Rock Me Faster (Licks of Leather #4) - Jenna Jacob Page 0,44
shrimp or scallops, worn makeup—except tonight—and didn’t think twice about chasing me down on a busy sidewalk in a dangerous, unfamiliar city alone.
I’d unearth the truth soon, but right now, I simply wanted to bask in the awe-inspiring delight of watching my innocent fake girlfriend—glowing with confidence—refuse to cower or back down from my snag-nasty mother.
“You mean your narcissistic shrine?”
Sylvia actually growled at my jab.
I wanted to laugh. Instead, I lifted my chin. “Why, yes…yes, I did, because she’s an amazing young woman with a heart of pure gold. If you bothered to climb down off your high horse, you could learn a lot from her. Like…how to be civil.”
Harmony sent me a shy smile of thanks while Sylvia tossed her nose in the air and inhaled sharply. “Why must you always go out of your way to disappoint me?”
A humorless scoff slid off my tongue. “I’ve asked that same question my entire life about you, Mother Dearest.” I clenched my jaw. “Let’s cut the bullshit, Sylvia. Why are we here?”
“Do I need a reason to spend time with my son? It’s been over ten years, Rosner.”
“Yet in all those years, of all the times I’ve come to New York to perform, you picked today to show up at my hotel and invite me to dinner.”
“I tried to visit you at that horrid hospital, but they refused me…refused your own mother, who was worried sick about you.”
I shook my head. “You haven’t spent a single second of your life worrying about me, Sylvia. Like I said before, cut the bullshit. Why are we here?”
“If you bothered to look at your quarterly investment statements, you’d know that the market is spiraling downward.” She heaved a heavy sigh. “Private companies, like your father’s, God rest his soul, are taking a major hit. Sales are down. Our investors are starting to grumble…whispering hurtful, hateful things.”
Unmoved by her performance of persecution, I knew exactly what she wanted from me—money. Not that she needed a handout. Sylvia had amassed multiple millions, but I knew she had every penny wrapped up in the market. She was quite capable of saving the factory and the investors, but she’d take a hit in penalties if she began pulling funds from her portfolio. Sylvia wouldn’t spend a dime unless it suited her needs.
Leaning back in my chair, I watched Harmony drag her fork through her food while I silently waited for Sylvia to drop the money bomb.
“Those ungrateful, greedy bastards are implying that I’m living above my means,” she shrieked. “Have you ever heard anything so absurd?”
I glanced at my plate and nearly laughed. The woman had easily shelled out fifty-grand or more to impress us with Sebastian’s culinary prowess. Yet she was miffed at the investors who’d fronted the money that enabled her to live in the lap of luxury.
“I know you’re not heavily invested in long-term stocks, and—”
“How do you know that?”
She turned her head and shrugged. “I might have called Martin.”
Martin Edelman of Edelman Investments had been the family broker since before I was born. It had made sense to continue using his services when I became an adult, but it was past time I found a broker of my own.
“How much did it cost you to persuade Martin to divulge proprietary information about my finances?”
“Are you hinting that I bribed the man?”
“The shoe fits.”
Sylvia waved my comment away. “I don’t want to argue with you, Rosner. I need your help.”
“My help?”
“Yes. The facts are simple. You have liquidity. I don’t. I need to borrow two and a half million to shut those ghastly investors up and keep the factory running.”
Darting a glance at Harmony, her eyes were wide, and I nearly chuckled when she grabbed her glass of champagne and took a big gulp.
I let Sylvia’s words hang in the air as I took another bite of veal and purposely chewed ever so slowly. Sebastian was indeed a culinary genius, but in the end, a piece of veal was still just a piece of veal.
“Are you going to make me beg?” Sylvia asked impatiently. “From what I hear, you have a penchant for women who fall to their knees and beg like dogs.”
A curious frown settled over Harmony’s face.
“You’re not helping your cause or gaining sympathy, Mother,” I drawled.
“I don’t want your sympathy, Rosner,” she barked, slamming her hand so hard on the table that Harmony jolted. “I want the money.”
Lifting the napkin from my lap, I wiped a corner of my mouth, draped it