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“Oh, come on. We’ll play him a little. It’s no less than he deserves. If Carl uncovered a way to manipulate a major player in a deal to your advantage, you wouldn’t hesitate.”
He couldn’t lie to her, so he just looked away.
“Ha!” she said, as if triumphing, but he couldn’t imagine what sort of victory she was claiming. But then she must have realized he remained unamused, because she turned defiant. “It’s not like you can tell me what to do, anyway. You’re not actually my…boss.”
For a minute he thought she’d been going to finish that sentence with another word altogether.
He sighed. “All right. But be careful.” It was all he could say. He’d heard what she’d left unsaid, and she was right. He had no claim on her.
Chapter Sixteen
The next day was the usual mix of socializing and business. Cassie found it exhausting, but she could tell Jack thrived in these deal-making situations, in environments when there was a lot at stake. For her part, she could never tell which persona she was supposed to switch on at any given time. Were they going to talk fourth-quarter projections, or were they going to go for a swim in the indoor pool?
She was constantly on guard, and not only because she felt like a fish out of water both as Winter Enterprise’s finance person and as a houseguest of the extremely rich. There was also the matter of Brian Wexler. If he wasn’t so gross, he would be sort of fascinating. She’d run a little experiment on him, spending the first hour of the morning subtly encouraging him and the second being borderline rude. Amazingly, his behavior did not change at all. He seemed cheerfully oblivious to anything she said or did to encourage or discourage him. It had probably never occurred to him that someone like her wouldn’t automatically jump at the chance to be with a rich guy like him—rejection just wasn’t in his vocabulary. He probably thought she was the type who was impressed by money.
Okay, she was a little impressed—not by him, but by the whole situation. Nine days ago, she’d been a bartender-slash-student, saving her tips and crossing her fingers that Laura’s latest rehab stint would take. Same old, same old. Now she was literally sipping Veuve Clicquot and eating bonbons, doing her part to help broker a multimillion-dollar acquisition.
There was also the part where she spent last week getting it on at the forty-ninth floor of the Lakefront Centre, and having, like, fifteen orgasms a day. That seemed as unreal as her immersion in this whole other world. She wasn’t accustomed to being the sort of woman men found irresistible. But Jack had seemed to.
Had seemed to—past tense. They’d agreed to end things at the onset of this trip. She knew that, but she hadn’t been prepared for how easily he had just shut off whatever it was that had been between them. Because, honestly, it had been twenty-four hours now—twenty-four hours of being in the same house and pretending they were nothing to each other but cordial colleagues. While she was constantly aware of his presence, her heart speeding up when he entered a room, he hardly seemed to notice hers. She’d gone into this with her eyes open, knowing Jack’s “rules” meant there was an expiration date for them.
But apparently she’d underestimated how much it was going to break her heart.
…
When Cassie didn’t answer his knock, Jack hesitated for only a minute before entering. He needed to talk to her before dinner.
“Cassie?” he whispered, “Can I come in?” He hoped she wasn’t napping. They’d spent the morning tromping around the island with Wexler Senior, and then Wexler and Cassie had huddled with some spreadsheets. Damn, she’d been magnificent. When he’d hatched this whole plan, he’d known she was smart. He’d hoped it would be enough for her to pass, to provide the minimum amount of support he needed in Carl’s absence. Instead, she was turning out to have quite a knack for this. Amy couldn’t have done a better job explaining the Mexico project—and she’d been there in person. Cassie could shift between numbers and big-picture vision stuff effortlessly. Plus she had a kind of infectious enthusiasm for the idea of a resort here. It was hard not to get swept up in the excitement when she described bird-watching expeditions and stargazing parties. He might even have to implement the damn stargazing idea if the deal went through, though he still seriously doubted the ladies-who-lunch of Toronto would care that there was an “amazing” meteor shower early every August. But maybe their kids would.
After a busy morning, Wexler suggested everyone retire for a couple of hours before dinner. Jack had given Cassie half an hour to herself, but now he needed her. He’d caught Junior putting the moves on her a couple times, and he wanted to tell her to call off whatever little manipulation scheme she was running. It wasn’t sitting right with him. And besides, he didn’t think they needed it. Wexler Senior was coming around—he could feel it.
