Just Business Read online

  Also by Anna Zabo

  Takeover

  Just Business

  Anna Zabo

  InterMix Books, New York

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  JUST BUSINESS

  An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2015 by Anna Zabo.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com.

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-18214-1

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  InterMix eBook edition / June 2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Penguin Random House is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the author’s alone.

  Version_1

  To Lori. Thank you for the love, encouragement, and occasional prodding. This Eli’s for you.

  Contents

  Also by Anna Zabo

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  When the Grounds N’at doorbell jingled, Justin White flipped his textbook closed and sent a silent thank-you to the universe. Watching paint dry would have been more exciting than reading about financial statistics, so any distraction was welcome at this point. That his two favorite customers walked through the door? Even better.

  Well, more like favorite customer and his icy sidekick. Where Sam was warm and outgoing, Eli was a wall of indifference. He had no idea how those two worked together. It didn’t matter, really. It was Sam he was focused on, not Mr. Wet Blanket.

  Justin slid off his stool and tucked the textbook under the counter next to the folder that contained his cover letter and résumé. Sam grinned at Justin and held up two fingers before settling in at their usual table. Eli didn’t even glance his way—just leaned his cane against the wall and took a seat.

  As usual.

  Justin started their regular drinks—a large cappuccino for Sam and a medium Americano for Eli—with room for cream.

  Had they hired someone today? He foamed the milk while watching the coffee drip out of the machine. Sam had been looking for an office assistant for at least a week. Justin had planned to hand over his résumé yesterday, but Eli had done the equivalent of cock-blocking, and had dragged Sam away to some meeting just as Justin had taken a breath to speak.

  He stole a glance at the two men. Sam sat with his back to Justin. As usual, the face Justin saw was Eli’s. Not an unpleasant view, to be honest. If Eli had any warmth in his body, he’d have had his pick of the coffee shop patrons—male or female. Classic Hollywood beauty—tall, with long, lean features, like something out of an old film. Despite a limp, Eli moved with an elegance that made his halting steps look graceful. And, of course, there was the cane—which varied from Victorian to futuristic steampunk—along with thin black leather gloves he peeled from his hands every time he took a seat.

  Justin finished up the drinks and placed them on a tray with a little carafe of half-and-half. Résumé now or later? Later. See which way the wind blew today—if he understood their schedule correctly, this was the postinterview chat. He lifted the tray and headed over.

  “. . . honestly, how hard can it be to find someone competent?” Sam leaned back in his chair.

  Eli’s smile—if you wanted to call it that—was a thin thing, indeed. “Not hard at all. Problem is, you’re looking for someone beyond competent.”

  Justin stepped up. “Excuse me, gentlemen.” He slid the edge of the tray onto the table and set their drinks out. Not normal practice, but these two weren’t commuters who wanted their joe in a cup to go or students who were happy to nurse a mug for seven hours of free Wi-Fi.

  “Thanks, Justin.” Another grin from Sam.

  Justin answered Sam with a smile of his own, then met Eli’s gaze. A little shiver trickled down his spine. Eli’s gray eyes seemed to bore into Justin through the loose, dark curls that fell over them. Natural black, too—not the dye Justin used in his own.

  “Half-and-half.” He set the small glass pitcher next to Eli’s Americano.

  “Thank you.” Deep voice. No smile.

  Justin nodded and stepped away.

  He always had to catch his breath when Eli looked at him like that—as if ticking off all the things wrong with Justin’s appearance. But he’d heard enough to know the opening for the job was still there.

  Office assistant pay wasn’t great, but it had to be more than the coffee shop, and there was no one better to learn how to run a business from than the owner and CEO of S. R. Anderson Consulting. Time to put to use some of the dreck he’d been learning down at Carnegie Mellon for the past two years.

  The way things were going, he would need the extra income. Given his bills and Mercy calling every couple of weeks to ask for help, what else could he do? Her disability checks weren’t covering her needs, even with the VA’s care, and you didn’t abandon family. It wasn’t like their parents could help. Hell, he should probably send them some cash, too, if he had any to spare. None of them would be in this bind if he hadn’t fucked up so royally.

  Justin’s heart thudded. Should he hand over his résumé now?

  Later. They still had to pay. He wiped the tray down, cleaned the espresso machine, stole another look over—and met Eli’s gaze again. What the hell? Justin shivered and looked away. Thank God one of the hipster undergrads came up for a refill. Kept him from glancing over into those cold eyes again.

  By the time he finished serving the dude and cleaning up the cups left in the dish bin, the familiar scrape of chairs and the regular thump of Eli’s cane sounded against the wooden floor.

  Sam in front, of course, but Eli not far behind.

  “Great coffee, as always.” Sam handed his credit card over.

  Justin rang them up and handed the card back with the receipt. “My pleasure.”

