into exactly what I wanted. It is beautiful, though.

  What’s even more beautiful, is the fact I know the next step in my plan.

  Meadow Carlson

  Cameras all around me snap pictures at the FBI press conference. It was recently announced a huge trafficking ring was infiltrated and over thirty arrests have been made. I’m covering the story for a few of my news blogs.

  I can’t remember the last time I was this excited. It’s a big deal for such a huge problem that’s largely ignored by society. Or at least one the media seems to ignore quite often.

  Yes, you can remember the last time you were this excited. When you set Wells Covington up for humiliation.

  Okay, this story is better than that, but it still doesn’t mean it wasn’t fun. I only wish I could’ve seen his face once he realized what happened. The one drawback was the fact I kind of wanted to go on that date with him, and I hate myself for feeling that way.

  He’s a rich, corporate asshole. I know the type, and yet something about him feels different. It doesn’t mean he’s not gorgeous, though. But the gorgeous ones are usually the worst.

  There’s pushing and shoving in front of me, reporters doing what reporters do, when a large man in jeans, a tee shirt, and a cap pulled down low over his eyes, rams into me, almost knocking me sideways.

  “Shit, sorry about—” He turns to face me.

  I scowl right back at him, clutching my phone in my palm so it doesn’t get lost in this borderline mosh pit of media, until my eyes meet his, and oh my fuck.

  I freeze in my tracks, because what else can I do right now? I have to squint to make sure I see what I think I see, but my heart identified him immediately, judging by the way it thumps in my chest.

  My breaths grow shallow, and a million emotions course through me at once—anger and irritation sitting front and center.

  Hold it together!

  Finally, I just smirk at him and roll my eyes. “Nice outfit.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. Is he seriously following me around everywhere? Can he not take a hint? It’s getting a little scary and creepy.

  “Thanks.” He adjusts the collar on his shirt. “Thought I’d see what it’s like, dressing like a member of the proletariat, when I’m not lording over Chicago from above.”

  I almost want to laugh because I think it was a joke. He’s such a narcissistic asshole, but it’s almost like he’s aware of it at the same time.

  “It was a fail. But a valiant effort, Covington.”

  He leans in next to me, as if he’s anticipating the announcement. “So, what’s the big scoop? Writing another one of your little hit pieces on the blog?”

  “It’s a reputable news source, not a blog. More reputable than the corporate-owned news doing their masters’ bidding under the guise of actual journalism.” It’s still a blog, but I know he said the word just to discredit what I do, as if it’s not a serious endeavor.

  “Sure it is. How do you find the time?”

  I shrug. “What?”

  “Do your investors like you playing crusader on the clock?”

  I snort, but inside my blood runs cold. There’s no way he knows about the impact fund. It’s impossible. Not that I really care that much, but I prefer to keep my business interests quiet. Not parade them around the country like conquests as members of the hedgie world like to do. I’ll never understand a man bragging about destroying another company and shredding it apart to make money. It’s like they’re proud of putting people out of work and gutting institutions, using the country’s laws to profit.

  I shrug. “Not sure what you mean.”

  He scoffs. “Sure.”

  Finally, I wheel on him, because he gets under my skin like no man in history ever has. “What do you want? This is getting a little American Psycho, Christian Bale-style.”

  He starts to say something, when a few of the FBI agents spot him. He looks away from them, but they both smile and give him a thumbs up.

  “Fuckers.”

  I look at him long and hard. He’s genuinely embarrassed, or even ashamed. He’s hiding something. “What was that all about?”

  Quickly, he recovers as if nothing just happened. “What was what?”

  I glance back and forth, from the agents to him. Those were the lead guys on the investigation, and I thought Covington was here because he’s stalking me, but something is going on.

  “Did you have something to do with this operation?”

  This time his eyes meet mine, and it’s almost like I catch a glimpse of the real him for a moment. Not the man he portrays publicly, the persona, but a small hint of what’s really ticking under the hood.

  “No.”

  I know what he’s doing. He wants me to put the pieces of this together on my own, without him having to commit one way or another, revealing any information. I’m done playing his games, though.

  So, I just shrug. “Okay. Then what do you want?”

  It’s like he turns into a brand-new person in front of me, morphs back to asshole billionaire. “Glad you asked. I’ll tell you over dinner tomorrow.”

  Clammy palms again. How does he turn me into this? I don’t get nervous like this. Fluttering stomach and all that shit. “Not going to happen.”

  He does that damn lean-next-to-my-ear thing again, and yeah, it’s hot. Doesn’t mean I don’t want him to stop though.

  “Okay, Carlson. Enough games.” He sighs right into my ear. “I want to know how you knew my projections and the timetables on my projects, and exactly how to maximize the pain.”

  I’m pretty sure my heart just ran a three-minute mile. Literally, a cold sweat breaks out across my forehead. He knows way more than I gave him credit for. “I didn’t—”

  “Enough bullshit. We’re beyond that.” He sighs in my ear again. “Tell me how you did it, and tell me what you want with the place. If your answers are satisfactory, I’ll hand it over to you.”

  My eyes widen even more when he says that. “What?”

  “I’ll scrap the project. If you have dinner with me tomorrow and satisfy my curiosity.”

  This time, it’s me who doesn’t think things through. Before I can stop myself, I whip around, all business when I stare into his ey
es, shedding the fake clueless-activist routine. I point a finger right in his face. “Don’t fuck with me about this. It’s off limits to whatever bullshit back and forth flirting we have going.”

  He holds up both hands. “Easy, Ronda Rousey, fuck. I don’t joke about business and money.”

  The mood lightens a little, but I keep my gaze pinned on him. “To be clear, you want to discuss this over dinner? Make a deal on the building?”

  Covington sighs. “I don’t see why not. The goddamn project is about to lose me a fuckload of money because of your bullshit. I’m not in the habit of keeping losers on my books and flushing capital for petty vendettas.”

  That gets a slight smile out of me. This could be huge. I have big plans for that building. Way better than filling it up with Russian oligarchs and the Saudi royal family. I nod. “Okay.”

  “Good. I’ll send you the damn time and place this time.”

  I nod. My adrenaline is through the damn roof right now, and I feel like I could float away. Could I have been wrong about him? The original plan was to make him lose money until he was forced to sell at a discount. I’m not opposed to using other methods to achieve the same goal, though. That’s the end game. To get the building. It doesn’t matter how I do it.

  I glance up at his smug face. No, I definitely wasn’t wrong about him, but I don’t care. I’d do anything to get my way on this. Anything. “One dinner. That’s it.”

  He leans over in my ear, and this time, instead of making me nauseous, I actually welcome it a little and maybe even lean toward him. Maybe.

  “You ghost me this time, the gloves come off. You don’t want me as an enemy, Ms. Carlson.” He turns and walks off before I can respond.

  I don’t care, though. Part of me is worried this is some kind of setup, but for some reason, I know it’s not. I don’t know how to describe the way I read people, but he’s being truthful. It was one hundred percent the truth. I’m sure of that.

  Shit, I want to hug someone, or an even worse offense, squee. I want to squee in the middle of these damn reporters.