Greed (Seven Vices Series Book 1) Page 3

  “Okay,” I said, shaking my head but letting the matter drop.

  A little while later, right as I was in the middle of brainstorming, there was a knock at my office door. I froze, staring at the mess of ideas on my whiteboard, and grinned a little sheepishly. We had made a lot of money the previous night, and even after earmarking a lot of it for use later in the year, there was a lot that we could utilize right away for various projects. I couldn’t help feeling excited.

  I turned towards the office door, expecting to see Jeri, but instead there was a messenger in a brown uniform. “Ms. Boutelle?” he asked.

  “Yes?” I asked, eyeing the bouquet of flowers in his hands. Oh wasn’t that rich—Oliver had probably sent Jeri flowers, but since she was out to lunch at the moment, I had to sign for them.

  I felt a strange stab of jealousy at the thought, but I pushed it down. Again, I reminded myself that I was not attracted to him. For some reason, it seemed hollow to insist that.

  “These are for you,” the deliveryman said, to my surprise. “Should I place them on your desk?”

  “Who would send me flowers?” I blurted out.

  The deliveryman shrugged. “I don’t see any of that information,” he said. “Although there is a card.” He paused. “Whoever it is, they’re paying a lot of money for me to deliver these directly to you, rather than to your secretary or anyone else.”

  “I don’t have a secretary,” I said automatically, as though that were the most important thing.

  Who could have sent me flowers? It had to be someone from the previous night. If they were for me, I was sure that it couldn’t have been Oliver. Jeri had said that she and Oliver hit it off. And Oliver was a flirt; he hadn’t meant anything by asking me to dinner.

  Had he?

  I signed for the delivery, moving in a daze. I waited until the deliveryman had left before opening the card.

  These lilies aren’t nearly as beautiful as you in that green dress last night. Hoping you’ve reconsidered having dinner with me. Give me a call: 555-2768.

  -Oliver

  I swallowed hard, staring down at the handwritten note and trying to pretend like my knees didn’t feel suddenly weak as I slumped into my desk chair, staring blindly at the lilies. White lilies, of course, because I was French. He really did do his research.

  He wouldn’t have written the note himself, I reminded myself. He had a secretary for that—or, more likely, he had called up the delivery service and told them what to write on the card. He wouldn’t have gone in person to pick out flowers.

  I laughed, feeling slightly hysterical. Fortunately, I had it back under control by the time Jeri returned.

  “Sophia!” she said in surprise as she walked into my office. “Those flowers are beautiful.”

  “They are,” I agreed.

  “Who are they from?” Jeri asked. “Do you have a secret admirer?”

  “It’s just Oliver,” I sighed. “He thinks he can impress me or something, I guess.”

  “Why would he want to impress you?” Jeri asked, a strange note in her voice.

  I frowned and looked down toward my desk drawer, where his card sat. I had to call him, even if I wasn’t going to let him take me out to dinner. I had to thank him for the lilies. They really were beautiful.

  “I don’t know,” I told Jeri. “He said something about going to dinner. I have a feeling this money that he’s donated isn’t wholly without strings.”

  “He wants to go to dinner with you?” Jeri asked. This time, I could tell exactly what I was hearing in her voice: jealousy.

  “Well, it’s not like I’m going to go,” I snapped. “Jeri, I’m not interested in him. As far as I’m concerned, he’s rude and he’s a player and he’s entitled. He probably had his whole company just handed to him. I bet he’s never had to do any work in his life.”

  Jeri was quiet for a moment. “He built Lewin Incorporated himself,” she finally said. “I mean, he inherited a decent amount of money, but he’s definitely put the work in as well.” She shook her head. “You always think you’re so much better than everyone else, Sophia, but sometimes you judge people without knowing anything about them.”

  She paused in the doorway and looked back over her shoulder. “By the way, Oliver sent over the second check. He really has donated one hundred thousand dollars.”