  Sam and Eli turned.

  Now or never. “Mr. Anderson?”

  Sam spun back, curiosity in his face. “Yes?”

  A horde of elephants stomped in Justin’s stomach. “Are you still looking for an office assistant?” Somehow he kept his voice steady. Professional.

  “I am.” Sam shifted back
. Eli’s cane tapped against the floorboards.

  He wasn’t sure when he’d grabbed them, but there the résumé and cover letter were, in his hands. He held it out. “I’d like to apply.”

  Oh, he’d surprised Sam. And holy fuck, Eli’s brows were up in his hairline, too. Mr. Emotionless . . . wasn’t.

  Sam took the papers and read the cover letter right then and there. Flipped the page. “You’re attending the Tepper School?” Sam looked up.

  “Part-time. I graduate in the spring.” Nine more months.

  “Who’s your advisor?” Eli demanded in that clipped voice of his.

  Justin squared his back and met Eli’s dark stare. “Don Miller.”

  Eli’s lips parted ever so slightly. Another crack in that façade. Probably because Professor Miller only took on the best. That’s right, you smug bastard. Yes, Justin dressed like a goth artist. Fit in well at the coffee shop and annoyed the fuck out of his classmates. Didn’t mean he wasn’t good. The grin and the shrug were a bit of theater, but Justin couldn’t help throwing that at Eli. “I’m more than a pretty face, you know.”

  Sam laughed and Eli . . . blushed. Ever so slightly, but color touched his cheeks. Goose bumps rose on Justin’s every limb. Eli’s stare wasn’t so cold now, nor indifferent. He couldn’t put a name to it at all.

  “I guess we’ll find out whether that’s true or not,” Eli said.

  “When are you free?” Sam folded the papers.

  “I have tomorrow off. My classes aren’t until the evening.”

  “Then you have an interview at nine tomorrow morning.”

  Relief—pride—ripped through Justin even as his heart threatened to gallop out the door. “Thank you. I’ll be there.”

  “Good. See you then.” Sam turned and headed for the door.

  Fuck yes! He would nail this! He would—

  “Justin.” Eli hadn’t moved, his gloved hands folded over the silver handle of his walking stick. “Don’t be late.”

  Fucker. “Don’t you worry. I always come right on time.”

  That icy exterior vanished entirely. Eli held Justin’s gaze and smiled before he turned and followed Sam.

  Justin sank onto his stool because his legs didn’t want to work. He couldn’t tell if the emotion behind the curl of Eli’s lips had been amusement or malice.

  He shook himself. Didn’t matter. Bring it, asshole. He’d ace this interview. For himself, for Mercy, and for his family.

  * * *

  Eli Ovadia climbed the stairs to Anderson Consulting and, for once, his leg didn’t scream at him when he reached the top. That smart-mouthed barista was one of Don’s students? Unexpected. Either Don was growing soft, or there was quite a bit more to Justin White than dark clothes, black nail polish, and too much eyeliner around those blue eyes. A pretty face, indeed.

  I always come right on time.

  Now, that would be interesting to test, to have Justin’s lithe body under his. A different ache settled into his core.

  Too bad Justin’s personality was everything he hated in a man—snarky, smirking, and too full of himself. A hot mess.

  Would be fun to break a man like that. Eli shook himself. Get your mind out of the gutter.

  Yet . . . there was something familiar about Justin, in his nervousness and determination. Those stunning eyes.

  Just a bit like Noah, that wicked grin.

  Eli stopped and sucked in air. He wasn’t even sure what Noah would look like now, had he lived—but certainly not like Justin White. Still, the fear and hope that rode under Justin’s skin was so like Noah before the car crash.

  There was the tingle in the back of his skull, the one that signaled the memories creeping back. He really did not want to deal with those right now. Eighteen years, countless hours of therapy, and that night still haunted him. He took another breath and focused on his gloves, the silver of the airship that topped his cane, and pushed Noah back into the past, the only place he still lived.

  Eli shook himself and headed for Sam’s office. It was Mr. White he should be dwelling on, not the past. He took a seat in one of the guest chairs then placed his cane against the other. “You’re going to hire him.”

  Sam leaned his elbows on the desk and tented his hands. “Is that a prediction or a challenge?”

  Eli couldn’t help the chuckle. They’d developed an almost a symbiotic working relationship over the past eight months spent building the firm. Sam had a vision and the determination to achieve it, plus a list of contacts a mile long. They already had companies clamoring through the door, begging for help.

  Someone had to be the brakes that kept Sam from leaping too far into the unknown. Like succumbing to the pity stories of too many companies that couldn’t be saved. Or hiring a barista as an office assistant, even if Don Miller was his advisor. Even when there was grit underneath the eyeliner. Eli took off his gloves and draped them over his thigh. “He’s abrasive.”

