Uncovering You: The Contract

Chapter Twenty

(Three weeks ago: Thursday morning)

I step out of the black limousine in front of a towering glass and steel building. I am wearing a Classiques Entier Diamond Blend jacket, matching pencil skirt, and Attilio Giusti Leombruni belt pumps. The meeting required a new wardrobe. This one set me back an entire grand.

That’s why all the clothes have their sales tags expertly hidden in the seams.

The doorman offers a smile as I enter. I smile back. My heels strike the shining terrazzo floor. Each stride sends a confident jolt through my body.

I pretend to scan the building directory, but I already know my destination. Stonehart Industries owns this building, and has offices spanning the top three floors. I’m just biding for time.

I have no idea what I’m doing here. There are multinational conglomerate leaders who would kill to be in my position. How often do you get to face the owner of one of the most secretive yet influential American companies to be formed in the last twenty years?

What could he possibly want with me? I refuse to believe this is just an act of charity. Real life does not work that way.

There is always a catch.

A hand touches my elbow, surprising me. I start to turn, but the voice I hear stops me cold.

“Lilly.”

Oh God. It’s him. There’s no mistaking that rich, masculine treble.

What’s he doing down here?

“M-Mr. Stonehart,” I stutter, turning. I curse my inability to hide my surprise. He totally caught me off-guard. I have to look up to meet his eyes. Then up some more.

The face that I find is so striking it should belong to a Greek god.

He’s younger than I expected. Late thirties, maybe early forties.

That means he started his company when he was younger than me!

Dark scruff lines his angular cheeks. His jet-black hair is styled in long, natural waves. My fingers itch to run through it.

Totally inappropriate.

He has a prominent nose that might be too big on a less imposing man, but on him, it’s perfect.

In short, he’s a package of the purest masculinity I’ve ever seen.

And then there are his eyes. Oh my God. His eyes. They pierce into me like honing missiles. They are the deepest black I have ever seen. They would be frightening if they weren’t so beautiful. When the light reflects a certain way, you catch a glimpse of the purple underneath.

They are like midnight sapphires. His eyes reveal a cunning intellect. Those eyes do not miss a thing.

Add all that to his towering height, his wide shoulders, his confident-yet-at-ease posture… and Stonehart cuts an intimidating figure.

My gaze darts to his left hand before I can stop it. No ring. He’s unmarried.

He looks down at me, expectantly. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and I feel like I’m being dissected, measured up, and tucked away in some small corner of his brain. I imagine this is what a gemstone feels like under the magnifying class of the most critical appraiser.

Stonehart clears his throat. I come to with a start, realizing I haven’t said anything in ages. I open my mouth, but the capacity for speech seems like a foreign concept to my brain. “I—”

Somebody bumps into me from behind. I stagger forward. I’m not used to these shoes, so my heel steps the wrong way. My ankle twists under me, and I start to fall.

I don’t fall far. The hand still on my elbow tightens, and Stonehart pulls me into him.

I plaster myself onto the solid steel wall the man has for a body. I catch a scent of his cologne. It’s a deep, musky smell with a hint of charred spruce that is all male. It scrambles my thoughts even more.

“Sorry!” a rushed voice calls out. From the corner of my eye, I see the postman giving a hurried, apologetic wave.

Although the sequence lasts less than a second, it feels like an eternity. Pressed up against him like that, I don’t want to move. I know that I couldn’t have made a worse first impression.

Stonehart eases me off him with a firm yet gentle grip. Our eyes meet. I flush the most vibrant red. His fingers graze my forehead as he brushes a lock of hair out of my face.

Any tenderness I may have imagined vanishes when Stonehart takes out his cell. He long dials a key and growls an order. “Steven. See the delivery boy leaving right now? Have his building pass revoked.”

I gape. Stonehart keeps speaking. “Wait. I thought of one better. Bar his company from accessing the building.” There’s a pause. “For how long? Indefinitely. FedEx can talk to me when they have an improved employee selection program in place.”

The phone call gives me just enough time to compose myself. My heart’s still beating out of my chest. But nobody has to know that.

I speak without thinking. “You’re going to restrict the entire company from serving this building because of that?”

Stonehart humors me with an answer. “A company’s employees are its most important asset. Their behavior reflects the organization as a whole. If FedEx decided that clown is good enough for them, it tells me they’re sloppy. I do not do business with sloppy organizations.”

“What about the other tenants in the building?” I ask. “Won’t that piss them off?”

When I hear myself and realize how improper my question is, my cheeks flame red again.

Stonehart’s eyes darken, as if he cannot believe I asked that question. I open my mouth to apologize for my imprudence, hating the way my professional skills have evaporated into thin air. I’m cut off by a short, barked laugh.

“Miss Ryder.” He sounds amused. “I believe that is the most direct and honest question anybody has dared ask me in weeks.” He takes my elbow again and leads me to the elevators. I have to take two quick steps to match one of his long strides.

“Yes,” he continues. “They will be ‘pissed off.’ But the perk of owning a building—” he hits the elevator call button, “—is that you get to make executive decisions.” He gives me an unreadable glance as the doors open. “That is, at the risk of being questioned by inexperienced interns.”