  I stared after her as she walked out of the office. Half of me wanted to call her back in there—to fire her—but I was too level-headed for that. We clashed frequently, but I could always count on Jeri to get the job done. I glanced over at the stack of papers that she’d left on my desk, proof of that. She had already made a sizeable dent in the paperwork that we needed to do with regards to all of the donations that we’d accepted the previous night. Once the paperwork was out of the way, we could get started on the fun part of the job.

  Besides, maybe she was right. I really didn’t know anything about Oliver, I just knew that he hadn’t listened to my speech the previous night and was a huge player. But the latter didn’t matter if I wasn’t looking to get into bed with him, and the former . . . Well, it was frustrating and inexcusable, but it didn’t mean he was a horrible guy. Maybe instead of reading these flowers as some gesture meant to impress me, I should be seeing them as an apology for his inattention the previous night.

  Not that I needed to make any excuses for him.

  Still, I sighed and pulled out the card that had come with the flowers. I needed to call him back.

  I frowned, feeling even more aggravated. Not only had my brainstorming been interrupted by the arrival of the flowers, but I’d wasted time talking to Jeri about them, and now I was going to have to take more time and call him to thank him. All this for a guy who hadn’t even cared when I was giving my speech, who clearly didn’t understand what my time was worth.

  “Hello?” Oliver said, startling me—I hadn’t even realized I’d dialed his number already.

  “Oliver?” I asked, even though I could tell it was him. He had given me his personal number, rather than having me call his secretary.

  “Sophia Boutelle,” Oliver said, rolling the words around in his mouth like he was savoring a fine wine. “Can’t say that I expected you to call me—and especially not so soon! You surprise me.”

  I blushed and fiddled with a stack of papers on my desk, neatly shuffling them into order and then lining my pens along the side of the desk, where they’d be in easy reach. “Why did you donate so much money?” I blurted out, instead of the “thanks for the flowers” that I’d been preparing in my head.

  Oliver laughed, and I liked the sound, surprisingly. It was deep and heartfelt, not at all faked. “I take it you received the second check, then. It’s always good to know that my courier services are prompt.”

  I closed my eyes and counted to ten. “This whole dinner thing. You don’t think that you get to have a say in how the money is used or anything, do you?”

  “Of course not, sweetheart,” Oliver said. The pet name slipped off his tongue as though I really was his sweetheart. I should have rebuked him—told him to quit calling me that—but I secretly sort of liked it. I shook my head as Oliver continued. “I just think it would be nice for you and I to go to dinner. You need to relax a little, and I could use a dinner date who’s a little less of a bimbo than my usual style. A palate-cleanser, if you will.”

  “Oliver,” I said sternly. “Seriously, why Le Monde Ensemble? There must be other business ways to invest that money. Ways that money could have eventually come back to you.”

  “Of course,” Oliver said. “But I’ve already exhausted those opportunities and grown myself quite a good nest egg. Now I’m focusing on my charitable side.”

  I could hear the sarcasm in his voice. He was playing with me again. I groaned in frustration. “But why us?”

  “Look,” Oliver finally said. “Someone whom I care about tipped me off to your organization and pointed out the great amount of good that you do. I was intrigued by the fact
that you get in there and do a lot of the work yourself. That you get your hands dirty . . . That’s not something that you see a lot in the type of business that I’m involved in.”

  I frowned, processing that. “But you didn’t even listen to my speech last night.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry about that,” Oliver said, sounding surprisingly sincere. “I didn’t realize it was such a big deal. I thought it was just another of those meaningless cocktail banter sessions, where you thank everyone in attendance.”

  “Oh,” I said. “You still . . .” I trailed off. It was like beating a dead horse at this point. But maybe he wasn’t as rude as I’d thought.

  “As for the vase,” Oliver continued, “My assistant has already talked with the owners of the Belmont and we’re working on having a suitable replacement vase crafted in the same style as the previous one, though with . . . better taste and artistry. Something more befitting the surroundings.”

