The Proposition by Amelia Wilde
2
Mason
I don’t get excited for meetings. Some CEOs get hard for them. They get off on the attention and the ass-kissing. I like a good display of power. I like a signed deal. But the meetings themselves don’t do it for me.
Except this one.
The anticipation of this meeting is so fucking delicious I can’t pay attention to my phone conversation.
“—intercepted from an estate sale in Northern California. Once it arrives on the mountain, I’ll confirm the provenance.” Cyrus Van Kempt is going to be here any minute, and everything I’ve planned will be in motion. “I gave a man at Sotheby’s a heart attack for you, Mason, and you’re not paying attention.”
“You love terrorizing people. Consider it a gift.”
“I’m wounded.”
“Bullshit.” I’m almost certain it’s impossible for him to have hurt feelings about anything. I met Hades after he outbid me at an estate auction. I’d traced a few pieces of my mother’s jewelry to that particular sale. After she and my father died and everything fell apart, we lost everything, including her jewelry.
I’m in a position to get it back. More than a few of those pieces have ended up with Hades, on the mountain where he lives and where his diamond mine is located. I gave him shit about it early on—the fact that he lives on a mountain, even though he’s filthy rich.
And then he sent the pictures.
It’s not some survivalist cave with steel-framed bunk beds. It’s like my penthouse, if the penthouse were the size of a small city and literally carved out of black rock and gold.
He laughs. His laugh gave me shivers the first time I heard it. I’m used to it now, mostly. “You’re distracted.”
“I have a meeting.”
“Is it more important than the fact that I’ve located another impossible-to-find piece? More important than a ten-carat emerald nestled in diamonds?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, tell her I said hello.”
He hangs up without waiting for an answer, and I’m left with my folio full of documents and several minutes to savor the black words on crisp white pages.
The intercom on my desk beeps. “Mr. Hill, your four o’clock is here.”
I stand up from my seat, the ache in my knee barely registering. “Show him in.”
It took fourteen years to build my fortune to this level, for this deal, for this day.
Fourteen years.
Now it’s here.
I cannot fucking wait for this.
Except it’s not an older man who walks into my office. It’s a woman.
It only takes a second for me to understand who came instead. His daughter.
I have a few vague memories of Charlotte Van Kempt. Pigtails. Blue eyes. She should be the image of her mother now. Pretentious and fake, the way society women are supposed to be. Bred to be. Instructed to be.
My throat goes dry.
She’s come from the rain, that much is clear, and droplets cling to the perfect twist of her hair like diamonds. The reality of her batters me like rain batters the windows of my office. Flushed cheeks. A delicate jawline. The pretty shape of her lips as she murmurs a quick thank-you to my secretary.
Her sapphire eyes meet mine. They take me in, standing behind my desk, and widen for a fraction of a second. It’s less than a breath, far less than a heartbeat, but I feel my own response like I would feel a bullet through flesh. The force of the impact. The shock of recognition. The muscles around my right knee become part of this cascade of muscle and bone, tightening around the ligaments, mired in memory.
What the fuck did she see? I’m stuck by the urge to take her face in my hands and tilt her face to mine so I can stare into her eyes. As if that clear-cut crystal would reveal the thoughts in her head.
She only saw what I wanted her to see.
It’s an impossible thing, to feel this hot rush of desire for Charlotte Van Kempt.
I thought Cyrus Van Kempt would show up to his own destruction, but I guess not. He sent his daughter to face my wrath.
She’ll be my revenge. She’ll be the person I’ll carry it out on. Her family’s sacrifice.
There’s no disappointment, really.
It will be even sweeter this way.
If she knows this, it doesn’t show on her face. Her features are delicate and strong at the same time. She doesn’t look smug as she approaches my desk, her skirt suit moving with her body as if it was made for her. The outfit gives her the illusion of being older, but she’s not. Charlotte Van Kempt is twenty. She’s twenty, and she looks serious. Determined.
And if her expression is slightly veiled, then it’s because she’s trying to cover her nerves.
She stops at the edge of my desk and extends her hand. “Charlotte Van Kempt. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
For fuck’s sake.
That voice. It sounds like a rustle of silk sheets. It feels like a fist around my cock.
