For Money or Love Read online

  The men clapped and whistled.

  What Jess didn’t say was how each of the prospects from the firm’s own Pebble Beach Classic would be getting a box, the second bottle personalized for him or her. The accompanying invitation included a unique toll-free number that would allow the answering account rep to identify the caller for a custom experience.

  “Golden Oak doesn’t partner with anyone,” someone said.

  “Really? Hmm. Maybe it’s a mistake.” Jess winked. She didn’t delve into the details of her lengthy pursuit of the brand. The winemaker had refused to allow any co-branding until she convinced them of the good PR they could achieve at little cost. They embraced her idea to allow each Classic attendee to purchase up to six of the personalized bottles (names of individuals were acceptable but company names were not), which were twice as expensive as retail. Golden Oak pledged the net proceeds to the firm’s university fund. Even if the customer didn’t pursue a relationship with the firm, the only path to getting the special bottles was to call and provide the unique code on the invitation. The prospect would feel good about his or her exclusive purchase, the firm, the winemaker, and the charitable contribution. Down the road, some would become Magnate customers.

  Jess never revealed the effort behind her marketing coups. Her reputation was that of a spoiled princess who got by on good looks and Daddy’s money, and she excelled at maintaining it. She occasionally paraded a new promotional item around the office to keep the team convinced that some marketing transpired, but she kept her hard work to herself. When she wanted to stand out, she did so on physical appearance, not brainpower. Female Spauldings simply did not compete for thought leadership.

  The men in her office seemed to believe new clients arrived at Magnate’s door due solely to the superior market returns it earned. Reality suggested otherwise. It took brand awareness—the figurative pounding into people’s consciousness the positive results to be achieved by changing investment firms. That awareness required significant amounts of capital to maintain and expand. Thankfully, due to the overconfidence of her colleagues and the façade she cultivated, it was easy for Jess to let the staff continue their beliefs.

  TJ heard the group provide several more accolades before breaking apart to return to work. The blonde headed past TJ toward the corner office. That the woman was walking like Morticia Addams reminded TJ of her own funereal attire, and she again felt her socioeconomic status like a tattoo on her forehead. TJ brushed the thought aside; she’d earned this chance.

  Stopping at the door, TJ knocked on the frame and peered in just as the blonde set down her purse. “Excuse me.” Blue eyes met hers.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you Jess?”

  “I am.”

  “I’m TJ, the new intern. Gary said I’m to work with you.”

  Jess crossed the office and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you. Welcome to Magnate. Please come in.” She gestured to one of the guest chairs as she took a seat behind a gorgeous wooden desk with stunning marquetry. Likely handcrafted in Europe, it probably cost more than TJ would make this decade.

  “What a beautiful piece of furniture,” TJ said, mindful not to run her finger across its edge like she wanted.

  Jess took a moment to appraise it, as if she’d never seen it before. “I suppose it is. A little something I picked up years ago in Italy, but to be honest, I haven’t really noticed it in forever. I can already tell you’ll be good for me.” She smiled warmly. “Now let’s get straight to the hard questions. Is TJ your given name or a nickname?”

  Amused by the softball she was thrown, TJ replied, “Nickname. My real name’s very feminine. It’s awful.”

  Jess laughed. “Do tell.”

  It was TJ’s turn to smile. “Not on your life.”

  “Ah, the gauntlet is thrown already. Mark my words: I’ll get it out of you. Tell me a little about yourself. I’m familiar with your MBA program. You must be smart.”

  TJ sank into the soft leather chair and ignored the comment. She didn’t want to start off their get-to-know-you by tooting her own horn. “You’re the head of marketing?”

  “Or the tail. I’m the only one in marketing, so you can decide which end I am.”

  “The high end.”

  Jess sat back. “Then I’m doing something right, since our asset minimum for clients is ten million.”

  “It must be tricky talking about managing assets.”

  “How so?”

