You're to Blame(54)

I shuffle through my papers to assess my plan of attack. Ari St. James owns a vast majority of dealerships within two counties. He’s successful, wickedly feared in business, and the forever bachelor. The internet is a helpful tool for any journalist, and something I’m more than willing to dabble with to get the true story. Derks’ interview, I winged. This one, I’m prepared.

Even with thorough research, fear seeps into my confidence. I rub my palms on my pencil skirt, nervous about interviewing someone of Mr. St. James’ caliber. It doesn’t help that my mind is somewhere besides this office right now. It sits on the edge of Duke’s couch, waiting patiently for him to call, much like I have the last four days.

“Ms. Novak.” A middle-aged, dark haired man steps out from the hallway, pulling me back from my pity party. He smiles, but the friendliness doesn’t extend to his eyes. His glare is almost cruel and menacing, causing a true chill to run down my spine. One look is all it takes to know I wouldn’t want to run into a guy like him in a dark alley.

What the internet didn’t teach me about Ari St. James is his way of sucking the self-confidence out in the single stare he offers me now. I swallow to collect my thoughts and prepare to bury him in questions.

“Yes, you must be Mr. St. James.” I stand, and we shake hands. “I’ve heard many things about you.”

“Likewise, Ms. Novak.” Over his shoulder, he glances down the hallway as we enter his magnificent office.

“You’ve heard things about me?” I ask him, taking a seat in the chair in front of his glass desk. “From who?”

“Well, your professor, of course.” He sits down, his legs wide beneath the table.

“Shall we get started then?” I click the green button to record. “So, Mr. St. James, please tell me what brought you to Greystone University?”

“No offense, Ms. Novak, but there will be no recordings of this interview.” He leans over and pushes STOP on my small recorder.

I remove it from the table and slide it in my bag. That certain embarrassment, resembling when my grade school teacher reprimanded me in front of the whole class, washes over me. This is how Ari St. James makes me feel.

“My apologies.”

“No, please, it’s just a rule I have. If you learn any lesson from this interview, know even those you trust implicitly can stab you in the back with your own words.” He leans back in his black leather chair, clasped hands resting on his stomach, while he slowly taps his thumbs together.

“Fair enough.” I pull out a pen and pad, preparing to jot down notes.

“Go on, Ms. Novak. Proceed, and please call me Ari. Mr. St. James is my father, and he’s a cruel son of a bitch.”

“Much like yourself,” I blurt, and immediately regret opening my mouth. Dammit. His eyes narrow, and I know I’ve overstepped. “What I mean is... what I meant to say is...” The words simmer between us, and there is no way to backtrack.

“If you mean the way I operate my business, then yes, some may call me cruel. Other businessmen may call me wise.” He bends forward, almost looming over top of me, even from his chair. He’s not the largest man, but he takes up enough space to be noticed.

“From what I hear, you’re ruthless. Previous employees have attacked you in the press for your code of conduct, yet you remain at the top of your game. I’m curious as to how.” I tap the pen on the edge of the paper, preparing for the worst. Act confident, and he’ll never see me shaking in the chair.

A loud laugh bellows from the opposite side of the table.

“You’re a quick whip, Charlotte. You must keep your boyfriend on his toes.” Ari’s eyebrow jerks with undeniable curiosity. He either knows I have a boyfriend, or he’s fishing for his own information. Men like Ari don’t allow too much time before flipping the script.

I force a painfully fake smile and lock eyes with him, refusing to fall into his trap. “Why did you choose Greystone for university?”

“I’m a legacy on campus. My grandfather and father are alumni. It only seemed fitting to attend there.” He squirms, shifting on each ass cheek like he can’t quite find the comfort he’s used to.

“Do you resent them thrusting Greystone on you?”

“No one said anything of the sort, Miss Novak.” He says my name like it burns on the way out, spitting it to the floor to extinguish the flame.

“You didn’t have to tell me anything. I’m a journalist, Mr. St. James. I picked it up in your body language and tone. You came to Greystone out of obligation, not of your own freewill.” I smile, cocky. “So, Ari, if not here, then where?”

“You’re good, Ms. Novak. Most people wouldn’t step foot in my office and question my choices, but here you sit.” He holds his hand up towards me.

What I wouldn’t give to get out of this office.

“Do you always evade questions with compliments?” A smidge of discomfort settles in my stomach. Ari St. James is ruthless. I’m a Chihuahua compared to him being a Rottweiler. One bite, and I’ll be subdued under his great weight.

Ari leans on his forearms. “Jacob doesn’t know how lucky he is.”

Ari St. James has done his own bit of homework. He just hasn’t dug deep enough. His eyes lock on mine. He’s looking for a reaction to gain the upper hand. He believes he has it by knowing bits of my personal life. His perceptive expression, and the way he leers at me, makes me uneasy.