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“Tony promises a lot of flash. If you want to be wined and dined and swept off on their annual Mediterranean cruise so that you feel important, you go with Merrill and Mead. If you want people who actually know the market and see what’s around the next curve before you get there, then you go with us.” Wyatt tossed more chips in.
“And what if I need someone who knows how to be discreet?” Andrew asked, his tone as casual as the god-awful tropical shirt he wore today. He pushed his cards in, folding.
The question was simple and not completely off the wall. People wanted ultimate privacy when it came to their finances, but the way Andrew had said it had raised Wyatt’s creep sensors. “Meaning?”
Andrew shrugged and glanced over at their poker partner. “Scott has told me your father has always been good at keeping things clean. You know, even when they may not start out that way.”
Wyatt’s attention snapped toward Scott, who only offered a ghost of a smile as he peeked at his cards to decide what his next move was. Keeping things clean? What the fuck? “I see.”
“Honestly,” Carmichael continued, “I wasn’t sure if you had the cajones to handle something like that. You’ve never been much of a . . . risk-taker. I mean, you didn’t even fuck that pretty girlfriend you had in high school. Shocked the hell out of me when she told me she was a virgin.”
Wyatt gripped his drink so hard, he was surprised it didn’t shatter in his fist. But there was no way he was going to make a scene in front of Scott, one of his father’s most important clients. Wyatt leveled a look at Carmichael, refusing to respond to the bait.
“But when I saw who you brought with you as a date for this week, I realized I must’ve misjudged you.” Carmichael tossed back the rest of his whiskey. “I mean, the Quiet Wyatt I knew would’ve never had the gall to take a stripper to something like this.”
“Don’t fucking call her that,” he growled.
Scott coughed.
Carmichael smiled, raising his palms. “Whoa, there. Sorry. Exotic dancer. Forgive me. Gwen used a much less complimentary term. But she was drunk and on the verge of an orgasm, so you know, what can you do? I got quite a chuckle out of it, though. Mr. Buttoned-up Genius with a girl like Kelsey. And hey, who could blame you? That girl is a looker. I mean, whenever your . . . contract with her is up, I might have to make a little investment myself.”
Wyatt was out of his seat before the next breath. He hauled Carmichael up from his seat by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the bank of windows overlooking the beach. The glass rattled and Wyatt vaguely registered the dealer calling for security and Scott calling his name.
“One more word about Kelsey and I will fucking throw you through this window,” he seethed, inches from Andrew’s smarmy face.
“Ah, just like old times,” Carmichael said, his tone bland. “You really should talk to someone about your anger problems.”
Wyatt’s grip tightened, and he pictured undoing all the plastic surgery Andrew had probably gotten done in the last ten years. But Scott was grabbing Wyatt’s shoulder, his voice calm and cajoling. “Come on, Wyatt. Let him go. This isn’t the place.”
“Don’t worry, Scott,” Carmichael said with a confident sneer. “He’s not going to hurt me. He needs my business, and he’s too smart not to know how much my money could mean to his company. All we need to do is agree to get this bullshit bad blood out of the way, so we can move on.”
The clopping feet of the two security guards jogging their way sounded in Wyatt’s ears. He punched Carmichael in the gut, sending the guy into a gasping front fold, and released him. Firm hands landed on Wyatt’s forearms, dragging him backward. “Arms behind you.”
Carmichael braced a hand on the window, still half-bent, and looked up at Wyatt. “Feel better now?”
“It’s a start,” Wyatt spat out.
“Let him go,” Andrew said, waving at the security guards. “We’re just handling an old matter. Nothing to worry about.”
The two hulking guards glanced at Wyatt, and the one on his right gave Andrew a perplexing look. “You sure, Mr. Carmichael? We could take him to the main island, you could press charges.”
Andrew finally stood upright again, though Wyatt could see the move was strained. He straightened his shirt. “No need. Just guys being guys.”
Reluctantly, the two men released their death grip on Wyatt. One stepped toward Andrew. “Do you want us to send the medic, sir?”
Wyatt barely resisted giving Andrew a real need for a medic, but he knew that would only end up with him in some dirty island prison overnight and Kelsey left on her own here. Not an option. Kelsey. Jesus. If Gwen had told Carmichael, who was to say she hadn’t told others or that Carmichael hadn’t spread the gossip. Now Kelsey was out with women who potentially knew her secret. He needed to get out of here and go to her.
Carmichael declined medical attention and dismissed both the guards and the poker dealer, then turned to Wyatt. “Let’s call us even now, all right? You got a free shot at me, and I resisted letting them throw you in a jail cell.”
Wyatt gritted his teeth. “I have no idea what you’re trying to accomplish—”
“A partnership,” Carmichael said with a snake-oil salesman smile. “Just like Scott has with your daddy. And I promise it will be more than beneficial to both of us. You don’t need to like me to make money off me. Don’t let your pride make you stupid.”
“Fuck you and your money.” Wyatt turned and headed toward the door.
Carmichael chuckled. “Go have a drink and cool off, old friend. Once you realize you’re letting adolescent emotions get in the way of a good business decision, we’ll talk.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
