Masterpiece (13 page)

I make a point of keeping my cool.

Barely.

I unconsciously run a hand through my hair. I need a haircut. Hell, maybe I won’t even bother. I won’t be seeing the inside of a boardroom anytime soon. I stuff my $5,000 Armani jacket into one of the cardboard boxes now sitting in my office. I roll up my sleeves and yank off my tie. My shirt feels too tight, possibly because I’ve been working out like a goddamn maniac lately. I start packing a few things from the shelves into the boxes. Usually I don’t show my tats at work but who gives a fuck? Today it doesn’t matter.

My phone rings.

I almost don’t answer it but I see my brother’s name flash up on the screen. We have a deal: we always answer. No matter how fucking shitty our day might’ve been. And today pretty much takes the cake.

Alexander launches straight into it. “Home detention’s no reason to bail on me. Come out to dinner with us tonight.”

“No. The restaurant you booked isn’t in my zone. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Jake,” he says. “I’m getting
married
tomorrow, for fuck’s sake. I need my best man there tonight to help me celebrate. Besides, I found another place. It’s new. And it’s right around the corner from your office. We’re heading down there now. Me, Lila and a friend of hers. Her maid of honor.”

I got convicted of insider trading today and my brother bailed me out on the spot with a cool two million dollars. Instead of a jail sentence, I’ll be serving a three-month stint of home detention. I’ve been fitted with an electronic bracelet which, if I happen to step outside my jurisdiction, will blow my fucking head off. Okay, maybe it won’t. But it might as well. I’ve been ordered by the judge not to leave the three-block square
where my apartment and my office are located. I can walk between the two, or drive my Ducati (or my Ferrari, my Lexus, my Shelby or any of the other six cars or twelve motorcycles parked in my private garage). If I get caught outside the zone I’ll get thrown in jail for at least a year, and probably more like two. I’ve also been ‘asked’ by the Board of Directors to take a break from my job as CEO of my brother’s largest investment company.

I don’t really feel like dinner but, fuck: I owe him one. In fact I owe him two million. Which I just deposited into his bank account on my way over here. “Shit. All right,” I say.

The only reason I’m agreeing to meet my brother and his fiancée is because they’re about to get married. I want to see them. But I wish it could be the three of us and not a foursome with some bimbo friend who’s guaranteed to drool over me all night. I’m really not in the fucking mood.

I haven’t been in the mood for a while.

“I didn’t do it, by the way,” I say. “And I just put two mil into your Bahamas account.”

“Didn’t do what?”

“Leak the info.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean someone fucking framed me.” I could have told him before but there was no point. There’s zero evidence to back up my claims. A stack of emails written from my private account was presented to the court, making an airtight case against me. “Someone hacked into my account and sent the emails. I didn’t give out any insider information. I’m clean as a goddamn whistle.”

Alexander’s silent for a couple of seconds, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me this?”

“Because it’s my word against theirs. I knew I didn’t stand a chance in court. And I didn’t want to draw it out.” I have a long list of criminal offenses. Mostly minor shit I did when I was younger. Even though I’ve spent the past ten years working my
ass off and heading several major companies, I have enough of a record to skew any judge’s opinion of me in the wrong direction. I know what I look like to a judge: a badass. A shady deviant with a history. The kind of guy the law has a problem with.

Alexander knows all this.

“I have a few ideas about who might’ve framed me,” I tell him, “but there’s no point naming names until I have proof.”

“You should’ve told me,” Alexander says again.

“I didn’t want it to look like we were trying to cover something up. Then the whole company looks dirty. This way, it’s just me.”

“Jesus, Jake.”

“I’ll figure out who did this. And when I find him, I’ll nail him.”

When you’re dealing with the kind of money we throw around on a daily basis, it’s dog-eat-dog, everyone knows this. I make five million bucks a year working for my brother, plus commission, which is usually double my salary, sometimes more. Everyone who works with me wants my job and they all think the only reason I’m there is because my brother owns the company. Which used to be true. Not anymore. I’m good at building companies and I’m good at making money. It took me a while to get on track in life but these days I can spot a winner from a mile away.

