New York Billionaires Series

“Of course,” he says. “You have to, for them to hold a reservation, you know.”

“Right. Well, that’s why you can get a reservation at Cake.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Doesn’t mean I have bad judgement.”

“No, you’re just out of touch,” I say.

“At least I don’t need sweeteners and creamers to drink a normal cup of java.”

“Low blow,” I say. “One-and-a-half pumps.”

He opens his menu, a smile on his lips. It transforms him into the man I’d met at the bar all those weeks ago. The one who’d teased me out of my nervous breakdown. “Order something, kid,” he says. “You only have an hour-long lunch break.”

“Are you pulling the boss card?”

“Boss’s boss’s boss, I believe it was,” he says. “They have decent burgers here.”

We order by the bar, and the food arrives a suspiciously short amount of time later. It should stop me in my tracks, but I’m too hungry to hold back, biting into the burger.

“Oh,” I murmur. “This is decent. Delicious, even.”

“Told you,” he says, looking at me over his bun. His eyes glitter. “You moan when you eat, you know. When it’s tasty.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

I reach for my glass of water, self-conscious. “You’re being mean.”

His eyebrows rise. “Not the response I was expecting.”

“Why did you bring me here, really?” I ask. “Just to tell me why the paper is doing so bad? That doesn’t feel like information a junior employee is entitled to.”

Carter takes another bite of his burger, his sharp jaw working. He doesn’t seem in a rush to give me an answer.

So I put my food down and wait.

He looks out at the empty dive bar. “Couple of reasons,” he says finally. “You see a different side of the Globe than I do. You’re right there, talking to others as a colleague. You’re in the newsroom.”

“I won’t spy,” I say.

His mouth quirks. “Wouldn’t expect you to. But if you’re so concerned about this paper, then… help me set it to rights, Audrey. You’ll see what departments do the most work. You’ll see what departments barely do anything at all.”

I’m already shaking my head. “I can’t be the reason people lose their jobs.”

“But can you be the reason dozens, if not hundreds of others, maintain their jobs?” he says. There’s enthusiasm in his tawny eyes. “You don’t have to give me any information that makes you uncomfortable. But you clearly have opinions. I want to hear them.”

“Is this just because…” I trail off, unable to find the words I’m looking for. Him and me, in a crowded bar, arguing over trivial things with dancing eyes.Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Because of what?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Never mind. I’ll help you, if I… if my opinions really can help.”

“They can,” he says. “I need as many perspectives as possible into the Globe , the organization, the way it works.”

“Not happy with just Wesley?” I say dryly.

“He’s good, but he doesn’t know everything,” Carter says. Then he gets a gleam in his eyes. “You know, I’ll help you in return.”

“With what?”

“Men. Just like I did before.”

I roll my eyes. “By suggesting Cake for one of my dates. You have to realize the men I go out with aren’t like you.”

“They’re men,” he says, “and I am one. How hard can it be?”

“Dating is nerve-wracking enough for me without having your bad advice in my head,” I say, smiling now too. “You’ve seen just how worked up I get.”

“You have no trouble telling me what you think,” he says. “You’re not nervous now.”

“Well, no. But you’re my boss, we’re working. It’s not like you’re serious about… me, you know? It’s not like that.”

“Right,” he says. “Because you and I would never go on a date.”

“Of course not,” I say. Is he joking? A frisson of nerves bursts through my stomach, there and gone. He has to be. He’s the CEO of the Globe , and he’s also… him, handsome as sin and charming and someone who dates models.

Carter raises his glass to mine. It’s ice water to ice water, nothing special, but the smile on his face says something else. “To friendship,” he says.

I touch my glass to his. “To friendship,” I say, and think that this must be the weirdest, most unexpected one I’ve ever had.

It’s rare for more than two of us to be at Acture Capital’s offices at a time, and considering which numbers released today, it’s my damn luck that two of my three business partners are in.

“The Globe is doing abysmally,” Victor says. “Worse than we anticipated.”

I’m not surprised he takes the pessimistic view. “So it’ll be a challenge,” I say. “We knew that going in.”

On the other side of the table, Tristan runs a hand over his jaw, skepticism in his voice. “I don’t know, Carter. This might be more than we can handle.”

“The Globe has had a tough six months. If they didn’t, we wouldn’t have gotten the company at such a steal.”

“If they tank,” Victor mutters, “we’ll be the ones who get robbed.”

I brace my hands against the table. “They won’t tank. We’ve cut the personnel costs by significant amounts already, overheads are shrinking, and two donors who said they were ready to back out have stayed their hand.”

“Because they can write it off on their taxes,” Tristan says dryly. “Not because they believe in the Globe .”

“Look, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. It’s in a bad place. Advertising prices are dropping at the same time as our subscribers are decreasing, but that’s temporary,” I repeat. “The newspaper is one of the most illustrious in the country.”