The Devil You Know (35 page)

Rose dug deep and retrieved the information.

‘Hello, Tracy,’ she said.

Tracy looked up blankly. Rose could see the little hamster-wheels going round in her mind.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said.

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‘Don’t you think you should say “Good morning”?’ Rose asked. ‘“Good morning, ma’am” would be even better.’

Tracy scoted. ‘You’re just here to make trouble again. I’m

gonna have you banned. Jason!’ She yelled for the security guard. ‘I don’t think so. I own the place.’

The girl laughed out loud. ‘Yeah, OK. Vincent Salerni owns it. You don’t look nuttin’ like him.’

‘He sold it to me,’ Rose said, coolly.

‘Sure,’ Tracy said, but she sounded a bit nervous. Rose tapped the phone in front of her. ‘Give him a call, he’ll tell you. Do you want the number?’

The girl paled. ‘No. No, ma’am. Wh - what can I get for you?’ Rose grinned.

‘A set of skeleton keys,’ she said.

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Jacob lothstein smiled to himself as he dialled MaryBeth’s extension.

‘Mr White’s office.’

‘MaryBeth.’ Rothstein’s voice was low, caressing. It was that way

with almost all women; he did it automatically. ‘This is Jacob.’ ‘Oh, Mr Rothstein. Yes, sir?’ ‘Put lose on, would you?’

‘Rose Fiorello?’ The breathy, little-girl voice gave way to a snap of triumph. ‘Why, sir, I do declare you’re behind the times; didn’t you know she left?’

‘Already? It’s only ten a.m.

‘No, sir. She left. She resigned yesterday.’

‘What for?’

‘I really don’t know, sir. But I can help you with anything you

need,’ Maw-Beth added hopefully.

‘That’s OK,’ Jacob said.

He hung up and thought for a few moments.

Friday night was unseasonably mild; muggy and wet, with none of the crisp iciness Rose was used to. She selected her outfit with care. Something sexy, but not too sexy. This date was going to have to be very carefully played.

She’d let him touch her.

It had been necessary. 1Lose told herself that, But now what? Now what?

She was nervous.

R, ose hadn’t thought of men. She’d been way too busy. The fury that had driven her had been all-consuming. At Columbia, she had barely noticed any of the boys that swarmed around the lecture halls leering and whistling.

Except Jacob.

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She’d noticed him.

She liked to tell herself it was because he was a Rothstein. Her enemy. The gatekeeper. But she knew that wasn’t true. She never had dreams about his uncle William, even though her hatred of that man still burned. I’m Italian, she thought. I can keep a vendetta in my heart for a generation, waiting until I can strike. And it probably would take a lot less time than that.

Jake disturbed her in other ways. Of course, there were those looks. Obvious good looks, she thought disdainfully. The square jaw, the muscles, the dark eyes and hair, the thick black lashes. But that was only the wrapping. A man could have all that, and still be effeminate.

Not 1Kothstein.

Rose was too smart to dismiss it as the money, True, Jake threw it around. Diamonds for his girlfriends, a Ferrari, the whole bit. Money might give you some confidence, she supposed. But Jake’s came from two sources. His womanising and his intelligence.

She was forced to admit that retro and sexist as it might be, she found both attributes attractive.

Rothstein had a mind like a scalpel; cutting and precise. Unlike others she’d met, he didn’t cower when faced with her own. He competed with her. He might,’he might.., the thought burned her, but there it was all the same … he might actually be brighter than she was. But lKose had a different edge. She was driven in ways he

could not imagine. Brains or no brains, she was going to crush him. And then there was the womanising.

Rose had not been immune to his reputation. All the girls talked about him. Hushed tones, fanning themselves. And the way he looked her over, as though he were peeling the clothes right off her back. He had confidence, arrogance and power, and he took none of her shit, and he was a full-on dominant male and he wasn’t even ashamed of it.

God help her, she found that amazingly attractive. His kiss had made her weak at the knees. lKemember who he is, 1Kose told herself as she pulled on her dress of pale-green silk, modestly long but clinging in all the right places. t.emember the family he comes from.

lKothstein. IKothstein. lKothstein.