“Until then,” I add, “I’ll be taking a little hiatus from the office.”

“I own the company, Jake. If you want to stay you can stay.”

“We both know it’ll hurt business if I stick around, Alexander. I can still advise the brokers. Don’t sweat it. I need a vacation anyway.”

“I’ll fucking slam whoever did this.”

“Yeah, you and me both.”

Being out of a job doesn’t worry me. Letting my brother down does. Those days are over.

His sigh is pissed-off. “At least let me buy you a beer.”
      
“Fine, then. I’ll see you in twenty.” I end the call and set the phone on my desk,
which is strewn with court orders and legal documents. Irate letters from clients questioning my ethics and calling for my dismissal.

I’ll clear my name if it’s the last thing I do. I swore a long time ago I’d never get another criminal conviction, so this one stings a lot more than I’d like to admit.

I pick up a pink envelope from my stack of mail and rip it open. It’s from a girl I took out to dinner and spent one night with a few months ago. The last girl I slept with, to be exact. I never gave her my number but she knows where I work and keeps writing me long letters about how I broke her heart.
Jake, please call me. Please. I need to see you one more time. I know I’ll be able to change your mind. I’ll make you feel so good. I’ll do anything. ANYTHING. Please. I miss you so much. We’re meant to be together, I feel it in my heart. I love you. All my love and a million kisses, Bella.

Jesus.

I do it every now and then. When the need becomes a wild animal inside me that I have to unleash or it starts to take over. When that old darkness starts to rise up.

Usually I just work longer hours, or take a ride out of town or pump iron late into the night until my whole body’s spent.

I swore a long time ago I wouldn’t use women like I used to. She was a nice enough girl but it’s always the same. I try to feel that spark. I
want
to feel that spark. The one that means you’re supposed to be with someone for more than one night. Maybe even for – I don’t fucking know – a month, maybe. Or even a whole goddamn lifetime. People
do
that shit. But then by the end of dinner or halfway through a ride on my Ducati I always know it’ll be nothing more than sex. So I tell them that point blank. I tell them that’s all this is going to be: a hot fuck. That I’m going to use them all night long and leave them in the morning, most likely before they’re even awake, without so much as a goodbye. I make it crystal clear that I won’t be calling them the next day, or any other.

Even when I put it like that they never refuse.

I don’t
want
to be an asshole. I’ll be the first to admit I’ve behaved badly at times in my past. I’ve been trying ever since to make up for all that by at least being honest
about the fact that I can’t commit to anything beyond a very memorable one night stand. I wish I could but something in me is damaged. Something in me just can’t go there. Maybe I’ll never be able to. Maybe I’m incapable of crossing that unknowable invisible line.

Even so, women love me.

Love
me.

I don’t dwell on it but it’s just one of those things.

I leave a note for my assistants to finish packing up my stuff and to have it all sent to my apartment. I close up my office and walk down to the street. It’s a warm night for late October. There are a lot of people strolling around Fifth Avenue.

Even women who are arm-in-arm with their boyfriends or husbands check me out as I walk past. I’m not proud of what I am but I’ve gotten used to it. I could follow any one of them and take an opportunity when the boyfriend wasn’t looking. They’d go for it, every time. I know this from experience. A long time ago, I used to do it for fun. To see if I could make them cheat.

I always could.

Mostly they like my looks. I’m tall and built, with dark hair. I have no idea why but they always gush on and on about the way I look. That, combined with some other draw I seem to have makes me practically irresistible to them, fuck knows why. Maybe I have the aura of someone who can do things to them like no one else can. Who’ll take them past some pleasure threshold no one else will. Whatever it is, they watch me. They call me and pursue me relentlessly, which sometimes gets tedious. I know what that sounds like: I’m ungrateful or I’m a fucking arrogant prick who’s completely full of myself.

Not exactly. My problem isn’t that every woman I meet wants to sleep with me, or that I very occasionally indulge them. My problem is that even before I’ve made my decision, I’ve already made my decision.

