"Yep." He nodded at their immediate surroundings. "I own this." Then he pointed out toward the island. "But I want that." He slung a leg over the machine, looking for all the world like James Dean from Rebel Without a Cause, the Winter Edition rather than a titan of industry.
She cleared her throat. "All right then." Fifty thousand dollars. That was her mantra.
"Wrap your arms all the way around and clasp your hands together," he instructed when her first lame attempt to hold on to him and still maintain a decent amount of distance between them did not meet with his approval. He revved the engine, and she instinctively tightened her grip.
Fifty thousand dollars.
She couldn't help shrieking as he hit the gas and they started off across the snowy expanse.
Fifty thousand dollars.
After half a minute they'd reached a steady pace and he was no longer accelerating. Her heart slowed enough to allow her to take in her surroundings. The sky was almost painfully blue, even through her helmet's tinted visor. The cold air was sharp, a cauterizing knife that felt like it cut out all the useless emotions she was battling, leaving her lean and honed and … alive.
It was a little bit scary and a lot exhilarating. Kind of like everything with Jack.
When they arrived on the island, Cassie was ready to play her role. The ride over had turned out to be the perfect demarcation line between her personal self and her business self. Between the bartender and the senior executive director of finance. Between Jack's lover and his employee.
After some kind of person-she wanted to say servant, but did people still have those?-opened the door and settled them into a stunning great room with a giant, two-story fireplace, the Wexlers appeared.
David Wexler, nicknamed Wexler Senior by Jack, did not look at all like the shark Cassie expected. "Head of an empire" was the last thing that came to mind when the lean, flannel-shirt-wearing man arrived. He looked like a kindly grandpa. A clean-shaven, skinny Santa. Wexler Junior-aka Brian-was probably in his mid-thirties, but he dressed as if he were a decade and a half younger. His crew cut and slightly saggy jeans made him look like an overgrown skater boy forced inside because of the snow.
"Jack!" said the older man. "Glad to have you on the island."
"Glad to be here, sir. Your house is beautiful." It was odd to see Jack the cutthroat CEO act deferential. "May I introduce Cassie James, my senior exec director of finance? Cassie, this is David Wexler."
Cassie smiled and shook hands, and everyone was friendly as can be, but Senior eventually asked the question she'd been waiting for. "Where's Carl?"
Jack didn't miss a beat. "Carl is in Mexico. He sends his regrets. Cassie is up to speed on the file, though."
Just then a woman who looked to be older than Junior but younger than Senior glided in. She wore drapey cream clothing Cassie associated with rich women.
"Ah," said Senior. "This is my friend Tania."
Jack had given Cassie the lowdown on the Wexlers, including the fact that Senior had been widowed five years ago and was currently seeing an art dealer-slash-society lady.
Wexler Senior turned to his son. "Brian, you know Jack. This is his finance person, Cassie James."
Junior did not speak, just raised his eyebrows and looked Cassie fully up and down. A little shocked, she looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but the others were moving farther into the great room to a sitting area on one end. "Well," he drawled, "this meeting just got a little more interesting, didn't it?"
If he meant what she thought he meant? Gross. She offered him a vague smile and followed the others farther into the room. Jack had coached Cassie to expect the trip to start out social. Wexler was old money and hospitality was bred in him. He would also want to show off the "cottage." Cassie had to bite her lip to keep from scoffing every time she heard the place referred to as a cottage. It was made of logs, she supposed, so there was that. But she'd never seen a log cabin like it. Warm, exposed wood on every surface inside-well, every surface that wasn't covered with enormous paintings and fine Persian rugs. And centered in front of the window at the rear of the great room was a spectacular Christmas tree at least twenty feet high.
Coffee was rung for; a tour was given. Cassie let her guard down a little as her nerves settled. Wexler Senior was formal but cordial. Tania may have been a trophy girlfriend, but she was funny and friendly. The only wild card was Brian, aka Junior. He didn't talk much, but he stared openly at Cassie in a way that made her want to squirm and do up the top button of her blouse. Still, she'd been led to expect he was a loser. And if he was always like this, there did seem to be an opening for Jack to convince Senior to sell to him rather than hand the company over to his son.
"Why don't you young people go snowshoeing?" said Wexler Senior. "Then you can wash up and rest, and we can talk some shop after dinner. Brian, you can show them the north face of the island, hear some of Jack's ideas. He's only ever looked at a map of the island. It will be good for him to see it in person."
Junior rolled his eyes behind his father's back, which Cassie thought inordinately rude, but he rose and gestured for Cassie and Jack to follow him. They suited up, and once outside, he led them to another pair of snowmobiles, sighing a little as he loaded the snowshoes onto the back of one of them.
"Not a fan of winter?" Cassie asked, wanting to fill the silence.
"Snowboarding, yes, or skiing," he said. "But clomping around a deserted island on snowshoes? No thanks." Brian really did sound like a disgruntled teenager, forced to endure the agony of a family vacation. "You know how to snowmobile?" Junior asked, eyeing her up and down again, though this time she was dressed in snow pants and a parka, so there wasn't much to see.
"No. I can ride with Jack, though," she said.
"No, you're with me. Mine's the two-seater."
Cassie could see in Jack's face that he was going to object-his own two-seater was parked on the other side of the house-so she shook her head slightly at him and said to Junior, "Great."
He insisted she take the front seat, and once they started, she realized her error. Brian was effectively wrapped around her, his front against her back, his arms around her body.
"How does it feel to have a 130 horsepower engine between your legs, Cassie?"
Gah. She pretended not to hear him over the motor. She might have to negotiate hazard pay with Jack, in compensation for being sexually harassed by this ingrate. Now, more than ever, she wanted Jack to walk away with this deal done.
The afternoon was salvaged, though, because the island really was stunning. It possessed a stark winter beauty, bare trees outlined against blue sky, the low sun bathing everything in yellow light.
"I bet the stars are amazing out here," she said as they trudged along, still trying, perhaps futilely, to engage Junior in civilized conversation.
He only shrugged. She listened as Jack laid out his vision for an eco-lodge, luxurious yet respecting the natural setting of the site. He described architect-designed cabins situated so they blended into the landscape, hiking trails that preserved the old-growth woods, a natural beach stocked with canoes since no motorized vehicles would be allowed on the island.
She snuck a glance at him as he talked. His eyes were bright, his cheeks pink from the cold. Her heart squeezed. He was almost unbearably handsome in his winter gear, all bundled up yet still radiating heat.
Then she looked at Junior. His eyes were glazed over. He must have felt her attention, though, because he snapped to and did a weird smile-leer thing at her.
Okay. Jack was getting this island. End of story.
…
Jack knocked on Cassie's door a bit before the five o'clock cocktails they'd been instructed to attend. She was housed on the top floor of the building, and he was a floor below on the second. He couldn't have asked for better arrangements. He needed as much separation as possible between them. Because the sight of her clomping around with her dark hair spilling out of her green parka hood, all color and curves against the white snowy backdrop-well, let's just say it was a good thing it had been cold out there today. The last thing he needed was for this fragile deal to go south because he was caught creeping into his senior executive director of finance's room at night. She already faced an uphill battle convincing Senior that she was credible. Being the boss's piece wasn't going to help.