Mr. Corporate (Mister #3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

afford any more mistakes.”
    I’m not the fuckup. What kind of drugs is he on? He’s the fuckup. But I don’t stop. He’s crazy. We all know he’s crazy. I got what I needed and I’m gonna nail down Wallace Arlington tomorrow. This whole deal will be one and done and then I can get back to building my global empire.
     
     

Chapter Five - Victoria
     

    I met Weston Conrad the night before the night before the big night. You’d think that it might get lost in the hustle and bustle of what happened over the next two days, but it didn’t. Because the night before the night before the big night was the best one of my life.
    Even up to this very moment.
    No other night, before or since, will ever be able to compare.
    He wasn’t Mr. Corporate when we met. He was just Mr. Conrad.
    He wasn’t sweet, he wasn’t particularly smart—I mean, everyone at Brown was smart, so I’m just saying he didn’t stand out—and he wasn’t particularly motivated.
    But he was very drunk.
    I found him sitting under a tree in front of the administration building holding a bottle of whiskey wrapped up in a paper bag. He was wearing a suit, was covered in leaves, and he was singing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot . His voice was deep, mimicking the Johnny Cash version perfectly.
    He was a cliché of desperation and defeat.
    I joined in from a tree nearby and we sang that song together.
    That’s how I met Weston Conrad. The night his world really fell apart, although I still don’t really understand what all that melancholy was about. That was forty-eight hours before he was accused of a crime that would test my limits and my faith.
    I always knew he was innocent. It was not me who questioned his morality and virtues. It was him.
    We talked all night long. I never once joined him under his tree, just kept my distance about twenty feet away from under mine. And I didn’t even know who he was until daylight broke and he was almost sober.
    “Let me walk you home,” he said. “It’s an ugly, fucked-up world out there and I’d kill myself if anything happened to you on your way home.” He said it like it was fact. And looking back, it sounds a little bit like a premonition.
    I said yes, of course. By this time, I knew he was handsome. I knew something had gone terribly wrong with his life, and I knew that he was planning something and my appearance several hours before had interrupted those plans.
    But I still don’t quite comprehend his desperate situation that night. Why he was sitting under the tree in front of administration. And why his world was falling apart even before that girl accused him of that crime.
    He said he was broke, now that I think back. Hmmm. Funny how I never thought about that little detail ever again. Or maybe not so funny. Life got weird, and complicated, and messy.
    Well, he isn’t broke now, so I guess prosperity begets prosperity. Isn’t that what they say? Money makes money? Power gains power? It’s a never-ending cycle of predetermination.
    When we got to the house I shared with my roommates he leaned against the porch railing and looked at me.
    I was waiting for him to try something. Kiss me or grope me like most men did at the end of a first date.
    But he didn’t. He just looked. Not leered, which again was atypical.
    And I told myself that he was hungover and it really wasn’t a date. Because it made me feel… a little… insecure, I guess.
    I have been beautiful all my life. I expect men to treat me a certain way. So when Weston Conrad didn’t meet those expectations I was thrown.
    Instead, he said, “Thank you.”
    And I said, my heart beating faster than it should, “For what?”
    “Saving me.” Then he turned away and walked off.
    “What’s your name?” I called after him.
    “It doesn’t matter,” he said, never looking back. “I know yours.”
    He was waiting for me after my four o’clock class that afternoon, looking more handsome and more put-together.
    “Miss Arias,” he said,