  “Don’t be offended at the comparison, but when I’m waiting tables, I’m constantly getting inappropriate responses to my questions. Diners often purposely misconstrue an innocuous ‘Is there anything else I can bring you?’ or ‘Can I interest you in dessert?’ as sexual. If your typical client is an older white male, I imagine you get a lot of innuendo regarding managing assets. Yours.” If TJ waitressed in anything as suggestive as what Jess wore, which wasn’t particularly revealing, she’d be pawed incessantly.

  “How do you handle that?”

  “Politely. They have no right to call me babe or honey, yet they think they do, and I don’t want to negatively impact my friend’s restaurant by calling them out on their improper behavior.”

  “And you want your tips,” Jess suggested.

  “Not at the expense of doing what’s right. If it wouldn’t adversely affect my employer, I’d have no trouble telling them theirs is no way to treat a woman.”

  “I hate to disappoint you on your first day, so I’ll be sure not to tell you that we don’t typically discourage our more politically incorrect clients. They like an audience.”

  TJ smirked. “Thanks for not telling me.”

  “But speaking of waiting tables, may I take you to lunch? One of the benefits of getting in late is I can head to lunch as soon as I get here and forgo the need to do anything at all constructive.”

  TJ wasn’t sure of the proper protocol here. She expected to work through lunch and had brought hers. Yet Ridge had counseled her to be open to everything they threw at her and ask for more. She heeded his advice. “That sounds great. Thank you.”

  “Let’s go.”

  TJ followed as Jess baby-stepped through the office. TJ kept her eyes on the back of Jess’s head instead of the tight-fitting fabric that surrounded her backside. The woman obviously worked out. And although the outfit seemed designed to garner notice, TJ wasn’t about to be caught checking out her new boss.

  As they exited the building, Jess walked toward a sleek black sedan from which a stocky, forty-something man in a suit emerged and opened the rear door. Once Jess sat and swung her legs inside, the driver opened the opposite door for TJ, and she sat with none of the grace of her companion.

  TJ scanned her surroundings. The plush leather interior and dark-tinted windows made her feel she was with some sort of celebrity. In front of each seat was a monitor for video entertainment, and the wood-trimmed console between them offered individual climate controls and a smartphone charger. “I’ve never been in a car like this.”

  “The amenities become more impressive every year. I could do without the heated door panels and armrests, but I confess to taking advantage of the hot-stone massage feature on occasion,” Jess said.

  “Hot-stone massage?”

  “You’ve never had one?”

  TJ shook her head.

  “It’s kind of like someone’s gently poking you with warm snooker balls. Want to try?” Jess reached for the remote control, but TJ stopped her hand.

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “We’ll eat at Donatello’s, if that works for you. Michael Warren Davidson is executive chef.”

  “Sounds like a serial killer or assassin,” TJ said while tracing her fingers along the interior’s curves.

  Jess cocked her head.

  “The middle-name thing. John Wayne Gacy, John Wilkes Booth, Lee Harvey Oswald, Michael Warren Davidson.”

  “I’m sure he’d be honored to be in such esteemed company,” Jess said wryly. “I t
ake it you haven’t heard of him?”

  “No, but I’ve a feeling you and I don’t run in the same circles.” TJ pulled on a small handle in the console and stared as a metal arm slowly rose, revealing a laptop table. “They’ve thought of everything.”

  “This model comes with an option for owners of small dogs. They swap this console for a car seat with a safety strap and removable cover for easy cleaning. The airbag goes there.” Jess pointed to the area between the monitors.

  “You’re pulling my leg, right?” TJ folded the tray back into its compartment.

  “You must be sensing the shiatsu option designed to help you stretch while you ride.”

  TJ felt beneath her seat before narrowing her eyes. “Okay, you got me. Fido’s SOL and there’s no shiatsu. Does this mean there’s no hot-stone massage?”

  “Now that’s most definitely real.” Jess pressed the remote control. “Close your eyes and enjoy.”

  Moments passed in silence, the road noise so muted that TJ occasionally peeked out her window to see if they were still moving. “Mmm. Sold. This feels wonderful. How about we go for a drive and skip lunch?”