  I frowned, trying to think of something to say to that. “Are you always so . . . boisterous?” I finally asked. I silently cringed, hardly believing I had just said that.

  Oliver laughed. “Let’s just say I have a tendency to get carried away at parties sometimes.”

  “It was hardly that kind of party,” I sniffed.

  “True,” Oliver said. He paused. “Let me take you to dinner,” he told me. “I want to show you the real me. I have a feeling that you and I could do a lot of wonderful collaborating in the future, between the capital that my company brings in and the ideas that you have for Le Monde Ensemble.”

  I glanced at my chaotic whiteboard. Even though last night had definitely funded a lot of ventures, there was always more that we could be doing, if we could just scrape the money together.

  I also had to admit that I was intrigued by the idea of going to dinner with him. What would it be like, to go on a date with the great Oliver Lewin? I hadn’t done my research on him. But I imagined it might be my one chance to go to a nice dinner with someone sexy. Not that I thought Oliver would be a gentleman, pulling out my chair for me or anything else.

  I didn’t know what we would even talk about. But there was something about the whole situation that had me curious. I wanted to know whose opinion he valued so much that he was willing to donate one hundred thousand dollars to our cause. I wanted to know if he was the kind of guy who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. He wasn’t like anyone that I had ever known before—a total enigma—and something inside me wondered if maybe, just maybe, I might have fun with him.

  And at the end of the night, there was no rule that said I had to go home with him. He wasn’t buying me; I wasn’t a prostitute. No harm in going, having a nice meal, and then coming home alone.

  I bit the edge of my thumbnail, trying to decide.

  Oliver laughed on the other end of the line. “I can practically hear the gears turning in your head,” he teased. “Look, I know you said you’re busy with work, but everyone has to eat, right? I’ll make a reservation. We’ll get right in, eat, and then I’ll have you home by nine.”

  I blushed, feeling like a schoolgirl when he said it like that. “Home by ten o’clock might be okay,” I said.

  Oliver laughed again. “Home by ten it is,” he said with mock-seriousness. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

  “Okay,” I said faintly, even though I still couldn’t believe that I was agreeing to this.

  “See you tonight,” Oliver said sincerely, hanging up the phone.

  It was only after I’d hung up as well that I realized I had never even thanked him for the flowers.

  Chapter Five

  Dressing up two nights in a row felt strange, and I took one last, longing look at my comfortable leggings and sweaters. Normally on a Saturday night, I would put some music on and curl up with a good book and a mug of tea. I couldn’t remember the last time I had gone out. And as much as I didn’t like to admit that Jeri was right, I couldn’t even remember the name of the last guy that I’d dated. Matt or Mark or something generic like that; he hadn’t lasted.

  That night when Oliver pulled up outside my apartment building in a chauffeured town car, I was glad that I had dressed up. As he got out, Oliver’s eyes roamed over the sheer black lace neckline and the long sheath, looking impressed.

  “You looked beautiful last night, but I daresay you look even more gorgeous tonight,” he murmured, reaching over to kiss my hand.

  He was close enough that I could smell his masculine aftershave, and I shivered a little as I felt the barely-there stubble on his chin graze the soft back of my hand. For a second, I couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to have him kissing other parts of my body—but I needed to stop those thoughts right there or I was going to do something that I regretted.

  Instead, I started to make some sort of sharp retort about how this wasn’t medieval times and he didn’t have to go around kissing women’s hands and telling them that they were beautiful, but there was something in his eyes when he said the compliment that made me wonder if he was being . . . sincere? It was the first time a man had ever looked at me so appreciatively.

  I shook my head and shifted uncomfortably, trying to forget about that. This was just supposed to be fun—a social experiment of sorts. It didn’t matter if Oliver thought I was beautiful, and it mattered even less if he said that I was.

