by Lola Gabriel
But it was a life he loved, one he had worked tirelessly for, mastering almost every aspect of the law. He was licensed to practice in more than thirty countries. He was fluent in ten languages and could assimilate in any surrounding, despite his towering frame and piercing blue eyes.
From the outside, people envied his opulent lifestyle and thriving law practice. He was brilliant and charming, a deadly combination in the field, but he did not display the arrogance that one would come to expect. He was known in and out of his circles for his sense of humor and charitable works, but no matter how many interviews were done, no one could ever quite capture the essence of who Anders truly was.
Connor weaved the car through traffic, expertly steering clear of construction and gridlock before pulling up to the Plaza.
“I will circle around until you’re ready, Mr. Williams,” he told his boss as Anders stepped onto the sidewalk.
“No need, Connor. I’m staying here tonight.”
It was all Anders needed to say, for Connor, like the rest of his staff, asked no questions. And Anders provided no explanations. He much preferred to keep them guessing.
He’d heard the rumors circulating about himself: that he was a closeted gay man. He assumed the speculation had been spawned by the lack of serious relationships he had maintained over the years, but it didn’t bother the attorney.
They can believe anything they want. It doesn’t make it so.
Sometimes he wondered just how shocked the media would be to learn how highly sexual of a person he was. He needed to outlet the stress of his day-to-day life somewhere, after all. Just because he had not settled down with one woman in more than ten years didn’t mean he didn’t like women.
Perhaps it was all becoming tedious, meeting the same vapid women in the same rich circles. No matter how much traveling he did or how much he dabbled in various aspects of culture, he could not shake the feeling that he had seen it all, done it all, and he had several shirts to prove it.
For once, he wished he could find someone to challenge him past the cork pop of a bottle of Dom.
He strolled toward the entranceway to the Plaza, catching a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the spotless glass before the doorman reached to open it for him. His thick auburn hair was swept back from his face in a stylish wave, accenting his regal bone structure and glinting crystal eyes. The tan he had acquired from his recent trip to South Africa remained, the bronze glow popping against his white button down.
Slipping inside the lobby, Anders unbuttoned the jacket of his suit and removed it, loosening the blue tie from his neck. He was looking forward to a stiff bourbon and a moment to unwind after the day he’d had.
Making his way to the Champagne Bar, he slid onto a barstool and waited for the bartender, Vanessa, to approach.
“Mr. Williams!” Vanessa cried, her face lighting up when she saw him. “What a rare pleasure, sir!”
“It must be exceedingly rare if you’re back to calling me ‘mister’ and ‘sir’ again,” he chuckled. “It’s good to see you, Vanessa. You look well.”
“You too! Double bourbon, neat?”
“Please.”
Vanessa turned to reach for a tumbler, pouring two fingers of the brown liquid into the glass. Glancing at him coyly, she added another splash for effect.
The oldest bartending trick in the book; always make it look like you’re adding more than the allotted amount, so he thinks you’re his favorite, Anders sighed. Christ, even the bartenders are becoming boring.
“Truthfully, you haven’t been around in so long, I thought maybe you had left the city,” she confessed, and Anders laughed.
“Not on your life,” he replied. “There is nowhere else for me than New York. And trust me, I’ve been everywhere.”
“I’m glad to hear it, sir. Some of us would miss you around here if you did leave.” Vanessa’s brown eyes twinkled as she placed the drink on a coaster before him, a flirtatious smile touching her full lips. She was a pretty girl.
Anders had always been a sucker for big, brown eyes. But he also preferred his women more direct, not oozing with innuendos and silly flirtations.
Anders lifted the glass in silent toast to her before turning his back to study the bar. It was true; he had not been to the Plaza bar in a long while, but that had not been by design. Business had kept him abroad, and when he had been in New York, he had been inundated with other issues. Not to mention that there were much better places for a man to go drinking in the sleepless city, but the Plaza had certain things that appealed to him on days such as that.
It was not quite the end of the workday, and only a handful of people sat in the posh lounge, businessmen who were apparently there for the same reason as him. Soon, the women would arrive, and evening pleasures would commence as they did every night. The high-end call girls slinking into the bar in their sparkling dresses and perfectly coiffed hair.
Anders lifted the glass to his lips again and downed the rest of his bourbon, gently replacing it on the counter for Vanessa to pour another.
“Waiting for someone, Mr. Williams?” she asked slyly, and he gave her a sidelong look. The teasing note in her voice was not lost on him.
Another one who believes she knows what goes on inside my mind.
“Yes,” he replied evenly. “But she has yet to arrive.”
“Well, if I knew you were waiting for me, I wouldn’t keep you waiting,” the bartender told him coquettishly, and Anders swallowed a smile.
You would if you knew what I was really doing here, he thought, but of course, he kept his thoughts to himself.
“Thank you, Vanessa,” he said as she placed his new drink on the bar. She leaned on her elbows, smashing her chubby cheeks against her open palms as if she was a small child, waiting to learn a secret.
“You know, Mr. Williams—”
“Anders,” he corrected automatically. She wasn’t one of his employees, after all. And two can play her silly game, even if it is mind-numbing.
