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His plan to engineer a takeover of LangTel wouldn’t simply backfire if Anna discovered it—he’d be sunk. The War Chest, a secret high-roller investment group led by Jacob, had watched the decline of LangTel stock after the death of Anna and Adam’s father, Roger. The company was vulnerable with Adam in charge—he didn’t have the confidence of the board of directors the way his dad had. LangTel was ripe for the picking.
The War Chest’s plan had been born over cards and too much bourbon one night in Madrid, at a retreat for key players. Jacob had put it out there—What about LangTel? Could a company that large be taken over? It would be a daunting challenge, requiring a massive money pool and meticulous planning, but this was precisely the kind of project the War Chest loved. Without risk came no reward. There was money to be made, and a lot of it, because a company that well established would eventually rebound. Carving out a slice of revenge against Adam by ousting him as CEO would merely be giving Adam exactly what he deserved.
Jacob rode the elevator upstairs. The game had changed the instant Anna walked into that bar. She was no longer a wide-eyed coed. She was a powerful businesswoman—confident, cool, in control. Other men in the bar had taken notice, too—she was formidable for her business pedigree, coming from one of the most successful entrepreneurial families in US history. Her beauty only upped the intimidation factor, with thick brown hair falling around her shoulders, a dancer’s grace and posture, and lips that suggested sweetness and hinted of a storm.
Anna’s lips had fallen on his once—a few scorching heartbeats still emblazoned in his memory. The way she pressed against him had resonated to his core. She’d been so eager to surrender her body, so ready to explore his. Turning her down, saying he’d destroy his brotherly friendship with Adam if things went further, had been the upstanding thing to do.
He had no way of knowing that Adam would betray him months later by ending their business partnership, making millions from the sale of the company they’d started together and publicly bashing Jacob’s contribution to the project. The words Adam had said could never be erased from Jacob’s memory. It’s your fault you never asked for a partnership agreement. And to think he’d trusted Adam...that had been his first mistake.
He keyed into his suite—quiet, sprawling luxury, echoing his private existence at home in New York. Outside of a maid or a cook or an assistant, there was never anyone waiting when he walked through the door at the end of the day, and that was how he preferred it. Most people were nothing but a disappointment—Exhibit A, Adam Langford.
A business proposition. What was Anna’s angle? It’d be brave of her if it involved peacemaking. The feud between himself and Adam only continued to get worse.
It seemed as if the more successful Jacob became, the more Adam said crude things about him at cocktail parties and in business magazines. Jacob Lin doesn’t have an entrepreneurial mind. He’s good with money and nothing else. Jacob had given into it, too. Adam Langford will coast on his family name for as long as the world lets him. It was impossible not to engage, but it had also occurred to Jacob after the last barbs were exchanged in the newspapers, that words were no way to go. Actions spoke louder. He’d no longer tell the world what he thought of Adam. He’d show them.
Jacob picked up the direct line to the twenty-four-hour concierge.
“Good evening, Mr. Lin. How may I assist you?”
“Yes. Can you please send up a bottle of wine?” He flipped through the room service menu. “The Montrachet, Domaine Marquis de Laguiche?” He rattled off the French with no problem. Years of shuttling between boarding schools in Europe and Asia had left him fluent in four languages—French, English, Japanese and Mandarin, the language his father had grown up speaking in Taiwan.
“Yes, Mr. Lin. We have the 2012 vintage for fifteen-hundred dollars. I trust that is acceptable?”
“Of course. Send it up right away.” Life is too short for cheap wine.
Actually, he and Anna had consumed more than their fair share of cheap wine during their marathon late-night talks at the Langford family home in Manhattan. That felt like a lifetime ago.
His friendship with Adam had meant the world then. They told each other everything, commiserated over growing up with powerful, yet emotionally reclusive, fathers. They bonded over career aspirations, came up with ideas effortlessly. Jacob had hit it off with Anna equally well, except that he’d only had a sliver of time with her—ten days during which they drank, played cards and joked, while attraction pinged back and forth between them. He’d thought about acting on it many times, but never did.
