Arrogant Page 3

  Ryland’s mocking expression remained, though a muscle in his jaw ticked. “Choose your words carefully, Alecia. It was just business, plain and simple.”

  I stared resentfully at his handsome face, a familiar sight from my past, and yet a stranger at the same time.

  Of course I knew that. Even if Wyatt Corporation had not come along to take over Beckett Construction, someone else would have.

  That didn't make their betrayal any easier to swallow.

  It should have been someone else, anyone but the four young men who had spent all that time in my father's home and then treated his memory so callously once he was dead.

  Ryland's shirt sleeves tightened around his biceps as he folded his arms. “You look good.”

  “Don't patronize me,” I snapped.

  My plain office blouse and cheap pencil skirt were unimpressive, and I even had a knock-off bag to top it all off. I looked like I just took a dive into a bargain bin.

  But Ryland?

  He could have just stepped away from a GQ photoshoot.

  His muscular physique was a product of exercise and a healthy diet, and his clothing was well-made. The cost of his socks alone could probably feed Karin and me for a month.

  A part of me hated that he lived so well, that the clothes on his back had been bought even partially with money made from dissolving Dad's company.

  While I had struggled, Ryland had thrived.

  “Why are you here?” I asked quietly.

  Ryland raised a brow. “Maybe I just wanted to catch up with an old friend.”

  “Please, we were never friends. Even if you hadn't pulled that stunt with my father's company, you were too busy partying, or screwing around, or getting up to some illegal activity to waste your time making friends.”

  “Mm. You sound bitter.”

  “I am not,” I shot back, then mentally kicked myself when I caught his taunting smile. He was getting to me, and he wasn't even trying.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  “Look,” I gritted. “Just say your piece and go. I know there's a reason you're here, and it's not to chat. You're not the sentimental kind.”

  “You're right.” Ryland slipped his hands into his pockets, but his casual posture could not hide the calculating gleam in his eyes. “I have a reason, but now I'm rethinking how to put it across. You're…not what I expected.”

  He raked his gaze over my body. Goosebumps rose on my skin everywhere, and my stomach tightened at the unexpected heat.

  Lifting my chin, I gave Ryland a once-over of my own, though it didn't have the same effect with me being that much shorter than him.

  “What were you expecting, anyway?” I countered. “We don't even know each other.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Ryland took one step closer, forcing me to tip my head back to meet his cool gaze.

  I froze as he reached out and brushed an imaginary piece of lint off my shoulder.

  “I know you're up to your neck in debt from tuition fees and credit bills,” he said casually. “You can’t even make rent, and your pay is fucking pathetic.”

  My stunned gaze met his, but Ryland’s lips merely curved into a faint, cruel smile.

  “Personal assistant to the Marketing Director at Bateman & Co. Sounds fancy,” he cocked his head, “but we both know you're just a glorified errand girl.”

  I couldn't stifle a flinch at the way he said that.

  The PA position I had now put Karin and me in a better situation than our first years in New York, when we’d had our meals in soup kitchens and I’d juggled two jobs.

  And yet to Ryland, it was something to be ashamed of.

  I hated how that made me feel, how he was laying bare all my insecurities with the ease of someone commenting on the weather.

  Sensing my lowered defenses like a shark in bloodied waters, Ryland leaned in closer, his ice-blue eyes cold and piercing.

  I couldn't look away from him.

  I could barely breathe.

  “But more than that,” he murmured, his warm breath floating over my lips, “I know what you used to be. You had everything, the entire world at your feet.” His smile turned wolfish. “How far you've fallen, Allie cat.”

  My heart slammed into my ribs. I was trembling now, from fear and anger.

  And shame.

  “You bastard,” I whispered, my voice unsteady. “How did you get my private info?”

  Ryland eased back, and I released a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

  “Like I do with everything else,” he said simply. “With money.”

  Harsh laughter escaped me.

  “Right,” I said, feeling almost hysterical. “That’s what you and your friends were like. Nothing's changed, huh? You're still the same spoiled, self-entitled assholes who throw money at every—”

  “Watch it,” Ryland cut in, his gaze sharp. “Don't forget you were one of us.”

  “No. I never was, and I never will be.” My hands fisted at my sides as I glared up at him. “Is this why you wanted to meet? To insult me as some kind of sick power play?”

  “I don't need power play when it comes to you, Allie. We both know where we stand.”

  “I do know, actually,” I snapped, “and it sure as hell isn't with an arrogant asshole like you. Have a good life, Ryland.”

  As I turned to leave, Ryland stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. He pulled me back into the pale stream of light, making me face him again.

  We were now standing so close that my chest brushed his with every shallow breath.

  I could smell the spicy blend of his cologne mixed with the fresh scent of soap on his skin, feel his heat seeping into my wrist.

  My mouth went dry.

  “What did you call me?” Ryland said in a dangerous voice.

  I swallowed. “I called you an asshole. Go ahead and sue me.”

  A muscle under his eye twitched, but he didn't say anything for a long moment as his narrowed gaze searched mine. This close, I could see that his light-blue irises were ringed with black, and that the lashes framing his eyes were thick and curved at the tips.