If that isn’t a loaded remark, I don’t know what is. I flush scarlet red for the third time since I’ve met him. I’ve never had a man throw me so off balance.

The elevator is packed, for which I’m infinitely thankful. The trip up will give me some time to properly compose myself.

Gratitude turns to panic when the crowd files out, meek as mice, when Stonehart steps in. None of the people waiting in the lobby follow us.

The doors close. I’m alone in here with him. My heart’s beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

He catches me staring. “Impressed?” he asks.

“They know you,” I manage.

His dark eyes flash with amusement. “Astute.”

He swipes his left wrist in front of a card-sized scanner. A beep sounds, and the light to the highest floor turns on.

“Biometric NFC chip,” he tells me in an off-handed way. “A tiny kernel I had implanted six months ago. Developed by the research team at ZilTech. One of my subsidiary firms. I understand you’ve dealt with them?”

Stonehart’s phone buzzes before I can answer. He looks at it. “Excuse me.”

I step half an inch back so I can admire his profile without being caught. He has one of those faces that only get better with age. I try not to eavesdrop on his conversation. I’m struck by the fact that sharing an elevator this way must be a very rare occasion for him.

And so far, all you’ve done is make yourself look like an idiot, a tiny voice derides me.

The elevator shoots up. Just three floors from our destination, it comes to a sudden halt. At the same moment, Stonehart drops the phone from his ear.

The doors stay closed.

He turns to me in a predatory move. “Going higher requires a retina scan,” he tells me. I can literally feel the reverberations from his rumbly voice. “The first swipe can be faked. This cannot. We have thirty seconds before the elevator goes back down.”

He looks at me. I blink dumbly.

“You should know,” he adds, “that I hate wasting my time.”

He takes one step to me as the words sink in. Only the slimmest margin of air separates our bodies.

“Lilly.” The way he says my name sends a shiver of arousal down my spine. I crane my neck up to look at him. “Impress me. Prove that I’m not wasting my time.”

My nerves are beyond frazzled. My palms are sweaty. My mind races for the right thing to say, but all it finds is blank space. His smell fills my lungs with every breath, destroying my composure.

“W-what do you want?” I stammer.

“I want…” his powerful arms jut out against the mirrored wall on either side of me. I’m trapped. My breath catches as he leans in and his cheek scratches against mine.

“I want,” he rumbles in my ear, “your mind.”

My knees go weak. Thank God he doesn’t see me falter as he pushes off and turns around, back to me. The insane attraction flaring to life inside me is all wrong. The incomprehensible power dynamic Stonehart seems to revel in confuses me even more.

He clasps both hands behind his back. “I want to take the company public,” he announces, the same way an arrogant professor would to his understudy. “My board disagrees with me. But, I don’t care. I made them. They owe their livelihoods to me.”

He glances briefly over his shoulder. “What do you say to that?”

“The board—”

“Fuck the board!” Stonehart’s shoulders tighten. “I want to know what you think about my desires.”

“Mr. Stonehart, I don’t know anything about the inner workings of your company…”

“Yes, I’m aware of that, Miss Ryder.” He places special, derogatory emphasis on the title. “I’m not looking for the vague textbook answer all you consultants like to offer to protect your own asses.”

He whirls around, and his eyes bore into me like augurs. “I want to know what you think, Lilly. Should I take the company public? Yes or no.”

I square my shoulders and rise to his challenge. “Yes.”

“Reasons. Now!”

I lift my chin. Business questions like this were what I expected. “Stonehart Industries has the richest portfolio of subsidiaries I’ve ever seen. Investors will be chomping at the bit to get a taste. A company its size going public after being private for so long is unheard of. You can raise billions in equity, expanding your economic power. Keep available shares low. Make owning a piece of Stonehart Industries a prized commodity. And never give up majority control.”

Stonehart looks at me. His impassive face gives nothing away.

I’d imagine most people would break under that stare. But he’s already seen me at my worst. I have nothing to lose.

I meet his gaze, back straight, eyes unwavering.

Suddenly, the corner of his mouth twitches up in a small smile. He nods once. “I knew I made the right decision about you.”

He turns, and brings his eye to the scanner. The elevator rises the remainder of the way.

I steady myself against the railing when he’s not looking.

What the fuck was all that about?

I’d just given him the biggest bullshit answer in the world. Instead of challenging my assumptions, he seemed pleased with my spark.

Maybe it was a test. Maybe it wasn’t the answer that was important, but my reaction to the situation.

The doors open. Stonehart steps aside and gestures me through. As I pass, his hand slips to the small of my back.

It takes all the willpower I have to suppress my satisfied smile.

We walk down a long, immaculate hallway. One side is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking San Jose. The view is breathtaking.

There’s a secretary’s desk at the end, attended by a young blonde. Two massive oak doors dominate the wall behind her.

She stands as we approach, her face twisted with worry. “Mr. Stonehart, the board is getting anxious—”

He cuts her off with a curt gesture. She slumps back. I recognize her voice from the phone call. But her youth makes no sense. Why would Stonehart employ someone who looks like she’s barely out of high school?

