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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  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

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  NON-NEGOTIABLE

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  RENATA BARBER

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  ISBN 9781615089307

  All rights reserved

  Copyright 2011 Renata Barber

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  For information:

  SizzlerEditions.com/Intoxication

  Sizzler/Intoxication Erotic Romance

  A Renaissance E Books publication

  CHAPTER ONE

  Certainly, there was no need for any extravagance. At least, that's what her better half reasoned from the daily dosage of doom and gloom coming from the so-called financial ‘experts;’ insiders set on taming a highly capricious market at the New York Stock Exchange. It was a willful beast, resisting any constraints whatsoever: It had a mind of its own.

  Stocks were falling, prices were up and all around town folks were suddenly finding new revelations; downsized, demoralized or even worse, unemployed. Truth be told, any day now it could be her. Surely, all the signs were there in the banking industry, when several cornerstone institutions suddenly shut their doors one day and filed Chapter Eleven, never giving an afterthought to their dedicated but now-distraught former employees. Only a distinct sound; crisp money from the Mint, had any real substance on Wall Street: the annual bonuses rewarded for its CEOs. And every day the million dollar question loomed over Elizabeth Lowell's practical little head: the inevitable; she just might lose that precious job of hers, after all.

  Yet here she stood, calmly composed on a rainy Sunday afternoon, combing the aisles for an empty seat inside Crystal's, one of the most exclusive auction houses in the world, to bid against those well above her tax bracket on an item she really couldn't afford nor was likely to win. The enormous pressure she'd been under at work had finally given way to outright fantasy. This idea she'd concocted was so impractical and not at all like her. Not the junior financial analyst most people assumed when they initially met her: painstakingly fact-driven, capable of calculating figures off the top of her head. In short, dull, at best.

  But, today, those ‘opinions’ hardly mattered. Just spending an entire afternoon away from corporate investment accounts, declining stocks and disappointing forecasts did wonders to lift the severity of her sagging spirits, her dilemma weighing heavily, day after day.

  Between the madness taking place on Wall Street that week and the fear of losing her own job, Elizabeth barely held on to her wits. The estimates she'd calculated were practical enough, but repeatedly challenged by grouchy senior analysts who solely cast the blame in her direction when affluent clientele refused to listen where their investments were concerned. Their whims were in direct contrast to everything she'd ever learned or understood about sound money management. It just wasn't in her nature to stand by and watch these clients throw their money away in folly on a roller coaster ride that wasn't likely to produce results. Frustrated and often inept at finding possibilities, new avenues where clients could invest, those senior analysts seemed determined to make her the culprit for their deficiency, which was a total lack of innovation.

  Earlier that week, after devoting the entire morning to this ridiculous squabbling tryst between clients, senior analysts and herself, Elizabeth had had enough and took her lunch early in the break room. It was then as she sat down at a table and plunged her folk into her salad that she happened to glance down at an article featured in The Times. The article spoke of a sacred gem worn by royalty and handed down through affluent families throughout the ages, its delicate inscription a timeless testament to its Egyptian origin. And now, through some fortuitous probate estate sale, the heirloom was up for grabs, its long lineage severed for good.

  It was then that it suddenly dawned on her that perhaps this was the perfect time to look into some investments for her own modest portfolio. She could use the nest egg she'd been carefully accruing since she was hired two years ago. These days she may not be as confident of her future working at Tri-Star Investments as she once was but she could always rely on her ability to spot a good investment.

  For example that Sunday afternoon she'd chosen a taupe Valentino suit with matching pumps, discovered in a local vintage shop, still stylish yet a third of its original price. And, with her light brown hair swept up in a French twist, her visage of brains and beauty fit the occasion perfectly for a woman with New England roots.

  Although that wasn't necessarily an asset or considered desirable in New York City, especially to men in the financial district who were more interested in accruing one night stands than real one-on-one time. There were plenty of them at work; men who lived in the fast lane on Wall Street, who tried several times to unravel that quiet reserve of hers, but were ultimately, yet politely, shown the door. For all their lack of consideration, manners and sophistication, Elizabeth figured they might as well have invested in one of the local escort services making a killing with several investment institutions.

  Seated inside the crowded auditorium, Elizabeth quietly observed the audience, which mostly consisted of trust fund recipients, socialites and, of course, the ladies who lunch. Nothing unusual, nothing she didn't already expect to see. That is, until her eyes settled on a familiar face chatting away on a cell phone in the first row, even though the auctioneer had officially made the announcement to turn off all cellular devices.

  From the looks of it, apparently Jared Bentley had a thorough disregard for rules of any kind, except when it came to his own, of course. His profile said it all; wavy brown hair, impeccable grooming, the air of privilege coupled with exceedingly bad manners. As Elizabeth tried to recall his exact date of birth she couldn't stop herself from staring at the fit and toned physique underneath his trademark; a finely tailored black suit. He had to be in his late forties, although from a distance he certainly appeared younger. She'd recognized him immediately from the numerous financial publications piled up neatly on one side of her desk.

