The Truth About Numbnuts and Chubbs(22)

Rostrop took a seat at one end of the long conference table and two other men joined the meeting, although Ben had no idea who they were. He'd shaken their hands, but wouldn't know them again if he met them again half an hour from now. There was only one person in that room he cared about. He barely heard a word. Just went through the motions.

"We'd be honored, of course, to have your business, Mr. Petruska. Here at Rostrop and Philips we have a long tradition of working with the businessmen who built New York from the ground up and made it what it is today."

"Uh huh."

"When my great grandfather started..."

Ben tuned out. He already knew more about the shady history of Rostrop and Philips than he really wanted to know. Did they think he wouldn't have his people research the firm before he sat down in their conference room? And he wasn't there for them anyway.

History? He could tell them history that would curl their toes.

He watched Bryony's pale pink fingernails on the files she'd set down in front of her. He'd made it clear that he wanted Ms. Mulligan to handle all the accounts he gave them, but he knew Rostrop and Philips operated like an old boy's club. Still. She might think she had a chance of rising up in that firm, but she had limited uses in the eyes of Adam Rostrop.

She was a hot, smart, damn sexy woman and even in this century that had its own set of problems. Her skills as an chartered accountant came second to that. She'd chosen the wrong firm. They'd never appreciate her.

The way that slimy old letch, Rostrop, looked at Bryony and referred to her chillingly as "Our Miss Mulligan" proved he saw her only as bait to bring Petruska Industries into the fold. She'd never be allowed to take on the full responsibility of all his accounts, but they'd used her to draw him in.

He wouldn't be surprised to learn that Rostrop sent her deliberately to Leonato's yesterday. The injustice made him angry. Often accused of being old-fashioned and using women for nothing more than sex, even he could see Bryony had much more to offer. She was keen, ambitious, bright and capable. As he'd commented to her yesterday, she didn't take bullshit. He liked that about her. He liked a lot of things about her.

Everything in fact.

And he wanted to know more. One night might have been enough for her; it wasn't for him.



* * * *



He'd better stop looking at her that way. Luckily, Adam Rostrop was getting into his stride and forgot anyone else was present. She shot a quick glance at Tom and Brad, but they were busy playing their role, nodding along with the boss. Might have known they'd be invited in on this. She couldn't be allowed to handle it herself, naturally. Annoyance flared through her, but she quelled it by pressing her fingernails into her palm until they made blood red moons. Looking up she caught Ben's eye again.

He leaned back in his chair, stretched out his arms and said suddenly, "I'd like to have a word with Ms. Mulligan. Alone."

Adam Rostrop was cut off mid-sentence. Like a robot with the batteries suddenly ripped out, he didn't know how to proceed. His minions looked to him for guidance but he had none to give. This was unprecedented. No one dismissed Adam Rostrop from his own conference room.

No one except Numbnuts.

"Well, of course, if it's—"

"Alone," he repeated calmly. "Now."

It was raining again, hitting the window behind her with a steady pulsing rhythm.

"I'd like to discuss my proposition and my terms with Ms. Mulligan," he added. "In private. She can bring it to you later. If she decides I'm worth it."

She wanted to laugh. It seemed a very odd reaction at that moment, but since no one else knew what to do, perhaps it was fitting. A minute later they were alone, facing each other across the conference table. She took off her glasses, because clearly he didn't have anything for her to read. He hadn't even come to the meeting with a briefcase.

"What do you want, Mr. Petruska?"

He smiled, showing his fine teeth and incidentally reminding her of how he chewed her panties off last night. "You, Ms. Mulligan."

"I'm talking about—"

"I know. The answer is still you. I want you to work for me. For me exclusively."

Needing occupation for her hands, Bry picked up her pen, flicking the nib in and out. She wasn't certain what he meant. There was the matter of that "Mistress" he said he wanted. Maybe that was the job he offered.

But last night was supposed to be a one off.

She shook her head. "Resign from my new job? A job I'm lucky to have? A job I beat out two hundred other candidates to land?"

"Correct."

"Why would I—"

"I'm leaving tomorrow for the Bahamas. Petruska Leisure Industries is buying property for a new hotel resort. I need an assistant to come with me, so you'll have to make your mind up tonight. Since you just got back from France, I know you have an up-to-date passport. My plane leaves at six a.m. We'll be back by Monday afternoon. Call my office for any other travel details you might need." He stood, buttoning his suit jacket. Then bowed his head as if they were in a Jane Austen novel. "Good afternoon, Ms. Mulligan. I look forward to working with you."