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I wonder if he wants more.
“I’m serious. I think they really liked you. They especially liked your ideas about intellectual property. What you said about valuation. I didn’t really understand the whole thing, but Mitchell said it was revolutionary.” That’s exactly the kind of thinking we need at our company, he added.
Mr. Leblanc makes another noncommittal sound.
This time, I don’t try to hide that I’m looking at him. His eyes are still locked straight ahead. The relaxed expression he wore through dinner has become something else. Like he’s thinking too hard about what is obviously a good move for him. Rich men have only one job, and that’s to get richer.
“So…” I squeeze his arm. He leans into it a little. I’m not sure he’s conscious of doing it. “It’s what you want, right? This deal, I mean.”
“I don’t know.” A slight shrug. “Maybe. I thought so, but now there are other things I want.”
“Like what?”
“To fuck you until I die.”
It hits me like all of New York’s heat waves compressed into one. “That’s a really long time.”
“Is it?” He stops, turning to face me, and I’m surprised at the darkness in his eyes. He’s conflicted. Angry. “Or is two weeks just a bullshit amount of time?”
My mouth drops open. “Two weeks is just… that’s what my contract is for. That’s what it’s always like at the agency. A couple weeks. A month.”
Mr. Leblanc shakes my hand off his arm like I’m the one who decided on two weeks and not his own company. “I didn’t like the way you were flirting with him.”
I can’t believe he’s saying this. “I was making conversation.”
“You told him you’d be in touch about a vacation. I’m surprised you didn’t leave with him after he offered to let you stay at his place in Paris. You’d probably love the Left Bank.”
“You know I didn’t mean that. You know it.”
“You stole fifty thousand dollars from me, but you want me to believe you’re above fucking him for a vacation in Paris?”
“Are you serious?” Is this what it feels like to get blown away in a gust of wind? What the hell is even happening right now? My heart thuds. “Even if I wanted to—to fuck him for a free vacation, how am I supposed to get in touch? It was just a thing people say. Like hey, I know a great travel agent, and I’m like, yeah, that would be great, thank you. When in reality I’m never going anywhere.”
Mr. Leblanc laughs. Cold. Acerbic. He pulls out his phone. “I’ve got his number right here. Want it?”
“No.”
“It doesn’t matter. He knows you work with me. For the next week, anyway. He can call you at your desk and the two of you can keep flirting.”
“Mr. Leblanc. Stop. I didn’t even like that guy. I don’t want him to call me. I don’t want to go to Paris with him.”
“You’d prefer the Bahamas, then.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere with him.”
A cold breeze brushes across the back of my neck and ruffles Mr. Leblanc’s hair. “Then you should have remembered that at dinner. I’m the one blackmailing you. You stay with me.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“You flirt with me. Not some asshole from Hughes Financial Services. Not even Finn Hughes.”
“Mr. Leblanc…”
Now his grin turns sardonic and mean. Hurt. Disappointed. How can he be disappointed? I did everything he asked. I bought a dress. I sat through dinner. I charmed.
“It’s not even a surprise. This is what women do. They leave. But guess what, Bristol? You can’t leave. You owe me, and your ass is mine until I’m done with you. You can fuck it up by flirting with other men if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it. I don’t think you’d like being locked in.”
I’m checking my chest for a knife when I realize he’s walked away.
