The Successor Page 17

  In fact, Christian had told Allison that if it turned out he was Jesse Wood’s vice president, it would be a perfect chance for them to start a romantic relationship. He’d even pictured her as the first lady eight years down the road, if he’d been fortunate enough to go on to be president. But that hadn’t worked out, and she’d been disappointed. So had he—about not being VP and not being able to get closer to her—but he’d never told her, never let on. Just buried himself in his work.

  When he was being completely honest with himself, he knew they would make a great couple, knew Allison could be a perfect match for him. Intelligent, fun, reliable, generous, a person who despite the wealth she’d been raised with didn’t take herself too seriously and didn’t let those around her take themselves too seriously—she was all the things he valued in a woman. Basically, she was perfect for him.

  So then why was he here tonight?

  He couldn’t come up with a good answer—with any answer, really—but he knew one thing for sure: He’d been looking forward to tonight a lot. He’d been checking his watch all afternoon—the minute hand had seemed to crawl from Roman numeral to Roman numeral—he’d changed his tie three times, and he’d ended an important conference call early, well before he should have. Ended it before there’d been a resolution with the portfolio-company management team, telling everyone on the call that they’d have to pick up where they left off tomorrow. He’d overheard one of the Everest vice presidents in the conference room saying something about how “Christian doesn’t do that every day” to another VP as they were walking out.

  Well, Christian didn’t have a date with a twentysomething knockout every day, either. Of course, it wasn’t really a date. As he and Quentin were getting close to where she’d asked them to drop her off in Washington the other night, she’d mentioned that she was going to be in New York, and his dinner invitation had just sort of tumbled out. She’d accepted right away. Quentin had given him so much heat for it on the way back to New York, flat out telling him to cancel the dinner several times, but he hadn’t folded. Which was more proof of how interested he was in tonight. Usually he listened to Quentin. In the past, when he hadn’t listened, he’d ultimately wished he had.

  Maybe doing this whole thing was just a way to prove to himself that it could never work out with a woman who was so much younger. He’d see by the end of the evening that they had absolutely nothing in common and be done with the fantasy. Or maybe it was to reassure himself that someone as young as Beth could still be interested in him. It was a tough thing to admit, that he could have that insecurity, but at least he could admit it. Hopefully she’d say something nice, something that made it clear she wouldn’t mind this going further, and that would do it for him.

  He took a deep breath. This was so unlike him. But somehow that was what made it so compelling.

  God, getting older was tougher than he’d anticipated. His father had mentioned how bad it was a couple of times when Christian was younger, but he hadn’t really listened. Be nice if his father were around now. Be nice to talk to him about all this.

  “Thank you.” Beth smiled at him as he held the chair out for her. “You’re such a gentleman.”

  “You should really thank my dad,” Christian said. “He was a stickler for manners, especially when it came to how to treat a lady. Taught me everything. He probably should have been born in a more chivalrous time, not twentieth-century America. He liked being an investment banker and all, but I think he would rather have been someone’s knight in shining armor.”

  “My mother was the same way,” Beth said as she sat down. “She always wanted to be the princess in the tower, wanted the knight to come rescue her. But my father never did.”

  Christian heard naked truth in Beth’s voice for the first time, something he hadn’t heard in the car on the way to Washington—and he liked it. “It’s interesting you say that. My mother never cared that my father held doors for her, got her coat, or that he made a point of walking closest to the street on the sidewalk. All she cared about was the money.”

  “Mom never cared about the money. All she cared about was my father.”

  They locked eyes for a second. Damn, she looked nice. Typically, he preferred blondes—like Allison—didn’t usually go for brunettes, especially when they wore their hair short. But Beth made it work, she definitely had the look. And those smiles of hers were killers. He’d already noticed about ten different ones. Most people he knew gave away their emotions with their eyes. With Beth, it was her mouth.

  “Sounds like they should have been together,” he said after a few moments. “You look really nice.”

  She touched his hand gently as he sat down next to her. “Thanks.”

  “What would you like to drink?” he asked.

  “I’ll have a glass of cabernet.”

  “She’ll have that Rothschild you serve by the glass,” he said as the waiter made it to the table. Allison had liked that wine very much the last time they’d come here—about six months ago.

  “Sure.” The young man smiled smugly and glanced down at Beth’s bare legs. She was wearing a short dress. “I’ll need to see your ID, ma’am.”

  Christian had caught a curious expression on the young man’s face, too. As if he couldn’t figure out what the relationship was here. Father-daughter? Boss-employee? An expression that told him the waiter figured something was going on other than just two people enjoying a nice dinner.

  Beth shrugged apologetically. “I don’t have it with me, Christian. I left it in my other purse. It’s back at the apartment where I’m staying.”

  Christian waved to the owner, who was at the maître d’ stand checking the reservation list. There were only twenty tables in the entire place so the little man got to them quickly.

  “Yes, Christian?” he asked in a thick Italian accent. “Anything at all I take care of?”