“Anders,” she tried again. “If you’re single, I have a friend who I think you would get along with famously.”
“Really?” he asked dryly. “What’s she like?”
Her smile widened, and she leaned closer. “Well,” she drawled. “She’s about five-five, dark eyes and hair…”
“Sounds good so far,” Anders encouraged, wondering why he was engaging in such nonsense. I need to pass the time until Zoe gets here, he reasoned.
“She’s got a decent enough job, even though she’s not quite a lawyer.”
“She sounds incredible,” Anders lied. “When can you set it up?”
Vanessa seemed taken aback by his willingness, and she gaped at him slightly, her mouth parting.
“I—I mean, I could make a call right now,” she stuttered, but Anders had already stopped listening, his eyes trained on the busty blonde who had sauntered into the lounge.
Her hair was perfectly done in a stylish up-do, her red lipstick a stunning contrast to her pale skin. Anders was temporarily breathless by her loveliness. The picture he had seen did not do her the justice she deserved. There was a surreal quality about her, as if she had stepped off the cover of a magazine from 1968, a classic but badass beauty Anders could not help but want to entertain in carnal pleasures.
His brilliant eyes locked on her, and he silently willed her to look up.
This way, Zoe. Look at me.
As if hearing his call, she lifted her head away from the table of admiring men who seemed to be yearning for her attention and stared back at him, her blue eyes growing with interest. Even from the distance between them, he was sure she could smell the cash dripping from his pocket.
Without hesitation, she made her way toward him, her steps measured as if she’d had model training, and when she stopped at his side, Anders heard Vanessa curse under her breath and shuffle away.
“Hi,” the blonde purred. “I’m Zoe.”
“I know,” he replied, patting the sea
t on his left. “Cosmo, right?”
Her dark blonde eyebrows rose, and she cocked her head to the side as she took the seat, eyeing him speculatively. “Have we met before?”
“No.” Anders signaled Vanessa for the martini and smiled warmly at the hooker. “But I’m hoping to change that.”
She nodded slowly, warily. “A referral, then,” she concluded. “I assume your friend told you how this works?”
“I have a good idea.”
“Good. Do you have a room?”
“I do. A standing suite, in fact.” Her eyes brightened to a glow, and she grinned appreciatively.
“I thought you looked familiar. Don’t tell me,” she instructed. “You’re in politics.” Anders shook his head, studying her face closely. “Finance?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Oh… the military. I didn’t get it with the full head of gorgeous hair.”
“Not the military either, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” Zoe echoed, her lip puckering into a small pout. “Do I look like a ‘ma’am’ to you?”
“No. You look like someone I want to take upstairs and talk to all night long.”
A pink tinge touched her rouged cheeks, and Anders was amused that he had managed to make a prostitute blush with such a simple line.
“Well then, let’s go. I don’t want to keep you quivering in anticipation.”
Not when there’s money to be made tonight, Anders thought.
“Vanessa, just put these on my room,” he called flippantly as he rose to escort Zoe from her chair. The girl paused to slam down the Cosmo in one gulp before offering him a beguiling smile. “After you,” Anders said.
“Oh, you just want to watch me walk,” she giggled. “All you had to do was ask.” She lowered her voice dramatically and glanced around. “You’re paying for it, aren’t you?”
Anders didn’t reply, following the woman toward the elevators, his key card in hand. As the doors slid open, he pressed the penthouse button, and Zoe chuckled.
“You have to tell me who your friend is,” she purred. “I’ll have to remember to thank him for introducing us. It’s not every day that I find myself in such luxurious company.”
“A girl like you?” Anders replied. “I find that difficult to believe.”
The silver doors opened, leading directly into the suite, and as they closed at their backs, Zoe turned to him immediately, slipping her arms around his neck, her full lips inches from his.
“So?” she asked.
“So?”
“What would you like to do?”
“I told you,” Anders replied, smiling. “I want to spend the entire night talking.” He untangled himself from her embrace and stalked toward the bar as she stared after him, a perplexed but amused expression on her face.
“All right,” she agreed. “I like a man who doesn’t rush things.”
He gestured at the bar. “Another Cosmo? I’m not a bartender, but I can hold my own sometimes.”
“Sounds divine.” Zoe kicked off her matte pumps, tucking her manicured toes beneath her perfectly sculpted rear end as she collapsed gracefully onto the couch. “What do you want to talk about?” she asked, studying his face. “I would prefer to avoid politics or religion if you don’t mind. Nothing good can come of that, no matter what side of any wretched fence you sit.”
Anders nodded with concession, mildly amused by her observation. Maybe he had underestimated her. He doubted it, though.
She probably stole that line from one of her clients, he thought wryly.
“I had something else in mind,” he answered, sauntering toward her, a martini glass in hand.
“Thank you,” Zoe murmured. “What do you have in mind?”
Anders didn’t immediately answer, perching on the sofa beside her. Such a shame the afternoon is going to take such a turn, he thought. But what choice do I have?
“You asked me who recommended you,” he offered after a short silence. “His name is Nick Morris.”
