Hudson (3 page)

The Sky Launch?
I wrack my brain trying to place the name. “The nightclub?”

“Yep.”

She can’t possibly be planning to work at a nightclub after her graduation. She has to have another offer. “Can you tell if anyone else has pulled her information recently?” If she’s got a job waiting, they’ll have checked into her.

I hear muffled movement as if Jordan’s cradling the phone on his shoulder while he looks for the answer. “The system says there was one other pull of her credit history. Yesterday.”

“Dammit.” I wonder which of my competitors was lucky enough to earn her yes. “Find out who ordered that.” Then I’ll prepare my counter proposition.

“On it.”

“And call me the minute anything new comes in.”

“Yes, Mr. Pierce.”

I’ve just hung up when Patricia calls me again. I pick up the receiver to answer when my office door is flung open and Celia parades in.

“I’m sorry, sir,” my secretary says in my ear. “I was calling to announce her and she just walked in.”

“It’s okay. I’ll take care of her.” I hang up, cursing under my breath. Celia’s the last person I’m in the mood for, but Patricia isn’t any sort of bouncer.

Celia slinks in and half-sits on the far corner of my desk. “You’ll take care of me, will you?”

I ignore her suggestive tone. “Two days in one week, Celia. To what do I owe the
pleasure
?” I put enough bitterness in my final word that she can’t mistake that there is anything pleasant about her visit at all.

Immediately I feel a pang of guilt. It’s not Celia’s fault that I no longer want to be around her, rather it’s my fault. All of it, my fault.

She doesn’t let my tone ruffle her. “Oh, come on, Hudsy. Don’t be that way. I’m not the enemy.”

No, she’s not. I’m the enemy. She’ll never see it, though, so it’s my job to keep the distance. “Why are you here?”

There’s a gleam in her eye when she smiles. “I have something that I know is going to interest you.”

“Oh?” I sound bored, and I am.

“I’m serious. You’re going to want in on this.”

In on this?
She can only be proposing a game. “Celia, I’ve told you, I don’t play anymore.” I shift my focus toward my computer screen, pretending to go back to whatever I was doing before she arrived.

She doesn’t get that I’m dismissing her—or doesn’t care. “You’ve told me, you’ve told me. Now I’m telling you, you’ll want in on this.”

I should kick her out now, pour out the bottle before I’ve even taken a sip, so to say, but I can’t help myself. Even with my attention turned, my pulse has quickened and the moisture in my mouth has increased. Her eagerness is contagious. And I’m curious. Too curious.

I can’t let her know. “I won’t want in on anything. But since you’re here,” I casually turn back to face her, “what is it you’re planning?”

Her grin kicks up a notch. “Look at you. You’re dying to know. Your eyes blazed the minute you realized what I was offering.”

I don’t try to deny it—I
am
interested and even with schooled features, she can see it. I hate how well I’ve taught her to read people. I hate when she uses her knowledge to read me.

It pisses me off enough that I almost send her packing.

But curiosity wins out. She hasn’t tempted me with her games in quite some time. Why now?

“Out with it, Ceeley.” I cringe inwardly at the slip of her childhood nickname. She’ll think I mean something by it that I don’t. It’s why I hate nicknames so much.

She stands and starts rummaging through her bag. “It’s a basic scenario—make the girl fall for you and then deny her, watching her fall to pieces.”

It had been our old favorite. No matter how many times we’d performed the experiment, it never failed to interest me. It was a marvelous study in the emotion called love, but somehow it never gave me any of the answers I was seeking.

I pretend the idea doesn’t pique me in the slightest. “How original. What about that did you think would interest me?”

She smiles with confidence. “The girl.”

I raise a questioning brow, but instead of answering me verbally, she retrieves a file folder from her bag and sets it on the desk in front of me. Then she waits for me to study it.

With a reluctant breath, I flip the cover open and move my eyes from Celia to the top sheet inside the file. Deep brown eyes and a warm smile meet me.

Celia’s right—it is the girl that interests me. And I know before she says anything more that I will hear her out to the end. Because if Celia has the answer to getting closer to Alayna Withers, I am in.