  “And miss our chance at being poisoned by the infamous Michael Warren Davidson?”

  “We could get takeout and eat in here. Die happy.”

  “Where do you live, TJ?”

  TJ stiffened, the question effectively cooling the heated seat. She didn’t want to lose their surprisingly easy banter. “Maddiston. On South Cedar, near the old theater.” South Cedar was in an industrial area of Maddiston, the city that abutted affluent Montgomery Hills. Most people didn’t realize there was any housing there.

  “The abandoned drive-in?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Yikes.”

  TJ sat straighter. “We all have to live somewhere.”

  “Sorry. I just meant that area lacks…well…is it safe?”

  “The neighbors watch out for each other. It’s home. And it’s close to the bus station.”

  “That’s a good thing?”

  TJ eyed her companion. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “The transients and drug dealers, to start.”

  TJ shot out her hand to turn off the massage. She was about to cross a line but could stop it as well as an open palm against a moving train. “People need to get to work or school. We don’t all have a car service at our disposal.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. As to this,” Jess waved a palm to the interior, “I don’t drink and drive, so when I’m entertaining like I am tonight, I use the service. It also makes it easy to ensure others in my party get home safely.”

  “Admirable.”

  “Yes. I can tell from your tone.”

  TJ’s voice was still too controlled. “More people should use other means of transportation if the alternative is driving drunk.”

  “Unless that alternative is a limousine.” Jess’s irritated tone mirrored TJ’s.

  TJ regretted her comment. She’d responded to judgment with judgment. Regardless of anyone’s means, she strongly believed no one should drive while intoxicated. TJ’s years of watching her mother kill herself with alcohol informed her decision to minimally partake of it; she needn’t condemn folks like Jess who took a different, yet responsible route.

  “Whether you walk, take a taxi, ride with a friend, or use a limo, anything’s far preferable to killing or injuring someone, and if I made it seem otherwise, I apologize. Frankly, as guardian of a teenager, I appreciate your foresight in ensuring there’s one less drunk on the road tonight.”

  The remaining minutes passed in silence, with TJ lost in her own thoughts. As the Mercedes slowed to a stop, TJ became aware of her surroundings. A valet approached and opened her door. TJ stepped out onto a busy thoroughfare cordoned off by two orange plastic cones. She hoped the valets on this side of the street received hazardous-duty pay.

  Once they were inside, an impeccably dressed host immediately acknowledged them but held up a finger while he finished his telephone conversation. Several couples occupied waiting-area benches, though TJ suspected the majority of the lunch queue was enjoying adult beverages in the adjacent bar until called. After the host hung up, his eyes alighted on Jess and he smiled.

  “What a pleasant surprise, Ms. Spaulding. Please come with me.” He pulled two thick rectangular menus from a slot and led them through the opulent dining room. White linens covered the tables, walls and ceilings were adorned in red-and-brown-patterned velour, and wooden dining chairs held crimson cushioning. Warm hues emanated from candles within glass globes on each table, adorned with elegant formal place settings. TJ forced a smile in response to the host pushing her chair forward as she sat.

  “I recommend either the risotto or the swordfish, but I’ve never had anything here I didn’t enjoy,” Jess said as she perused the menu. “The beet salad or Castelvetrano olives make an excellent first course. I find four courses too much if we want dessert.”

  TJ’s stomach dropped when she saw the prices for the three-, four-, and five-course options. The three-course option cost more than her monthly bus pass, and that was before tax or tip. She wasn’t expected to pay for the meal, but she wouldn’t be able to enjoy spending more for one meal than she spent on groceries for two weeks. Worse, when she’d heard how the host greeted Jess, she realized her dining companion was none other than the daughter of Derrick Spaulding. One of the online profiles she’d read on him mentioned his family. How was she supposed to relax in the company of the founder’s daughter?

