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  Grinning to himself at his foreseen conquest somewhere on the horizon, Jared immediately took a step forward and introduced himself to his prey. “Congratulations,” he remarked, casually extending his hand.

  Elizabeth took two steps back, which was a mistake. Now she found herself pinned against a wall, their body's inches away. His dark eyes was enough to raise tiny goose bumps on her forearms and there was nowhere to escape or distract him from noticing that fact. As her palm met his, she quickly glanced down, noting how significantly larger it was than hers. His handshake was firm, confident, like he'd just closed a deal of some kind.

  "Thank you, Mr. Bentley,” she replied, all too aware of their awkward intimacy.

  So, she did know who he was, Jared thought to himself, proud of his station in life. Why shouldn't she? It wasn't like he was unknown, after all. He had power and money where it really mattered in the world and made a difference, at foreign markets and the New York Stock Exchange.

  Elizabeth hesitated slightly before continuing, “Elizabeth Lowell. I'm very familiar with your company, Bentley Industries,"

  "I see. Stock trader?"

  "Financial analyst,” she said, knowing full well she was stretching the truth.

  Nodding, Jared brushed aside his amorous thoughts for the moment and decided it was time to get down to brass tacks: the purpose of his pursuit.

  "Well, then I'm sure you're aware of the ring's estimated value. It's a rare heirloom and I'm prepared to offer you triple that amount, right now” he said, confidently reaching into his jacket and taking out his checkbook.

  Elizabeth drew a blank expression. “You're serious?"

  Jared never bothered to look up and continued writing out the amount, stating the obvious. “Whenever there's money involved you can rest assured, I am."

  Elizabeth wasn't sure what to make of Jared Bentley or his proposition. This man actually believed, after all she'd been through, he could just buy her out, throw down some trumped up fist-full of dollars and her desire would just shrivel up and wither away. But, more disturbing was that he'd probably used this tactic regularly, on everyone from domestic staff to the board members of the corporations he consistently dismantled. In fact, he'd probably figured she was too desperate or uneducated to decipher the hidden meaning behind his disregard for anyone lower than his own status. To him, she was a ditz who would stand by passively while he stole her prized possession. Too bad he was misinformed.

  Elizabeth plainly stated the facts. “Mr. Bentley, I have no intention of selling this beautiful ring to you or anyone else, right now.” There was a long drawn-out silence. What he was experiencing now was as unusual as it was unsettling: an outright refusal. It caught him off-guard. Jared stopped writing, lifted his head: A hard, incredulous stare that extended to the full length of her tall, sinuous limbs, a figure that fascinated him at once while drawing his attention away from the anger rising. It took him a few moments to regain his equilibrium, to find a means of articulating the intensity of his emotions.

  "I can hardly believe you're in a position to turn down a substantial offer, Ms. Lowell,” he challenged

  It was awkward, the tension mounting with every second that passed. Neither said a word, each daring the other to cross the line between offense and outright defiance. Elizabeth had all she could do to maintain her serene facade. But, inwardly, hell would freeze over before she'd back down. Of course, she'd never give him the satisfaction. She had reached her limit.

  Elizabeth had had a week's full of infallibility: egos resisting sound financial advice and belittling her for her expertise. Clients demanding she do irrational things, like some financial wizard with a magical wand that extended beyond mortal dollars and sense, frustrating events where she had to be careful not cause offense. But, what right did this man, regardless of his power and influence, have to dictate to her about the item she'd just paid for with her hard earned money? Jared Bentley required a serious reality-check, one that she was only too happy to provide. Squaring her shoulders, Elizabeth plowed ahead.

  "Not everything in this world is for sale, Mr. Bentley.” She said casually, undeterred by the reaction she knew it would provoke.

  His eyes narrowed at her audacity. Jared could hardly believe his own ears. She was actually denying him what rightfully should be his. And to think he was actually paying her a compliment by being so generous.

  "You stand corrected Ms. Lowell. Everything in this world is negotiable. You'd be foolish to think otherwise. Perhaps you've failed to notice that I've built an empire on that theory alone. But, here's an insider's tip. The trick is in finding the right price. Everyone and everything has one."

  "I guess from your lofty perspective that may be true. But, then again, I'm not too acquainted with people being at my beck and call or lying to me because of my status. I simply prefer the truth. Once again, the answer is no. Excuse me,” she said, squeezing herself between the tiny space that stood between them.

  Jared watched her head through the crowd over to the other side of the lobby. Although he was pissed off, he had to admit there was something powerfully appealing in the way his ego had just been assaulted, his generous offer carelessly kicked to the curb with absolutely no consideration for who he was or his position. Intelligent, full of conviction, she probably wasn't too aware of the effect she had on men either, in particular him. Like all good investments, Elizabeth Lowell would require some further research, a notion that was proving highly provocative at the moment. When he thought about it, perhaps his preferences had become too stale. They needed a good jolt, an even better romp in the right direction. It might be worth the effort to unravel that polite reserve and persuade those honorable convictions of just how the real world operated. Jared took a moment to savor her departure and came to a decision as Elizabeth finally exited the auction house. For the rest of the afternoon his appointments were rescheduled. He needed the time to plan.