All the way.

Chapter Four

There are other pictures in the file Celia gathered and I want to survey them all, want to memorize every detail of Alayna Withers’ expressions, her postures. I don’t though, because I’m very aware of Celia’s hawk-eyed stare. She’s waiting for me to read the reports included, and I want to—I want to absorb it all.

But there’s something else nagging at me to close the folder and end this now despite my overwhelming desire to act otherwise. I’m supposed to abstain from these games. That’s not what’s halting me. My hesitancy comes from a far more primal source—I don’t want to share. I’m already irritated that Celia’s learned things that I want to know. I wish I could horde the findings to myself, decide how I want to handle my fascination with Alayna on my own. Obviously it’s too late for that, but I can try to dissuade my former partner in crime from pursuing this further.

I shut the file without reading on. It’s harder than I imagine, still I manage it with as much indifference as I can muster. “Not interested.”

I slide the folder across the desk to where Celia has perched herself. My pulse quickens as my fingers let go of Alayna’s profile. I’m itching to scrutinize it with an obsessive pull that I haven’t felt in years.
Jordan will find the same information
, I remind myself. I can wait. Patience has always been one of my most admirable traits.

Celia takes the folder into her hands. I try not to focus on it any longer, but my eyes flit to it more than once.

She stands. “I guess I was wrong then.” Her tone says she doesn’t believe that for a minute. “I’ll have to keep this little prize for myself. You really are out of the game, aren’t you?”

Celia’s almost as good at manipulating as I am. It is both a blessing and a curse that I know her as well as I do—I can predict every move before she makes it. Unfortunately, she can also predict mine. She’s the greatest chess opponent I’ve ever had.

I try to discern her next move now, or, rather, the move she predicts I’ll make. She’s letting me off too easy, which means she’s not really letting me off at all. She wants me to ask her what she means to do with Alayna, and since that’s what she wants, it’s the one question I can’t ask. Yet it’s the one burning at me most.

On top of what I know she wants me to do, I have my own agenda: Whatever she has planned, I have to stop her. It’s not an altruistic motive—it goes back to the not wanting to share. I don’t want Celia to do anything to Alayna Withers because I want her all to myself. What I want her for has yet to be determined. I don’t have any urge to play the woman. But I yearn to connect with her in some way and whatever that way is, it’s not to include Celia.

So I have my work cut out for me in how I respond to my old friend. Terminate her plans without seeming to care what they are. I sit back in my chair and meet her eyes. “I’m out of the game, Celia. You know this. When will you accept that?”

I’m practiced in remaining aloof even when high stakes are on the line. I’ve often wondered if I could pass a polygraph test without being completely honest. I don’t intend to ever be in the position to find out, but it is a curiosity of mine.

Celia laughs. “I’ll never accept it, Hudson. I’d have to believe that people could change, and I don’t believe that. Not fundamentally. Sooner or later you’ll realize that it’s killing you. You thrive on your experiments. They gave you reason to live. What else could replace that?”

I’ve asked myself that same question since I left the game. I’ve searched for replacements in the best and worst of places—work, exercise, sex, alcohol. Nothing has yet to satisfy me in the way that I need, but I’m not ready to give up looking.

I won’t share that with Celia. “Life replaces it, Ceeley. Sooner or later you grow up. Even the people with enough money not to. Even us.”

“Huh. You sound even more like Alayna Withers than I thought.”

Here’s where I slip. I make my grand mistake and I know it before I start speaking and yet I can’t stop myself. “What do you mean?”

Celia’s eyes light up and I understand exactly why. Just like that, I’ve shown my interest. I’m exposed and there’s nothing I can do to take it back. She’s won. I try to convince myself it’s a small victory, but without being aware of exactly where my disclosure will take me, I already know that it’s not small at all.

“If you’d read the file,” she says calmly, “you’d know.”

So I’m stuck. Either I prod her to tell me or I ask for the file back. Both will expose my intrigue further.

Or I could ask her to leave. If I do, I’ll have to let it all go. Forget my own agenda. Forget the woman with the brown eyes and the hold she has on me.

