The Billionaire Game 3(6)
“How could I forget?” I said flatly.
“I was calling to apologize about that, actually,” he said, his voice bleeding contrition. “I’d—well, frankly, I’d had a few too many consolation drinks the other night, and I wasn’t thinking clearly when I barged into your grand opening. I honestly thought Asher had told you about the bet from the beginning. I’d no idea it would be so traumatic for you.”
“Oh,” I said. It wasn’t one of my more eloquent moments, but hey, you try being Raymond Chandler when you get the apology you want, but from the wrong person. The wrong person entirely. “Thanks for that, I guess.”
“I’m so glad I didn’t ruin the celebration,” Brody went on. “I’ve been following your business in the news, and it seems you’re doing wonderfully. I know I can’t make up for how I hurt you, but I’d like to give you a small gesture of my remorse—what would you say to lunch? A sort of I’m sorry/congratulations combo? My treat?”
I chewed my lip. The apology had softened me up, but I was still pissed. And the last thing I needed was condolences from the condescending jerk who’d masterminded the aforementioned multi-million dollar bet with Asher. “I don’t think so…”
“The sorry/congratulations combo comes with wine,” he added.
“It sounds great, and I appreciate the apology, but I’m really not interested.”
“—and of course I’d be happy to answer any of your questions about the bet, clear up any misconceptions I may have given you. Maybe we could even discuss your future plans? You’ve clearly got a fantastic head for business, and you can never have too many interested investors when it comes to forging ahead with great ideas.”
Flattery will get you everywhere with me. Plus, he wasn’t wrong; I should be thinking of my future plans, the future of my business and my possible panty empire. And who in their right mind would turn down a few more million dollars’ worth of investments? Not this girl. Leaving the apartment sounded about as fun as the Great Depression, but on top of all the very reasonable reasons to go out with Brody that I was going over in my head, the thing that decided it for me more than anything was the fact that I did want to know the truth about the bet.
I needed to know how much Asher had lied to me.
“All right,” I conceded.
“Wonderful. Can you make it to Sprite by noon? I’ll get us their best table.”
#
After Googling the restaurant and finding something in my closet that looked vaguely like it might not get me thrown out for vagrancy—hey, you try doing laundry when your three newest interests are running a business, sleeping, and sobbing your heart out—I took a taxi to Sprite.
The maitre’d guided me to what was indeed a truly great table, facing a wall-length window overlooking the harbor, all the yachts bobbing gently on the cerulean sea, the sky a bright blue for once instead of its habitual blue-grey. The light sparkled on the polished mahogany surface of the table and on the slate-grey marble floor, and Brody stood as I came into sight.
“I hope you don’t mind; I took the liberty of ordering you a drink. A very sweet white wine, very cheeky.”
“As long as it has alcohol in it, I’m good,” I said.
He pulled my chair out for me and gave me a sympathetic look. “Has it really been that bad?”
I shrugged, not exactly comfortable discussing the state of my emotions with a guy who was at least half-responsible for the worst ones. “Nah. I guess not. I’m just, you know. Still processing.”
“We certainly gave you a great deal to process,” he said contritely, sitting down and pouring me a glass of wine from the bottle on the table. His eyes were wide and concerned. “I only hope that I can in some small way make up for the hurt I’ve caused you.”
I blinked rapidly and looked away, struggling to contain my reaction to his apology.
Why couldn’t Asher have said something like that, instead of insisting that I had gotten things wrong?
“Wondering why you haven’t heard anything like that from Asher?” he asked.
I gave a startled bark of a laugh. “What, you do mind-reading in your spare time from starting wheatgrass companies?”
Brody chuckled, relaxing back into his chair. “Oh, no. I just know Asher. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no one better to have in your corner when you want to get ruthless in a business dealing, but he has a little trouble leaving that mentality in the boardroom.”
“He’s done this before?” I asked.
“Not this, exactly. Stuff like this. He’s not a bad guy—he just hates to lose. If he feels like he might fail, or even if he just might not win as big as he wants to—well, he takes big risks. Unnecessary risks. He cuts people out of the equation, doesn’t factor in their feelings.”