  “So where are we going?” I asked. I could practically kick myself the second the words were out of my mouth; out of politeness, I should have complimented him first—said something nice about his charcoal grey suit or the car or something. And I still hadn’t thanked him for the flowers.

  Oliver didn’t seem fazed, though. “I know a beautiful place, up at the top of one of these skyscrapers,” he said, winking over at me. “You’ll love it. The view is to die for.”

  “Okay,” I said. It definitely didn’t sound like my kind of place. I tried to remind myself that that was part of the reason why I had agreed to this: because it was my one night to find out what it was like to be wined and dined by a millionaire. Billionaire, rather—I had done my research this time.

  Those fancy places at the tops of skyscrapers in New York City generally meant small portions of disgustingly fancy food. I only hoped he wasn’t going to try to take me someplace with French cuisine. I muffled a snicker at the very thought.

  Oliver raised an eyebrow at me. I shook my head, feeling embarrassed.

  “You know, I really didn’t think you were going to call me,” Oliver said with a slight smile.

  “Let me get one thing straight—I’m not going to sleep with you tonight,” I told him matter-of-factly. Then I blushed. As usual around him, I seemed to speak without thinking.

  Oliver looked amused. “I wouldn’t dare presume that of you,” he said. “Like I said, I’m looking for someone who isn’t like the people that I normally . . . end up with.”

  I wanted to ask why, but fortunately that question, at least, remained inside my head. It was none of my business.

  At the restaurant, I tried to relax a little. It was difficult, though, when it seemed like everyone was looking curiously over at us. Oliver grimaced. “Sorry, I probably should have picked somewhere with a private room,” he said, “but you were so composed last night at your banquet that I didn’t take you for the kind of person to start feeling shy over a little attention.”

  “It’s a different kind of attention,” I pointed out.

  “True,” Oliver said, inclining his head towards me. “If you’re too uncomfortable, we can go somewhere else. I’m sure I can find us something equally nice.”

  “On a Saturday night in New York?” I pointed out.

  “Well, maybe not quite as nice,” Oliver conceded, a small smile on his lips.

  I shook my head. “It’s fine. Let’s just order.” What I didn’t want to say was it felt altogether too . . . romantic. There were candles on each table, and the place was dimly lit. I tried to tell myself that it was just so that you could better ap
preciate the surrounding lights of the city, but even that . . .

  I swallowed hard. I knew that Oliver didn’t want to date me—this was a one-time thing that he probably hoped would lead to sex, whatever he had said about not presuming that. But, for a moment, I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to actually date him, to go out with him like this for candlelight dinners, to get flowers from him at the office . . . to feel those strong hands go to work on my body . . .

  I was almost ashamed to find myself thinking about it. I wasn’t one of those shallow girls who was wooed by candles and money. I wanted a guy who was earnest and sweet and passionate—everything that Oliver wasn’t.

  As we waited for our food to arrive, I cast around for something to talk about. With all the research that I’d done, I hadn’t managed to come across any shared interests. There was nothing really to talk about between us.

  “I know why you got involved in the work that you do, having survived a natural disaster yourself,” Oliver mused, “but how do you pick the projects that you’ll work on? I’ve read through some of your current projects, and they’re all fascinating, but a lot of them are the sorts of projects that people might not automatically think about. There’s definitely a touch of you in all of them.”

  “I brainstorm,” I told him. I gave a self-conscious laugh. “Actually, you should see the state of my whiteboard at the moment. We brought in a lot of donations last night, and it means that we really have the opportunity to do a lot in the coming year. Of course, a lot of that money is going to be earmarked for things that might happen later in the year, but…” I trailed off shaking my head. “But you don’t care about any of this stuff, right?”

  “Of course I do,” Oliver said, sounding affronted. “Your current project in Japan, helping those children find homes, even temporary ones, after the tsunami—that really speaks to me.”

  “Because you lost your parents at a young age,” I surmised.