She looks at me, and her eyes widen for a brief second. The next thing I know, a radiant smile curls her lips. As Stonehart and I pass, she gives me a little, secret wink, almost as if to say, “Go get ‘em, girl!”

Stonehart stops before the doors. His hand leaves my lower back as he adjusts his suit. He takes hold of the handles, twists, and the sound of a dozen angry voices fills the air.

They cut off as Stonehart makes his entrance. All eyes are drawn to him.

I count fourteen men, all older than he, seated around a polished conference table. This is a corner office, so two of the walls are glass, overlooking the skyline. The third is also glass, but that one looks into a bustling, magnificent, modern office.

Not one gaze flickers to me. I feel invisible.

“Gentlemen,” Stonehart announces. “I’ve made my decision. There will be no more debate.”

A great swell of protests rises up, and again is cut off when Stonehart raises his hand. “My associate here has more courage than any of you.” He looks at me. “You could learn from her.”

Stonehart presses a button under the table, and the doors to the rest of the office slide open. “This meeting is now over.”

I watch the entire exchange with a sense of awed reverence. These are obviously important men. Yet Stonehart took control of them as if they were children.

When the room is empty, Stonehart closes the doors. He then walks to a bar in the far corner of the room. Bending behind it, he pours himself a glass of scotch. When he turns, he seems surprised to see me. “Lilly. You’re still here?”

“You called me to have a meeting—”

“We’ve had it.” He walks to his desk, which has nine different screens arranged in an array above it. He does not look at me again. “You may leave the same way we came.”

I’m astounded. The man called me here promising reparation. He praised me in front of his colleagues. Then he dismisses me like an unwanted maid?

“You said—”

His dark eyes flash. “Are you questioning me?”

“No, but I thought—”

“Lilly.” His hand hits the desk. I jump. “I stress, do not ruin the impression you have made. Rare is it that I repeat my words, but I will do it this time, for your sake: Leave. Do not make me angry.”

The presumptuous asshole!

Dozens of choice words run through my head. I can tell all of them would be wasted. I huff and stalk out, slamming the door behind me with a satisfying thud.

I’m halfway to the elevator when I hear the clicking of heels on the floor behind me. “Miss Ryder. Miss Ryder, wait!”

I turn to see the young girl from the desk running after me.

“I almost forgot! Jer—I mean, Mr. Stonehart—wanted me to tell you about dinner reservations tonight.”

I look at her like she’s mad. “What?”

“He asked me to tell you that he requires your presence at dinner at Nemea tonight.” She speaks so quickly that it’s hard to catch her words. “He said for me to tell you when you left, but it almost slipped my mind. Thank God I remembered!”

I shake my head. “I doubt he wants to see me again after the way we left things.”

The secretary’s eyes widen. “Oh, no, no, Miss Ryder, you must have misunderstood him. Mr. Stonehart can be a difficult man at times. He was adamant about my asking you. He doesn’t make that type of offer to just anybody.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s obvious you must be his friend’s daughter or somebody important for him to go to so much effort for you.”

I narrow my eyes. “What effort? What do you mean?”

“Whoops,” she gasps. “Maybe I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Oh well,” she winks, “it’ll be our little secret. Okay just so you know…” She unlocks the iPad under her arm and swipes into an app. “Your reservation is at eight, but the driver will be outside your place at six-forty.”

“Hold on,” I say. “I didn’t even agree to this.”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on. It’s not like you can turn this sort of thing down. Reservations at Nemea are booked months in advance. I’ve never been. But, I hear it’s magnificent. You’re so lucky. And lovely. If you excuse my candor. It’ll be the most perfect dinner date.”

“Look, I know you think that Mr. Stonehart wants me there,” I try, “but honestly, after the way he dismissed me, I’m fairly certain he doesn’t want to see me again.”

Or I him.

“No, no, no. You have to understand, Miss Ryder. Mr. Stonehart is a very busy man. He asked me to call you to set up today’s meeting. I’ve only been here a few weeks, but I know this morning was just a chance for him to gauge your personality. Dinner tonight is when he really made time for you. If he didn’t want to see you again,” she adds conspiratorially, “he would have sent you out through the main office entrance.”

“So you were just out here waiting for me?” I ask. “Who else comes through the elevator?”

“Only Mr. Stonehart.”

“Then, why is your desk there?”

The girl’s eyes dart to her feet. “Mr. Stonehart prefers his secretaries to have privacy while still in, um… training.”

An uncomfortable shiver runs down my spine. I have a strong suspicion about the type of training she is talking about.

“Anyway,” she perks back up, “6:40 tonight. Don’t forget. The driver will be waiting for you. Oh, and there’s a certain dress code…” She trails off. “Here, let me just write it down for you.”

She runs back to her desk, and I see no choice but to follow. She takes out a business card from the drawer and writes on the back:

6:40PM. Today. Dress code: Professional.

She beams when she hands the card to me. I stuff it into my pocket without any further thought. It’s not like I’m dumb enough to forget those instructions.

“Thanks,” I mutter. “I wonder. Does Mr. Stonehart expect such compliance from everyone he meets?”

“Oh yes,” the girl nods. “Jeremy always gets what he wants.”