Page 20 of Ruthless Financier
“I’m sad for you.” We both sipped more champagne, but I couldn’t have had more than a drop when I said, “Mary left when her ex tossed her son against the wall. I get so mad when I think about it. He was only a week old. I’ve been letting her hide out from family until her face healed, but her brother has been looking for them and he’s been upset, understandably. I’m glad it’s all being fixed now.”
He stared at me and now I could drink. I needed to cool down, but the bubbles in my throat only mimicked the bubbles in my belly that ached for him.
He said, “You’re a good person, Indigo.”
Guess it was time to open up. “No, I’m not. That’s why I need the money, though. I run two nonprofit shelters, one for battered women and one for battered women with children.”
“That’s admirable.”
No. Admirable was being able to manage my dreams and my responsibilities without putting a price tag on what I assumed was a pipe dream—until I’d met Jacob.
I shook my head and said, “It’s giving back. And I hate to be blunt, but I married you. So when do I get the check?”
He took his phone out of his back pocket and pulled something up. “Tomorrow, when the banks open. It’s already been drawn up.”
He handed his phone to me and showed me the page for his business bank account that listed the pending wire transfer in my name. I returned his phone and said, “Thanks for showing me.”
He tucked it back into his pocket, sipped his champagne, and then cupped the glass as he leaned forward and said, “Look, my mom took me and left my dad when I was a baby for a similar reason as your cousin did. My father spent years finding ways to hurt my mom, over and over again. It was a sick game he played. But I also know that not all women have that strength, so if I can do anything for your cousin, just tell me and it’s done.”
The air was scented with his expensive, woodsy cologne and my sex drive for him revved up. Jacob looked yummy as a protector type.
I said, “She needs space, and time to breathe.”
He shrugged and finished his glass as he said, “Well, if you can think of anything, I’d love to help.”
I emptied my own glass and then he refilled both of us. Goosebumps grew on my arms from a simple brush of his hand on mine. Once I had a firm grip, I quirked my lips and said, “Maybe I should call you Mr. Sweet instead of Mr. Ruthless.”
He pressed his hand to his heart like he was offended. “I’m not that.”
I clinked my glass with his and then sipped. As I finished, I saw how his brown eyes practically undressed me. I ignored the lust in my veins and said instead, “It’s okay if you are.”
“I’m not being sweet. A real man doesn’t hurt a woman, ever.”
Now that made me weak. I glanced into my glass and said, “My dad told my mom the same thing.”
He let out a small laugh. “He sounds like a good man to me. Where would you like to go for our honeymoon?”
Home to Pittsburgh to tell my family in person what I’d done. But for now I shrugged and said, “I don’t know, but I have a feeling you have a plan.”
“I’d like us to go to Florida.”
I hadn’t expected that answer and my eyes widened. “Florida?”
“There are people on the golf course in Palm Beach that I need to see to get my next marker—the next step that helps me topple my father’s dynasty. Do you play the game?”
My stomach knotted. My old boss often made deals in the same place. I’d been there once or twice to represent the agency. But I said, “Not really … I mean, I have played golf, but I don’t generally, no. What are you after exactly, on the golf course?”
“An invitation to a party.”
Who wouldn’t invite Jacob Donovan to their party? I sipped my wine and said, “I’m sure you can just show up.”
He winked at me and said, “I prefer to be invited, and I will be, if they know I’m there—especially if I’m with my new wife. Social visits usually make it easier to get what I want than formal takeovers.”
He obviously had an objective. I wasn’t stupid. I asked, “What’s the angle?”
His shoulders were wide like he was wearing angel wings—not that he ever would—as he asked, all innocent, “What?”
I leaned closer and didn’t care that I felt electricity zipping through my veins as I asked, “Why do you want to be invited to some party? How does this play out for you?”