  Widely known as president and CEO of Bentley Industries, the premier manufacturer of energy efficient products and appliances, supplying everything from computer, household goods, and automotive, as well as military components, the corporation had the distinct reputation for devouring lesser companies, expanding it's own base, stealing technology and gaining expertise along the way. Despite any economic downturn, Bentley Industries would still continue to thrive, according to the current financial forecasts. Regardless of minor profit-losses in the past six months, the company wouldn't lose its standing as a global conglomerate to be reckoned with for years to come.

  Elizabeth soon realized she was gawking and pivoted around, forcing her attention back to the front of the
auditorium. A distinguished looking man in an elegant suit stood at the podium, patiently waiting for the chatter and thunderous applause to die down before continuing the announcement.

  A deep baritone voice suddenly made the announcement. “Ladies and Gentlemen thank you for joining us at Crystal's. We have quite a few exceptional treasures this afternoon and I'm sure you'll be delighted when you see what's in store. So, let us not delay any longer and bring out our first item."

  Over the next two hours Elizabeth sat there quietly, riveted by various items that were of utter importance only to the wealthy and the obnoxious banter between bidders that followed. Reckless amounts of money were tossed about like confetti, sometimes equaling her yearly salary. Having an Ivy League education under her belt and working at one of the top investment firms hadn't prepared her for this treacherous arena or the spectacle now taking place inside the grand auditorium. If there were any rules to abide by, they certainly weren't evident.

  At the moment the showdown stemmed from a blond; a dead ringer for Paris Hilton, who insisted on blurting out obscene amounts at the top of her lungs to counter her opponent who was a sophisticated redhead, sitting several feet away. Glaring at her with all the venom she could muster, she practically became hysterical when it appeared she'd lost and the redhead countered the bid with an even higher amount, stamping her heels in defiance while audibly declaring, “No wonder your husband left you, bitch!"

  In an instant, the redhead rose from her seat, seemingly determined to do serious harm. As she made her way through the aisle, gasps of horror erupted from the audience. A nasty catfight was about to begin.

  Regardless of this spectacle, the auctioneer remained calm and collected at the podium, undeterred by the threat of physical violence spiraling out of control. With a casual smile, a glint in his eye, he simply nodded to two security men standing in the wings. Seconds later they swooped into the auditorium just in time to drag both women, who were now kicking and screaming, out of the auditorium before the brawl escalated any further.

  This was getting to be too much, Elizabeth thought as she sat there debating whether or not to leave the auction. After experiencing this kind of behavior at work, watching these two obnoxious women fight over a tea set wasn't the reason she'd decided to come and bid in the first place. Perhaps, she'd made a mistake by coming here. Slowly, she rose from her seat on the verge of walking out when the announcement stopped her in her tracks. Elizabeth sank back down in her seat.

  Ah, yes, it had everyone's attention, now, delicately placed on a black velvet display. Even from a distance the gold and orange hues of amber sent tiny beams of refracted light shooting out into the auditorium. Maybe it was her imagination or her mind playing tricks on her but the rays seemed to be shooting at her, blinding her view. Before she could blink, the first bid had been placed, followed by another.

  She needed to move quickly. She rose from her seat and in a clear crisp voice offered half the amount she had with her without any backup plan or strategy in mind.

  "Two thousand dollars!” she shouted.

  It was a bold move, foolish too, because she didn't have a back-up plan. Making suggestions where other people might invest was one thing, but using your own money to bid when the odds were heavily stacked against you was another matter. Yet, if she ever hoped to win, now wasn't the time to be skittish.

  For a moment, she gazed out at the crowded audience. Scanning a series of faces who would challenge her offer? But, so far, silence was the only contender; no one made a move or seemed likely to. Finally, Elizabeth's eyes settled on a few rows located directly in the center of the auditorium. Several people in the audience had begun to whisper among themselves. As she observed them Elizabeth wondered what had suddenly held them transfixed, yet animated at the same time.

  Meanwhile, near the front of the auditorium, Jared Bentley, who had been steadily conversing on his cell and texting during the previous commotion, quite unexpectedly, stood. With a wave of his finger, his deep voice immediately capturing everyone's attention as well as few sighs in the audience, easily demolished the amount she'd bid with one striking blow, never giving the gesture any real significance.

  "Three thousand."

  Elizabeth was devastated. Her heart sank deep into her chest, the pit of her stomach growing more intense by the minute. Now, the likelihood of her winning the heirloom was more hopeless than ever. Honestly, what did she expect? What could've prompted her to pursue such an idea in the first place when deep down she knew she didn't stand a chance against these people to begin with?

  As Jared slyly peered over at his competition, smirking and giving her the proverbial ‘once over’ before returning to his Blackberry, it was clear she wasn't worth a second thought.

