Saving the CEO (49th Floor #1)(31)

"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.