The Proposition: A Prologue Novella by Amelia Wilde

Author:Amelia Wilde [Wilde, Amelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub

6

Leo is almost finished cursing me out when I toss my keys at my building’s valet and punch the button for the elevator.

“Next time you ask me for a bullshit favor like this, I’m making you sit in on the meeting.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“There sure as hell won’t. Just ask her on a date, Mason. Don’t have your friends do it.”

I snort a laugh into the phone. “This has nothing to do with romance.”

“Of course it does. Women love fucked-up games like that from bastards like you.” I don’t know whether his tone is best described as sarcastic or venomous or both. “I want an explanation. A real one. I just turned down a real goddamn deal for you. And almost made her cry.”

Did Charlotte Van Kempt almost cry? It would be good if she did. My revenge plot has been twisted inside out by her arrival in it, and it makes me feel feral. She has added a certain dimension to all this. Charlotte isn’t revenge in the abstract—she’s a blushing, pissed-off woman who has run around the city trying to find other deals. She won’t win, but I’ve had to leverage my connections.

Leo did me a favor when I showed up at his office five minutes prior to the meeting. I had to trade on our friendship to get it done. I was acquaintances with him years ago because we both ran on our respective prep school track teams. He dropped out abruptly just when things were getting interesting in high school. Never did find out why.

Anyway, we move in the same circles now that I’ve built the family business back up.

“I’ll tell you at the next card game. Or at the benefit.” Some bullshit happening at the botanical gardens. I almost never show up to those things.

“Liar.” He hangs up before I can say anything else, which is fine, because the elevator is letting me out into my penthouse. I shrug off my suit jacket in the foyer and hang it on one of the hooks there, then go to the other end of the open-plan great room, where there is a large dining table. Sit down in the nearest chair. Stretch.

My knee burns today, in addition to its usual ache. Like the tendons might snap.

It’ll let up with a few minutes of peace, looking out through the oversized windows at the skyline.

Forget that—one minute of peace. I can hear the elevator going down already. Gabriel will be coming up with it. He’s always slightly early, like he’s afraid he’ll miss something crucial if he’s even one minute late. It’s a life philosophy I find simultaneously irritating and accurate. Lives can be ruined in the space of minutes. Seconds. In the time it takes for a building to catch fire and for that fire to burn out the floor. The ceiling. Everything.

The elevator arrives some forty-five seconds later. “Mason?”

Gabriel practically sings my name. I don’t know if he remembers that our mother used to sound like that.

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