Page 7 of Seductive Scoundrel

A ball and chain do that to a man.

One of the pictures is of Dex eating at The Loeb Boathouse in the middle of Central Park, which Gordon labeled “his usual breakfast spot.” There’s also a picture of his wife, Bianca George, who is a gorgeous Greek goddess, with the label “his usual cum spot.” I chuckle because Gordon always was a literal son of a bitch.

Dex answers on the third ring, and I wonder if it’s too early for him – not that I care. The market doesn’t sleep and neither do I.

“Dean,” he greets.

“The one and only.”

“I know you’ve been in talks with my dad,” he starts.

“I’ve had one conversation with your dad,” I interrupt. “But he’s made it clear he’s interested in Seneca. And in me.”

“He is. We are. But you’ll be working for me, not him, so I’m reaching out to get to know you better. There isn’t a lot of public information available on you.”

“I’m sure you can understand why,” I reply. “You were the same way. Well, at least until you got married.”

There isn’t much I hate more than pussy-whipped suits, and I’m sure the undertones are echoing loud and clear. Dex is a lot more diplomatic than I am, though.

“I understand the value of privacy, but there’s also value in being a household name.”

“With all due respect, I do business with other businesses, not the public. I don’t give a shit about anyone’s opinion, or how many middle-aged women would dream about fucking me if they saw my face in the papers or knew how many zeros were in my bank account.”

There’s silence before Dex chuckles. “I might like you, Dean.”

My brash comment was a gamble, but this family of Dexters is interested in me for still unknown reasons, so I’m free to push boundaries and find out just how badly they want to acquire me despite what comes out of my mouth.

Every company I touch turns to gold and they must know it.

“I noticed we have the same alma mater.”

“Harvard or MIT?” I ask, even though I already know. But I rarely ask questions that I don’t know the answer to. Testing people is a competitive sport for me.

“Harvard,” he replies. “But I also noticed we don’t travel in the same social circles.”

His comment makes me bristle, and I clench my jaw to try and hold back the cutting retort. It doesn’t work.

“If you mean that I wasn’t born with a silver spoon up my ass and a heaping platter of nepotism, you’re right. I earned my place and built my first business when I started my undergrad. By the time I graduated, I sold it for $25 million. No gifts from my parents were required for my success.”

This time his chuckle is even heartier. “I definitely like you. And I guess this marks the end of our pissing contest.”

Only because I won.

“That’s a relief. I don’t have anything to prove when you’re the one who sought me out.”

“Let’s meet for dinner tomorrow.”

There’s no way his schedule isn’t as busy as mine, or that he isn’t already booked for some engagement or another every night this week. If he’s clearing his time to meet with me, then I can get Jacqueline to extend the same courtesy.

“Done. Where?”

“The Chapel. How’s 7 PM?”

It’s an exclusive restaurant that was converted from – you guessed it – a chapel into one of the most upscale spots in the city. According to Gordon, Dex and his wife are regulars there, and he’s a creature of habit. I prefer to stay unpredictable.

“I’ll be there unless you’re sending a car to wine and dine me.”

“I’ll buy you dinner, but you can figure out your own ride,” he returns.

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