Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Aiden wouldn’t do it himself. He wouldn’t risk blood staining his ten thousand dollar suit.
Better to not flinch. Rule number one. The more confident I act, the more power I hold onto.
I face him. “Yes?”
“I’d like to offer you a job.”
I stifle my first instinct, which is to scream No and run away. I clench my jaw and wait for him to expound.
“Assistant to the CEO,” he continues in that evil robot voice. “Double whatever pay and benefits Blackthroat is giving you now.”
I raise my brows. “Double?” I echo. I once took a negotiating class, and the teacher drilled two basic skills into us over and over. Either keep silent or repeat the last thing the person on the other side of the table says.
“To start. You obviously have valuable skills and experience. It would take very little training for you to get up to speed. On the Benson deal, for example.”
I nod slowly, pretending to think things over. “Thank you for your offer. I’m flattered that you took the time to corner me in a dark alley to give it to me, but I must respectfully decline.” There, just enough sarcasm to get the point across. I pivot away and continue walking as fast as I can without spilling my dinner. The beefy bodyguard looms in front of me, blocking my way, but if I’m fast, I can swing my take-out bag, give him a face full of eggplant lasagna, and hope the surprise gives me enough time to slip past.
“Come back, Madison,” Aiden calls.
I have no intention of obeying, but something in his voice makes me stop and turn. It’s like my body doesn’t belong to my own mind.
“How much does he pay you?”
I hate that I’m walking back to him. I don’t even know why I’m doing it. “That’s none of your business, is it, Mr. Adalwulf?”
His lips twitch, like he finds my rudeness amusing. “I’ll double it.”
“I’m happy with my current arrangement.”
“I’ll bet you are.” His eyes glitter silver under the streetlights. “How long have you been fucking your boss?”
I’ve been expecting someone to say it to me, but for some reason it still gets under my skin. I’m usually great with snappy comebacks, but nothing surfaces, so I whirl on my heel to truly leave this time.
“Madison, did he tell you his secret?”
I stop again. Dammit. There’s nothing more aggravating than a dangled puzzle to solve. “What secret?”
Aiden saunters toward me, his shined shoes clacking on the broken pavement, his long coat flapping open as he steps. I’m both repulsed and fascinated by the spectacle he makes. Even the shadows don’t hide the fact that he’s as handsome as Brick. Fair where Brick is dark. Slick and falsely-friendly where Brick is jagged-edged and surly.
“You don’t know?” His lips twist into a wicked smile. “Interesting. He doesn’t plan on keeping you, then.”
My heart thunders in my chest. What does he mean by that? I know this guy is fucking with me, but I can’t stand when I don’t understand what’s going on.
“Nobody’s keeping anybody,” I snap. “We’re human beings with free will.”
Aiden snorts. “Oh, sweetheart. You really have no clue.” He gives me a mock-sympathetic look, reaching out to touch my cheek with his gloved fingers.
I frown, trembling although I’m not sure what has me so riled up. Goosebumps raise on my arms. “Why are you here?” I demand as I try to piece together the conversation and his possible motives for coming.
He didn’t really think he’d lure me away with the promise of a higher wage, so what was his goal?
“Mm. I heard you were smart,” he says in a strange echo of what Jerry just said to me. “Not smart enough, though.”
The asshole steals my dramatic exit, by turning and striding back to his limo, impossibly graceful for such a large man.
Chapter Nine
Madi
Full confession–I’ve never even been inside Tiffany’s before. The Blue Box Cafe is as much an artistic experience as it is culinary, with a bright but luxurious setting. I have that nineties song “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” playing in my head–it’s another favorite oldie of Aubrey’s–as I walk in.
I have to fight the feeling of not belonging with every step I take. Good thing I’m adept at faking it. Perhaps it’s a test–Ms. Harrington wants to know if my table manners are good enough before she brings me into her fold.
I’m ushered to the older woman where she sits in a prime spot by a window. She stands when I approach. I extend my hand and she clasps it with both hands.
Weird.
“Madison. I love that you contacted me.”
A waiter appears to push in her chair when she sits back down.
He comes to mine, but I’m already sitting.
“Yes, thank you for seeing me.” I open my attache case and fish out the crisp resume I printed on a translucent vellum paper. I assume Torrent Cosmetics has a twenty-first century HR department where you upload all pertinent materials, but I’m guessing Ms. Harrington is old-school and likes to hold something in her hand while she interviews.