He glanced at the paperwork without lifting his hands from his computer keyboard, then nodded. “Fine. Close the door on your way out.”
The dismissal would have made a regular woman bristle with irritation, but I only wanted more. A psychologist would have blamed the unhealthy pull to rejection on my father, but I knew what a ticket into this world would cost me. Dirty, underhanded deals. Slow and relentless seduction. A twisted contortion that might break my spine in two but would roll me higher and higher on the rungs of society until I was where I belonged, looking down on women like my mother and Cat Winthorpe and in complete puppet-master control over men like my father and William.
It would come. Already, I was closer.
CHAPTER 9
CAT
William quietly worked the Aston Martin’s stick shift, his hair ruffling in the breeze as he took the curve leading up to the small cliffside restaurant. The night was silent, the wind soft.
I turned in the seat to face him, admiring his profile in the dusk, the blue glow from the dash faintly lighting his distinguished features. I fell in love with those features my junior year in college as I peeked at him over the top of my computer screen from the corner of the interns’ room. We’d all been slightly terrified of him, his rare visits to our room punctuated by lots of cursing and—more often than not—the firing of whoever had screwed up. Our turnover rate was insane, and crying was common among the interns, everyone tense and dreading the moment that they’d invariably make a mistake.
My own misstep had come just before Christmas. Our fellow students had all flown home, their social media accounts full of Christmas trees, ice skating, and spiked eggnog. A dwindling group of five had stayed to meet the increased workload of a corporate takeover that William was masterminding. I’d spent six hours on a spreadsheet and, at some point in the process, sorted a column without including all the fields—an error that completely invalidated every other cell in the spreadsheet. Four hours later, relieved to finally be through with the task, I’d added the spreadsheet into the shared drive without noticing the error.
When William burst into our room, I snapped to attention, watching as he carried a printout over to our supervisor’s desk and set it before her, stabbing the page with one finger. I heard my name and straightened, steeling myself as she pointed in my direction. His gaze swept over the room and stopped on me.
It was our first eye contact, and I felt empowered by it, rising to my feet as he strode toward me. His expensive dress shoes clicked along the tile, and his eyes were as dark as his suit. He’d stopped before my desk and held the spreadsheet up. “I suppose this piece of worthless shit came from you?”
I don’t know why I smiled. It was something we’d dissected over champagne on our honeymoon and in late-night walks down memory lane. I should have been terrified. I should have stammered out an apology. But instead I met his eyes with a smile he later described as cocky and sexy as hell. I smiled and ... stunningly enough, William Winthorpe, destroyer of companies and notorious prick ... began to smile back at me.
I came to work the next morning and found a first-class ticket to Banff in my desk drawer. I lost my virginity to him in a mountainside cabin on that trip. When we returned to San Francisco, I packed up my apartment and moved into William’s sleek downtown condo without a minute’s hesitation.
He tapped the horn at a passing opossum, and I held on as he swerved.
“I heard about Marilyn.” I captured a loose tendril of hair and cupped it against my neck. “She’s definitely staying?”
“For now.” He accelerated through the turn, his gaze on the road. “Neena talked to her. Brought her to her senses.”
There was no doubt that we needed Marilyn. She’d spent months working on our FDA trials and had developed a key relationship with the testing contacts. Losing her would set us back six months, easily. “She’s probably being heavily recruited.” There weren’t many scientists with her pedigree. Add in that she was black and female and she was probably getting a fresh job offer every day. It was impressive that Neena had changed Marilyn’s mind, and without offering her more compensation or perks.
“She is.” He glanced at me. “Neena thinks I need to work on my management style.” He wasn’t happy with the assessment. I could see it in the way his second hand joined his first on the steering wheel, the set of his mouth, the rigid line of his long body as he hunched forward in the seat. My husband, for all his confidence, was also impossibly hard on himself.
“I don’t know about that,” I said carefully. “You’re a genius. Without you, there wouldn’t even be a Winthorpe Tech, or a Winthorpe Capital to fund it.”
“She said the team hates me.”
I let out a slow breath. “Wow. Diving right in with the heavy punches.” She’d been there only a few weeks. Couldn’t she have eased in with the attack? “Hates? No. They don’thateyou.”
He slowed, the restaurant just ahead, and pulled over on the shoulder, putting the car into park and turning the ignition off. A cool breeze came, and a shiver of chill went through me. “I told her that I didn’t care if they hate me. I’m not in the business of being liked.”
But he did care. I knew that he cared. He just didn’t care enough to fix it. “Does she have a solution?” If she didn’t, he would have fired her. You don’t bring problems to my husband. You bring a problemanda solution. Otherwise, you’re useless.
“She wants to work with me on my style. And on my”—he paused and squinted, trying to think of the term—“personal development.”
“Screw that.” The words snapped out of me, and he glanced over, surprised. “You’re William Winthorpe. You don’t need an egocentric housewife from some San Francisco gutter telling you how to lead your company.”
He chuckled and found my hand, squeezing it. “You’ve been a little vocal yourself, Cat, about the way I’ve handled some things in the past.”
“That’s because sometimes you’re a jerk.” I twisted in the seat to face him. “And you’re blunt. But you’re also the smartest man in every room. I don’t want you to dilute yourself to try to salvage someone’s feelings. This is business. They’re all adults. They can take it.” My hand tightened on his. “And don’t compare me to her just because we both came from nothing. I know you—she doesn’t. I built Winthorpe beside you. She didn’t.”
“Hey.” He leaned forward and cupped the back of my neck, his hand stealing into my hair. “I’d never put you in a category with her. Nobody can hold a candle to you.” He pulled me toward him, and our mouths met, our kiss gentle at first, then stronger. More violent. I kissed him as if I were desperate, and he clutched me to him as if I gave him strength.
He was horrible to everyone, but not with me. With me, he was vulnerable and kind. Generous and loving. He plucked the good things, like petals on a rose, and kept them in his pocket, then showered me with them at night. No one was going to change that about him. Especially not her.
“I’m confused ...,” Kelly said slowly, her glossy purple nails picking through the Menlo prep school uniform catalog. She paused at one ensemble, and I shook my head. “I thought you were happy that she was there. I thought you said that William needed someone to keep morale up and improve the”—she lifted her gaze to the sky—“cohesion? Is that what you said?”
“I did, and Idosee the value in her sticking Band-Aids on hurt feelings and putting inspiration posters up in the bathrooms, but I don’t want her screwing with William.” I spun the notebook in front of me around and tapped on a girl’s white tuxedo shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves. “This is cute.”