The Bluffing Game (5 page)

Five

I
don’t
know how long we lay in the sand. I might have fallen briefly into sleep. But after a time the reverie faded, his body on mine became unbearably heavy, the rising tide of the ocean felt cold, the sand on my back sorely itched, and I rolled out from under him. I gathered my swimsuit from the sand, pushed myself to my feet, and out of my tote bag fished a towel to wrap myself in. Victor sat up, watching me at first, then turned his eyes to the ocean and let it roll over his seat in the sand. He pulled his knees close, stood, and walked naked into the surf. When he was waist deep, he dove and again swam with everything he had. I waited for him at first, and wondered if this was his way of not staying the night, or whether the sea was simply a compulsion and whenever he saw it, he had to master it.

I was a slave sometimes to my own such terrified compulsions, forcing myself to run and to prove I was master of myself and my body and my life. That I was not weaker alone.

I grew frightened all at once that Victor didn’t want me to be there when he came back, and so, wrapped in my towel, I carried my things back through the palm trees and up the cold stone steps to my room. I locked the door behind me, irrationally, and dumped all I carried on the floor of the massive bathroom, turned on the hot water and stepped into the shower.

Somehow this was reality. The sex, the delightful sex I still felt in the tiredness of my hips and thighs, was a passing fantasy the hot water was washing me clean of. A memory I now carried as a slight soreness between my legs and a tightness in my core, a little piece of my personhood I had opened and let one more man explore. I sat down in the stall and let the hot water run over all of my skin, breathing in steam and holding myself and wishing I could identify the reason for the sudden surge of emptiness I felt. The thought of seeing Victor again was stretched full of so many different feelings—intimacy, trust, connection, affection, but also fear, disappointment, longing. Had he enjoyed me and then discarded me? No, he had simply gone out for another swim. I hadn’t given him the chance to reject. Because I couldn’t bear it. I had run from him first. I had to be the one who didn’t stay the night.

I let the water run a long time, hoping it would wash these misgivings down the drain like so much dead skin. He had been hesitant, respectful, even gentlemanly. I had been forthright, encouraging, possessive. I wanted him now more than ever, but not as a mere sexual partner. I wanted to fall asleep in his arms and wake with my cheek to his chest in the morning. I wanted a lover.

I stood up and turned off the water. It was all clear now. I had run from it for who knew how long, but there it was. I didn’t want an affair, a fling, a dalliance. Sure, I wanted sex, but getting that I had mastered. Beneath it all, I wanted security, predictability, comfort. Those had been elusive a long time, ten years, evading me in my brief relationships ever since I broke up with Nick.

Really, said the severe part of me, you want a relationship? You’re powerful. You’re in control. You’re not ever weaker alone.

No, I answered myself, I’m not. But damn if I’m not fucking lonely. I don’t need to be defined by a man, or even be defined by a relationship with one. But I want one, and whatever I want I work very hard to get.

It’s gonna be a lot of work. You don’t really know him yet, and you don’t know if he’s got any interest beyond the sex. He might not be the one for it.

True, I admitted. But I may as well find out.

It was evening as I came out of the shower and put on a silk robe. I carried the bottle of champagne to the room’s kitchen and popped the cork over the sink. I filled a glass, curled up in an armchair where I could watch the sunset, and called Nick.

“Enjoying your getaway, June?”

“I slept with the client.”

“Jesus. Don’t lose your career over this. Word gets around, you know. Billionaires talk to each other.”

I took a swig of champagne. “Whatever. I can handle it. I just wanted you to know I’m having a great time, and I wanted your advice on a very risky endeavor.”

“Pretend it didn’t happen. Keep it all business from now on.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You’re doing some other risky endeavor?”

“I kind of want to try to keep seeing him.”

“Oh shit, you mean you’re falling for him? Like for real?”

“A little. Or, a lot. He’s such a gentleman, Nick.”

“He’s a billionaire. He has to be. You haven’t already talked about your deepest dreams and fears, have you?”

“You joke, but I kind of know what his dream is. He’s a little boy who wants to be an astronaut at heart.”

“And what are you gonna do if you lose this case?”

“I’m not going to lose it. It’s a shoo-in. The only reason he hasn’t won yet is that he hasn’t trusted his lawyers until now.”

“So you plan to just… I don’t know, not fly home when it’s done?”

I drained the champagne flute empty and refilled it. “Well, that’s why I called you. I wanted to see if you had any ideas.”

“You want me to help you find excuses for staying with him longer?”

“I don’t know, I just… I just want you to tell me it’s okay, that I’m not crazy, that I can pursue this and you’re not going to judge me.”

“I’m a lawyer, not a judge.”

“You know what I mean. I just want to make sure I’m not completely separated from reality.”

“Well, creating separation from the real world is kind of what island resorts are designed to do.”

“It’s all real, though. He really does own all of this.”

