For Money or Love Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  Praise for Like Jazz

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Jessica Spaulding works for Magnate, her father’s multi-billion-dollar investment firm. But her life of privilege comes at a high personal cost, requiring her to keep aspects of herself under wraps.

  Magnate’s new intern, TJ Blake, leads by example. The sole guardian of her teenage sister, TJ juggles work, graduate school, and debt, never taking “something for nothing.”

  As TJ discovers there’s more to Jess than she lets on, her pride and notions about wealth run headlong against her growing feelings for Jess. Jess starts falling for TJ but doubts she’s principled enough for her. When Jess uncovers a dark secret, will she do the right thing, even if it means losing everything—including any chance at love?

  Praise for Like Jazz

  “This book is a top of the line winner that grabbed me, held me, and more than entertained me from start to finish!…I totally recommend this book; it is capable of being enjoyed on many levels, from different angles, and in its totality. Please do not miss this thoroughly satisfying book!”—Rainbow Book Reviews

  “An excellent debut and an excellent book: well-developed, engaging characters, good plot, great setting.”—Rainbow Awards 2014

  For Money or Love

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  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  For Money or Love

  © 2016 By Heather Blackmore. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-757-6

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: September 2016

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Shelley Thrasher

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

  By the Author

  Like Jazz

  For Money or Love

  Acknowledgments

  I’m grateful to Radclyffe and all the staff and associates at Bold Strokes Books who work tirelessly on behalf of their authors.

  To my perspicacious editor, Shelley Thrasher, without whom I’d be tempted to say clichéd things like you’re the cat’s meow whom no one holds a candle to: thank you for your sound guidance.

  Shelly Lampe: your love, encouragement, mad copy-editing skills (who knew?), and laughter not only see me through, but make me look forward to all that’s next for us.

  Beta readers Kathy Chetkovich, Chris Paynter, and Chuck Eyler provided incredibly valuable feedback. The book is better for your efforts. Thanks especially to Kathy for always starting with the positives before delving right into what needs fixing, and to Chris for your shrewd suggestions and unwavering support ever since Like Jazz.

  Marketing goddess Jennifer Zeszut greatly improved my attempts at folding in real-world marketing strategies; any mistakes and improbabilities are solely mine.

  Fellow authors Kris Bryant and Cindy Rizzo—finding you guys has been a wonderful bonus along this writing journey.

  To my readers: thank you for choosing to spend time with Jess and TJ. I truly appreciate when you take a moment to let me know something resonated with or amused you. You make all the difference.

  For my mom

  Because I miss you and your laugh,

  because I love the idea that

  a lesbian romance novel is dedicated to you,

  but most of all

  because you loved me.

  Chapter One

  “Jessica, I want you to help get our intern acclimated to the firm.”

  The Diet Coke Jess was sipping shot up through her nose, drops of it landing on her silk Chanel blouse. She should have opted for the sparkling water.

  As the burning sensation ebbed, she stared at her father in disbelief, silently ticking off the reasons she must have misheard. One, this was so not her thing. She was the head of marketing, not a babysitter. Two, her father rarely asked her to perform any actual work and never held her responsible for anything. Why her, why now? Three, intern? Derrick Spaulding was worth billions—with a B. His investment advisory firm was small but highly respected, with billions of assets under management. Interns should occupy as much space in his head as sunlight.

  It wasn’t possible she’d heard him correctly.

  “You expect me to believe you’re interested in an intern’s first day?”

  “I’m interested in her project. As you should be. She’ll be doing a case study on the firm, and if it goes the way Philip intends, it will be taught at some of this country’s best universities.”

  Philip Ridge and her father had been college roommates. He was the dean of Griffin University’s business school, where the two had met as undergraduates.

  “Have Gary handle it,” Jess said. Gary Treanor was the firm’s chief operating officer, her father’s right-hand man and stepson. Unlike Jess, he was a fixture at the office.

  “I don’t want her to focus on the side of the business Gary handles. I want you to show her other aspects.”

  “Such as?”

  “How you and Brooke manage to bring in so many new clients.”

  Of course. Brooke. This was Derrick-speak for her sister’s ability to sell anything to anyone, but he was being kind enough to include her. Brooke could sell sand to Saudis and portable heaters to Algerians.

  “If she’s doing a case study on the business, shouldn’t she spend her time with the investment managers?”

  “I want her to focus on sales and marketing, without which we’d have a sliver of the assets under management that we have.”