  How could a jerk like him have eyes so beautiful?

  “Last chance,” I found myself saying. “Why are you here?”

  Ryland watched me closely. “I'm offering you a deal.”

  I blinked. “A what?”

  “A deal,” he enunciated like I was hard of hearing. “I need information from you. You'll be paid well if you have what I want.”

  I stared at him like he'd grown two heads.

  “What kind of information? And why would you pay so much for it? Unless…” I paused. “Unless you're feeling guilty and want to make up for what happened?”

  Ryland laughed suddenly, his white, even teeth flashing in the dim light. “Guilty?” he echoed. “The fuck for?”

  A cold ice settled in my stomach.

  What had I been thinking?

  This was Ryland Wyatt, heir to billions. He was born with a diamond-encrusted spoon in his mouth, and he never had to answer to anyone but himself. I doubted he even had a conscience, let alone the ability to feel an emotion like regret.

  “Forget I asked,” I said sullenly.

  “If you're feeling intimidated, relax. What I need isn’t rocket science, so it shouldn’t be that hard.” He raised a brow. “Even for you.”

  My eyes narrowed. “You can take your insults and shove it, Ryland. I. Decline. Just speaking with you is enough to ruin my year. I’d sooner die than help you.”

  Ryland's hand tightened on my wrist as he leaned forward, completely erasing the distance between us. The close proximity bent me back, pressing my breasts firmly against his hard chest.

  Whatever retort I had died in my throat when my nipples began to harden at the contact.

  “Oh, you will be helping me, Allie cat,” Ryland murmured by my ear, his warm breath caressing the sensitive skin there. “In more ways than you expect.”

  My head grew light at
the way he said it. I knew he didn't mean it as an innocent phrase. His voice was husky…suggestive. His other hand moved to caress my jaw, and to my horror, I let him.

  Dimly, I recalled why I'd stayed out of the boys' ways when we were younger. I wasn't a girl who scared easily, but they scared me anyway with their attractiveness and their manipulative natures.

  And of the four of them, Ryland was the most dangerous.

  The other guys had their weaknesses—Theo was pure evil, Gabriel was impulsive, and Cam was too ambitious.

  But Ryland was perfectly level-headed and calculating at all times. As far as I could see, he had no weakness, and that scared the hell out of me, both then and now.

  “Did you like it?” he asked in a low voice.

  His thumb brushed back and forth over the crest of my cheek. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air between us, enveloping me in a faint cloud of spice and wood.

  I swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

  “The five K I paid for the painting. Did you like it?”

  “I...” I stared back into his knowing gaze, unable to deny it. “Yes.”

  “Good,” he murmured seductively. “Because I want to give you more. Ten grand for an hour of your time.”

  I blinked in confusion, the fog in my head slowly clearing at his words.

  Ryland’s eyes were heavy-lidded like mine, but while I'd been distracted by his low voice and soft caresses, he had been going in for the kill.

  I was a mouse between his paws, and I hadn't even realized.

  “I don't want your money,” I said unsteadily.

  Ryland ignored me. “Thirty grand for an hour,” he countered. “One hundred thousand if you can give me what I'm looking for.”

  “What? I—”

  “An additional fifteen K if you take my offer right now.” His light blue eyes were cold and ruthless as they watched me.

  I gaped, my mind grasping at the staggering numbers he was throwing out like confetti.

  What kind of information could I have that was worth that much? It didn't make any sense.

  Interpreting my stunned silence as agreement, Ryland released my hand with a triumphant look.

  With methodical motions, he withdrew a slim checkbook and pen from his inner pocket and scribbled something on it.

  Then he ripped out the slip, folded it, and handed it to me between two fingers.

  “Be at my office at eight tomorrow,” he said in a businesslike tone as he pocketed the checkbook. “If you don't know where that is, Google it. Don't be late.”

  I blinked at the whiplash.

  Ryland Wyatt had done a one-eighty in thirty seconds, going from seductive persuasion to icy coolness.

  My stomach churned when I realized what the new look in his eyes was.

  Disdain.

  With a final dismissive glance that meant We're done here, Ryland turned and strode away, his perfectly shined shoes echoing across the linoleum floor of the hall in time to the pounding in my throat.

  With stiff fingers, I unfolded the slip in my hands.

  And stared.

  And stared.

  “Fifteen thousand dollars,” it said in a black scrawl. Fifteen thousand, just like that.

  My head grew light as I read and reread the scrawled words.

  This little paper meant everything to me. It was rent, food, utility bills, art supplies for Karin, her tuition fees, and Ryland knew it.

  My fingers tightened on the slip like it was made of gold.

  But even so, I knew I couldn't take it.

  Not like this, not with Ryland Wyatt taunting and insulting me and playing on my insecurities, then looking at me as if I were a bug under his shoe.

  The paper crinkled under my grasp.

  I'd work five times, ten times harder if I needed to, as long as I never saw that look from him again.

  Before I could give in to temptation, I ripped the check to tiny shreds. The little white scraps fluttered to the floor like pieces of my broken dreams.

  “Stupid!” my mind screamed at me, but I begged myself not to regret.

