Page 39 of His to Possess
“I was going to call you this evening,” Jane says in lieu of hello when the call connects. All business as ever. “I have some more info on the Rendezvous owners.”
That nabs my attention from the man at Wyld earlier. “Tell me.”
“Victor Leone,” she says. “Tall motherfucker, kind of pale, looks a little like a vampire?”
I snort. Her description of the owner I’d met after the auction is spot on. “What about him?”
“Looks like Mr. Leone isn’t likely to be your biggest fan. Your father’s firm declined to invest in one of his ventures last year, on your recommendation.”
“Great,” I mutter. I’d gotten the feeling his dislike for me hadn’t been solely based on my association with a competing club—apparently, I’d been right.
“It gets better,” she says drily. “His partner in that deal was none other than Aden Roth.”
“Fuck.” But I shouldn’t be too surprised. A lot of things from our meeting after the auction are starting to make more sense now. Leon’s insistence that I play by their rules, his refusal to take my money in exchange for a private fulfillment of the contract with Lilah, his general disdain.
The bastard wasn’t just mad that I’d outbid a member of his club. He was pissed that I’d lost him millions of dollars then strode onto his turf to screw over his business partner one more time.
“The good news,” Jane continues, “is that our vampire looking friend really needed that deal. His finances don’t seem to be in the most robust shape.”
“Yet he turned down an extra six hundred thousand just out of spite,” I mutter. “What a wanker.”
“Sound business sense doesn’t seem to be his strong suit,” she agrees. “Which is good for you—if your plan remains the same.”
“Indeed.” I study the amber liquid in my glass, thinking. Shaky finances present a number of opportunities for mischief. I’m more determined than ever to bring that club to its fucking knees. It will be even more satisfying if Aden Roth is the one who gives me the chance.
“Keep digging,” I say. “I need everything you can find.”
“Will do.”
“One more thing. I need everything you can get on Lilah’s stepfather.”
Jane sighs. “That was going to be my next report. I just got my hands on her mother’s marriage certificate this afternoon. I did some preliminary searching on the husband, but so far there doesn’t seem to be much to find. The guy works in real estate. His taxes are squeaky clean, his associates all seem to be decent—”
“His business partner was at Club Wyld tonight.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Are you insinuating that membership at our fine club precludes someone from being decent?” There’s a touch of humor in her voice, and I roll my eyes.
“Well the two of us are excellent examples of that, aren’t we?”
She chuckles softly. “Got a name?”
“No, but he’s definitely a member. He was familiar.”
“I’ll figure it out,” she says easily.
“Of that I have zero doubt.”
I end the call, feeling slightly better than I had when we left the club. I hadn’t associated Leone with Roth’s investment deal because, honestly, it wasn’t that big of a deal to me. I still do some work for my father’s firm when called upon, like the meeting at Rendezvous, but my focus is on my own hedge fund.
Clearly Leone and Roth are both still pissed about it, though. And pissed off people are a hell of a lot more likely to make stupid mistakes.
I have no intention of ever letting Lilah back in that club, regardless of the contract or the threats from those assholes. Still, it’s going to be damn satisfying to find a way to make Leone’s life—and Roth’s, and everyone else associated with that place—incredibly unpleasant.
I send a quick email to my assistant, letting her know about the change of plans for my day tomorrow. Then I throw back the last bit of whiskey in my glass and stand. I need to get some sleep. In the morning, I’ll concentrate on my most pressing issue—getting Lilah to trust me.
Out in the hallway, I stop short when I see Lilah hovering near her bedroom door. She’s changed out of her fancy dress and into faded black leggings that cling to every curve like a second skin. Before my dick can get too worked up about the view, I take in the expression on her face. She’s looking down, not meeting my eyes, her fingers fidgeting with the frayed hem of her t-shirt.
I feel a stab of irritation that she’s wearing clothes she brought back from that hovel, instead of the nice new things I bought her. Those worn and faded garments are just another reminder ofthe neglect my girl has suffered recently. The more pressing issue is figuring out how to get that vacant look out of her eyes.