I take her hand in mine, and touching her is like hearing her speak. Electrifying in a way it definitely should not be. “Mason Hill. A pleasure to have you here, Ms. Van Kempt.”
She has no idea how much of a pleasure it is. And an unexpected one. This was supposed to be a meeting with the cunning asshole who ruined my family. Instead I’m left with his young, determined daughter. But I don’t get the impression that she’s foolish. Naive, perhaps. Far too innocent to be in this room with me.
Far too innocent. Look at that hope in her eyes. The slight tremble in her voice gives away her own anticipation. And the scent of her—fresh and clean with a hint of the raindrops caught in her hair.
A beat passes after I drop her hand, and she uses it to watch me, not breaking eye contact. She’s bolder than I expected, and more afraid. The expanse of my desk isn’t enough to keep me from her. It’s an illusory shield. I could reach across and touch the hollow of her throat, which rises with every breath she takes. Charlotte Van Kempt isn’t aware of it, or she’d be trying harder to hide it.
If I touched her there now, would her pulse be quick as beating wings? Would she be ready to fly?
I want to know.
I want to know everything about her.
“I understand you’ve come to discuss my offer.”
Her next breath is deeper. “Yes. I’m very excited to talk to you about it.” She’s excited about something, that much is clear. The pink of her cheeks sets off the blue in her eyes. “Shall we have a seat?”
“I’ll stay standing.”
“Okay.” Her eyes slide to the chairs on either side of her but come back to mine. “I’ve gone over the terms, and I think a partnership between Van Kempt Industries and Phoenix Enterprises would benefit both of us. We’ve got a piece of prime Manhattan real estate already in development, and both parties stand to make a good return.”
Christ, she’s adorable like this, talking about benefits and returns like she knows a goddamn thing. She doesn’t. I can see that in her eyes. See it behind the confidence she’s projecting. Her nervousness burns, lighting up all that blue.
“So,” she continues, “I thought we could come to an agreement today and move forward.”
Yes, I want to say. I want to say it so badly. Yes, Charlotte Van Kempt, with your blue eyes and rosy cheeks and little black skirt suit, yes. We will come to this agreement and your smile will be enormous. The gray skies will be nothing compared to the blue of your eyes.
No—fuck no. That’s not something I’ll ever say to anyone, much less Charlotte, much less the daughter of my enemy.
It’s the anticipation. That’s what this is. The compulsion to jump the gun, to end the game right now. It’s been a long time, but I’m not going to fuck it up here and now. Not after everything I’ve done. Not after everything I’ve had to do.
“No.”
It brings her up short. This is not how she imagined this would go.
This is not how I imagined this would go.
Charlotte Van Kempt is a surprise. I’m taken with the nip of her waist and the promise of her thighs underneath the prim black skirt. Taken with her parted lips. Taken with her bravery.
Her hand tightens on the strap of her purse. “You’re saying no to an agreement?”
“I’ve had time to consider, Ms. Van Kempt,” I tell her, flipping a page in the documents in front of me. “And I doubt it’s as mutually beneficial as you say. Why would your family business be worth that much? Isn’t it falling down around your ears?”
Her lips part, and her hand comes up to the hollow of her throat. There. I’ve done it. Shaken her confidence. Her fingertips brush against the skin there, as if she’s looking for something. No doubt she is. That delicate flesh screams for diamonds. She needs them. Charlotte used to have them, I have no doubt. Something to ground her. Keep her here on earth.
She swallows. “But you—you made the offer.”
Indeed I did.
“Yes, and I’ll consider it. For a majority stake.”
Her eyes fly open, no subtlety to it this time. This isn’t what she expected. I’m not what she expected. Well, turnabout is fair play. I wanted to embarrass her father at a meeting, and I got a society girl instead. More than a society girl. “It’s Van Kempt Industries. Our family’s name is right there. We can’t give it away.”
I let the smirk move slowly over my face. God, she’s exquisite. Let her see how much delight I take in this. “Would you rather file for Chapter 11?”
Charlotte’s chin lifts. “That would be impossible, because my family’s company isn’t bankrupt.”
