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“Not him,” growled the elder Farzik. “His daughter!”
Rahm racked his brain before remembering the sexy redhead’s last name was, indeed, Stanton. “Carly?”
“Indeed, son.”
Now Rahm paced, mind whirling with the possibilities. How could he have missed the fact that Carly shared a last name with his father’s biggest business rival, Xavier Stanton. Head of Stanton Investing, Xavier and Rahmad Farzik had a long history of rival acquisitions extending back as long as Rahm’s father had been investing in western and other international companies.
“Father,” he said, bowing more humbly – and sincerely – before the blinking blue web cam on his own computer monitor. “I had no idea. Of course I would have made more of an effort if I’d known—”
“You should make an effort every time, son,” Rahmad Farzik said, voice still steely but quieter this time. “No matter who the other bidders are, you should win every account. Isn’t that what I sent you to America to do?”
Rahm nodded again, face warm with shame. “Yes, father,” he said, sounding very much like the supplicating young man who, only a few short years earlier, had begged his father to let him start his own investment firm, Platinum Dunes, in the west.
“Or have you been indulging too often, and focusing too little?”
“No father,” Rahm lied, avoiding the harsh glare of his father’s beady, coal black eyes peering back at him through the giant flat screen monitor.
An awkward silence followed, during which Rahm knew his father was stewing. When at last it was broken, his father’s voice – and terms – were unwavering. “Find out all you can about Carly Stanton,” he ordered. “Her company, her recent acquisitions and what she’s going to invest in next.”
Rahm peered back at his father’s face in the computer screen, nonplussed. “But how can I do that, father?” he asked.
At last the elder Farzik smiled. “Why, just do what you do best, son – seduce her.”
Rahm felt the cold dread of fear grip his heart. He had seduced many a woman since his time in America, but always for fun – never business. He had been eager to seduce Carly Stanton anyway. She possessed everything he wanted in a sexual conquest: the exotic allure of pale, glowing skin and red hair, endless legs and an hourglass figure, the air of independence he loved to squash and the smart mouth he loved to silence. And yet the thought of getting closer to her for something as boring as “inside information” somehow quieted the raging fires of desire he’d felt for her upon their first meeting.
And yet, duty called. Nodding, bowing, hands pressed together in supplication, he peered back into his father’s eyes. “Yes, father,” he said. “Of course, father.”
“And son,” his father said, voice light with the sudden tone of victory. “Don’t disappoint me again, or I shall shut down your little American adventure sooner than I would a fallow oil field.”
The words chilled Rahm to the bone, making him bow even lower to avoid his father’s cruel, all-seeing eyes. “Yes, father,” he said, reaching out beneath the camera’s view to click his mouse and end the weekly video conference call before his father, the sheik, could impose anymore decrees.
Only when the screen went blank and he knew the signal was terminated did Rahm rise to his full height and reaching into the sleek, stainless steel dorm fridge beneath his desk to grab a beer. Popping the cap, he felt the frustration of the call roll off him in waves.
His office was vast and sprawling, like the rest of his penthouse apartment high atop the Luxe condominium at the southernmost tip of South Beach. Pressing the French doors open, he traded the dark, cold expanse of his home office for the sprawling balcony that wrapped around his exclusive 6,000-square feet penthouse.
The sultry warmth of the tropical climate bathed his swarthy skin in a lush mixture of salt spray and cool, ocean breezes. Beneath him crashed the aqua blue waves of the Atlantic Ocean onto the shores of a white, unlined beach. He watched them while he sipped his beer, the vehemence of his father’s call retreating with every distant crash and pull of another salty blue wave.
In time, the beer was gone and so was his anguish. He had a full week before he was forced to call his father again and, despite his initial reluctance over the chore at hand, Rahm now embraced the opportunity to seduce Carly Stanton in a more official capacity.
In fact, as he returned to his office for another beer, Rahm was downright looking forward to it…
Five
“Rahm?”
Carly stood, turning from the bar, eyes meeting the sultry brownness of her business rival’s amid the swirling throng at the El Tropicale nightclub. It was a retro 80s-slash-Latin bar off the beaten path, little more than a warehouse full of throbbing singles and strobe lights and blaring music from a live band that played an eclectic blend of 80s music and salsa hits.
She was on her third mojito of the night, skin aglow with perspiration and heaven only knew what her hair must have looked like, and yet she couldn’t help feeling a rush of pleasure – or maybe just adrenaline – at finding Rahm leaning against the same bar.
“Carly?” he asked with the same breathless surprise as she had. He looked casual and relaxed, to say nothing of drop dead sexy, in a black dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal his hairless, firm chest and maroon slacks that caresses his long, athletic legs. “What are you doing here?”
Although she had her drink and was leaving the bar, destined to return to her table full of rowdy single coworkers, Carly lingered to drink in the sexy hunk currently peering back at her as if she was the only woman in the room. “I could ask you the same thing,” she purred, feeling the warm glow of sweet Caribbean rum through her veins. “Shouldn’t you be on to your next acquisition by now?”
His grin was spontaneous and broad, lighting up an already flushed face. “I liked the view in South Beach so much,” he said, inching imperceptibly closer along the smooth, polished bar railing toward her. “I thought I might… stick around.”
She chuckled at the obvious come on. Or was it so obvious? Despite her prowess in boardrooms and at negotiating tables, Carly was strictly amateur when it came to dating. She’d had little experience in high school, preferring to graduate early and go on to college and receive her MBA in record time. Even in college she’d dated little, preferring random hookups in off campus bars to satisfy her lustful desires before going back to her 70-hour a week academic grind.
Even after college, she’d yearned for, but had yet to achieve, the stability of a steady boyfriend. While there had been prospects, most had bailed on her after only a few months. Not that she could blame them. In Carly’s world, her work always came first – forcing her to sacrifice nearly everything else in her life, love most of all.