That hold, though, is unyielding. I can’t let Alayna Withers go just yet. And if I usher Celia out, I will lose my chance to be privy to her plans. I’ve lost no matter what. Now I have to regain ground, take control of the situation.

I rise and head toward the elevator that goes only to my private loft, offering Celia a one-word directive as I do. “Upstairs.” I don’t look to see if she follows me. I know she will and sure enough, she slips in beside me just before the doors close.

“Just like old times,” she mutters under her breath.

I swallow my disgust. It feels directed at her, but it’s actually for me. It sickens me that I’m here again, that we’re sneaking away to discuss matters that have nothing to do with business. As we arrive at the loft, I attempt to stifle the notion that this simple action means that I’m conceding to anything. “This is an inappropriate conversation for my office. That’s all.”

My attempt was futile.

“Exactly,” she gloats. “Like all the conversations we’ve had here in the past.”

I can taste the disgust again at the back of my throat, its bitter flavor very real in my mouth. Though the loft had been everything from a fuck pad to a place to crash after a long day at work, it was always first and foremost
our place
—mine and Celia’s. Early in our gaming days, it had become our headquarters. We planned and schemed here. Used it as my address to keep our subjects from invading my personal space.

This isn’t the same. I brought Celia up here to give her the impression she was winning. To lower her guard. It was my play. Only, the memories throw me off-kilter as well. I’m prepared for that. Sometimes you have to lose a pawn to save your king.

I head to the refrigerator. Without asking, I pull out a bottle of water knowing it’s Celia’s beverage of choice. I hand it to her and head to the bar to fix my own drink. This encounter requires Scotch. It’s fortunate my schedule is free for the rest of the day. I quickly down two fingers of amber liquid and turn back to my guest. “Let me have it.”

She sits on the couch. “The file or the story?”

“The file.” I’m not interested in her story. It will be twisted to her liking. I take the file from her outstretched hand. She expects me to sit next to her. I take the armchair instead.

I open the folder again with a steady hand. Inside, I have the shakes. I have no idea how I’ll be impacted by what’s in here, but I fear I’m about to fall down the rabbit’s hole. That’s how much I’m affected by the mere idea of Alayna Withers. Settled into the leather at my back, I begin to read.

My eyes scan through the documents. There’s the usual info—copies of her credit report, her birth certificate, a death certificate for her parents. I don’t spend much time on these, only to note her age—twenty-six until November—and confirmation that she does indeed work at The Sky Launch.

Celia’s quiet at first as I read. She knows when to give me space and when to push, but she can’t help commenting when she sees that I’m looking at a copy of Alayna’s latest paystub. “She’s staying there. At that night club. Even after graduation.”

I won’t ask how she knows this. If it’s true, and I’m sure it is if Celia’s sharing it, I would have found it out too. “Why?” I ask instead.

“She wants to use her MBA to move up in management. Take over the place one day, was my impression.” Celia takes a sip of her water. “I chatted with the owner there when I inquired about doing a redesign for them.”

Celia’s worked fast. I’m impressed.

There’s more that she wants to say so I prod her. “And the owner just shared info on his employees?”

“That’s the thing. He doesn’t want to be the owner anymore. He’s selling. Asked me if I knew any buyers and highlighted a couple of his key staff to incentivize anyone with interest. I told him I might know someone.” She sits forward, excitement in her features. “There’s your in, Hudson.”

This news rouses me and I’m already looking for excuses to make the purchase. Isn’t it good business? If you can’t get the employee you want, then buy the employee’s company?

Maybe I made that rule up. But I’m a leader in innovative business practices. It could still be an acceptable principle even if I did make it up.

Still, I’m not moved to action. I don’t need Celia to pursue this route if I choose it.

I return my attention to the file.

“There’s more,” Celia taunts.

I ignore her. Then I see it, the information that Celia’s hinting at. A police record. “She’s been arrested?”

Celia scoots closer to me on the couch. “She violated a restraining order. Twice. Her brother’s a lawyer and got her record buried.”