“Isn’t it?” A deeper red on her cheeks. I keep telling myself they can’t get redder, and then they do. There are other parts of her I’d very much like to experiment with in this way. See how red they can get. See how fast the tears come. “Isn’t that why you’re here on your knees, begging for a deal?”
“I’m not on my knees. And I’m not begging.”
“Not yet.”
She gasps, reaching for her throat, and this time she realizes what she’s doing. It’s too late. Her secret is already mine.
“Never.” The tremble in her voice now isn’t from nerves. It’s from anger, and it’s lovely on her face. Flashing in her eyes. Charlotte Van Kempt is doing her best to keep it close. It’s riveting. One deep breath, then another, and a brief flutter of her eyelashes. “Van Kempt Industries has a lot to offer. Any business would be lucky to invest in us. If you aren’t interested, I’ll find someone who is.”
“You have one thing to offer, and it’s the location of the property. That’s where your value begins and ends.” I let my gaze linger over her curves. Her beautiful breasts. The flare of her thighs. I long to get between them. Patience, patience. “Well, I suppose you have some other value.”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t take the bait. “The construction on the Cornerstone development is already in progress. The design is—”
I laugh at her. Interrupt her. Cut her off. “The design is atrocious. I won’t attach my name to the project until I’m in charge of it. Who approved the plans for those apartments, anyway? I’m guessing it was your father, and from the looks of them, he was in the middle of a bender when he agreed. They’re going to need an engineer to sort through them.”
“The apartments will be beautiful,” she insists, and her eyes cut to the floor for a blink. So it was her. Innocent Charlotte Van Kempt had a hand in this. “They’re going to be—they’ll be highly sought after. There’s a lot of money in this for you.”
“A lot of money in saving a business on the brink of collapse? No, Ms. Van Kempt, there is not. What you’re asking for is charity.” I tap my knuckles against the papers on the desk, and she can’t help it—she looks. Her eyes move down, and without all that blue clouding my vision I can drink the rest of her in. The dip in her throat where I could feel her pulse. The elegant slope of her shoulders. She’s dressed for the meeting to hide herself from me, but she failed. I might not have noticed how well my hand would fit around her neck if she’d already had diamonds. “You and your family don’t need an investment. You need a rescue.”
“That’s not what this is. I’ll admit that we have a problem. Of course we do. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here. But I—we—don’t need to be rescued.”
“A company like mine doesn’t partner with a disaster like yours.”
“Then why did you send the offer?”
“It got you here, Ms. Van Kempt. Surely you know that the first offer is never final. It’s only the opening move.”
She didn’t know, and I get the pleasure of watching her understanding come in real time. So sweet. So naive. The offer I put together was a lure, and she was desperate enough to bite. “You did all that just to get a meeting with me?”
“Are you surprised?”
“I thought you were an honest businessman.”
“Right,” I say, my voice dry. This coming from Cyrus’s own daughter. A more dishonest businessman doesn’t exist. She’s been working with him. She must know the dirty details, even if she looks pure as snow. An idea forms in my head. I can get revenge on the father in more ways than one. I can fuck his daughter. And God, will I enjoy it.
I have a short, intensely erotic daydream involving the slow unraveling of one society brat. The shock. The tears. Fuck yes.
“If you didn’t intend to keep the offer, then you’re wasting my time.”
“Let me be clear.” Her eyes come to mine and pain trips through my knee. Damn the adrenaline. Damn the scent of her in the air between us. Damn the memory of that slim skirt, hidden from me by my own desk. “It took no time to make the offer. It will take even less to withdraw it. I can invest my money in a thousand buildings in New York City. I could have you escorted out of the building in the blink of an eye, but I don’t think you want me to do that.”
“How would you know?” she challenges, and a gust of wind picks up a spray of raindrops. It hurls them against the window. Sharp like hail. Sharp enough to cut this soft, innocent thing standing in my office.
“Because you’re still here. You haven’t taken one step toward the door. You’re probably wet from how badly the money turns you on. Your company’s on the brink of bankruptcy. Not to mention the sad state of your family’s finances. You want this deal, Ms. Van Kempt, but that’s not the worst part.”
She can’t help herself. “What, then? What could be worse than that?”
“How desperately you need it.”
