He Will be My Ruin

“So he doesn’t want my money?” This is a first.

“His time—and your time—is valuable. He wants to have the most productive meeting possible. As soon as I can locate the files, I will give you a call and we can reschedule. Again, we’re very sorry about this.” She doesn’t sound sorry at all as she scans my dress again. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s happy this played out as it has.

What I do know is that this is my best and likely only shot at getting information out of Jace Everett.

With a deep breath, I get up and straighten my skirt. And then I stalk forward and push through the door, because I didn’t get where I am today by playing by other people’s rules.

It’s the scene from the magazine photo. Same walnut desk, same daunting city view. Even the same blue pinstripe suit.

The only difference is that Jace Everett isn’t posed on the edge of the desk with a brash smile. He’s sitting in his chair, a stack of papers in his hands, a phone pressed to his ear. His blue eyes are full of irritation as he watches me stalk into his office, Natasha on my heels.

“I’m sorry, I told her,” she blurts out.

I ignore her and approach his desk with all the confidence I can muster as my heart pounds against my breastbone. “Hi, I’m Maggie Sparkes of Sparkes Energy.” I’ve never used my family’s status so blatantly before. I’ve also never used my looks like this before. I push the icky feeling away. There’s no way he hasn’t heard of Sparkes Energy. We’re traded on NASDAQ for fuck’s sake.

And there it is. The realization in his eyes. “I’ll call you back,” he murmurs, hanging up. He stands, adjusting his tie as he rounds his desk. “Miss Sparkes. I’m so sorry we’re starting off on the wrong foot.” I take his proffered hand, keeping my eyes on his face, unable to shake the thought that I have a naked picture of him tucked in my purse. I wonder what he’s going to say about that.

“I’d like to see what you can do for me,” I say instead, clearing my voice because I’m sounding too unsteady for my liking. “Though I’m beginning to wonder if this firm is too disorganized to help me.”

“We’ve never had an issue like this before.” His eyes flash past me, and I apologize quietly for throwing his assistant under the bus, even if she is a bitch. A flicker of amusement touches his expression. “But I’m feeling quite confident that we can have a good conversation despite the missing paperwork. Thank you, Natasha.” His look is as much a dismissal as anything I’ve ever seen.

She shuts the door on her way out, leaving us alone. “So . . . Sparkes Energy.” He pulls out a chair for me and I take it, feeling his gaze rake over my body. Does he recognize the dress as Celine’s? I study his perfectly coiffed blond hair as his back is to me. Does he know that Celine is dead? Does he care? When did he talk to her last?

This man was once my salvation. Now he will be my ruin.

“I would have thought that your family already has a firm to manage your investments.”

“They do. And I do. But I like to venture out every once in a while. I have money to do that with, with the right person.”

“I’m sure I’m that person.” His chemically whitened teeth gleam as he begins to laugh. “How’d you come across my name?”

I had a feeling he’d ask me this. I can’t go throwing around names of his other clients, because I don’t know any. I briefly consider hurling Celine’s name at him to see how he’ll react, but it’s too soon, too abrupt. So I reach into my purse and pull out the magazine, tossing it on his desk. “It says that you’re very good.”

He regards the cover with a smirk. But I notice that his cheeks don’t flush. He’s not embarrassed by the attention. I can’t relate, and my pinpricks of distrust grow stronger. When a prominent environmental magazine did a full exposé on me last year and people started pulling out their copies with big grins on their faces, it was all I could do not to crawl under nearby tables. I didn’t even want to do the stupid profile to begin with. Celine is the one who convinced me I should, to get the attention of both investors and activists.

Maybe Jace really is the cocky SOB that Dani claims. But why the hell would Celine have been with a guy like this? She was too shy, too sweet for him.

“I don’t recall them talking very much about my professional career in here.” Letting the magazine fall to the desk, he leans back in his chair and settles amused eyes on me. He must think I’m more interested in his skills as an eligible bachelor.

Whatever works.

“I’m at a loss here, Maggie Sparkes. Normally I like to do my due diligence, learn about the client—their goals, their financial situation. I’ve had no time to prepare. I don’t know what you have in mind.”

I pick up a pen and scribble down a figure on my business card that I know will blast through any “minimums” he may have. I slide it forward. “You’re the expert. You tell me how we can make this grow.”

His shoulders lift with a sizeable inhale, and when he raises his gaze, his long lashes bat. They fucking bat. “We have plenty of options.”

I figured as much.

“What market sector are you interested in? If I had to guess . . .” He looks at the business card again. “Health care?”

“You read my mind.” Clifton Banks, our family’s aptly named financial planner, normally guides me in this area, and I’m happy to let him do so. I have other people who manage the nitty-gritty details of fund management as it relates to the foundation, the kind of things that make me want to scratch my eyes out when I’m forced to listen for too long.

Luckily I can pretend to be either enthralled or knowledgeable when I must.

We spend forty minutes—double my allotted meeting time—going over hedge fund strategies, Jace explaining risk and return profiles, instruments and diversification; things that are beyond my basic understanding but prove to me that either he’s a complete bullshitter or he knows what he’s talking about. He seems meticulous in his notes, jotting down my risk thresholds with tidy handwriting, plying me with just enough charm to hold my attention, without any opportunity to be accused of inappropriateness for a first meeting.

His eyes only occasionally wander to the deep V dip of this dress, when he thinks my attention is busy reviewing documents that he’s handed me to sign.