  Finally, Jessica Spaulding seemed completely immune to the excess surrounding them. Her head, which never swiveled from the host’s lead during the walk to the table, was now bent as she studied the menu. She acted as if she had no notion of how special this type of dining experience would be for the vast majority of the population. It seemed Jess looked forward to eating here as much as TJ did to eating at McDonald’s, which was to say she didn’t.

  TJ found herself in a quandary. She couldn’t feign illness because she needed to return to the office. She couldn’t back out of lunch because she’d already agreed to it, no matter that she hadn’t known her companion’s lineage or the destination. Honesty was the only way forward.

  “Ms. Spaulding.”

  Jess raised her head. “Please. It’s Jess or Jessica.”

  “I can’t eat here.”

  It took a moment for Jess to reply. “I should have asked whether you had any food sensitivities. But they can accommodate almost anything. Vegetarian, vegan, gluten-free—”

  “I’m not comfortable having you pay for a meal like this when I can’t return the favor. I’d offer to go Dutch, but honestly, I can’t spend this kind of money on one meal.”

  Jess set her menu down. “I’d never ask anyone to lunch and expect reciprocation. Also, I’m not paying for it. It’s admirable of you to be concerned with the cost, but this is a business expense. Magnate’s picking up the tab, no strings attached.”

  TJ shook her head. “I’m not comfortable with it.”

  Jess’s narrowed eyes gave away her exasperation. “Is this because of my comment about the limo?”

  “No. It’s because I can’t accept something for nothing.”

  “It’s lunch. A normal part of everyday business. Someone new starts, you take them to lunch. End of story.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Fine. It’s a progressive town. Pretend we’re on a date.”

  “I don’t date.”

  “Can’t imagine why,” Jess said under her breath. She was flabbergasted. When did having lunch become such a big deal? Why was she suddenly having so much difficulty with this intern? She didn’t need the drama. Abruptly, she grabbed her purse and strode over to the host, not bothering to see if TJ would follow. If TJ wanted to get out of here so badly, she would. “Victor, please forgive my horrid manners for leaving so soon.” Jess cut him off before he could get a word in, surmising from his wide eyes that he believed the staff had sc
rewed up. “As always, I appreciate your exemplary service and promise I’ll be back soon.”

  Her driver was waiting in a no-parking zone out front and immediately pulled the car forward. Jess was so furious she nearly threw open the door but kept her manners and allowed him to open it. Moments later, TJ slid in next to her.

  “Back to the office, please.” Jess had done her duty, having tried to play nice with the intern. Now, she’d toss the keys to Gary. He was in the office daily, which was where TJ would be spending her internship. Jess had no need to be involved. He oversaw the financial-modeling and market-research aspects of the business, which were the areas TJ would want to focus on.

  She stewed over their conversation. With prospects and clients, Jess routinely steered clear of controversial topics and ignored irritating comments made by those she wooed because most of them liked to listen to themselves talk. She had no desire to change their ways of thinking; she aimed solely to get them to move their money stashes to the firm. It was amazing, the power of her acquiescence to whatever they said. They never put two and two together to realize she let them win any present argument so that they’d feel more impressed by her. It defied logic. But this intern wasn’t a prospect, and Jess had no reason to play her usual smile-and-nod bobblehead.

  Still, Jess felt an uncharacteristic wave of guilt. She should have kept her dating rebuttal to herself. TJ hadn’t done anything wrong or said anything disdainful—well, except for the comment about the limo, for which she’d apologized. She had merely voiced her unease.

  And admittedly, the teenager comment intrigued Jess. TJ hardly seemed older than a teenager herself. Jess couldn’t imagine living in TJ’s neighborhood or pushing her own needs aside for someone else. Motherhood was not in her five-year plan.

  The silence in the car was so thick Jess grew irritated with the incredible German engineering that effectively negated the road noise. She pivoted to face TJ. “My sarcasm was completely uncalled for, and I’m sorry. I’ve never had a lunch outing turn south so quickly. I’ll make sure Gary takes care of everything you need for your internship.” She shifted her body so she again faced the window, but realized she wasn’t finished and turned to TJ once more.