Saving the CEO (49th Floor #1)(14)

“Is this a hostile takeover? Like in the movies?”

Damn, she was cute, her legs tucked up under her, curled into her chair.

“No. It’s a private company, so it’s all about convincing Wexler—Wexler Senior, who’s about to retire, to sell to me instead of handing the reins over to Wexler Junior, otherwise known as the Idiot Son.”

“Why do you want this company?”

The question took him aback. It was a good question. But not the kind a business insider would ever ask. Why did anyone want any company? “Most of the company’s assets I’ll probably sell. But Wexler owns a lot of potentially useful land, stuff he hasn’t sold or developed yet—including a private island in Lake Muskoka,” he said, speaking slowly as he thought about how to explain it. “I bought up some property on the shoreline nearby years ago. I want to open a resort, and I’ve been waiting for an island just like his to come up.”

“You can’t open your resort on the shore?”

“I could. But a private island has a certain cachet. We’ll ferry people over. It’s a big island, so there’ll be hiking, fishing, swimming, fine dining, the whole deal. But tucked away on an island, away from it all—literally.”

He was about to tell her that he was going to develop luxury condos on the shoreline, when she got a distinctly dreamy look on her face and said, “I bet you can see a lot of stars from this island.”

“Uh, yeah, I bet you can.”

“You could have stargazing parties.”

The idea of the wealthy guests he planned to woo signing up for stargazing parties was a little comical but, hey, at least she was getting into the idea. “I could. Anyway, the point is, I’ve been cultivating Wexler forever. We have a weekend of meetings coming up—I think he’s close to deciding—and I have no CFO.”

“And you want me to pose as your CFO!” She let loose a great big peal of laughter, throwing her head back and exposing her throat. For some reason the sight of her like that went straight to his dick. He crossed his legs. When she got control of herself and took in his non-answer, she jerked upright, “Holy ravioli, you do want me to pose as your CFO!”

“No, but I need someone to come. Someone with a head for the financials. Wexler is going to want to talk details.”

“Surely, if you’ve been working on this deal for so long, you can handle it without your in-house white collar criminal by your side?”

Jack’s skin began to prickle. He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.

“You want another?”

He nodded, then waited until her back was turned and she was pouring the drink to say, “The thing is, I can’t handle it by myself. I have dyscalculia.” She froze, immobilized with one hand holding the water bottle and the other unscrewing the lid. “It’s a learning disability,” he added. “Like dyslexia for numbers.”

She resumed her task, and when she came back bearing his drink, she didn’t look disgusted. She didn’t look any different than she ever did. “I see the problem.”

“So will you do it?”

“I can’t just impersonate a CFO.”

“First of all, it’s not like it’s a job that comes with a regulatory stamp—it’s not like impersonating a cop. If I say you’re my CFO, you’re my CFO.” When she started to argue, he held up his hand. “But anyway, we won’t use that title. Wexler knows Carl—the betraying * is named Carl, by the way—so he’ll expect to see him. I’ll concoct an excuse for Carl and call you my senior director of finance or something. I just need someone to pinch hit on the financial side of things. But just as important, Wexler can’t know there’s anything untoward happening at my company or he’ll never sell to me. So I can’t just have no one on the finance side there, or he’ll get suspicious.”

“So this explains why you haven’t called the cops on him yet. CFO swindling Winter Enterprises. That would be big news, right?”

That was certainly part of it—he wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize the Wexler deal, even if it meant letting Carl rip him off a little longer than was strictly necessary. “In part. But also, I’ve been trying to figure out exactly what he did before I call in the cavalry. I don’t want a swarm of accountants and cops descending and asking me all this stuff that I…”

“That you have trouble understanding.”

He nodded. Not sure how he was going to solve that. He probably wasn’t—more likely that he was just going to have to call the cops and admit that he had no idea what kind of damage Carl had done. But one problem at a time. First, the Wexler deal.

She looked thoughtful. “Why would I do this? It seems kind of dishonest somehow.”

“It’s not! I’m free to hire whomever I want to do whatever tasks I want them to do. I want to hire you to do this. And you would do this because I will pay you—well.”

“How much?”

“Well, I figure I’d pay a consultant, say, five hundred bucks an hour. The trip will take seventy-two hours, so that’s roughly thirty-six grand.” She choked in the middle of a sip, and he grinned. “You can either invoice based on that hourly rate, or we can agree on a flat thirty-six.”