As if a mask had been ripped from her face, Zoe’s expression contorted into a combination of fear and outrage. She slammed the drink on the marble and glass coffee table with so much force, Anders was shocked it didn’t smash, and struggled to rise to her feet against the slink of her dress.
“What the hell is this? An ambush?” she howled, backing away. “I will scream my head off until the entire NYPD is breaking down your door!”
Anders shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “That’s your choice,” he answered smoothly, taking a long sip of his drink. “But if you do that, I’ll be forced to tell them what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything! Nick framed me! He’s the prick who stole all that money, not me!”
“Zoe, I don’t have to tell you how powerful Nick Morris is. You double-crossed him in the worst way, and he is very unhappy about it. If you’re smart, you’ll tell me where the money is, and we’ll all go on our merry way. If you don’t… well, I can’t guarantee your safety.”
“Shit!” Zoe swore. “He sent you here to kill me.”
Anders was aghast at the suggestion.
“Of course not!” he snapped. “I’m an attorney, not an assassin. I’m here to talk some sense into you.”
Her sensuous mouth parted, and she exhaled as if she had been holding her breath for years. “You’re Anders Williams,” she choked. “How did I miss that?”
“Then you know I’m not here to kill you.”
“I know all about your reputation,” she spat. “You may not do the killing, but you work for the killers and thieves. Look at you now, doing Nick’s dirty work by threatening me.”
“Nick doesn’t know I’m here, Zoe,” Anders sighed, trying to keep the impatience from his voice. “He wouldn’t want me forewarning you that he’s got eyes on you.” Zoe’s face went ashen. “The choice is still yours,” Anders assured her. “But I really suggest you tell me where the money is. I will let my client know and I can probably convince him to leave well enough alone. Otherwise, you can go on the run and try to outwit men who have been in the business of destroying witnesses since the beginning of time.”
Zoe swallowed visibly, her eyes huge and terrified. “You’re really trying to help me, aren’t you?” she whispered.
“I’m trying, yes.”
Appearing defeated, she hung her head and blinked, sighing heavily. “I’ll tell you where the money is,” she muttered. “Just get him to back off.”
Anders bobbed his head agreeably, willing himself not to smile at the ridiculous simplicity of what he had done. Nope. I didn’t underestimate her at all.
“I will work my magic,” he promised, and Zoe exhaled.
“It’s hidden under the shed at my parents’ house in Newark. I dug a hole and stored most of it there, but I spent about twenty grand already.”
“I’m sure he’ll survive without it,” Anders snickered, thinking about the fifty million his client had embezzled from the hedge fund he had hacked. He wasn’t even smart enough to put it in an offshore. All he did was gloat to his “girlfriend” about it, and she promptly stole it from him.
Nick was a brilliant hacker, but he was socially inept. The only danger he posed was to himself, but Zoe didn’t need to know that. Although, if she had given it a modicum of thought, she would have realized that what Anders was saying was a fabrication. Nick still believed that Zoe loved him.
One born every minute.
“Where are you going?” Anders asked in surprise as Zoe began her way to the doors of the suite. “You can’t leave until I verify what you’ve told me.”
She eyed him angrily. “So what now? I just sit here waiting for you to come back?”
Anders shook his head and pointed at her drink.
“Now we sit here and finish our date,” he replied. “The money has waited this long. What’s one more night?”
3
When Sawyer Sylvester was a child, she was bullied relentlessly.
Growing up in the
Bible Belt, being half-Filipina was about as different as anyone in Huntsville, Alabama could expect or wrap their narrow-minded minds around. It didn’t matter to the children that she had grown up among them since infancy, nor that she was a kind-hearted, sweet child with large brown eyes and a willing smile. To them, she was a foreigner, an outsider.
She was teased for her upturned cat-eyes and high cheekbones. Both were traits donned on her by her deceased mother. It was painful to know the things that kept her close to the mother she had never known caused the biggest rift between her and her classmates.
They called her a myriad of racial slurs, pushed her, threatened her, or ignored her altogether. The mean girls took special delight in pretending to like her, only to freeze her out the next day. No matter what Sawyer did to win their approval, she was cast aside and ridiculed. She never seemed to learn from their past indiscretions, an innocent part of her always wanting to see the best in everybody.
It seemed, some days, that even her teachers were in on the cruelty, turning a purposeful blind eye to the torment she endured, oftentimes punishing her for the misdeeds of others.
The other kids did not seem to notice her eagerness to please or her desire to be a part of their inner circle. It was almost like the harder she tried, the more she was taunted; until one day, something inside the little girl snapped.
It was the beginning of ninth grade, and Sawyer had bloomed into the early stages of womanhood over the summer. Almost overnight, it seemed that her preteen breasts began to poke through her loose-fitting top, and she dropped the remnants of her baby fat like beads of sweat. She had also started her period a couple weeks before, much to the chagrin of her overwhelmed father.
“You remind me more and more of your mother every day,” Gregory Sylvester told her, pain in his voice as he studied her face. “One day, you are going to be a great adventurer, just like she was.”