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My phone vibrates next to my ear, interrupting the podcast playing. Annoyed, I place my glass of wine on the edge of the tub and check the caller. It’s someone from Prada, probably offering me yet another one of their hideous bags for my travels, but I ignore it.
Because I fucking can.
A few minutes later, my phone rings again. I’m ready to tell Prada that harassing me during a morning bubble bath is a capital offense akin to homicide in my book, but it’s not Prada. This time, it’s Davis.
“Did you save the day? Tell me I didn’t screw up your deal and won’t have to sell my stock to make up for it,” I say in lieu of a regular greeting.
Davis clicks his tongue. “I didn’t save anything, unfortunately. That’s why I’m calling. As it turns out, you’re the only one who can.”
My stomach flips at the idea of being the company’s deus ex machina. I’ve never saved anything before—nor have I ever done anything to benefit Davenport-Ridgeway. The notion is weird…but surprisingly palatable.
“Me? Well, that’s bizarre.”
“Yeah.”
Yeah.
Davis’s clipped response makes me hesitate. My older brother has a tendency to stammer and say too much when he talks to me. He manages to curb the habit when he’s in business-mode, but I usually don’t see that side of him. For him to be succinct is a bad omen.
“Okay, what’s going on, Davis?”
He tells me. Reluctantly, and with a note of actual fear in his voice, Davis launches into a long explanation about why this deal is important to him and to Davenport-Ridgeway. Then he raises the stakes: He can’t afford to let the acquisition fall through because the company already botched one earlier this year during due diligence.
Oh and here’s the best part: He’s nervous about drawing too much attention to himself because he was apparently paying an intern to fuck him all summer.
Jesus, this family…
“So what do you want me to do?” I finally ask after I’ve finished grilling Davis about the intern he was paying to do a lot more than just financial analyses.
A silent moment lingers between us. He clears his throat, but remains quiet before he says, “Julia, I’m incredibly sorry, but I need you to sleep with Gus Winter.”
My wine glass slides between my fingers and splashes into the tub. “Shit,” I blurt out. “Shit, shit.”
“Are you okay?”
The bathwater is already turning pink and it’s a miracle I didn’t accidentally drop my phone in as well. “What kind of idiotic question is that, Davis?” I fish out the glass. “Do I sound okay? I just spilled a cab in my bath and my older brother has informed me he’s pimping me out so he can buy a tech company.”
“Why are you drinking a cab at ten in the morning?” he questions, like that’s the part of this conversation worth dwelling on.
“Because I wasn’t going to drink a pinot noir before noon like some kind of serf,” I retort, partially kidding—but only partially.
“Julia—”
“Davis, did you seriously just ask me to sleep with Gus Winter?” My voice breaks when I hiss into the phone.
“I did,” he admits, sighing. “But only because he requested it. Hell, he practically demanded it.”
I’m livid with my body for having a knee-jerk reaction of flattery—and lust. The idea of banging Gus Winter is more than intriguing. In fact, I might have been game if he had kept his entitled mouth shut. But he didn’t. He approached me like every old pervert at the party: eager for my body and uninterested in the rest of me.
“This is fucked up, Davis.” My comment goes without saying, but I want him to hear it. He needs to hear it.
He releases an extended sigh. “I was sick to my stomach before I called. What kind of older brother am I? I’m supposed to look out for you, not…” He trails off. “Look, I know I have zero credibility right now as both a brother and a VP, but if this deal falls through, it’s on me. Even though you were the one who went all…Julia on a CEO, this is on me. Speculation about the sale is already out, and if it falls through we’re going to see an impact on our stock price. I know you recognize the seriousness of that risk.”
“I don’t work at Davenport-Ridgeway.” I finally climb out of my now-pink bath and slide into a robe. “That’s your thing, not mine. Plus, your stock is overvalued anyway.”
It’s Davis’s turn to hesitate. “Who told you that?” he questions after a beat, but it’s not accusatory. It’s more…inquisitive.
I don’t tell Davis that the night of the party, once I learned Davenport-Ridgeway was trying to purchase Gus’s company, I accidentally spent two hours tipsily reading articles about acquisitions on my phone. Yeah, I know—it was weird, but I had to figure out if I had royally fucked the company enough to get disowned. What I learned: an acquisition, or a takeover, is when one company buys another. Briefly, at the announcement of a takeover, the buyer’s stock price dips and the seller’s stock price rises—which explains Davis’s caution about the stock. He knows that D-R’s stock, which is overvalued due to historical reputation, is going to drop if word of an acquisition gets out. If the deal were to fall through, the stock may not rise again like it would if the sale were to go through.