  “Vincent, Beth left her ID in her other purse,” Christian explained, gesturing toward her. “I’m sorry to ask but—”

  “No problem,” Vincent assured them, waving both pudgy hands in front of his face. “I take care of everything,” he promised, tugging the waiter away from the table.

  Beth leaned toward Christian. “I take it you have some pull here.”

  “Vincent likes me.”

  “Vincent owes you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “When people like you, they pat you on the back and tell you they just had a warning from the local alcohol control board and their hands are tied. That there’s nothing they can do about your ID issue, whether they really just had the warning or not.” She nodded at the waiter, who was already headed back toward them with a glass of red wine on his tray. “When they owe you, they can’t do favors for you fast enough.” She nodded at the waiter. “All of a sudden our waiter’s gone from leering at me to being your personal black Lab.”

  The waiter placed the glass in front of Beth. “Signorina.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry about the mix-up,” the waiter said to Christian. “I make sure everything is very good for you tonight, very good. What can I get you to drink?”

  “Bottled water, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t you want some wine?” Beth asked as the waiter moved off.

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Why not?”

  There she went again. “No, no. We’re going to find out about you first. Quentin and I talked a lot about you after we dropped you off in D.C., and we both agreed that you’re very good at avoiding questions.”

  “Well, thanks. Now tell me why you don’t drink.”

  She had a way about her, that was for sure. A way of getting what she wanted when she wanted it. She was feisty in a sexy way. That little pout was mesmerizing. “I wrapped my father’s car around a redwood tree one night when I was in high school after drinking a case of beer, and I almost died. He and I had a long talk when I got better, when I was ready to d
rive again. He didn’t read me the riot act or put me on a guilt trip about it, just told me he’d done the same thing when he was my age. And that he’d never had another drop of alcohol after that. He was a damn successful man, so I listened to him. I’m glad I did.” Christian nodded at her glass. “But I don’t have any problem at all with people who do enjoy a drink. In fact, sometimes I wish I could, too. Sometimes it’s all I can do not to order a drink. But I made a choice, and I’ve stuck to it.”

  “Sounds like your dad’s had a big influence on your life.”

  They’d have to spend the rest of dinner talking about it for her to really understand how big that influence had been. “Yeah.”

  “Do you still see him a lot?”

  “He died, Beth. A long time ago.”

  The corners of her mouth dipped and her face stiffened. “I’m sorry.”

  He thanked her, then noticed that she was looking at a painting on the far wall, but that her focus was miles beyond it. He thought he could see moisture building up on her lower lids. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on, don’t stonewall me already. We just sat down.”

  “That’s what they say about you, isn’t it? You’re the man who can handle anything, the man who never loses his cool when everyone else is flipping out. But it’s impossible to get behind that stone-wall surface.”

  There it was again. Her ability—maybe it was an instinct now that he thought about it—to volley the focus of the conversation right back on him.

  “At least, that’s what a lot of interviewers say about you,” she added.

  “Did your research, huh?” But she must not have done it too thoroughly. If she had, she would have known about his father. There were all kinds of articles about the plane crash out there. “Went right to the Net?”

  “Of course, I always go right to the Net when I want to find out something. After all, I’m twenty-two. I’ve grown up with it.” She hesitated, realizing how that might have sounded. “Not that you wouldn’t, too.”

  Well, at least he’d gotten a specific age out of her, and at least for the time being she wasn’t quite half his. “But not as fast as you would,” he said, “because, after all, I’m forty-three and I didn’t grow up with it.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by that, I was just saying—”

  “It’s okay.” He slid the salt shaker back and forth on the linen tablecloth for a few moments. “What were you thinking about when you were looking over there?” he asked, pointing at the painting. “When I told you my dad was dead.”

  She took another sip of wine. “Are you uncomfortable?”

  “Beth, I asked you a question and I—”

  “Are you uncomfortable?”

  “What about?”

  “Our age difference.”

  He liked that, getting right to the heart of the matter, even if she had changed the subject. “I’m not sure. Are you?”

  She started to giggle—and after a moment it made him laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “How you don’t want to tell me you’re uncomfortable about it, but at the same time you do want to tell me.” She reached for his hand and wrapped her fingers around his. “How you don’t want to admit that you’re interested in me, either. Because you’re worried that I’m not interested in you in the same way.” She squeezed. “So, I’ll go first. Even if all this makes me feel like I’m in high school again.”

  He winked at her. “At least you said again. I thought you were going to tell me tonight you were still in high school.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m not kidding. When the waiter took your drink order, he looked at me like I was the dad and you were the babysitter.”

  She was laughing hard now. “He did not. Stop it,” she ordered when she saw he was going to make another crack. “Look, I’m very attracted to you, and not because of who you are. Not just because you saved my life the other day, either.”

  “Not just because I saved your life? You mean there’s something else?”

  She shot him a coy look. “Maybe.”

  “What?”

