Saving the CEO (49th Floor #1)(35)

Another rap, more insistent this time. She let loose a giggle when Jack  responded by diving off the far side of the bed and hiding behind it.  Throwing a bed sheet around herself, she opened the door an inch and  peeked out so that only her eyes were visible.

"Yes?" Crapola. It was Junior.

She bit back a nervous giggle. It was just that the contrast was kind of  amusing. On the other side of the door was a lazy, entitled man-boy who  assumed people were going to give him what he wanted as he rotted away,  oblivious, in a fantasyland. On the other side of the bed was a  capital-M Man who knew what he wanted and worked hard to get it. And who  had a knack for making fantasy into reality.

"I need to speak to you," said Junior. "I want to show you something."

Her smile disappeared. The contrast was amusing, yes. But the proximity  between the two men, and the frightening possibility that discovering  Jack here might jeopardize the deal, sobered her instantly.

"Sure. Can you just give me a couple minutes? I'm just getting out of the uh … shower."

"Need some help getting dressed?" He pretended to push the door open,  and she panicked for a moment, thinking the gesture in earnest. Pushing  back against the door, she said, "I need a moment, Brian!" She heard the  urgency in her tone, and she also heard Jack stirring behind the bed.  So she tempered her voice and mustered her friendliest, "Great, thanks!  How about I meet you in the great room in ten?"

"Dress for outside," he said as she shut the door in his face.

"Like hell you're meeting him," said Jack, standing up behind the bed, stark naked.

She dragged her eyes away from his magnificent chest. "Don't worry. Let  me just see what he wants. I can feel him out regarding the sale."

"I'm coming with you."

"No! He likes me. It's better for me to go alone."

"I thought we agreed that he whatevers you," Jack snarled.

Cassie just rolled her eyes and started getting dressed.

Fifteen minutes later she and Brian were hiking away from the house,  down the main road, the only one that was plowed this time of year.  Uncharacteristically silent, he trudged ahead of her, the crunch of the  icy snow beneath their boots the only sound. After they'd gone maybe  half a mile, he stopped abruptly and turned toward the woods that  abutted the road. "We turn here."

Cassie shivered, and it wasn't from the cold. Maybe Jack had been right.  "Where are we going?" she asked, though she knew that if he was  planning something sinister, he probably wasn't going to furnish her  with the details ahead of time.                       
       
           



       

"I want to show you my tree house."

Huh? Was that a euphemism for something?

"My father had it built in a giant tree just a little way in. When I was seven."

Curiosity got the better of her. "Okay, lead the way."

Five minutes later she stood at the base of a huge oak tree, looking up  at an amazingly elaborate two-story structure perched fifteen feet up in  its branches.

"It's easier to climb if you take your gloves off," Brian called down.  When she hesitated, he said, "Don't worry, this thing is rock solid. My  father hired an architect and an engineering firm."

She almost laughed at that. Okay, well, what the heck?

Gingerly, she made her way up, grabbing one wooden crossbar after another as she scaled the trunk.

"Wow," she exclaimed once inside. She'd emerged into a room that was  bigger than it seemed from the outside. The floor was covered with snow,  but the wooden walls were smooth and polished. There were some old  folding chairs, a small table, and some empty beer cans in one corner.  And, startlingly, some remnants of the boy Brian had been endured. A  half-finished model airplane that had seen better days lay in a corner  and a fishing rod rested against the wall.

Well, if she thought finding herself in Muskoka this week was  unexpected, obviously she'd never given any consideration to the idea of  finding herself in a tree house in Muskoka.

"There's a sleeping platform up there." Brian pointed over his shoulder,  wagging his eyebrows only slightly-almost self-mockingly.

"This place is amazing," she said. "You must have loved it here as a kid."

"It was all right." He shrugged. "I'm really more of a city person." He  looked like he wanted to say more, so she practiced her bartender silent  treatment. "Actually, I pretty much hated this island," he added.

Hope sparked in her chest. Hated it enough to let his father sell it?

"I was an only child. At least in the city I had friends. Stuff to do. Here I had this."

She wanted to snort her disbelief, her outrage at what he had taken for  granted. What wouldn't she have given to have had access to this place?  To beaches and trails and snowmobiles and forests? And stars.

"I want you to tell me how much money Jack Winter will give us for the company."

She blinked rapidly, her initial surprise followed by annoyance that  he'd used the word "us," when Wexler Construction was clearly the  product of hard work by Wexler Senior alone.

"No one seems to want to name a figure, and I'd like to know how much."

There was a figure being bandied about, a ballpark. But if neither  Wexler nor Jack had told Junior, maybe they didn't want him to know.

"I'm not an idiot, you know," he said. "I know my father wants me to  take over the company. And I know that I'd be a disaster at it."

"You'd have a lot to learn, but you could do it." Yeah, nice-try to talk  the guy into blocking the sale. Still, a sliver of sympathy for him  worked itself under her skin. Looking at Brian Wexler and his life  crystallized the adage that money can't buy happiness.

"Nah. Old dog, new tricks." He picked up a stick and started drawing a  swirl pattern in the snow on the floor. They were silent a moment, and  then he looked up at her. "How much?"

She hesitated only a moment. "Seventy-eight million."

He nodded.

"I'm being honest when I say I think it's a fair price," said Cassie.

"It's a lot of money."

Cassie was a little surprised to hear that coming from him. What was a  lot of money to these people? What was pocket change? It was hard to  tell. "You could do a lot of things with that much money," she said  lamely. She meant that he could found a company he was interested in,  could help people. But he was probably thinking more about trips and  cars and other luxuries.

"I want you to ask me nicely. That's all I want. Someone to ask me nicely."

"Excuse me?"

He looked up at her, and if she'd seen any vulnerability in his eyes  before, it was gone. "I want you to ask me nicely not to block the  sale."

Cassie wasn't sure if she should follow her natural instinct, which was  to throw up on his shoes, or do what he asked. Being bossed around by  such an immature creep made her stomach churn. But if "asking nicely"  was all it took to facilitate the deal, what did it really matter?

She schooled her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression.  "Will you please not block the sale of your father's company to Winter  Enterprises?"                       
       
           



       

"Ask me again, but say my name."

Gross. This was worse, in a way, than all his lurching come-ons. He was  lording his power over her, probably because he knew he couldn't have  her. It was humiliating. She was tempted to just turn and climb down the  tree, but, then, she was in a tree! It was all so absurd anyway, and  there was a lot at stake. For Jack, but also for her. She wanted this  deal to go through as much as he did, and not just because of the money.  Even though she could never publicly take credit, it would be something  to hold on to, in her heart, once Jack was gone.

"Brian, will you please not block the sale of your father's company to  Winter Enterprises?" she said, speaking slowly and clearly, ignoring the  adrenaline rush that accompanied the task.

More silence as the scratch of his stick on the snow resumed. After a  full minute he said, once again, "I'm really more of a city person."  Turning serious, his face changed for an instant so he looked nothing  like the usual freewheeling skater-dude she'd come to know. Her heart  sped up. If he was saying what she thought he was saying, they'd won.

But then he grinned at her, and the frat boy was back. "You sure you don't want a tour of the sleeping platform?"

"No thanks," she said softly, once again feeling inexplicably sorry for him.

He just nodded. "That Jack is a lucky bastard."

She didn't bother correcting him.