  It was offensive, condescending in a way that probably most people sitting in the audience would've condoned if they'd only been aware of the meager amount of money she actually earned. This gesture alone riled her to her such a degree that she was prepared to throw down the gauntlet, screw the costs. Immediately, her hand went up. The entire amount of her savings was bid, never considering just how hard she'd scrimped and saved; funds that were originally intended for a down payment on a piece of real estate.

  "Five thousand!” she countered.

  Out of the corner of her eye, at the moment, it looked as if her opponent was too, distracted by his Blackberry. Elizabeth held her breath; prayed time would pass quickly.

  "Any other offers for this rare piece of history?” the auctioneer said when no one in the audience countered her offer. “Going once, going twice, sold to the young lady at the back for five thousand dollars!"

  In that instant Jared Bentley raised his head, his confidence withering away to pure shock: what had just transpired was awkward, embarrassing for a man of his stature.

  Elizabeth thought that stumped look was priceless in itself, definitely a keeper whenever she might be feeling depressed about her own prospects for the future. It wasn't everyday she outbid the savviest on Wall Street. It was hard not to bask in the victory. But she didn't gloat either. Jared Bentley looked riled up anyway, even without her interference. He swiveled around in his seat, scowling when he saw the winner of the auction smiling demurely back at him.

  Even from a distance, Elizabeth could tell, he was the kind of man incapable of being a good sport: the result of getting his way all the time. In fact, he'd probably never lost to anyone before. Well, there was a first time for everything. On closer scrutiny Elizabeth decided that Jared Bentley would learn to cope with this discovery soon enough. It was probably best not to give him, or the sheer outrage he surely must be feeling, a chance to express itself. The fact that she'd won fair and square without social status or clout acted like a straight shot of adrenaline boosting her overall confidence. She quickly rose from her seat, averting her eyes while she slipped into line with the others making their way out of the auditorium. When she reached the last row, she glanced back at the podium. Jared Bentley was still seated at the front of the auditorium; his back turned. For a very brief moment, she felt twang of guilt.

  The feeling faded by the time she reached the crowded hallway. Auction-goers, those glorified, rich patrons, had no intention of leaving the premises anytime soon, lingering while they chatted amongst themselves in line. Time meant nothing to folks who could afford everything including making others wait before walking a few paces ahead.

  Really, the most she could do was glare at them. Gradually Elizabeth was able to endure the slow trek to yet another long line where the winners stood waiting to retrieve their prizes. Luckily, that line seemed to move rather swiftly. After collecting her precious heirloom with its black velvet sachet from the adjoining room where the collectibles were held, Elizabeth carefully stashed the ring in her purse and followed the noisy crowd into the hallway, again, this time leading to the lobby.

  Call it intuition, but suddenly her strides quickened, their momentum gaining along the parquet as she pushed he
r way through groups of people just standing around in the lobby. In that instant, she could almost feel someone's presence coming up from behind, a figure mirroring her sense of direction, stalking its prey, faster than she was able to change her mind about which direction to follow. Subsequently a debate ensued against her better judgment. Should she stop now or continue walking out the door?

  This was ridiculous. She abruptly came to a halt near the doorway, gazing at the floor. But, as she slowly turned around, the fine leather shoes that were now standing right beside her made her gasp. Lifting her gaze, her stalker stood in plain sight; Jared Bentley's dark eyes were steadily burning a hole right through hers, their dark intensity intimidating every nerve ending, causing her to flinch involuntarily. Elizabeth detested not being able to control her expression nor reaction. It would be taken as a sign of weakness.

  For a few moments Jared tried to make sense of it all; what had happened in the auditorium versus the female standing in front of him now. Honestly, he hadn't expected to find her the slightest bit interesting or polished, for that matter. In fact, he could've sworn from where he'd sat, she appeared rather ordinary, too subdued for his tastes. But face-to-face, the radiance was breathtaking, natural and uncomplicated in comparison to the usual creatures sashaying or slithering deliberately in front of him, seductive tactics that he found such a yawn. At times it was insulting for a man so skilled in the art of strategy to stand by and watch women employ seductive tactics at these pompous events, aiming to catch his eye.

  But then again, first impressions were part of the mystery of chasing women. What was required was a calculated plan of attack, just like the companies he overtook. Still, how could he possibly have missed it? He usually prided himself on his accuracy assessing women. He considered himself a worldly connoisseur who had sampled a wide spectrum when the desire or occasion suited him. Either he was slipping or this one looked like she'd been recently been plucked from some grand institution, a Harvard or Princeton alumni, perhaps. She was younger, probably naive as hell and a tempting combination he wasn't likely to resist: a delightful piece of cake. And, yet, the outcome would set his passion upright ablaze solving the temporary problem he'd been experiencing, lately: boredom in his current relationships, if you were presumptuous to call them that. Realistically, his conquests were more likened to brief interludes. He was no longer able to settle for a myriad of excuses he'd concocted when the affair fizzled, failing to ignite his desire. No, that lie wouldn't hold anymore. Something essential was definitely lacking in his relationships with women, a kind of warmth and honesty that wasn't as easily accessible as many thought it might be.