The CEO Buys In
Page 5
“Done,” Nathan said, impressed by the scale of the quarterback’s suggestion. The man was a competitor.
The door to the bar swung open, and a tiny white-haired woman in a navy-blue pantsuit strode in. “Gentlemen, I understand there’s illicit gambling going on in my establishment.” She had a whiskey-hoarse voice with a tiny lilt of Irish. “I want a piece of it.”
The three men stood and Miller laughed. “Frankie, we’re wagering on matters of the heart, and you haven’t got one.”
Frankie’s green eyes snapped with amusement. “Clearly, I can feel pity, because I let you join my club.”
Nathan pulled a chair up to the table and held it for the club’s legendary founder. Frances “Frankie” Hogan had started with nothing and had made a billion dollars, but had been refused entry to New York’s most exclusive clubs. So she’d bought a magnificent brownstone and established the Bellwether Club, with rules that excluded most of the old-money crowd. Which meant, of course, that the old money wanted in.
As they all settled into their chairs, Donal brought over the stationery Miller had requested, along with three Montblanc Meisterstück pens.
“You’re famous for your honesty and your ability to keep a secret,” Nathan said to Frankie.
“Along with ruthlessness, cunning, and sheer cussedness,” Miller murmured.
Nathan silenced him with a stare before turning back to Frankie. “So we’re entrusting you with the personal stakes in our wager, sealed in separate envelopes. Each one of us can win or lose individually, but it takes the agreement of all three to declare someone a winner.”
“I’ll want to read them to make sure they’re legit,” Frankie said.
Nathan looked around the table. The other men nodded.
“What’s the time frame?” Frankie asked.
“One year,” Archer said. “Anyone who hasn’t claimed their stakes back by then is declared a loser.”
Frankie raised her eyebrows in surprise. “A long-term game.”
Since they hadn’t originally set a time limit, Nathan considered Archer’s proposal. The quarterback was right; this project shouldn’t be rushed. He nodded. “One year. Miller?”
“Agreed,” the writer said without hesitation.
Nathan had the thought that they were all drunker than they appeared.
“I’ll lock them in my private safe,” Frankie said. “Who’s going first?”
Miller picked up a pen and scrawled his name on an envelope before pulling a sheet of thick cream vellum toward him. “I’ll trust my fellow bettors not to read over my shoulder.” He scribbled several words on the paper and handed it to the club owner.
Frankie read it and gave him a long, appraising look before she folded the sheet and sealed it in the envelope.
Archer used his own pen to write his forfeit. Frankie whistled when she read the paper but made no other comment as she sealed the envelope.
Nathan addressed his envelope and wrote a description of the gift on the sheet. Frankie read it before raising a troubled gaze to his. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She slid it into the envelope. “You’ll inform me anytime someone is approved as a winner, or else we will meet in my office in one year’s time.” She stacked the envelopes in front of her. “I certainly hope whatever you win is worth what you all might lose.”
Nathan thought about Teresa and the succession of women before her. “It will be life changing.”
“That explains the stakes,” Frankie said, gathering the envelopes and standing up. “Good night, gentlemen.”
They stood and watched her stride out of the room. Miller raised his glass. “To our wager of hearts. May we be guests at each other’s weddings.”
CHAPTER 1
“Trainor Electronics. May I help you?” Chloe Russell smiled into her headset as she spoke, knowing it would make her sound friendlier. She nodded to the three middle-aged men who came through the office’s front door carrying laptop cases and wearing button-down shirts and khakis. Middle managers. In the two days she’d been temping at Trainor Electronics, she’d learned that the high-level executives had their own entrance two floors up.
“Chloe, it’s Judith. I’ve got a new assignment for you.”
“But I’ve been here such a short time. Won’t it look bad if you pull me out so soon?”
“It’s still at Trainor Electronics, so, no. The CEO’s executive assistant has come down with this darned flu. He needs a temp.”
“CEOs of multinational corporations don’t use temps. They take someone else’s assistant and let their underlings deal with the temp,” Chloe said, smiling at the twentysomethings sauntering by with their laptop carriers slung over their shoulders. Probably programmers.
“You’ve heard the word epidemic?” Judith asked. “Everyone’s sick.”
Luckily, Chloe never got sick.
“Besides,” Judith said, “you’re way overqualified to run a reception desk. You belong in the executive suite. And the pay is higher.”
Higher pay was good. She needed it to hire a companion for Grandmillie so that she didn’t have to go to a nursing home. “When can I start?” Chloe asked.
