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Jordan
“You know I never turn down new ventures,” I said to my partner, Mark, over my shoulder as I straightened my tie in the mirror. “But a company this size?” I whistled. “That’s ambitious enough to make even me a little hesitant.”
Mark smirked and took a sip of his scotch. “Tell me about it. But I have to say…my little Kitty Cat really sold me on the idea. It’d be a team effort. Of course I don’t need to tell you…you’d be taking on the brunt of that effort.”
“Great,” I groaned sarcastically. “And the brunt of the profits I hope?”
“Now, now, Jordan. You know I’m not putting my name anywhere near this thing without an agreement to a three-way split,” he countered.
“I just hope I’m in the position to make those kinds of demands by the time I’m your age,” I winked, grabbing my suit jacket out of the closet.
“Take on something like this and you just might be,” he winked, tipping his glass.
We finished up our drinks in my penthouse, then headed down to the lobby where my car and driver were waiting for us outside. I was jazzed for the meeting at Heartstring, even if nothing came from it.
When Mark and I first met, I had to lay the charm on thick. I had spent years building his trust along with our working relationship. It didn’t take long for him to call me partner, but it was only recently that he actually started treating me like one. I couldn’t blame him. A guy with his experience and reputation had the right to be choosy in who he took on as his mentee. With no son of his own, I was honored to be the chosen one. Not just honored, but I had gotten pretty rich from our partnership too—which was always a plus.
But then there was Cat, who was apparently done with business school and eager to spread her wings in our world. She had been grooming herself for this kind of life since she was a kid, from what Mark told me. So I couldn’t help but wonder why she wasn’t in my shoes.
“About Cat’s involvement in this whole thing,” I said as we climbed into the back of the Rolls-Royce. “What would it be exactly?”
“Essentially this is her baby,” Mark explained. “She wants to hit the ground running with something big. But you know I don’t have the time for another full commitment, no matter how lucrative it is. This is the perfect venture for her, but I want you heavily on board to make sure she doesn’t sink. She’s never handled anything of this size before.”
“So, I’m what…a spy? A babysitter?” I grimaced.
“A little of both. Most importantly, you’re our partner.”
“I am used to wearing many hats,” I admitted.
The truth was, I didn’t know if our involvement was for Cat’s reassurance or for Mark’s. All I knew is she felt capable of handling it, and from what I heard about her—I was inclined to agree.
My old alumni buddies told me school was a joke to her because she breezed through it so easily. She aced everything without so much as breaking a sweat. There were rumors that she didn’t even have to buy half of the required textbooks because she either already owned them or knew everything they had to say. People made the mistake of thinking she was overly confident, but had to bow down to her when she passed all exams with flying colors. Not to mention she was the teacher’s pet in every class and had a close relationship with all of her professors. Even before she graduated, they saw her as more of a colleague than a student.
Throw that reputation in with the rave reviews from all of her internships, volunteer business advisories, and her long list of relevant extracurriculars—she was a force to be reckoned with…on paper, anyway. I didn’t know what that translated into in person. Given her reputation for working for fun, I wondered if she might be a little uptight. But her dad was a suave, laid-back guy…so that was hard to picture.
Of course, there was no way to know for sure until I saw her again. The last time I had any direct contact with her, she was barely legal. Not that I would ever dream of laying hands or eyes on Mark’s daughter. Even though as a teen she was obviously already a looker. Then there was her mother, who was every bit as gorgeous as you might imagine a wife of Mark Whitaker’s to be.
I snapped out of my vague memories of Cat as a teenager as the car pulled up outside the impressive Heartstring building—lined with gold siding, massive windows, and a full forty stories shooting up into the sky.
“Just remember. No firm decisions today,” Mark reminded me. “No matter what we think about it, we can’t walk out of there with a promise of anything more than to think it over. They think we’re selling them on our position to buy it. We need to turn the tables and make them realize they’re the ones who need us. Make them sell it. Make them convince us.”
“Does Cat know that?” I asked, stepping out onto the sidewalk and re-buttoning my suit jacket.
Mark flashed me a pitying smile. “It really has been a long time since you’ve talked to her.”
“I think the last time we exchanged words she didn’t have much to say beyond whatever she was reading in Teen Vogue or Seventeen magazine.”
“Oh yeah,” he huffed. “I guess she did take a little time off from Forbes and Entrepreneur so she could be a normal teenage girl for a moment. You must have caught her in that phase. It didn’t last long.”
I followed him through the front revolving doors. The moment we entered the lobby, he lit up at the sight of the dark haired woman waiting there on a leather couch. For a split second, I thought maybe he had a mistress I didn’t know about.
But as she walked over, I realized that was no mistress. That was Cat herself—Mark’s own daughter. Her transition into adulthood was more breathtaking than I had prepared myself for.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she stood and crossed the lobby, flipping her auburn hair over her shoulder as she went. My eyes started at the shiny black stilettos on her feet and traveled up those long tan legs of hers, pausing on the perfect V of her stiletto skirt before finally resting on her icy blue eyes. Okay, maybe they rested a bit before that too—around the cleavage that poked over top her white button-up blouse. It wasn’t until she looked over to me that I quickly caught myself, realizing that my mouth was hanging wide open.
“Daddy,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around him. With one quick hug, she straightened her suit jacket and cleared her throat, then shook her father’s hand instead. She wanted to be taken seriously. She was a businesswoman—not just Mark Whitaker’s daughter.
Then her striking eyes turned to me again. “Jordan Ashford,” she said. “I haven’t seen you since…gosh, I must have been fifteen.”
