His expression brightened immediately.
“What?
No.
I am only surprised,” he cleared his throat.
“Um, we never really got to talk after the acquisition.
I was hoping to pay a visit to Sterling Capital but I have been so busy.” Of course he would speak like we belonged in the same tangential social circles.
We didn’t.
The first and last I had spoken to him was last year, at the Henderson acquisition.
My question now was, why did he think we were close enough for… whatever this was?
I slowly sipped my champagne.
“Why do you need to visit Sterling Capital?” “Oh, nothing.
Nothing.” another light cough.
“Have you seen how crazily the market has been affected?” And he began talking.
He spoke about the market, the economy, the acquisition, the future of technology, and something about his daughter’s upcoming wedding.
I contributed when necessary.
Nodded when appropriate, knowing exactly where the excessive conversation was leading to.
Soon enough he confirmed my thoughts when cleared his throat for the third time.
“Um, Mr Sterling, I was wondering if, um… if Sterling Capital will consider an expansion again this year?” And there it was.
I blinked, slowly, then turned to him with the same speed.
“Do you want it to?” He turned sheepish.
“I am simply wondering.
You see, there is this tech company, KaleTex Tech and they are good.
They have overturned their gross profit for last year already.
A company like that would produce three times their expected profit if an investment company like Sterling Capital would back them up.” Distaste ruined the taste of champagne in my mouth.
Just last year, he ruined a company simply by introducing them to another.
Ruined them enough I acquired it for cents, now he wanted to ruin my company with yet another introduction?
And why the bloody hell would I invest in an unheard of technology company whose half name was a ridiculous vegetable, and the other half, the measurement for tiny things?
I stared him down.
Men like Benjamin would do anything to see a couple thousand dollars in their accounts.
At least, enough to uphold the lie of a lifestyle they were living.
I didn’t give a damn about the company.
My only charity here, tonight, was for the wildlife reserve.
“No.” He looked so shocked I was almost shocked myself.
Did he expect me to agree to his proposal?
Kind words were not my strong point, and honestly, I didn’t care enough to groom them.
“Why?
I mean, if you would let me make an appointment, I’ll drop by Sterling Capital with a proper proposal and…” “Mr Denver,” I prematurely ended whatever he was about to utter.
“If I was interested in investing in another tech company, I’ll ring up the Worthingtons.” “But—” “Excuse me.” I handed him my almost empty champagne flute to push home the rejection and walked away.
The nerve of him to suggest such nonsense.
But I must admit his audacity belonged in a museum.
Easily the crowd disappeared behind me as I took myself outside.
People waved, someone even tried to hand me a glass but I weaved passed all of them, feeling no guilt at all.
Guilt was an inefficient emotion.
It didn’t change anything.
It didn’t fix anything.
I pulled a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and my eyes fell on my watch.
Fifty-seven minutes.
Three more.
Just enough to finish my stick of cigarettes.
“Mr.
Roman Sterling.” Oh, for the love of God!
I turned, lighting my cigarette.
A woman probably in her early thirties, walked up to me.
She had clean dark hair, great height, and a confident smile even the expensive dress could not overshadow.
“Smoking in a public place,” she observed, coming to stand in front of me.
She leaned to her left to make her hip prominent.
“It is either you don’t care what people would think if they saw you, or you don’t care about them at all.” It was evidently both.
Holding her eyes until she blinked, I waited.
She gave out her hand.
“Susan Grant,” Her smile stretched.
“Of Grant Industries?” Nothing.
Surprised, her smile faltered before recovering.
“My father is—” “I know who your father is.” I interrupted, puffing to my left.
“I don’t know you.” “Oh.” She laughed awkwardly, patting her purse.
“That is fair.
Perhaps we can fix that.” My eyebrows jerked and my cigarette held.
“The Annual Cross Event is coming up in two weeks.
Be my date, we can chat all night long.” My interest was lost.
Another party?
I’d rather sit through board meetings and re-highlight the points for the Bovil deal than suffer through another bullshit party.
“I’m a busy man.” “As am I.
Well,” she giggled, “woman.
Clear up your schedule just for that day and I’ll make the night worth your while.
I promise.” My cigarette stopped midtrip to my lips.
She was suggesting, wasn’t she?
Her bold stare threatened to burn a hole into my suit.
She was openly suggesting her company and a rendezvous, which wasn’t so bad if I didn’t think about it.
But I already did and creating any sort of relationship with her would only lead to problems.
She was a leech looking for where to sink her teeth.
Even if she wasn’t, assuming was safer.
The last thing I need is a society woman claiming to be affiliated with me.
My cigarette made the complete journey.
“I am a busy man,” I repeated, puffing to the side.
One blink of surprise and again she regained her composure.
“The media have labelled you difficult and have told of how you don’t make things easy.
They were right.” For some reason, that made her laugh.
I didn’t find it funny.
Maybe elsewhere—in another lifetime obviously—I might have taken up on her offer, but she was nothing but a somewhat rich gold digger.
Of course, I had more than enough gold to dig—I might even dig some up myself to help her—but I was in no mood to fend off the wolves.
Just then, my phone rang.
It was Claire, Riley’s aid.
Why was she calling?
It wasn’t that late, but it still was.
I turned away from Susan at once.
“Claire?” I asked as soon as we were connected.
“Mr.
Sterling,” her voice held fear and it quickly tightened my gut.
“We are at the hospital.” The tightness moved to my chest.
We were outside, but the air was suddenly warmer and thinner.
Too thin in fact.
I loosened my tie slightly.
My cigarette was already on the ground.
Somewhere between answering the call and loosening my tie, I had dropped it.
I hadn’t even noticed.
“I’m on my way.” “Um, sir, about that…” My feet stopped and my pulse kicked hard.
“Is she alright?
Is she conscious?” “Sir, we are not at Westbridge Hospital.” My grip on the phone tightened.
“That wasn’t my question.” “Mr.
Sterling—” “Is she conscious, goddammit?!” I yelled in a whisper.
“Yes, sir.
She is.
The nurses are attending to her now.” I exhaled.
One breath.
Only one.
Then the fear returned.
“Where are you?” “Newlife hospital’s emergency department.” “I’m on my way.” I ended the call.
I didn’t remember walking down the stairs nor accepting my keys from the valet.
I certainly did not remember excusing myself from Miss Grant.
Eli would be shocked.
To hell with him and his gentlemanliness.
All I knew was that one second before I was standing with an overachieving brunette, asking me for a night, the next I was racing down the streets of Manhattan to a hospital I knew nothing about except its location as the map was directing.
Claire confirmed that she was conscious, which meant that she was okay, for the most part.
But I couldn’t help but pray, desperately pray that when I got there, it wouldn’t be like the hospital visit from eight years ago.