Saving the CEO (49th Floor #1)(10)

The ping of an incoming text drew her attention, and she leaned over to eyeball her phone.

Getting you business cards. Don't know your last name.

Ha! Just went to show how foolhardy this whole venture was. She dried her hands on a towel before picking up her phone.

James.

The return text pinged back immediately.

You want to be "Cassie?" Is it short for anything?

Cassidy.

As in Butch and the Sundance Kid?

As in David Cassidy.

???

She paused. Well, it's not like it was a secret. As if anything about  Laura could ever be kept discreet anyway, even if she'd wanted to.

Partridge Family. That's what happens when you're the spawn of a woman who was a tween in the 70s.

OK, Cassidy James, senior director of finance, I'll stop by the bar tonight so we can begin plotting.

Well, it's not like she could tell him not to come. He was sort of her boss now, right?

Great, but my best friend is going to be here too.

She paused, trying to think what to say about Danny. It was almost as  bad as trying to explain Laura. Well, he'd find out soon enough anyway.

But only early on-he'll want to go out later.

He?

Gay.

Gah! She'd pressed send before she could think better of it. How stupid  was she? It's not like Jack was jealous, so why was she rushing to  assure him that Danny was gay?

Limes! Zesting! And if there was time before the bar got busy, she'd  brought along some of her old accounting textbooks-before she'd settled  on the actuary thing, she'd thought maybe accounting was the way to go,  so she'd taken a few classes. To Jack it might be all numbers, but just  because she was good at trigonometry didn't mean she knew the first  thing about his world of corporate balance sheets and high finance.

 …

It was funny to think of Cassie as a person with friends. A stupid  sentiment, Jack realized, but in his encounters with her she'd seemed  so … self-contained. Whether she was standing in the center of the large  bar at Edward's or in the middle of her tiny apartment-or against a  brick wall while he put his hands all over her-she seemed like a  universe unto herself.                       
       
           



       

But of course she had friends. Normal people did. And Cassie was a nice,  normal person. She had a family, too. A dead father and a mother who  was expensive-whatever that meant. Okay, so maybe what Cassie really had  in the family category was more of a mystery.

But her friend-the one she'd dubbed her best friend-had to be the tall  skinny guy openly staring at him. Dark hair, earrings in both ears, he  had a vaguely Goth look. And definitely gay, he thought with a small  ping of satisfaction-just like when he'd gotten her one word text.

As Jack approached, the guy nodded at the empty stool next to him. "You  must be Jack." He wasn't smiling, wasn't holding out a hand to  shake-nothing. Right. Normal people told stuff to their best friends. An  open-hearted girl like Cassie probably told her best friend everything.

Cassie caught sight of him and came over. "Jack! This is Danny, my-"

"Ex-boyfriend," Danny supplied, ignoring Jack's outstretched hand.

"Pardon?" Jack shot Cassie a questioning look.

"Gotta go." Danny hopped off his stool. He pursed his lips and looked  Jack up and down before grudgingly adding, "Nice to meet you."

"You're leaving already?" Cassie asked. Jack didn't quite like the way her face fell.

"It's almost ten. I'm meeting some people." He leaned over the bar and  planted a kiss directly on Cassie's lips before taking off.

"I thought you said he was gay." Jack cleared his throat, trying to rid his voice of the growl that had crept in.

"He is."

"But he said he was your ex-boyfriend."

"He's that, too." She quirked a little smile. "Things didn't really work out between us."

"Why not?" He tried to keep his tone casual.

"Um, the part where he's gay?"

He barked a relieved laugh.

"Quiet! It's embarrassing."

"Why? This must have been a long time ago."

"High school. But no girl wants to be the one who turns a man against heterosexuality."

"Sweetheart, you are capable of getting a man to do many things, but I assure you, turning him gay is not one of them."

Well, that was inappropriate. But Cassie just stared at him, mouth ajar.  So he whipped out a small silver case and opened it. She picked up one  of the cards inside.

"Oh, so now I'm senior executive director of finance?"

He shrugged. "It sounded better. Consider it a promotion."

She leaned forward, absently running the pad of her thumb back and forth  over the edge of the card. "You know, I've been thinking."

Uh oh.

"I'm sure you could get someone legitimate to do this for you. Someone qualified."

"I want you," he said, mustering a decisive tone he hoped would shut down this line of conversation.

"There must be, like, consultants who do this sort of thing."

He pressed his lips together. "Oh, and I would hire one to do what?  Place the fate of my company in his hands and say, 'I can't do math?  Please don't take advantage of me?'"

"Not everybody's a crook." Then she held up a finger as if a rogue  thought had just entered her mind. "But on the other hand, I might be a  crook. How do you know I'm not?"

"I trust you."

"Why?"

He didn't know how to articulate the answer. He was good at reading  people. It's how he'd built the company. This thing with Carl had shaken  him to his core, but one mistake out of thousands wasn't bad. He'd  brokered hundreds of deals that had made him millions because he trusted  his gut. And his gut told him that Cassidy James, who helped teenagers  with their math homework, was a good person.

"It doesn't make any sense," she persisted, drawing him out of his thoughts. "Why me?"

Because I've seen what you look like when you come. Of course, he  couldn't say that, so he settled for, "Let's just say I feel pretty  confident that I know you." He couldn't resist a little wink. "If you  know what I mean."

She turned red to the tips of her ears. Good. End of discussion.

"Okay, then." She busied herself wiping up a nonexistent spill. "I need  to do some serious prep work, not just sitting in bars talking. I need  to learn everything there is to know about Winter Enterprises. When do  we leave for the trip?"

"Thursday morning-a week from yesterday. Early. Back Saturday afternoon. Can you get the time off?"

"Yep. I'll need to get someone to cover Thursday and Friday, but I never  take vacation, so it shouldn't be a problem. A lot of people owe me."                       
       
           



       

"What about Saturday? I can't guarantee what time we'll be back."

"I don't work weekends. Weekends are for homework, usually."

"But your semester is over? You were taking a final exam a few days ago."

"Yes, so it's perfect, really. But what about you? What about Carl? I assume he can't know about any of this."

"That's right. Carl can't know." Jack heard the menace in his tone,  which was uncalled for because it's not like Cassie would ever cross  paths with Carl. Still, he'd been delinquent. He should probably make  her sign a nondisclosure agreement. Instead he settled for, "Sorry. It's  just that no one can know about this. The office closes for two weeks  at Christmas, so no one at the company will know I'm on a trip. And  Cassie-" He laid his hand on her forearm and had to hold himself back  from tightening it like a vise- "You have to promise you'll keep  everything you know-and everything you're going to learn-to yourself."

She nodded. "I promise."

It was enough for him. Maybe it shouldn't have been, but it was. He  shoved back from the bar. "Meet me at the office tomorrow at two."

"Which is where?" she called after him.

He grinned. For the first time in a long time, he felt like the Wexler deal might be salvageable. "Check your business card."





Chapter Six

Winter Enterprises was located on the forty-ninth floor of the Lakefront  Centre in Toronto's high-rise studded financial district. A few floors  shy of the top, but high enough that Cassie was pretty darn impressed.  The security guard only glanced at her as she strode purposefully toward  the bank of elevators. With any luck the outfit she'd bought this  morning-fake it till you make it-would not only help convince bystanders  she could do this, it would also help convince herself.

Her heart pounded as she made the long, silent ride up. This was going  to make everything feel a lot more real. This was going to be Jack  Winter, bazillionaire, in his natural habitat. As at ease as he'd seemed  in her apartment-or with his head between her thighs, for goodness'  sake-this was where he came from.