  It was as close to a compliment as Jess had ever received from him in a business context, and she took to it like gum to a shoe. “I’ll help in any way I can. What do we know about her?”

  “According to Philip, she was the impetus behind the program.” The Derrick Spaulding MBA program was a sixteen-month accelerated curriculum that included a two-year nonprofit-sector service requirement post-grad
uation. It was Ridge who ensured that if Derrick made a sufficiently large contribution to their alma mater, he’d work his magic to get the program named for Derrick. Jess was well associated with it because Derrick’s donations were one of the things she adored most about him and one of the reasons she worked so hard, albeit surreptitiously, on Magnate’s behalf. The higher Magnate’s profits, the more Derrick gave to various causes. Prospective investors interested in learning the character of the firm’s founder found an extensive bio on the corporate website, much of which related to Derrick’s philanthropic interests.

  Jess closed her eyes and placed two fingers against each temple as if channeling an otherworldly entity. “Okay. I’m getting brainy, dull, and single-minded. Am I close?”

  Derrick offered his winning smile. “Once you’re through with her? Not a chance.” He winked.

  Another compliment. Apparently this internship was a bigger deal than she anticipated. “You haven’t met her?”

  Her father shook his head.

  “Do we know if she has more than the social grace of a hyena?”

  “Except for her chronic halitosis and unseemly body hair, I imagine she’ll be fine.”

  Jess loved it when her father bantered. At home—at least when her stepmother was out and she dropped by—he proved a great foil, engaging her with humor and interest. Work was another story, where he scarcely acted as though they were related. She could probably unicycle in front of him wearing a gold-lamé bodysuit that shot sparklers out of her bustier, and he wouldn’t notice. She treasured these unguarded moments, wishing desperately they could share more of them. But she’d take what she could get.

  “Bring a little Listerine and some tweezers?” she asked.

  “And a brush for the dandruff.”

  “I’ll put it in my purse.”

  “My little Girl Scout. Always prepared.”

  Jess kissed her father on the cheek. “For you? Anything.”

  *

  TJ evaluated her outfit. The black pantsuit was the same she’d worn to her mother’s funeral four years ago. She had two suits and three blouses, all of which fit more loosely than they once had. Although her internship was paid, she wouldn’t receive her first paycheck for two weeks. That meant rotating through her meager choices until she could go shopping at the thrift store. At a posh firm like Magnate Investment Securities LLC, her clothing would stick out like an unruly cowlick.

  The shoes were presentable yet uncomfortable. There was no way she could make the walk from the bus stop to the firm’s corporate office in the unforgiving synthetic materials. TJ didn’t own a briefcase; she’d have to make do with her backpack—yet another thing that would scream of the differences between her world and theirs.

  She took a deep breath. Focus on the positive. The opportunity. She had every right to this internship and would do whatever it took to succeed.

  At her sister’s door, TJ knocked as she entered. “Wake up, Kare.” The lump in the bed didn’t stir. “Kara! Up. Now.”

  From under her pillow, Kara peeked at her clock. “Go ’way.”

  “You need to be up before I leave or you’ll never get to school. Come on. Up.”

  “I have another hour.”

  “Not for the next three months you don’t. I have to catch an earlier bus, which means you have to get up too. Take a shower, eat your cereal, and study.”

  “Ugh.” Kara covered her head with her pillow.

  TJ walked over and snatched it out of her hands. “Kare. You promised.”

  “Okay. Okay.” After sitting up, Kara rubbed her eyes. “I’m up.” She crawled out of bed and gave TJ the once-over. “You look nice. Funeral attire is perfect for a corporate job. Good choice.”

  “I’m not sure when I’ll be home, so eat when you’re hungry. There’s leftover pasta and garlic bread. And a little salad left in the blue Tupperware.”

  “Are you kidding? If you’re not home, I’m starting with the M&Ms.” Kara padded into the bathroom. “Good luck today.”

  *

  After offering a beverage and exchanging pleasantries, Gary Treanor asked TJ, “What do you want to get out of this internship?”

  “An understanding of how the firm’s achieved such extraordinary success in a field rife with competition. I’d like to write a case study that shows the primary factor the firm has leveraged to allow it to consistently excel.”

  “You’ve given it some thought.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m not sure it’s in our best interest to let the secret sauce out.”