“But you got it unburied. Let me guess—Don Timmons.” Don is a cop that Celia’s friendly with. She’s toyed with his emotions for years, fucking him simply to get information when she wants it. He’s out of her social class, something that would matter to her if she ever dated anyone seriously. But Celia doesn’t believe in romantic engagements. Not anymore. I taught her that.

She crosses a leg over the other. “Don’t look so judgmental. Don got what he wanted out of it.”

I’m not sure why I’m judging her. That behavior is well in line with things I’ve done myself time and time again. Perhaps therapy has had a positive effect on me. Not that I have suddenly developed a conscience. My contemptuous attitude is a defense mechanism—if I don’t approve of her actions, it will be less likely that I will want to adopt them for myself.

“Anyway, maybe the arrest is part of the reason she doesn’t pursue another occupation. She may not want it uncovered and she knows that any decent corporate screening process would uncover it.”

“It’s possible.” I make a mental note to get Alayna’s arrest sealed permanently. I have people more influential than Don Timmons. And I don’t have to blow them to get favors. Alayna’s too brilliant to let a jaded past keep her from her full potential.

A part of me recognizes I’m lying to myself about my reasons for caring about this woman’s future. My motivation isn’t centered around her business career or how I might tap into her intellectual skills. I can’t name the source of my motivation, though. So I cling to the lie as long as I can.

“On the other hand, the owner went on and on about Alayna’s genuine love of her job. She seems to be really passionate about it. She has a vested interest in the club.”

That reasoning resonates with me. Alayna Withers did not strike me as someone who lived in fear. Why did she get her degree in the first place? Because she wanted to make the club her own makes sense. She has drive. She has ambition. That was obvious in her presentation. My original shock at her choice of employment has been replaced with complete respect. This I can support. I want to help her reach that goal. It’s admirable.

“But the arrest isn’t the big thing.” Celia brings me back from my thoughts with an enthusiasm that threatens to be contagious. “The cause of it is. She has a mental health history.”

I turn once more to the papers in my lap and settle on the last section of documents. They consist of doctors’ records, outpatient reports, a certificate of rehabilitation completion. It only takes a few minutes for me to puzzle out her history. Alayna Withers has a compulsive disorder most likely aggravated by the death of both her parents at a young age. She specifically targets her obsessive tendencies on men and relationships, leading to socially abnormal behavior such as stalking, vandalism, and disorderly conduct. According to her rehab report, she’s been recovered for the past two years—a similar timeline to my own.

There’s a part of me that’s appalled by this information. The woman that stood in front of us at Stern was not fragile. She was confident and put together and in control. But I remember that strong sense that there was something more underneath her façade. I realize now that I had so easily recognized it because her carriage was so familiar. Strong on the outside, battling demons on the inside—she was, in so many ways, like me.

I close my eyes and massage the bridge of my nose. Is that the nature of my attraction? A kinship with this woman? I don’t believe it’s that simple, but, with this new information, I am beyond fascinated with her. I’ve often questioned if there was any recovery for someone like me. Can I really get better? Do I have any hope for a full and healthy life?

Celia was right. I want to experiment with this one more than any other she’s tempted me with in the last two years. Our objectives, though, are in opposition. I can easily guess the nature of Celia’s planned game. She wants to see if she can cause the subject to break again. See if Alayna will return to her past behaviors when pushed.

I, on the other hand, do not want to see Alayna Withers break. I want to see her survive. Because if she can, then maybe so can I.

I’m decided now. I won’t let Alayna out of my sight. I will pursue her. I will study her. I will not play her.

And so it’s time to make sure Celia doesn’t either.

I shut the folder, stand, and hand it back to Celia. “This is not a game we’re playing.” My tone informs her that this is a closed subject.

Celia stands with a sigh. “That’s too bad. I had a great scenario. We’d pretend that our parents want us to marry—best lies are closest to the truth, as you always say.” In this case, it
is
the truth. “Your mother believes you’ll never love anyone so you best marry me. You hire Alayna to be your girlfriend. To convince your parents to leave your romantic life alone. With all the pretending, the girl will fall for you. The scheme will end and we see what happens. Intriguing, no?”