Jacob had set up his place well. He’d called the caterers; almost a thousand dollars for dinner, but it was money well spent. A magnum

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of Cristal was chilling in the Tiffany silver ice-bucket by the mahogany table in his dining room; he had dimmed the chandelier and placed candles around the room, lighting up the oil portraits of other people’s ancestors his father had bought for him. The pre-war arched windows looked down Fifth towards St Patrick’s, with Manhattan glittering in the dark, the neon lights matching the sparkle of the service at his table; champagne flutes in Waterford crystal, napkins of crisp Irish linen, napkin rings and cutlery of silver, and bone-china plates. He had thought about sushi, but that was too risky. Instead, there was a heaped pot of beluga caviar with blinis and chopped egg and delicate bone spoons by Rose’s place. That was to be followed by roast pheasant with chestnut sauce and an individual poached pear with ginger ice-cream. Silver bowls crammed with very short-stemmed yellow roses were dotted around the table next to his antique candelabras, and they were matched by vases of roses everywhere, the freshest blooms in a pastel medley of pale pink, white, yellow, blue, and even green; the apartment smelled like a summer meadow in the depths of winter.

He hoped she liked it. Not that dinner was the point, of course, but he wanted to impress her.

The bedroom was also full of flowers. Jacob had considered having the florist strew rose petals across the bed but he decide, against it. No point in trying too hard.

If last week was any indication, Rose Fiorello was a done deal. Something about that whole thing had made him uneasy. Not touching her; she had been a fantasy of his since he first laid eyes on her in the lecture hall. Maybe the fact that she had quit.

Was she embarrassed by what she had let him do? Scared because

White had shouted at her?

It wasn’t Fiorello’s way.

During the months she’d been there, he’d heard nothing from her. No ideas, no reports. Jake had half expected something every day; he had thought he might walk in to a folder on his desk containing some neatly typed, earth-shattering idea.-Such as how to restructure his company from the ground up, a suggestion for a stock buy-back, or even a project proposal to buy some building or other.

He had always marked her down as that ambitious, and that bright.

And that cold.

Instead, what did he have? An intern who had made no waves

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until the last day. He knew the secretaries didn’t like her. But she was beautiful, so that was to be expected.

She had come upstairs naked under her skirt and flashed him. The kiss had not surprised Jake. She wanted him, he knew that. Once he had her in his arms, her resistance was always going to crumble. And yeah, she had been hot. But one of the things he’d found most delicious about Rose was how she fought it. What happened to her hot contempt for him, her belligerence? One kiss

and now she was ripping off her panties?

It didn’t fit.

He was, in fact, disappointed.

Ah, don’t be a dumb-ass. You’ve been wanting to get in there for years, Rothstein told himself. Tonight she was coming over and tonight he was gonna get laid. What the hell was he crying about it for?

The bell rang.

‘Let me help you with that,’ Jacob said.

Rose shrugged off her coat. Expensive, a cashmere blend. He saw that the label was Donna Karan. Underneath she had on a stunning dress in close-fitting silk, a delicate pale green colour that picked out her startling eyes. The girl had curves everywhere, except that

narrow waist. R, othstein smiled; he approved.

‘Do you like the place?’

Her eyes swept over the fantastic windows, the ornate mouldings, the portraits, the marble mantelpiece, the antique furniture, the view…

‘I’ve seen better,’ Rose said.

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Where?’

‘The Met,’ Rose admitted. She grinned.

Jacob was charmed. ‘You look beautiful, you know.’

Rose shivered, even though he had a fire crackling in the grate

and it was seventy degrees inside. ‘I need a drink.’

He poured her some champagne. ‘Cristal OK?’

‘And there I was thinking you were going to offer me a Thunderbird,’ Rose joked.

‘The stuff that’s three bucks a litre?’ He laughed. Most women were so keen to impress him with their sophistication, as though every date was a casting session and they were auditioning. ‘Maybe I should have. Just to make you comfortable.’

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She could hardly look at him. He was wearing a tuxedo and black tie. Combined with the muscles, it made him look like James Bond.

R.ose wished he would be foul to her. She couldn’t find anything to reproach him for, apart from being a Rothstein. Maybe, maybe she should give him a pass … some kind of out.