  She gave him the once-over, eyeing him up and down. “Well, your looks would do in a pinch,” she kidded, “but there was something else that got me while we were running through the woods. Maybe it was those gray eyes. I’ve never seen anything like them.”

  He’d heard that before.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but that’s okay.”

  “It is?”

  “Yeah, I like mystery. I like to wonder why I’m attracted to someone.”

  So did he. “Are you uncomfortable about the age thing?” he asked directly.

  “Not at all. I already told you that. The guy I was seeing before I got chased around the woods by those goons was almost fifty-two. I like older men.”

  It was the same thing Allison had said a number of times. “Why?” He wanted to see if Beth gave him the same answer.

  “They know what they want. Most men who are younger than forty don’t. They’re still immature. And they don’t know how to treat a woman, either. I’m a lot like my mom. I like being pampered.”

  Christian gazed at her for a few moments. Yep, same answer. “What were you thinking about after I told you my father was dead?”

  Beth slid her hand from Christian’s. “Nothing.”

  “Come on, Beth.”

  “Hey, I barely know you.”

  He realized he was going too fast, but it was a habit he had a hard time breaking. Time was such a precious commodity. He always felt that he was running out of it, that he had to go faster and faster. Especially as he got closer and closer to the age his father had been when he died. “Sorry, I’m just—”

  “I was thinking about my mother being sick.”

  Smooth move, Gillette. He should have realized something big was going on. He shut his eyes for a moment. He spent all day trying to understand the psyches of the senior executives who ran the Everest portfolio companies for him so he could understand how to motivate them, and he’d forgotten that he ought to be doing the same thing here. He’d missed the signs because he’d been trying too hard to make a connection. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Breast cancer.”

  Christian winced. “I’m sorry.” He pulled the folded white handkerchief from his suit jacket pocket and handed it to her as a tear ran down her cheek. “What’s the prognosis?”

  “It’s terminal.” She shrugged, trying to seem strong. She took the handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “It spread to her lymph nodes before they could get it all out. It’s all through her body now.”

  “Jesus.”

  “And my father left her for another woman a year ago. A month after she was diagnosed.” She looked over at him. “All she has is me.”

  He gazed at her. Suddenly she was just a vulnerable kid facing the toughest time of her young life. He’d pushed her to open up and she had—even though she hadn’t wanted to. Now it was his responsibility to help.

  “Christian,” she said softly, “I’m scared.”

  “THIS IS ALL GOING TO work out very nicely, isn’t it, Victoria?”

  Lloyd Dorsey limped back into the great room of his Washington town house with a Scotch for her. “I get to run Jesse Wood out of the White House, and you get total control of Everest Capital. You won’t ever have to worry about Christian Gillette snubbing a deal of yours again. Allison Wallace will do whatever you tell her to do.” He handed Victoria Graham her drink as he sat down beside her on the antique sofa. “And you won’t have to worry about this ridiculous health insurance thing Wood’s trying to push through. Once he gets caught up in the Cuba scandal, he’ll forget everything else. He’ll just be trying to survive at that point, which he won’t. I’ll personally see to that.” He smiled and held his glass up. “To us.”

  She touched her glass to his. “To us.” He was still so damn handsome, still so damn charismatic. Still had the s
ame effect on her he had had that day in the University of Florida law school classroom, when they’d seen each other for the first time. “Yes, it all sounds very good,” she admitted, taking a long sip of the honey-colored liquid. “Lloyd, what’s actually going to happen to Christian?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “I want to know.”

  “Why?”

  She put her glass down on a table beside the sofa. “He’s made me a lot of money over the years.”

  Dorsey groaned. “We’ve been through this so many times. Didn’t Gillette basically tell one of your board members he thought you were off your rocker? That he thought you were going over the legal line with that Ohio deal?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Vicky.”

  A few years ago she’d gone to Christian and asked him to buy an Ohio insurance company for her. MuPenn was competing directly with the company in a couple of big markets, which was driving premiums down for both firms, she’d explained to him. And she’d already gone to the insurance regulators seeking permission for MuPenn to acquire the Ohio company, but had been turned down by both states. So she wanted Christian to buy the company using Everest so they could “rationalize prices,” as she’d termed it, in the competing markets. Basically, have an informal agreement—after Everest did the deal—between MuPenn and the Ohio company not to compete on price. In fact to raise prices and keep them equal because they were the only two big carriers in the region. Which was completely illegal. A clear violation of the Robinson-Patman Act, punishable by years in jail.

  Technically, there wouldn’t have been anything the regulators could have done or said if Everest made the acquisition because MuPenn was just a limited partner with Everest, with no “official” control over anything Everest did. At least, that was what she’d initially thought—she’d found out later that the Feds could actually have prosecuted her if they’d been able to prove complicity between Christian and her. It was the only time she’d ever asked Christian for a favor, but he’d treated her like any other Joe off the street despite the huge amounts of money MuPenn had invested with Everest over the years. And it had made her as mad as she’d ever been, though she’d never told Christian. Of course, he’d quickly figured out why she wanted to do it.