“As soon as Camilla gets there to replace you out front. Then head over to HR and they’ll introduce you to your new boss.”
The door to the bar swung open, and a tiny white-haired woman in a navy-blue pantsuit strode in. “Gentlemen, I understand there’s illicit gambling going on in my establishment.” She had a whiskey-hoarse voice with a tiny lilt of Irish. “I want a piece of it.”
The three men stood and Miller laughed. “Frankie, we’re wagering on matters of the heart, and you haven’t got one.”
Frankie’s green eyes snapped with amusement. “Clearly, I can feel pity, because I let you join my club.”
Nathan pulled a chair up to the table and held it for the club’s legendary founder. Frances “Frankie” Hogan had started with nothing and had made a billion dollars, but had been refused entry to New York’s most exclusive clubs. So she’d bought a magnificent brownstone and established the Bellwether Club, with rules that excluded most of the old-money crowd. Which meant, of course, that the old money wanted in.
As they all settled into their chairs, Donal brought over the stationery Miller had requested, along with three Montblanc Meisterstück pens.
“You’re famous for your honesty and your ability to keep a secret,” Nathan said to Frankie.
“Along with ruthlessness, cunning, and sheer cussedness,” Miller murmured.
Nathan silenced him with a stare before turning back to Frankie. “So we’re entrusting you with the personal stakes in our wager, sealed in separate envelopes. Each one of us can win or lose individually, but it takes the agreement of all three to declare someone a winner.”
“I’ll want to read them to make sure they’re legit,” Frankie said.
Nathan looked around the table. The other men nodded.
“What’s the time frame?” Frankie asked.
“One year,” Archer said. “Anyone who hasn’t claimed their stakes back by then is declared a loser.”
Frankie raised her eyebrows in surprise. “A long-term game.”
Since they hadn’t originally set a time limit, Nathan considered Archer’s proposal. The quarterback was right; this project shouldn’t be rushed. He nodded. “One year. Miller?”
“Agreed,” the writer said without hesitation.
Nathan had the thought that they were all drunker than they appeared.
“I’ll lock them in my private safe,” Frankie said. “Who’s going first?”
Miller picked up a pen and scrawled his name on an envelope before pulling a sheet of thick cream vellum toward him. “I’ll trust my fellow bettors not to read over my shoulder.” He scribbled several words on the paper and handed it to the club owner.
Frankie read it and gave him a long, appraising look before she folded the sheet and sealed it in the envelope.
Archer used his own pen to write his forfeit. Frankie whistled when she read the paper but made no other comment as she sealed the envelope.
Nathan addressed his envelope and wrote a description of the gift on the sheet. Frankie read it before raising a troubled gaze to his. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She slid it into the envelope. “You’ll inform me anytime someone is approved as a winner, or else we will meet in my office in one year’s time.” She stacked the envelopes in front of her. “I certainly hope whatever you win is worth what you all might lose.”
Nathan thought about Teresa and the succession of women before her. “It will be life changing.”
“That explains the stakes,” Frankie said, gathering the envelopes and standing up. “Good night, gentlemen.”
They stood and watched her stride out of the room. Miller raised his glass. “To our wager of hearts. May we be guests at each other’s weddings.”
CHAPTER 1
“Trainor Electronics. May I help you?” Chloe Russell smiled into her headset as she spoke, knowing it would make her sound friendlier. She nodded to the three middle-aged men who came through the office’s front door carrying laptop cases and wearing button-down shirts and khakis. Middle managers. In the two days she’d been temping at Trainor Electronics, she’d learned that the high-level executives had their own entrance two floors up.
“Chloe, it’s Judith. I’ve got a new assignment for you.”
“But I’ve been here such a short time. Won’t it look bad if you pull me out so soon?”
“It’s still at Trainor Electronics, so, no. The CEO’s executive assistant has come down with this darned flu. He needs a temp.”
“CEOs of multinational corporations don’t use temps. They take someone else’s assistant and let their underlings deal with the temp,” Chloe said, smiling at the twentysomethings sauntering by with their laptop carriers slung over their shoulders. Probably programmers.
“You’ve heard the word epidemic?” Judith asked. “Everyone’s sick.”
Luckily, Chloe never got sick.
“Besides,” Judith said, “you’re way overqualified to run a reception desk. You belong in the executive suite. And the pay is higher.”
Higher pay was good. She needed it to hire a companion for Grandmillie so that she didn’t have to go to a nursing home. “When can I start?” Chloe asked.
“As soon as Camilla gets there to replace you out front. Then head over to HR and they’ll introduce you to your new boss.”