“Listen, June, I’m not going to tell you it’s a bad idea again, but repeat to me the first thing you said.”

I thought for a second. “I slept with a client.”

“Now imagine telling that to a senior partner.”

He was so right. I hated how right he was.

“Once you get home and think back to all this,” he said, “I can take a pretty good guess how you’re going to be feeling about it.”

Terrible. Unless Victor really was the gentleman I took him for. It was possible it was all a façade. But what a man does in bed—or on the beach—with a woman says a lot about him as a person. And I’d liked what I’d seen so far. “So you think I should clear my head. Sleep on this.”

“Under ordinary circumstances, that’s exactly what I’d say. People are unpredictable, though. They’re kind of like hornet’s nests. I think you need to do what you’ve always been best at, though, which is following your goal until you achieve it.”

“My goal is to get to know him better and let him know I’m interested in seeing if this can be more than just an affair.”

“What obstacles are there, besides the fact that if things continue to go well, you’ll be leaving in another few days?”

“That’s kind of the biggest one. The other is that if things don’t go well, and I’m here for longer, there’s going to be tension. He also apparently sleeps with his House Mistress sometimes, on a purely no-strings-attached basis.”

Nick was silent for a second. “You know, June, I don’t think I’m qualified for this type of counsel. I don’t have a psychology degree.”

“Well what would you do if you were in my place?”

“Stick to business.”

“I mean really in my place. Like if you really wanted to continue this. For real.”

“Oh June. I don’t know. I can hardly believe this is you I’m talking to. What about being that strong, independent, career-driven woman who puts her own life first?”

“Nick, I am so goddamn sick of my life right now. I just left myself vulnerable and intimate with someone I just met, and I can’t get over how wonderful it was. And the thought that I could be so close with somebody, again, and let that just be it, just leave him with intimate knowledge of my body and nothing else, just leave it at that, I can’t handle it. I thought that was what I wanted, just an affair, just a fling, but it’s not. That doesn’t make me happy the way it used to. To look at him tomorrow as if we didn’t share that, it would just feel empty and depressing.”

“Career’s not enough anymore, I guess.” There were so many layers underneath that comment that I didn’t bother trying to untangle them all.

“It was enough for a long time,” I said. “I’m stable now. I have solid credibility, a nice house, everything I wanted. I’ve arrived. And I’ve done it completely on my own. I’m proud of that. I’m just lonely.”

“Well, I guess if it were me, I would test myself. Go on a date with someone else. Make sure that just because I’m ready for a relationship I’m not automatically latching on to the first person I see.”

“That’s good advice. That’s true.” I poured a third glass of champagne.

“Great. So what are you going to do?”

I took a long deep breath like I’d learned in my yoga classes. “I’m going to make sure I want to be with Victor because I like him, not just because I want to be in a relationship generally. And if I decide I do like him as much as I think I do, I’m going to pursue this.”

“Don’t rush this just because of the time limit, though. The heart is a delicate, fickle thing. It puts down roots quickly and cries in pain every time it’s repotted.”

“That’s really unpleasantly poetic, but I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks, Nick.”

“And make sure you don’t do anything that might cause you to lose all that you’ve worked for.”

“I’ve already entered those waters. I have no choice now but to navigate them.”

“Good luck.”

Indeed. I spun the glass of champagne between my fingers and thought, some mess you’ve gone and thrown yourself into. But June Jansen was never one to back down from a challenge, and I wasn’t about to make this the exception. Victor Sterling, prepare to be pursued for the long haul. The chase is about to begin.

Six

I
started
the next day by dressing in a suit with a pencil skirt and a low-cut button-down top, professional but with room for flirting. Already I was planning out in my head the attitude I would show Victor—not saying a word about yesterday’s romp on the sand, but sending clear signals of tender trust and closeness. A hand on his arm here, a finger in his hair there—wordless ways to show I not only enjoyed our jump over the professional-personal boundary, but was comfortable keeping it going, not at all ashamed of it, and still more than attracted to him. If he turned me down, if I was just a notch in his bedpost (I dismissed this thought immediately: he had been too hesitant for that, unless he was an Oscar-worthy faker), or if all he wanted from me was sex and legal advice, then I would certainly have less sadness seeing his island shrink in the window when I took on my return flight back to the mainland.

I couldn’t pinpoint why I felt so certain our encounter had been more than just two people using each other. Maybe it was the way he had asked me what I wanted, how easy and comfortable the communication had been between us, how smooth it made the lovemaking, how satisfying the afterglow. Sure, he was a good lover, he knew how to treat a woman well, but his hesitancy was so endearing. Yes, I had pushed him a little, and I could have stopped, but he had jumped right in every step of the way, once he had taken that step. His hesitancy wasn’t for lack of wanting me. That I was certain of. I hadn’t coerced him, only encouraged, shown that I was ready and willing. And the fact that once I had done so, he had been so into it, well, it left me with the perhaps wishful thinking that the reason he had hesitated was to makes sure I was really OK with it, that he wasn’t crossing any lines I didn’t want him to. And damn if that wasn’t the most attractive reason to be hesitant.

