Filthy Rich (Filthy Rich 1)

“It wasn’t hard. He knows they’re going to take the company public and make hundreds of millions. It’

s been a few years since he took the deal, and he’s bitter about it. He has a lot to say.”

“And the girlfriend?” I asked as the elevator doors closed.

“She’s his wife now, and they have a kid. The ex-girlfriend is a nonissue by this point. Oh, and he’s sick of Florida. He hates it there. Having just spent a week there, I don’t blame him.”

“Get him to New York, all expenses paid,” I said. “His wife and child, too. I’ll get our lawyers to depose him. I’ll call some of my contacts at the Federal Trade Commission. I think they’ll be interested to know what the Egertons are hiding from potential investors before they go public.”

“You know, at first I thought you were crazy,” Alex said. “Going after these guys because of a couple of comments? I know they were out of line, but it seemed like you were overreacting. But now that I’ve learned what scumbags the Egertons are, I’m all for it. Let’s see if we can burn them down.”

I walked into my penthouse to shower and get dressed for work. “I just look nice. You know that.”

“True. You might wear a suit, but you can’t take the Chicago kid out of you, Aidan. Deep down, you’re still that kid I met when we were fifteen, who was ready to fight anyone who pissed him off.”

I pulled my sweaty shirt off over my head and dumped it in the hamper, then put the phone back to my ear. “Speaking of which, I have an idea about Noah’s Chicago project.”

“Yeah, that,” Alex said. He’d voted against it, just like I had. “Are you changing your mind? You want to invest in a rundown old building for sentimental reasons?”

“I’ve been looking over some of the data,” I said. “Noah might be right. It has potential other than the fact that we lived there.”

“I know that neighborhood, Aidan. That building is a charity project. And we’re not in the business of charity.”

I thought of standing on a street on the Lower East Side with Samantha, looking at a building through her eyes and seeing something I wasn’t used to seeing. “I think we can do more than just make money,” I said to Alex. “And you won’t have to do anything.”

“All right, I’m listening.”

So I told him my idea. He was quiet while I talked, and quiet when I finished. Quiet for too long.

“Well?” I said. “What do you think?”

“I’ve never heard you come up with anything like this,” Alex said.

“That isn’t an answer. Yes or no?”

“I don’t hate it,” he admitted. “At least, not completely. Do you think Noah and Dane will go for it?”

I wasn’t sure at all, but I said, “Yes.”

“Liar. Okay, fine. You have my vote. If you can convince the other two, then do it.”

I grinned. “I knew you’d come around.”

“There’s one other person you have to convince,” Alex said. “Good luck with it.” He hung up.

After our last encounter, I wasn’t sure what Samantha thought of me. I had no doubt that we’d played the game to perfection, and absolutely no doubt that I’d pleased her—I’d left her in an orgasmic puddle in the bathroom at Shaker’s. And yes, I was pretty fucking proud of it.

But the way I left was abrupt. That was on purpose, to remind her that she wasn’t in complete control of this game, that she didn’t hold all the cards. That playing required both of us. She had left me at a disadvantage after the night at the art gallery—I’d been shaken by that encounter, pushed off-balance. I’d been dying for her, and she hadn’t noticed. I didn’t particularly like feeling like she had me at her back and call—and she didn’t even know it. Turnabout was fair play.

By eight thirty I was dressed in my usual black—it was warm today, so I wore dress pants and a shirt but had left off my jacket—and I was in the lobby of the office, waiting for the elevator. I heard heels clicking softly on the marble behind me, and I smelled a familiar scent. In the space of a second, I knew who it was.

Samantha came to stand beside me, waiting. She was wearing a dark blue short-sleeved button-up dress, her hair up in its usual professional twist. Her makeup was subtle and lovely as always. And she wore low heels with ankle straps.

My gaze dropped to the shoes—those sexy shoes—and then the dress. My sexual fantasies had been right. She looked incredible in blue.

I raised my gaze to her profile. She was staring fixedly at the elevator button. There was a pink flush on her cheekbones that wasn’t blush.

“Good morning, Samantha,” I said.