Page 12 of Never Dance with the Devils

We have a map of the city we were in thrown up on the projector screen, measuring out the hotels in the area. Since it’s more in my wheelhouse, I do the charming work of calling the concierge of each one to ask about bar recommendations to see who sends gueststo that specific night club. Meanwhile, Riggs makes grunting demands of the club owner, who it turns out is a Devils fan, to see if Kay used a credit card to buy her first round of scotch, but even in his ‘wish I could help’ way, the owner isn’t able to provide any intel. Then, after matching memories of our conversations and figuring one degree of Kevin Bacon might be easier, we focus on finding some business owner named McCormick, hoping he’ll lead us to Kay.

He's ultimately an easier find. With minimal narrowing of the list of local business owners on file with that name, we settle on Ian McCormick of Dayquest Analytics, which is apparently some sort of business optimization firm. He’s searching for investors to grow his company to the next level, or, according to reports, save his sinking ship because he doesn’t understand what his company does any better than I do, which is to say… not at all.

“That’s got to be him,” I declare, and Riggs nods in agreement. “One Kevin Bacon away.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that we work better together, and after weeks of no success alone, in only a few hours of bouncing ideas off one another and scouring the internet like we’re B-movie hackers, we’ve found her.

Not Kay. Kayla.

Not just some random woman who had a bad day at work, but the Vice President of Acquisitions at Blue Lake Assets, the company her father, Charles Harrington, owns.

Not merely the sole girl in a family of boys, but the lone daughter of a tycoon on par with Buffets, Rockefellers, and Vanderbilts.

Not an actual princess, but in effect, Americanroyalty. As in, if her family wanted, they could buy the Devils outright.

Holy fuck. If I wasn’t impressed and a little intimidated by her before, I am now.

I glance over at Riggs, who’s staring at a picture we found of Kayla at some fancy-schmancy gala. She’s wearing a red dress with a plunging neckline, her lips painted to match perfectly, and her hand daintily resting on the elbow of some prissy-looking dude in a tuxedo. Riggs looks like he wants to climb through the computer screen, rip the guy’s head off, and spit down his neck. No matter who Kay… I mean, Kayla… is, there’s no going back now. He’s in too deep, which means so am I.

“Pretty sure that’s her brother,” I caution, hoping to save the guy’s life.

“Don’t care. Hate her touching him and not me.”

“Oh-kaythere, big guy,” I drawl out, patting his shoulder. “Maybe dial down the serial killer vibes before we track her down and confront her for running out on us. Or else you might end up a Netflix true crime special. How are we gonna play this?”

KAYLA

“Kayla? I’ve been working with Greg on this for weeks. I assumed he’d be here for this meeting.” Mr. Jessup makes no effort to hide his pointed glance through the wall of windows that line the conference room. I swear he even tilts his head, trying to see further down the hallway as though Greg might be hiding around the corner, waiting for his cue to pop out and yell ‘gotcha!’

Greg is not coming. This is my meeting with David Jessup to discuss Blue Lake partnering with his company, Jessup Enterprises (because of course he named his start-up after himself). Or more accurately, this is his meeting with me to sell the partnership that’s been pushed up the food chain with a glowing recommendation.

Greg has worked for me for years at this point, and I trust his analysis of investment opportunities, but he sees things from one perspective. I see them from another, and ultimately, the decisions are mine, as is the responsibility for success or failure. Greg understandsthat clearly, which is why we work so well together. That, and he gave me a complete run-down on the man sitting at the conference table with me, not only with the facts and figures of his company, but a warning that Jessup is a piece of work with an ego the size of Texas, a mean streak running through his core, and a growing ambition to be the Next Big Thing, not simply get swallowed up by one.

Unfortunately for him, Blue Lake is one of the biggest, most dynamic venture capital investment firms in the US, and we eat companies like his for a snack, absorbing them into our portfolios to do with as we see fit. And I have plans for Jessup’s company, ones he’s too short-sighted and too underfunded to imagine.

“Lucky day for you, then, David.” I use his name intentionally, the way he tried to use mine to denote a hierarchy that doesn’t exist, one where he’s somehow higher than me by rights of age or penile presence. “You’ve been promoted to the big leagues.” I lean back in my chair, letting one arm stretch out over the armrest, visually taking up space with what’s essentially the equivalent of manspreading, except my legs are properly closed and it’s my entire being spreading through my place at the head of the conference table. I give him a bland, unblinking look of expectation as I let the ball fall slowly into his court.

Am I testing him? Absolutely. I need to see how he responds before committing Blue Lake, and our funding, to him.

He lets out a surprised chortle. “Excuse me?”

I don’t move a muscle, don’t make a single noise, and the moment stretches uncomfortably. Well, uncomfortable for him. For me, I can nearly taste his surrender tomy little game. Not that I’m playing games. This is serious business.

All my work is serious and I have to treat it as such. Otherwise, men like David Jessup would walk right over me, thinking me nothing more than a nepo-baby placeholder in Blue Lake’s roster of vice presidents. Such is the curse of working in the family business.

Believe me, I’ve considered—and continue to consider—striking out on my own the way most of my brothers have, either with venture capital, angel investing, or something else entirely, but in truth, I love Blue Lake. Dad mostly works from home now, so his influence is more referential than actual on the day-to-day happenings. And though my brother, Cameron, and I are a good team, we’ve spent years building our own legs of the business and creating our own individual lanes, culminating in a broad portfolio that outperforms other investment firms by miles, while staying out of each other’s way. One day, when Dad hands the reins over completely, it will be a fifty-fifty split between Cameron and me, and we will continue running the company as a partnership.

Unless I punch David Jessup in his smug, amused face.

Though realistically, that still wouldn’t result in my being escorted out of the building. Even then, it’d be Jessup getting turfed because at the end of the day, it’s basically my building. One of my birthrights as a Harrington.

Clasping his hands on the table, Mr. Jessup presses his lips together. I can nearly see him playing out chess moves in his mind, trying to decide what move will best serve his purposes, and all the while,his need to fight for dominance in a room where it’s only the two of us rides him hard.

As I expected, he gives in first, demanding crisply, “What exactly have I been summoned here for today?”

“Summoned?” I echo, mostly hiding my offense and only letting a vague taste of it coat the word. “It’s an invitation at worst, an opportunity at best. Greg has recommended your company as a possible venture for Blue Lake, and now is your chance to wow me.” Letting a serene smile tilt my lips, I add, “That is,ifyou’d like a fifteen-million-dollar investment in Jessup Enterprises.”

Not liking the role reversal from what he’s used to as the CEO/owner of his business, he flinches as though I’ve slapped him but schools his face quickly. “I was under the impression this meeting was a mere formality. Greg said?—”