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All That She Wants(3)

By:Olivia Thorne


Not that I was going to let that stop me. Fifty million dollars was a hell of a lot more than a $100,000 fine and a ninety-day suspended jail sentence.

All it meant was I had to go in and do everything on the down-low.

I’d been to Exerton nine months before – a meet-and-greet up in the penthouse boardroom. That was when I first met Westerholtz.

But I hadn’t met Klaus – which was exactly the way I wanted to keep it. Stupid though he may be, I was pretty sure he would still recognize the name ‘Connor Templeton’ – which might prompt him to try to sweep the worst of his reports under the rug.

If I was lucky, he was already gone for the day, and I could get some unlucky subordinate to give me the keys to the kingdom instead.

Which is why I was wasting my Friday night in a goddamn consulting company.

Not that I would have been wasting it with a beautiful woman instead, as Sebastian would gladly tell you. More like working every evening past midnight, destroying companies and then building them back up.

Ah, well.

Rich people problems.

But, despite the rough patch I’d been through the last year, there were a few simple pleasures that still turned my crank:

The thrill of the hunt.

Competition of any sort.

Going up against an adversary – and destroying them. The better they were, the greater the pleasure.

Getting one up on my opponent.

Winning at all costs.

And, more than anything, doing what I wasn’t supposed to do. What ‘polite society’ said I shouldn’t do.

In short, I love the Game – whether it’s something as complex as a hostile takeover, or as simple as pretending to be someone else in order to get what I want.

And now, the Game was afoot.

I walked into the lobby, my heartbeat quickening the tiniest bit.

Time to play.





5





Exerton’s lobby was nice. Marble flooring, good decorations… though not as nice as the Dubai.

The Dubai Hotel was my baby. $500 million price tag, top architects, top designers, top-of-the-line everything. It’s certainly not the priciest hotel in existence – the Wynn in Las Vegas cost over $2.7 billion, and that opened almost a decade ago – but the Wynn has a casino, which is like an onsite money-printing press. Hotels in LA have to be a lot smaller. For price per square foot, the Dubai is one of the pricier buildings out there.

Not that the money means much; it’s the quality. The Dubai is the premier luxury hotel on the West Coast. Long after I’m dead and gone, I want people to see it as something beautiful and classy, the same way people still look at the Chrysler Building in New York and think, They don’t make ‘em like THAT anymore.

Aha – that was the way to think about my little errand tonight. In just a couple of hours, I could save myself ten percent of the price tag of the Dubai.

Think of it as a discount, Templeton, I told myself.

The lobby was pretty thinned out. Friday night – probably everybody was on their way to happy hour to get laid.

I could hear Sebastian’s voice in my head: You should try that sometime.

Only problem was, it held no interest for me. And hadn’t for quite a while. Not since Miranda had –

Let it go, Templeton. Get your mind on the task at hand.

I walked over to the front desk. An absolutely huge black guy in a suit was behind the counter. Sweet-looking face, but he really missed his calling as a bouncer.

Maybe he’ll toss you out on your ass before the night is through, if you don’t handle this right.

…naaah. Not a chance.

Be a dick, or be his best friend?

He looked like a good guy. And I don’t like being a dick unless I absolutely have to.

But when I have to, look out.

“Hey, man!” I said, walking up to him with my hand out, a big smile on my face.

His eyes got wide, like he wasn’t used to people greeting him so warmly. Or maybe he thought I knew him, but he couldn’t quite place me and was embarrassed about it. Anyway, he was thrown off balance – which is what I wanted.

He put out his hand and shook mine. Powerful handshake – could have crushed me like a vise.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Stanley,” he said, still off-center.

“Hey, Stanley, my name’s Connor. Connor Brooks, from LMGK.”

Brooks Brothers… yeah, that’ll work.

“Ohhh, a competitor,” Stanley said good-naturedly.

I laughed. “Well… friendly competitor. Anyway, I’m supposed to see this guy in Exerton’s Exec Comp division – Klaus Zimmerman. You know who he is?”

Stanley was not a poker player. I could read every single interaction he’d ever had with Zimmerman on his face – and they hadn’t been pleasant.