  TJ expected the COO’s question and launched into her prepared spiel. “It could be another tool you use to gain clientele. Something’s obviously working, and reporting on that methodology, especially in the form of an objective study published by a prestigious university, might benefit you. But the firm doesn’t have to commit to anything. I’m already operating under a nondisclosure agreement. It’s up to the firm to decide if it wants to confine it to my professors and me or publish it.”

  “Tell you what. Let’s start you in marketing. We spend millions annually to find new clients and educate them about the benefits of moving their assets to us. I’ll have you work with Jess, our head of marketing. Meanwhile, I’ll consider your case study.”

  TJ’s optimism was waning, but she didn’t let that fact show. This wasn’t a marketing internship. She was here to learn how to operate a successful business and understand how it differentiated itself. “That sounds great.”

  “Follow me. If she’s here, I’ll introduce you.”

  Gary started to lead her down the hall but stopped. “Her lights are off.”

  TJ heard someone mumble, “So to speak,” from behind a cubicle wall.

  “Let’s set you up close by,” Gary said.

  After signing payroll forms and being issued a laptop, TJ began filling the time scouring the Internet for articles on Magnate and its charismatic owner. The hustle and bustle surrounding her was as easy to tune out as the conversations she ignored when she waited tables.

  Two hours later, she decided the laptop was an expensive paperweight for what she was getting from it. Thin and sleek, it would provide more value as a warming pad for a resourceful feline. Without access to the firm’s trading software and client account records, and someone to train her to utilize them, TJ might as well be reading her leadership book. She was ignored and left without any tasks. If this was supposed to be a case study in mindfulness and living in the moment, she’d missed the memo.

  TJ was a doer. These people were supposed to train her, not pay her to fog a mirror. She briefly considered contacting Professor Ridge, but she was supposed to be acquiring leadership skills. The order of the day was action, not kvetching.

  She decided to focus on what she knew so she could ask educated questions when the time came. It was hard to argue with facts. Magnate had a stellar record of beating the market. Bull and bear markets provided the overall trends, which the firm necessarily followed, but it tended to best the category indexes by ten or more points. In its seventeen-year history, through which it saw two major market collapses, Magnate had posted negative returns in only three years.

  Derrick Spaulding was Wall Street’s golden boy. He’d worked his way up the ranks of the NYSE before branching out on his own and taking clients with him. That entrepreneurial spirit had served him well and brought an influx of interested clients. He defied conventionality by opening an office on the West Coast and maintaining only a small one in Manhattan. There were, of course, detractors on the Street, claiming the consistently high returns were impossible and thus fabricated. Nevertheless, his reputation remained untarnished. During interviews he reminded naysayers that an independent accounting firm audited his firm annually. He had nothing to hide.

  A sudden change in noise caught TJ’s attention. Phone conversations muted as a cheery voice crescendoed. TJ turned toward its direction. A late-twenty-something blonde was making her way through the office
, waving to some and chatting briefly with others.

  TJ couldn’t describe fashion to save her life. An image of Monty Python’s Keeper of the Bridge of Death popped into her head. She would undoubtedly face a question requiring her to know what the hell a décolletage was and be cast into the gorge of eternal peril when she erred. She had learned all she knew about it from scanning magazines lining the checkout stands at the grocery store. But if TJ had to describe this woman in one word, it would be fashionable.

  Her blond hair curled at the ends and stopped at the top button of her jacket. She wore a long-sleeve, black suit jacket that buttoned just below her cleavage, which her red lace blouse seemed to make stand out all the more. Her matching black pencil skirt and black high heels limited the woman’s stride to require nearly two steps for every normal one.

  That was all it took for TJ to amend her earlier thought. Not fashionable. Airheaded. Watching the woman’s ridiculous half-step attention-seeking performance, TJ briefly wondered whether she’d stumbled onto the set of a reality show where the gorgeous woman chooses her male quarry and leaves with him to fulfill some sort of everyman fantasy involving a hot tub and plenty of naked women.

  Jess removed one of two wine bottles from a rectangular box. The label was blank except for the words Red Wine. “Gather ’round, gentlemen. Come see the latest promo.” She handed out the bottle to be passed around. “Anyone can do generic and mediocre. But what do you get when you pair your demand for quality with your desire for personalized attention?” She lifted the second bottle. The label was elegant. “Spaulding” was embossed in gold calligraphy above the vintage, and the distinguished Golden Oak picture hugged the lower half of the bottle. “You get uncompromising.”