  Sam snorted. “So are you.”

  “Not in the same way.”

  “True. He makes people roll their eyes. You scare the shit out of them.”

  Eli leaned back and indulged in a smile. He’d made the last two interviewees pale and stammer with his blunt questions. “Better to weed out the slackers early.” And he enjoyed that aspect of this job. Probably more than he should, but Sam didn’t mind his kink when it benefited the business.

  “Not sure Justin is a slacker. His résumé reads well. The cover letter is professional. Even the paper’s nice.” Sam flicked the folded pages across the desk. “And it took balls to hand it to me.”

  Eli retrieved Justin’s résumé and scanned it once more, paying attention to the dates. “He’s older than he looks.” Two years younger than Eli, judging from graduation dates. Undergrad at Stanford in Management Science and Engineering. MBA at Carnegie Mellon. Makeup or no, Justin had a head on his shoulders.

  And, yes, balls. He hoped Justin was late tomorrow, even by thirty seconds. “Work experience isn’t bad, before now.” Three decent companies in California before slumming it at Grounds N’at in Squirrel Hill.

  “Why does he want this job?” And why do I want him to have this job?

  “He’s been listening to us. Knows I want more than a receptionist. He’s willing to make less if he gets to work for the Sam Anderson.”

  No fault there. A chance to work with Sam had been one of the aspects that had attracted Eli to becoming Sam’s CFO. Sam was the best, and he didn’t blink at Eli’s other . . . hobbies. “Wonder if he’ll take that chipped nail polish off before the interview?”

  Sam waved the question away. “If that’s your only concern . . .”

  Hardly. Still. “I like things neat.” Justin White wasn’t neat, even if he was tempting and evocative with his jagged hair, high cheekbones, and brash mouth that just begged to be tamed. Eli shifted in his chair. “He’s . . . messy.”

  Sam laughed. “It’s a wonder you and Michael were ever friends.”

  That snapped Eli’s thoughts away from Justin. He’d been friends with Sam’s lover, Michael Sebastian, since their undergraduate days. “Michael’s messiness has always been carefully cultivated.”

  A man as tall and as broad as Michael could be—and often was—intimidating. The clothes Michael chose were more suited to a tropical bar, but it relaxed folks, set them at ease. Eli had seen Michael in other outfits, as well—and watched men fall to their knees at Michael’s commands. “He chooses the effect, regardless of which look he picks.”

  Sam’s eyes were not nearly as blue as Justin’s, but still penetrating. “Oh, don’t I know that.” Soft words. “I’m willing to bet Justin is just as aware of his appearance.”

  The temptation. The carrot. “What’s the wager?”

  “Dinner for two. Winner’s choice.”

  “Done.”

  They shook over Sam’s desk. Sam leaned back, his smile slight but sly. “He’ll leave the nail polish. On purpose.”

  Eli picked up his glov
es and cane and rose. Not even a twinge in the leg. A good day. “Why would he do that?” It wouldn’t cultivate a professional appearance.

  “To fuck with you.”

  Not the answer he’d expected. Eli spoke through a suddenly dry throat. “With me?”

  Sam grinned and rotated slowly to face his monitor. “Hard to miss your . . . contempt, Eli.”

  Sam had considered another word in that pause, Eli was sure. Pinpricks trickled down his legs. Still, he grunted. “It’s not contempt.”

  Sam looked over, his eyebrow lifted in a manner that reminded Eli of Michael. “Oh?”

  He waved the question away. “I’ll be in my office.”

  As Eli crossed the hallway he rolled Sam’s words around in his head. He dropped the gloves on the corner of his desk, and leaned the cane against the wall.

  Sam had noticed something in Eli’s behavior. Troublesome. Very troublesome. If Sam had, chances were Justin had as well.

  Worse, he wasn’t exactly sure what signals he’d given off. Eli ran a hand through his hair and sat down. There was raw potential in Justin. But his attitude, his flippant manner . . . Eli wanted to channel that. Put it to use in so many ways entirely inappropriate for an office environment. Well, being unbalanced was new . . . but intriguing. Eli adjusted himself through his pants.

  Tomorrow would be very interesting, indeed.

  Chapter Two

  Justin stood in the coffee shop bathroom and adjusted his tie before checking his watch. Eight thirty. Would anyone be up at the office now? He’d considered showing up at seven and sitting by the door until Eli arrived, just to see his face.

  Don’t be late.

  He wasn’t a child; far from it. He didn’t need a rich asshole telling him what to do or wear. He’d had enough of that with Francis, when he’d blown it at his previous company. Justin took a breath to settle his nerves. He so needed this job.

  Brian gave a low whistle when Justin stepped out into the shop proper and more than a few of the normal morning crowd whipped their heads around to take a second look.