Because He Loves Me (Because He Owns Me, Book Ten) Read online

  Plus, all that money could have changed so many kids’ lives, and isn’t that my mission in life? Why I’m busting my butt in the graduate program at Boston University to get my master’s in educational leadership? I want to make a difference, add some good in the world.

  And now what—I have too much integrity to have dinner with a gorgeous billionaire? Am I clinically insane?

  But I know that the game he was playing was dangerous. If I’d agreed to that dinner, if something god forbid had happened between us—then I’d basically have been no different than a prostitute.

  And I didn’t get into this to sell myself to rich men.

  Not even sexy, gorgeous ones like Jackson Croft? I ask myself.

  My chest aches, knowing that a bigger part of me than I’d like to admit, actually wanted to give into him. Was dying to give in to his demands. The reality of the situation is that I was lucky to make it out of his office by the skin of my teeth…and if he’d said one more thing, perhaps touched my arm…it all would have been over and I’d have crumbled before him.

  I transfer to the green line on autopilot, headed back to my place in Allston. I have class later this afternoon. No way will I be able to concentrate. What am I going to tell everyone at work, anyway? I have to tell them the truth—that he offered, and I said no.

  To calm myself, I imagine telling this story to my mom and dad. They’re the ones who raised me to live a life of service to others. We may not have had a ton of money, but we always give what we can to helping others. It’s how I was raised, and it’s the only way I know how to be.

  Which makes Jackson Croft that much more confusing.

  The thought of someone—especially someone so privileged—having zero interest in helping others, even so much as to write a freaking check, is totally foreign to me. I just don’t get it.

  I get off the T at the Allston stop. There are hints of fall in the air, and I relish the crisp air on my cheeks—much better than the suffocating heat I was feeling in Jackson’s office.

  As I head into my studio apartment in the back of a blue house on Greylock Road, I get the story straight in my head. I had a bold plan to ask a huge corporate boss-guy for a donation and he turned me down. That’s one part of the story, the one I’ll tell to my co-workers. The other part of the story is that I met one of the sexiest, most ridiculously attractive men I have ever seen in my life.

  The way he acted repulsed me. The way he looked drove me insane in a completely different way.

  I sigh with relief as I kick off my shoes. Stupid blister. As I hunt for Band-Aids, my phone buzzes. It’s Jules from work, no doubt wanting every detail of the meeting. I had gone in with total pipe dreams of securing a donation and gradually getting Jackson—and his money—more involved in CEF, but it backfired in a humiliating way.

  “Hey, Jules,” I answer. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for blowing it so badly. If things had at least gone differently—like, if Jackson Croft had said he’d think about donating to such a worthwhile cause but needed to see more research, I could have brought in Jules to close the deal.

  But now the deal is dead before anyone else had a chance at it. That’s my big mistake—going for such a big prospect with no backup.

  “So?” Jules asks. “You’re on speaker. Talk.”

  “Tell us!” voices say in the background, and there’s laughter. My stomach churns. It’s a small office but it sounds like most of the staff is there. Did they really think I was going to pull it off? Get Jackson Croft of Croft International to give money to our little charity?

  “There’s not much to say,” I offer lamely.

  “We need to know all about it,” she says.

  “I’m just,” I begin, not knowing how to tell them all, where to begin. My mind has gone suddenly blank. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” Jules says. “Because whatever you did needs to be standard operating procedure from now on. You’ll have to train the interns on how to ask for donations.”

  “And get the big ones!” someone calls in the background.

  I pause, confused. “Wait…” My mind is racing.

  “So tell us how you did it,” Jules says. Why does her voice sound upbeat instead of pissed off to the point of terminating me?

  Cautiously I say, “Did what?”

  “You tease,” Jules laughs, and I hear a chorus of whoops in the background. “How did you get Jackson Croft to give the single biggest donation in CEF’s history? Emily, you’re amazing!”

  “Way to go, Em!” someone else cheers.

  I slowly lower myself to my threadbare couch. “Wait a minute. He actually did it? Jackson Croft donated?”

  “One hundred thousand dollars,” Jules says to more cheers. “We have to know—how did you convince him?”

  I feel light headed. How did I do it? That’s a great question that I can’t answer.

  “So?” Jules prompts.

  She needs something from me, and I’m certainly not going to tell her or anyone else about Jackson’s little proposal, even if I did turn it down. Now that he’s donated the money, the last thing I need is for people to think that anything untoward happened between us.

  It’s in everyone’s interest—donor and recipient—to present a clean, professional and united front.

  “I just,” I begin, thinking. “You know, I gave the stats like you said. I mean, who can say no to kids, right?”

  My brow is sweaty and I gulp anxiously. I feel hot, suddenly.

  “I’m sure there was more to than that,” Jules says, “but whatever you did, it’s amazing. Truly, Emily. We’re so proud of you.”

  “And excited about the money!” someone else cheers.

  “Thanks, guys,” I say. “I’ll see you in the office.”

  As we get off the phone, I hear more shouted congratulations and then I’m alone with just my racing thoughts.

  Why did he do it?