All that remained today was to discover how he felt about continuing our affair, and perhaps making it more than that. As I put on my earrings and put the finishing touches on my hair, I was excited in a way I hadn’t been in a long time. The few one-and-done affairs I’d had over the years were fun, but this was bursting, it felt, with possibility.

I came out of my room to see whether Victor wanted to eat breakfast with me. I walked down the long hallway and found Victor and Andrea in the living room, sitting across from each other on two couches and talking. I couldn’t hear them from the other end of the room, and when Andrea saw me she stood, and Victor did too, his blond head and broad shoulders turning to face me. When I saw his expression I knew something had gone very wrong, and before I could ask what, or even wish him good morning, he tossed me a smartphone.

“They called your bluff.”

It had made the front page of the Wall Street Journal. Only a side column, and a short article mostly quoting a press release. The opposition had filed formal charges. A court date was pending.

“They’re trying to smoke you out,” I said. “This is their last ditch effort. Their ace in the hole. They have nothing left.”

“They’re taking me to trial.”

“No, they’re not. They’re going to offer to drop the charges if you give them what they want.”

“But I’m not going to give them what they want.”

“That’s right. You’re going to act like this doesn’t even bother you because you know they’ll lose and that you can handle the bad press.”

“Can I? Who do you think I’ve been talking to all morning?”

“Your PR department, I assume.”

“They’re not happy.”

“Well, let them be unhappy. Dealing with bad press is their job.”

“My investors aren’t happy either.”

“Them we can handle too.”

“We?”

“If you can’t calm them down yourself, send them to me.”

“You think you can calm a raging stampede of rhinos?”

“I can be persuasive.”

“Oh, I know that too well.”

That stung. I didn’t know if he meant the sex or the way I had left things with the opposition, but either way it cut deep. “You said you trusted me.”

“And you said they wouldn’t file charges.”

“They’ll never take you to court.”

“I’ll bet they won’t.” He put his hands in his pockets and started pacing.

“They know they don’t have a case.”

“And maybe they know something you don’t. My stock is already falling. If a big player steps out, they all will. That can’t happen.”

“Then let me talk to your investors. Get all these big players around one table, and I’ll convince them this is all a bunch of gold diggers trying to intimidate you.”

“Well they’re succeeding.”

“Don’t let them!”

He waved an arm at the meeting room. “That’s what I’ve been doing by firing all of my lawyers. You want me to continue?”

“Let me talk to them. I promise you, this case will not ever end up in court.”

“That may not matter. They’re already winning.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

We stared each other down, an odd place to be after what we’d done the day before. I couldn’t read anything behind the stubborn frustration in his face. But I didn’t give in. I knew what I was talking about. I crossed my arms as if to challenge him: trust me or fire me. Your choice.

I could see him torn between the two options, but something in him wavered: he wanted me to be right.

“Trust me,” I said.

He didn’t look happy about it, and I wondered if he thought I had manipulated everything, slept with him to make him trust me. It was a disturbing idea, but from his end, not impossible. I shuddered on the inside at the notion of him seeing me that way.

Finally he turned to his House Mistress. “Andrea. Get all my island-side VPs here for a meeting, and get all of the stateside ones to video conference in. I’ll contact the investors personally.” He held out his hand. “Phone.”

I handed it to him.

“Thank you,” I said.

He met my eyes for a second, then looked at his phone as he dialed. “If you’re not a goddamn archangel in this meeting, you’re fired.”

“I’ll do better than that,” I said. “I’ll be a fucking goddess.”

“You’d better.” He walked away and put a breezy tone in his voice as he talked to whomever he’d called. “Yeah, it’s Victor. No, don’t worry, my lawyer has a plan. Yeah, she’s got their number, trust me. Can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs. PR’s all over it, they’ve got it covered. I know. No, she says it’ll never make it to court, she says they don’t have a case.” He glanced in my direction, where I sat on the couch going through my papers again, and then turned away and said, “Yeah, I trust her completely. She’s as good as they come.”

He was lying through his teeth to reassure his investors, and I took no pleasure in hearing his voice form those words, no matter how sincere he was trying to sound. But by god I was going to earn his trust by the time this case was through. I took out my own phone and dialed a lawyer friend who did only contracts, and asked him if I could send him something to look over. Yesterday I had been a hundred percent certain there was nothing in the contract that I missed, and I was still at ninety-eight percent today, but a second pair of eyes on it couldn’t hurt.