  Ryland had turned at the sound of the paper tearing, his coldly handsome face looking surprised and bemused.

  To my horror, my eyes began to sting with hot tears.

  How could he find this amusing? Like it was some sort of spectacle?

  I masked my humiliation with anger as I strode up to him and stabbed a finger in his chest.

  “I'm not merchandise, Ryland,” I said shakily. “You can't buy me.”

  Ryland captured my hand and enveloped it in his large, warm one. It was a startling contrast to his gaze, which remained chilly.

  “Everyone has a price, Allie cat.” He leaned down, so close that his next words were a whisper across my lips. “Especially someone like you.”

  With a final mocking look, Ryland released me and turned to walk away. The heavy door slammed behind him in an echoing bang.

  I stood in the empty hall for long moments after he'd left, blinking my hot tears away and trying to get my racing heart under control.

  The rumors I had heard about him back then had been true after all. Ryland Wyatt was a monster, one made of ice.

  One that had no problem with crushing my pride under his foot like it was worthless.

  I raised my hand to dash away my tears. It was then that I realized Ryland had tucked something into my hand.

  A business card.

  I stared down at his phone number, biting the inside of my cheeks so hard it bled.

  No doubt he expected me to come begging. And maybe one day, I might have to.

  I angrily shoved the card into my bag, hating myself for not having the strength to send it to the same fate as the check, and hating Ryland for showing up out of nowhere and tearing down my esteem like it was a house of cards.

  As I composed myself and made my way back to Karin, I realized one more thing.

  Ryland never answered my question.

  What was the information he wanted so badly?

  I was four the first time I laid eyes on Wyatt Tower.

  I can't remember a thing about that day, but my caregiver at that time, a purse-lipped woman called Mrs. Spencer, had said that I'd been obsessed with the skyscraper at first sight.

  That the massive building had mesmerized me like no other toy did.

  That the gleaming marble and glass facade had caught my unwavering attention from the first moment.

  Fucking.

  Bullshit.

  Fact the first. I didn't understand a thing about kids, but I sure as hell knew that the terms “four-year-old” and “unwavering attention” were never used in the same breath.

  Fact the second. While Wyatt Tower was impressive, so had every other place I'd been to. Grandeur was the norm, not the exception, and if I had to bet, my reaction had likely been impressively unimpressed.

  Not that Mrs. Spencer would ever dare admit that to my father, because fact the third: I was the heir to the business, AKA Wyatt Tower.

  And the buildings surrounding it.

  And the ones surrounding those.

  My role had been written out for me from moment I was born. Literally.

  Cabinets of documents and contracts naming me the sole inheritor to the Wyatt business and fortune. Paper manacles solid as steel, all ensuring I was next in line to take up the mantle from my father, the same one his own father had passed on to him.

  Being obsessed with the company?

  Fuck that.

  I was expected to worship it.

  And for the better part of my twenty-eight years, I had. Every moment aside from eating, sleeping and fucking had gone into the company.

  Shit, I thought about it even while eating, sleeping and fucking. Every decision I made, every breath I took was for Wyatt Corp. It was the way since I could remember, and it was the way now.

  And now it was coming to bite me in the ass.

  I took a deep swallow from the rock glass clasped in my h
and, letting the whiskey light a trail of fire down my throat.

  “That bad? What did she say?” Gabriel’s muffled voice came from across the coffee table.

  The idiot was staring down into the black glass surface, carefully arranging his brown hair for the third time in the past ten minutes.

  I took my time to answer, staring impassively at the clouds of cigarette smoke swirling around the room.

  Gabriel, Cam and I were presently in the VVIP room of the club atop Lancaster Hotel. It was the place we met whenever we had shit to discuss. This time, it involved an extortion of thirty million dollars between the three of us.

  Fun times.

  “She said no,” I finally replied.

  “She what?” Gabriel dropped his legs from the coffee table to the floor.

  Cam frowned. “I thought you made her an offer.”

  “I did.” I held the glass up, studying the way the ambient light in the room shot patterns through the cut crystal. “And she rejected.”

  Gabriel stared at me in disgust. “Dammit Ry, I always knew you were stingy, but this just takes the cake.”

  “Stingy?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You still owe me fifty grand, jackass.”

  Gabriel looked at Cam for support. “You see?”

  Whatever. The idiot had zero sense of logic.

  “I offered Allie Beckett up to a hundred K,” I said curtly, “but apparently she has more pride than sense. Plus I underestimated how much she hates our guts.”

  Gabriel frowned. “She hates us? The fuck for?”

  “Damn Gabe, I don't know.” I tilted my head, looking at him like he’d just asked the dumbest question—because he had. “Maybe because we bought out her dad's company less than a month after his funeral and broke it up for profit? And took all his business partners?”

  Gabriel held up one hand. “Hey, that's on you and Cam. Leave me out of it.”

  “Nice try,” Cam snorted. “Your parents' firm rode on the connections to our companies.”

  “Debatable. I think it's my charisma that got us this far, but then we'd be up all night discussing my qualities.” Gabriel shook his head. “I can't believe this. You can charm the clothes off any chick, and you can't get this one girl to take money from you? You're losing your touch, bro.”