  Meanwhile, outside of Crystal's it had finally began to rain, the heavy downpour flooding the streets with huge puddles, which was causing all kinds of havoc within mid-town traffic and pedestrians. Since she'd been in such a rush to get to the auction earlier that morning Elizabeth soon realized she'd forgotten the most important apparatus; her umbrella. Drops drizzled down her face as her eyeliner ran profusely. Then, the up-do came trundling down. All during this time, when her appearance was being smeared, Jared Bentley's comments raged on in her head. She just couldn't seem to shake them.

  It infuriated her to no end that there were actually folks walking the face of the earth who truly believed that they could buy and sell their way through life, through other people's lives and in the process depreciate everything and everyone. Just the thought made her stomach queasy.

  There was a café across the street. She quickly scurried from bumper to bumper, crossing the street against the traffic, and sought shelter under a cumbersome awning, which extended a little beyond the sidewalk. Whipping out her cell, she rang for a cab. While she waited she hoped her suit wouldn't be ruined for good. Just as she slipped her cell back inside its case, Elizabeth's gaze was drawn to the street, where a long black limo came pulling up to the curb and then parked in front of Crystal's. The driver, dressed in uniform complete with cap, got out, opened the rear door just as Jared Bentley, hidden beneath a black umbrella, came trotting down the stairs and quickly slid inside.

  Before she had time to think, Elizabeth spun around and pretended to read the menu specials posted on a chalkboard in the window. She prayed he wouldn't notice her standing there looking disheveled. Maybe he'd be too distracted by his Blackberry, that handy little device that helped her seize her opportunity. He probably was the type that couldn't function, do anything or go anywhere without that gadget. She stopped analyzing her predicament when her cab suddenly pulled up to the curb and the driver rolled down the window.

  "Lowell?"

  Elizabeth nodded and then quickly hopped inside.

  Grateful to be in a
warm and dry place, she stared out the window aimlessly as raindrops obscured her vision. The limousine hadn't left, yet. It was still parked in front of the auction house.

  The taxi easily merged into traffic and sped away from the luxury. Elizabeth relaxed into her seat, thankful to be out of the awkward position of running into him, again. She certainly didn't need to be cross-examined by someone who apparently considered himself far above her. Jared Bentley may be talk of the town on Wall Street but, outside of that notoriety, Elizabeth found nothing appealing in the ruthless man behind the empire. No, she'd rather forget about their introduction altogether. Elizabeth unzipped her purse, opened the black sachet and held on tightly to her asset. Despite all the obstacles: gravitas, notoriety and stature standing in her way, ridiculing her desire to obtain something clearly out of her realm, she'd got what she came for.

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  Chapter Two

  Five flights of stairs stood between the pavement and the efficiency where Elizabeth lived in Greenwich Village, a charming early nineteenth century brownstone. From the outside it gave the appearance of turn-of-the-century elegance; rare antiques stashed away in cluttered rooms with sprawling oriental carpets and bookshelves full of intellectual and artistic pursuits. However, that wasn't the case with Elizabeth's studio efficiency. Early on, she'd opted not to waste time or money decorating on something she didn't actually own, mainly because it served one purpose; it was in close proximity to Tri-Star Investments where she worked. After being hired, she searched for what seemed like months to find affordable housing. She finally came upon the unit through an old college classmate whose parents had decided to rent the place while they packed up their goods at their regular residence on Park Avenue and move to the spacious New England countryside. Because of the connection the place had been offered at a significantly lower price considering what the rents had been going for in the neighborhood, which was traditionally inhabited mostly by upscale residents.

  But it could hardly be called luxury. Sparsely furnished, the medium sized room consisted of a queen size sleeper sofa, a small kitchenette table with two chairs, a tiny refrigerator, stove and tiny bathroom. Still, it was a place to call home if you worked in the city and didn't want to deal with the hassle of a long distance commute. At first, it seemed like the ideal solution. But, that was two years ago. By, now, the convenience and close quarters had gradually worn thin. Mostly, Elizabeth found herself bringing home the work projects she'd been assigned. Only the lowest on the totem pole at Tri-Star Investments was privileged enough to do the onerous task: creating, organizing, alphabetizing and reactivating old files. After juggling three part-time jobs to help pay for her tuition and enormous school loans for Harvard, this was what her MBA ultimately came down to: labels and addresses. Elizabeth had been assigned to neatly organize their inactive accounts, and then the associates and senior analysts, folks with far more seniority would then pursue them. Since the project paid overtime, it provided Elizabeth with a way to boost the meager salary she'd been offered. Given the current economic downturn and the precarious position of her job it seemed almost counterproductive to complain.

  As Elizabeth opened the door to her apartment, she had only one thing on her mind now: her savings. She needed to replenish it and fast. Stepping out of the wet vintage two- piece, she quickly hung it out to dry before setting about tackling her files and the proposal she'd be presenting to the board members the following day.