Everything else I had zero doubt of. They hadn’t expected Sterling to trust me, but he had—at least so far—so I had forced their hand. But this was it. They could draw it out and delay it until there was a court date and everyone’s legal expenses were piling up, but in the end, they would have to drop the charges if they wanted to get anything out of Sterling, and that was what they considered their bargaining chip: the now seemingly real threat of a trial. But it was a smoke screen I could see clear through, and Sterling’s suggestion that they knew something I didn’t was exactly what they wanted him to think, and what they were maybe hoping even I would fall for. If that was so, they had underestimated me, and I had yet to lose to someone who’d made that big a mistake.

Bring it on.

~

The meeting with the VPs and investors took place in the same fishbowl room as the meeting of the previous day. Graying men in suits and cufflinks sat around the table scowling, and a projector covered a nearly wall-to-ceiling screen with the faces of yet more VPs and investors on the mainland. Some eyes were on Sterling, but most were on me.

“Greetings, everyone. My name is June Jansen, and I’m serving as Mr. Sterling’s legal counsel. I’ve reviewed the charges that have been filed against Mr. Sterling, and I can assure you all, as I’m sure you’ve been assured on previous occasions, that those charges are completely baseless. Any judge with even a remote understanding of contract law would throw the case out of court. But I’m here to tell you that this case won’t even make it to a hearing. The people filing these charges are making an empty play for money, and they have a good lawyer on their side who knows as well as I do that they don’t have a chance if they go before a judge. Before that happens, they’re going to fold. They’re going to come begging to us to take whatever they can get, and then they’re going to drop the charges. In the meantime, your PR department should be more than able to handle the negative press, and in six months none of the general public will even remember this happened. Stock prices may take a hit temporarily, but as public perception rebounds, so will investing. I’ve already explained all of this to Mr. Sterling, and he’s agreed that it’s a sound reading of the situation. Are there any questions?”

I had said the same words to Sterling so many times already I felt like a robot repeating myself.

An ancient, angry man on one of the video channels waved his hands around. “And what if they don’t drop the charges? What if the judge doesn’t throw out the case?”

“I understand your concern. But there simply is no case. There’s no grounds for reading the contract the way they’re reading it. None.”

The old man squinted and blinked repeatedly as he listened, and continued: “Then why are we even talking to these people? Why haven’t we told them to go fuck themselves?”

I smiled and said, “I share your sentiments. My understanding is that we’ve only allowed them to draw out the talks this long because some parties felt the negative press of a court date would be too much to handle.”

One of the men seated at the table said, “A lot of us still feel that way.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong sir, but hasn’t this corporation quite a resourceful PR division?”

“We do,” said another face on the screen, “and I run it. You can only control so much of the public’s reaction. A lawsuit is a lawsuit, baseless or not.”

Dear lord, these stuffed shirts were all the same, making excuses for not being able to do a better job. “Well here’s an official quote from the legal department for your next press release: These people have no case. They’re throwing a penny into the air and hoping it will come down as a gold doubloon. It’s that senseless. The reality is, they won’t even get the penny back. They threw it so high the wind took it overboard. They’ve already lost.”

“Mr. Sterling,” said the angry man on the screen, “If all this is true, I find it hard to believe you had to go through so many different lawyers to find one who’d tell you this.”

Finally. What I said had sunk in, and damage control now went to Sterling. He wouldn’t like his VPs telling him this was his own fault, but to an extent it was.

“Miss Jansen isn’t the first lawyer to tell me this, it’s true,” Sterling said. “If we had simply blown them off, told them they were getting nothing, and not shown even a hint of fear that we couldn’t handle the bad press, that would have been the end of it. But I wanted to do right by all of you, and prevent this PR crisis from ever happening. So I tried to compromise. Despite my lawyer’s best advice, I tried to make things end amicably. I thought if I could make them happy again, I could turn an enemy into a friend. I didn’t realize what kind of people they were.”

The angry man on the screen shook his head. “These are roaches, Sterling, not people. I thought you knew better. They saw a man with a sack of cash and figured they could bully him into sharing it. I’ve seen these people all my life. I come to places like your island to get away from them.”

Sterling remained steady in his seat, and said nothing, just put on a smile for his biggest investor.

The PR head said, “Jesus, Victor. Next time just let your lawyers handle it, okay? Stick to what you do best. Don’t worry, I think we got your back on this one.”

The atmosphere of the room had completely changed now. No one was looking at me anymore. They saw Sterling the same way the people suing him did: as weak, fallible, and overconfident. Willing to bend under pressure. That wasn’t where I had hoped the meeting would go, but Sterling had brought it on himself. He hadn’t trusted his lawyers, he hadn’t trusted his PR department’s proficiency, and he hadn’t trusted his investors not to bail on him. No wonder that the day I met him he had been wound up tighter than a high-tension wire. He saw himself as alone. He trusted no one.

Except, somehow, me. I wondered how long it would last.