I won’t commit.

I
can’t
commit. I wish I could fix the glitch in my soul but no matter how hard I try to feel something more … I just don’t. I’m unfixable.

So I make sure they understand that it’ll be one night and one night only before I take them to bed. Afterwards, they go even crazier. They cry and stalk me and tell me they love me. A few of them are bound to want more from me, I get that. I’m rich, I’m at the top of my game and I have a ten-inch cock that gets rock-hard at the drop of a hat. I fuck like a superhero on steroids, a porn star on ecstasy and/or a mythical creature who’s half stallion, half South seas pirate (I thought that one was particularly creative). Those are their words, not mine. Either way, I must be far better than average in the sack because every woman I’ve ever slept with either hounds me for months afterwards or asks me to marry her. Or both. Which is why I lay it all out on the line before I so much as touch them. So they’re clear on how things are. I don’t date, I’ll never commit and I don’t get attached: that’s just the way it is.

There’s no point fucking crying about it but I’m well aware that I’m a lost cause as far as relationships go, which is why I work so much and work out so much and generally try to keep to myself. I came to terms with all that shit a long time ago.

I catch up to Alexander and Lila as they’re walking into the restaurant. Alexander slings his arm around me like he’s happy to see me. He’s always happy to see me. We have the kind of bond a lot of brothers don’t have. We’ve been through a lot together, me and him, and we know we’ve got each other’s backs. The truth is, he’s bailed me out a lot more than I’ve bailed him out but I feel like that’ll start to change.

Lila gives me a hug. My brother’s fiancée is a catch, no doubt about it. She’s gorgeous and is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. “Hey, sweetheart,” I say as she kisses my cheek. I laugh when Alexander eyeballs me. He’s got some control issues when it comes to Lila but we’re cool.

“Thanks for venturing into my jurisdiction,” I say. “Sorry to mess up the plan.”

“Jake, this is Eva,” Lila says.

I know instantly it’ll never happen with me and the friend. You might think I’m being an asshole here but I can assure you this is what every man thinks of when he
meets someone new: will we fuck or won’t we? Any guy who tells you otherwise is lying through his teeth. In my case it’s not a question of does she want to or doesn’t she. She always does. Again: this is not me being a douchebag; this is me recognizing the facts. She’s got dark hair and the kind of face that conveys all her thoughts. I can tell exactly what she’s thinking. Her eyes are glued to my face, first, then rove my body. Not subtly at all. She checks out the bulge in my pants, which for better or worse happens to be less than tame since it’s been so long since I had any real action. She’s wishing she was alone with me so she could put her hands all over me. Suck me off. Beg me to fuck her into next week. Not gonna happen. “It’s so nice to meet you, Jake,” she purrs.

I kiss her cheek politely but I’m not in the mood for this. “Eva. The pleasure’s mine,” I say. I feel so bored with this exchange I have to suppress a yawn.

“I love your … jacket,” she says, touching my arm, where my muscles are clenched for no particular reason. Possibly because I’m still wound up from getting convicted of a fucking federal offence a few hours ago and escaping a prolonged prison sentence by the skin of my goddamn teeth and two million dollars. I’m rich enough now but when you grow up as poor as we did, you still think about what two million can buy. How far it can go when you’re down and out. How many people you could help out with that kind of dough.
How easy it would’ve been for us to escape if we’d only had that kind of money when everything turned to shit all those years ago.

“Oh my
gosh
,” says the girl, who’s now fawning over my biceps, feeling them with her hand. “Jake, you’re soo –”

“Eva, let’s go sit down,” Lila says, thankfully steering the subject, and Eva, away from whatever it is she thinks I am. “This place is so cute.”

I guess it is. It’s got a lot of brick and exposed wood and mirrors. The ceiling’s been decorated with thousands of yellow fairy lights, giving the place a festive atmosphere. And it’s busy. I have no doubt Alexander would’ve thrown plenty of money around to get us the prime table in the window.