  After dinner, it was somewhere around ten o'clock when Elizabeth finally decided to call it quits for the evening. A slight headache kept her on the brink of ruining what was left of the rest of her evening. She'd completed enough files to stay ahead of the game and would hand them in along with the presentation, the one that might convince the higher-ups to actually elevate her position and assign her work that was truly worthy. Tomorrow's meeting with the board members and upper management would determine the outcome of six months of analyzing Tri-Star's business forecast against the current declining stocks. Elizabeth had formulated a plan that would offset the losses and boost profit without raising interest rates. It was a brilliant idea and she'd finally received the go-ahead from her supervisor, Mr. Gobbel.

  Setting aside the stack of files, Elizabeth turned off her laptop, rose from her chair and walked over to the other side of the room and undressed. Exhausted, she finally crawled into bed, drawing the covers and comforter around her shoulders. Once her head hit the pillow she soon drifted off to sleep.

  Several hours later, in that quiet place where muted shapes and shadows dance in the delicate realms of a vivid imagination, suddenly an evil vision sprang forth and made her gasp for air. The starkness of the image, the shape and jagged edges were hard to define, even harder to describe with mere words. What she saw made absolutely no sense, nor did the irritating scratchiness starting at the back of her throat, a series of coughs that pried her drowsy lids apart, much to her own surprise. Her throat felt dry, her mouth parched as she sat upright in her bed wondering if what's she'd just witnessed was real or imagined. The details were too fuzzy and the fact that she seemed to be experiencing flu symptoms didn't add clarity, either.

  But her curiosity wouldn't let it go. Reluctantly, Elizabeth rose from her bed and sluggishly fumbled her way to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator door, she grabbed a gallon of water. The pallid light from the refrigerator shone on her purse, still sitting on the kitchen counter. In her urgency to tackle her workload earlier, she'd completely forgotten to put the ring away, her hard-won prize that made it all worthwhile. Elizabeth reached inside for the black velvet sachet and held the amber gem in her palm a few moments. Caressing the smooth contours of the stone she realized it was no ordinary feat to outbid the one person the rest of Wall Street looked up to, the beast that sat at the helm. Maybe there was such a thing as justice in this world, Elizabeth thought, grinning as she returned the ring to its sachet.

  It was then that something caught her eye, stopping her cold and catapulting her senses into high alert. For there were several drops leading up to the kitchen windowsill. Quickly flipping the light switch, Elizabeth reeled at the horror: the sight of fresh blood drops sitting on the counter; streaks leading to an open window which she'd sworn was closed prior to her falling asleep. The curtains were also stained, pulled severely to one side. The intruder had broken into her apartment while she was asleep and then exited down the fire escape. Yet, her purse had been undisturbed—Odd.

  Off went the lights when she realized anyone on the street could see her from the outside. Cautiously peering out the open window, she saw fragments: an outline, a strange lone figure limping down the dark alleyway. Whoever it was had been severely wounded. Nearing the end of the alley, a sedan was waiting by the curb. She could hear the low growl of the engine. Elizabeth watched as the person climbed into the rear of the automobile. From a distance, the license plate was hard to make out, nearly impossible. But she had to do something. Just as she reached for her cell, the sound of screeching tires signaled a getaway already in progress. It was too late. Before she could dial, the vehicle was gone.

  Calling the police should have been her first priority, but instinct made he call the one person in close proximity who'd be able to calm her fears. The firm grip she had on events had severely hampered her thinking, her perspective steadily slipping with each passing moment. Elizabeth's hands were quivering as she dialed the number. But, when the other party picked up, she let out a sigh of relief. Thank God, she hadn't gone away for the weekend as planned.

  "It's kinda late, don't you think, since you have your presentation tomorrow?

  "I know. I'm sorry, but..."

  "It's alright. So how did you make out at the auction this afternoon? I bet it was packed"

  A lilting satirical tone made her voice seem even more comforting to Elizabeth. Madeline always had a way making outrageous desires seem humorously attainable, although she never laughed at Elizabeth outright. How coul
d she? Madeline Matherson was a Harvard alumnus, a sworn sister of Beta Delta Phi who encouraged all its sorority members to challenge the status quo of male-dominated professions, knocking down walls that had discriminated against women for years. Back then, Madeline had taken Elizabeth under her wing, showed her the ropes, the way the campus operated, even helping her choose her major. Little did they both know that, years later, Madeline would again guide her steps, this time at Tri-Star Investments where she was supervisor in the acquisition's department.

  "Believe it or not, that's the least of my concerns right, now."

  "Don't tell me you won."

  "I did."

  "You are one lucky bitch, Lizzy. Then, again, why would I expect anything less from a Beta Delphi.” Her cackle was short-lived, though.

  "Someone broke into my place while I was sleeping."

  "What! Are you alright?"

  "Honestly I'm not sure."

  "Well did you call the police?"

  "No, not yet."

  Madeline knew Elizabeth's mental processes must be in some sort of shock. For someone who always processed information logically and analyzed everything under the sun this occurrence must have stymied her reaction. She needed a guiding hand to walk her through her paces, the inevitable process of investigation to ensue. A preliminary query was needed.