“Girls, give me a moment.” Stijn turned to his girlfriends and made a shooing motion. One dared to kiss his cheek, and then all three scampered away like naughty children. Which, given the age difference between them and their boyfriend, they very well could have been. Jesus. Once the women had left, Stijn’s calculating gaze returned to Asher. “I’m sorry, but I’m confused. What exactly did you say that I did for you?”
This was damned odd. How could the man not remember giving him five million dollars? “I was having some financial trouble last year and you gave me an endowment to bail my company out.” When the man’s face showed not a flicker of recognition, Asher began to wonder if he’d somehow gotten the information wrong. The letter he’d received had come from Dutchman letterhead, though. There was no mistaking the company’s rather lewd logo of a woman with legs spread over the M in Dutchman.
“I do not recall this,” Stijn said slowly. “What was the amount?”
“Five million.”
The elder man’s eyes narrowed at him. “I would know if I gave five million out to a young upstart company.”
His distaste for the man grew, and Asher had to fight to keep the friendly smile on his face. “Nevertheless, I wanted to thank you personally and let you know I was willing to do the same for you.”
That got a reaction from him. Stijn’s pale eyes flickered with interest. He glanced around at the partygoers to make sure no one was close by, and then leaned in. “What is it you think you know about me?” The man’s accent grew heavier.
“I imagine since we both received the Prospectus award, that you need it for the same reasons I did.”
Stijn’s nostrils flared. “This is not a good place to talk. But I am interested in your proposition. Shall we meet tomorrow?” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to Asher.
He took it, slightly mystified as Stijn nodded at him and then abruptly left, off to greet another man in a tuxedo. Immediately, the three Easter-egg-colored girlfriends flocked close once more, though one kept shooting him longing looks. Well, that was damned odd. Asher tucked the card into his pocket. It was almost as if the man had no idea what Asher was talking about—
Oh, fuck.
Gretchen’s voice wafted through his mind. She’s carried a torch for you since, like, grade school.
Greer.
Stijn’s only daughter. Other than an employee of the company, she would be the only one with access to Dutchman letterhead. The money hadn’t come from Stijn after all. It had come from his daughter, who had ample money of her own sitting in multiple trust fund accounts from both parents.
Asher wiped his mouth dry, shocked.
He was such an idiot. He’d never questioned why Greer’s father’s company—a fucking titty magazine—would send a telecom company five million dollars to help him out. He’d just been awash in his own misery, his life falling to pieces around him, and hadn’t stopped to ask questions. He’d taken the money and righted his sinking ship and never questioned the gift.
Greer had never said a thing.
And how had he repaid her? A drunk fuck in the gardens. No wonder she wouldn’t return his calls. He’d hurt her feelings and destroyed their friendship, and until this very moment, he’d had no idea just how much the friendship meant to him. Until they were gone, he hadn’t realized how much their lunches had been such an important part of his week. He’d always thought of Greer as sweet and pleasant to be around, and he liked her as a person. She was quiet, but smart and quick. She’d always made him think, and her observations had made him smile many a time.
Now that he knew what she’d done for him, his affection had grown only deeper. Now that she was no longer in his life? He missed her with a strange ache that he had no idea how to fill.
He had billions now, thanks to her help. It wasn’t the amount of money that humbled him—though that was pretty fucking impressive on its own—it was that she trusted in him enough to fork it out, no questions asked. Greer had been such a true friend to him in his time of need.
It only reinforced his need to find her. She had to be at the party tonight. He’d watch and wait for her to arrive. Her father would be giving a speech soon, and Greer would surely be present for that. He found his place card at one of the tables in the center of the room, a few hungry-looking women already seated there. This party was full of girls on the lookout for a sugar daddy. Again, not surprising given the man they were there tonight to celebrate, but the avid, calculating looks in their eyes made Asher’s skin crawl a little. He plucked his card off the table and switched it with one at the far end of the cluster of tables so he could watch for Greer.
An hour passed. The party was in full swing, people crowding in and getting tipsy. The Dutchman girls were everywhere, breasts exposed as they passed out drinks and posed for photos. How had someone as quiet and unobtrusive as Greer managed to come from an environment such as this? It didn’t make sense. People stopped to chat with him, but he kept the conversations brief, his gaze scanning constantly for the one person he wanted to find. Eventually, people migrated to the tables and the editor of Prospectus moved to the podium and began to speak.
Asher’s gaze moved over the crowd. Stijn was seated at the front table with his three girlfriends, all gazing raptly up at the speaker. There were a few other people Asher didn’t recognize at Stijn’s table, but not his daughter. Damn it, where was she?
As one speech ended and people began to clap, Stijn moved toward the podium. As he got up, Asher’s body stiffened. There was Greer, seated directly behind her father at the next table. There was no mistaking the long fall of dark, silky hair and the big, chunky glasses that swallowed up so much of her face. Her brown skin seemed to glow against the pale blue of her low-cut bodice, and her arms were bare.