  I think back to our conversation and wonder if it was something specific that I said that made him change his mind. Or maybe he just regretted cornering me, had a change of heart.

  Whatever it was that caused him to donate, the right thing to do is to call him and thank him. I can just leave a message with Sandra. I don’t want to speak to him directly, just hearing his voice makes my stomach flutter.

  What is it with this guy and the spell he puts on me?

  I quickly pick up my phone and call the number I have in my phone.

  “Jackson Croft’s office.”

  “Hi, um, Sandra? It’s Emily Brown, from earlier,” I begin, nervous already, even though it’s only a phone call. “Could you leave a message for Mr. Croft for me?” I continue, my throat raspy with emotion. “Tell him I called to say thank you for the very generous donation he gave to the Children’s Education Fund? Tell him it’s really going to do a lot of good for a lot of kids, and we really appreciate it.” A bit of a shaky voice but I got it out, thank God.

  “One moment, please,” Sandra says. I guess I should have paused long enough for her to write it all down. I wait quietly while she jots down the message.

  I hear a click on the line, and before I can wonder if I’ve been disconnected, that smooth deep voice that’s already doing on number on my stomach says, “Emily Brown. Hello, again.”

  “Mr. Croft,” I stumble. That sneaky Sandra! She could have given me a heads up. “I’m sorry to disturb you, I just…”

  “If you were disturbing me, I wouldn’t have picked up,” Jackson informs me.

  “Right, okay. Um, I just, I left a message with Sandra.”

  “I’m here now. Tell me,” he says.

  I take a breath. I’m not letting this guy get to me because that’s totally ridiculous. He’s just a man. A totally gorgeous man who makes me forget my name, but still. Get it together. “Thank you,” I say. “That’s what I was calling to say. Thank you—from the Children’s Education Fund—for the donation. It’s really…it’s
huge. It’s really big and we’re so grateful at such a large gift…”

  Jackson chuckles. He actually chuckles, and I bet I know why. I'm cringing. Could I possibly find another form of the word huge? Jesus, I’m using them all.

  “Anyway,” I say. “Thank you. We really appreciate it.”

  “And what about you? Do you appreciate it, or are you only speaking on behalf of the fund?”

  “No, I appreciate it too,” I say. “Very much. Mr. Croft, I really believe in this organization, and judging by the size of your donation, I think you do too.”

  “Getting a call from you is enough for me,” he says. “Although, I have to be honest. I’d still like to take you to dinner. I know I made you uncomfortable earlier, so I’d like to take you somewhere to show there are no hard feelings. No strings, no quid pro quo. Just dinner. What do you say?”

  That catches me off guard. The money is already with the fund so I know he can’t corner me again with that ludicrous proposal. But Jackson Croft is basically everything I despise in a human. He’s selfish, money-centric, arrogant, and overall not a nice person. Aside from the hundred grand he donated, that is. I’m sure he has an angle to that, anyway.

  Still, it is just dinner. Right? What harm could there possibly be in eating food with this guy in a restaurant full of other people?

  “Don’t overthink it,” Jackson says. “Just say yes.”

  So I hear myself say that one little word.

  I say yes.

  Even though I know I’ll live to regret it.

  Jackson

  I knew she’d say yes. I get people to say yes to deals worth millions everyday, so I had no doubt little Miss Emily Brown would say yes to dinner with me.

  Still, it gives me a thrill deep inside knowing I’ll have her for the evening. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever known—and that’s a problem. She may have said yes to dinner, but Emily has proven that she’s not the kind of person who will just cave in to pressure so easily.

  She presents a unique challenge. And I do enjoy a challenge.

  As I get in the car and turn the ignition, preparing to go and pick Emily Brown up for our impromptu date, I find myself wondering just what makes her so different from me.

  Maybe that’s what attracts me to her, but it’s also why I can’t even bother thinking about her as anything more than a tonight-only thing. I can’t get more involved than this. Not since everything I learned with the phone call from my father’s lawyers.

  Ironically, Emily is the exact opposite of what I need right now.

  I’ll have this one amazing night, one night to get her out of my system because she is not a distraction that I can afford to keep around. Dinner will simply be the scratch to the itch I’ve had for her since she first walked—no, barged through my office doors.

  Once I’ve had my time with her, I’ll no doubt be ready and willing to move onto the next thing. I’ve got more than enough options and she’s not my type, in any case…

  But right now I do need a short distraction from the family bullshit.

  Other than the short time I spent with Emily this morning, every moment has been spent ruminating on the bombshell of a phone call I received just before she arrived.

  The call that told me I would no longer simply be inheriting the company that I’ve been groomed to run since before I can even remember. The call that told me I would once again need to prove myself to dear old Dad, even though he’s no longer alive and with us.

  No, no, no, Jackson—think again. You must fight, fight, fight. The provision in his will was apparently quite clear on that score.

  My brothers and I will compete for the right to lead our company into the future. And the competition takes the form of such a ridiculous requirement…just thinking about it makes my blood boil.

  That is my cross to bear, but now, for one night only, I will enjoy the company of a gorgeous smart-ass woman who makes me forget, ever so briefly, that everything I’ve worked for might be falling apart.