‘I think we should talk …’

Jake enjoyed her awkwardness.

‘Before dinner? It ruins my appetite.’ He indicated the dining room. ‘Shall we?’

‘Mmm.’ Rose sipped at her champagne, her fourth glass. The meal had been exquisite; his conversation light, about nothing, really, just banter. And Jacob was very good at banter. He deflected any probing comment, he held her gaze until she was forced to drop her eyes, and he ate his meal as though he wasn’t nervous, not even slightly.

Goddam confident bastard.

She needed the alcohol. As delicious as everything was, lose found it hard to eat. She had no appetite. She was torn between wanting Rothstein and loathing him. Every expensive bite was a reminder of how his family had built the wealth to pay for all ts.

How many other Paul Fiorellos were out there? Men who did/l/’t have a smart Italian daughter to come and take their revenge fSr them. Maybe thousands, she thought. And how many women had wanted to get ahead at Rothstein and been fired, shunted aside? In his company discrimination was a way of life.

She also felt defensive. She wanted this. The oak-panelled walls, the furnishings that looked like a page from a Sotheby’s catalogue. Her modern apartment in the old factory was nice, and a good investment. But this place would cost twenty times more. Jacob had not earned this. It had been handed to him on a plate, and it wasn’t even the best his family had. This was nothing but a pied—terre for the Rothstein boys. Rose knew this because the bimbos in the office talked up their wealth, creaming their little .lace panties over every unmarried P,,othstein in the place.

‘Glad you enjoyed it,’ Jake said. ‘Are you done? I could have got a butler to clear the plates away, but I didn’t want u to be disturbed. Just leave it; I have coffee and a digestif in the drawing room.’

Rose nodded and walked into the room next door. Her heart sped up a little. Oh shit. Now she was going to be expected to put

out.

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‘Digestif? I think you’re trying to get me drunk.’

Jacob poured an espresso into an exquisite, tiny royal-blue bone

china cup from a silver pot and handed it to her. ‘Drunk’s no fun. I just want you to relax.’ If only you knew, she thought.

‘Do you normally make this much of an effort?’

She indicated the flowers, the crystal.

‘No. I usually don’t have to. Women tend to come to me.’ He said this flatly, as though it was a statement of fact. Which Rose knew it was.

‘Fortune-hunters,’ Rose said, with contempt. The alcohol was starting to work its magic; she felt less small in his presence.

‘Yes,’ he agreed without rancour. ‘We have a lot of money. Most

women find that very attractive.’

‘It doesn’t bother you?’

A shrug. ‘That’s been the way of the world for as long as it’s been spinning. Back when we lived in caves, women sought out the guy with the biggest kills. It’s instinctual in a female. Why should I resent it?’

Small red spots of outrage coloured her cheeks.

‘Because you should want somebody to want you for yourself.’

‘Ah. But this’ - he indicated the apartment - ‘is me. I come from a high-achieving family, and I’m going to make more money.’

‘It isn’t just women. Men hang out with rich women too. And men also hang out with rich men. How many people do you know who hang around your family because of their wealth? There are

plenty of male hangers-on too,’ Rose said.

‘True, up to a point.’

‘What do you mean?’ Rose demanded. God, he was arrogant! ‘I mean that while that is true - men do hang-on, as you put it, and some men try to marry women for money - the vast majority of cases of fortune-hunting are women chasing men. Because society accepts a woman who does not work, but condemns a man for trying to do the same.’

Jacob flipped open the antique cigar box in front of him. ‘I usually smoke after dinner, but I won’t, if it bothers you?’

‘Go right ahead,’ Rose said. She wasn’t interested in his damn cigar. She went back on the attack. ‘You sound like you think less of women.’

He considered it for a second. ‘Depends how you define it.’ ‘How do you define it is the question,’ Rose said.

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‘I think men and women are equal in that they are equal souls before God. But if you are asking me about levels of achievement, then men are clearly superior. The history of the world is the history of men.’ He cut the end of the cigar deftly and lit it. ‘Modern-day history teaching is a joke, quite frankly. Women’s historical studies … Marie Curie and whoever else they can dredge up … but the odd female achiever here and there cannot wipe out the fact that almost every great advance in every field has been made, built, or