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Noam was there throughout it all, teaching me whatever he thought I needed to learn.
Two years ago, he came to me and suggested it was time to get rid of E. He’d heard grumblings among his friends. Like everything, I took his advice, and sold it: the database alone was worth millions.
A month later, the new owner was named in a lawsuit when an irate wife sued her unfaithful husband—a long-time client—for divorce.
And now I’m the billionaire no one likes to talk about… even though they certainly like to look.
I shift in my seat, feeling the stares like an unwanted hand on me.
I should be used to them.
I should be used to the unwanted hands as well.
“Anything else going on?” Noam asks, pulling my attention away from the staring. I don’t bother giving him an update about my latest dating app, Mature Adult Female because the only things he’s interested in now are the properties I buy.
“Just Tingel Island. If that works out, I’ll have to focus on it, maybe give up a few of the clubs.”
“Do you think now is a good time to do that?” There’s an edge to his voice, one that’s grown sharper in the past few years.
“Nothing has been decided yet.” My voice is calm, the mask in place, but inside my heart is jumping. Noam is a powerful man and his reach is far, extending into the gray area of legal/non-legal. Over the years, I’ve learned it’s best to go along with what he wants, whether it be to put in an offer for a specific property, date a certain man, or accept a gift.
I’m not afraid of Noam Tate, but I’ve grown leery of him the more my interests are veering away from his.
“As for this island you think is a good investment…” Noam lowers his voice. “You know, Maximus Steele is sitting right behind you.”
“I am aware of that, yes.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing at the moment, since I was under the impression this was a non-business dinner.”
“It should always be business for you, Cady,” he says gruffly. “You’ve got the perfect opportunity to find out what Sandflower is asking and what they want the property for.”
“Am I supposed to march over there and ask him?”
Noam lifts a thick eyebrow. “And here I thought you were practiced in the art of subtly.”
I keep the mask in place with difficulty. It’s not the first time Noam has suggested I use my “feminine wiles”—as he calls it—to gain the upper hand in negotiations, and I tamp down the hurt and shame at what he’s implying.
“I’m having dinner with you,” I tell him stiffly.
“And I always enjoy your company,” he says, smoothly switching from first-class prick and back to grandfatherly mentor in the blink of an eye. “What have you been doing for fun?”
“Fun?” I parrot.
“Yes,” he says patiently, the wisdom of three marriages—his last wife passed away a few years ago—shining in his eyes. “You work too hard.”
“Because I have a billion-dollar business to run.” Just saying still brings a smile to my face.
“If I’ve taught you anything, it’s to surround yourself with good people, people you can trust. Those people will help you run your billion-dollar business so you can take time for yourself. You deserve it, Cady.”
I don’t do fun. I never have. “Maybe.”
“When’s the last time you took a day off?”
I don’t answer because I honestly don’t remember. There’s always so much to do, and not enough hours in the day to do it.
“Is there anyone special?” he probes, sounding like a well-meaning grandfather talking to his granddaughter, rather than his mentee, who used to take her clothes off on stage and sleep with men for money.