  Once Emily stormed out of the office (and watching her go…damn, what a sight), I had Sandra pull up her information in order to better understand what I was dealing with.

  I know that she’s a grad student working part-time for the Children’s Education Fund. An intelligent do-gooder. Makes me roll my eyes. Just from this one afternoon I can tell she’s a woman who goes after what she wants, and she’d no doubt be great in a real business, but she’s stuck on some charity bullshit.

  Well, real business—it’s not for everyone.

  Not for the faint of heart, that’s for sure.

  I drive to Emily’s neighborhood, just ten minutes from the office and a little on the outskirts of the city. Lots of Boston College and Boston University students live out here in Allston—we have several interns who ride the T in from this area.

  I drive down Greylock Road, stopping in front of a blue house. Before I can get out to go to the front door like a proper gentleman, I see her silhouette walking down the driveway from the back of the house.

  I’m at a temporary loss for breath. The tight dress she’s wearing skims down her figure like dripping gold—an improvement over the morning’s bargain basement suit but honestly, this woman could make sweats look sexy.

  I’m out of the car quickly, headed over to her side so I can open the door for her. The closer I get to her, the faster my heart beats.

  “Good evening, Emily,” I say, using one hand to button my suit jacket.

  “Hello,” she says, her eyes focused on the car. I lean in to greet her with a kiss on the cheek—a habit—and it seems to startle her. She smiles, though, showing dimples in her cheeks.

  “You ready?” I ask.

  “This is your car?” she responds, still eyeing it.

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m driving it, aren’t I?”

  She shakes her head. “Yeah, it’s just...nothing. Let’s go.”

  I have no idea what that’s about, but once in the car we head back into the heart of the city. Sandra called ahead to Prime & Tender—Croft International is a silent partner in the Michelin-starred restaurant—and so I know that the restaurant will pull out all the stops for us tonight.

  I pull up to the curb on Boylston Street and the valet is there to help Emily out and take my keys. I guide her through the restaurant, lightly touching the small of her back, already wishing I could feel more of her.

  This might be a long, torturous night.

  I’m greeted by staff as we’re ushered back into the private room. When my hand leaves Emily’s back, I instantly feel the void.

  We’re seated, napkins gently dropped in our laps. Emily is looking around the small space with a mix of curiosity and confusion, and I know why. She thought she’d agreed to dinner with me in a room full of strangers, but no way did I intend to spend my one evening with her being ogled at by other people. I want to keep this little treasure to myself for the evening.

  “They keep this room for me,” I tell her. “It’s small, but I like it because it’s private.”

  “You don’t like people seeing you eat or something?”

  “It’s not that. I often have dinners or luncheons with high-level international clients, and I don’t need those meetings ending up in the business section of the Boston Herald. Keeping some things private is essential to my company.”

  “So you can do your hostage takeovers?” Emily asks, her eyes steady and slightly hard on me.

  “Everyone comes willingly,” I reply, enjoying the repartee. She’s already made me forget my troubles and we’ve only just begun.

  “I’ll bet,” she says. She shifts in her seat and looks awkwardly around the room, like she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

  “Good evening, Mr. Croft,” a voice says, and I turn to see Chef Barton walk through the door. “I’m so happy to have you here this evening.”

  I stand up to shake his hand. “Thank you for having us. I’d like you to meet Emily Brown.”

  Emily�
�s eyes dart between us, and she finally offers her hand. “You’re the chef? Oh, wow, um, nice to meet you.”

  “You as well,” Chef Barton says. “Welcome to Prime & Tender. Mr. Croft has been a supporter of ours from the very beginning. We wouldn’t be the success we are without him.”

  “It’s all in the genius of your food, Andrew,” I say. I sit back down.

  “I have some wonderful options for you,” he continues. “Of course, the regular menu is available to you, or anything you desire. But for you both this evening, I recommend either the roasted lamb with fresh mint sauce or my signature five-spice seared yellowfin tuna that pairs perfectly with the Provence rosé.”

  Chef Barton tells us about the other courses and I watch as Emily takes it all in. She looks a little lost at not having a menu to look down at, or maybe it’s the abundance of courses that’s got her thrown. Either way, it’s charming.

  “I’ll send Rocco in to take care of you for the evening and get you started with some wine and your first course,” Chef Barton says. “Please enjoy your evening. I’ll check back with you later.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I tell him. Having him come in now is enough show for Emily. For the rest of the evening, I’d like to have her alone as much as possible.

  Once Chef Barton has gone back to the kitchen, Rocco comes in with wine and our appetizer, which Rocco tells us is a canapé of wild smoked salmon with avocado.

  “Did you decide on your entrees?” he asks. “Or would you like to see the menu?” He asks this to Emily—he knows I always order whatever Chef Barton recommends.

  “You’ll love the roasted lamb,” I say to Emily. “It’s legendary; people fly in on private planes just to eat it.”

  Emily is looking at the canapé as if she’s not quite sure if she should eat it or take a photo. “Oh, um,” she begins, looking between Rocco and me. “What were the choices?”

  “Whatever you want,” I tell her. “The chef recommends the lamb. He also has a yellowfin tuna.”