“I will.” We disconnect and I launch myself into action, which means me making coffee, and taking a long hot shower. Riptide is only open a few hours on Saturdays and thankfully I have Nancy, my part-timer who runs our shop during our open hours, coming in today.
Since it’s the weekend, I dress in black slacks, a black blazer over a black silk shell, and my heels I wore last night. I stick a pair of flats in my purse for the subway. After coffee and eggs, I’m ready to go. Really ready to go. I need out of the shop, where I’m reminded of all the ways Gio isn’t here. A short subway ride later, I’m at the doors of Riptide and feeling no hesitation, but there is a tiny flutter with the thought of Kace. Could he be here today? Why would he be here today? Why am I even thinking about him being here today? This man is confusing me, stirring fluttery, infatuated feelings I have no business feeling.
The security guard opens the door for me and I shove aside thoughts of Kace and hurry to the front desk where Amber is present again. “Good morning,” she greets. “How was the auction last night?”
“Interesting in all kinds of ways,” I say.
“That it is,” Amber replies. “Always. Intense, too. Do you have an item to pay for?”
“Unfortunately, no. I was a big loser last night. Crystal asked me to stop by. Is she in?”
“She is. Remind me again. Your name—”
“Aria is fine,” I supply.
“Of course. A beautiful name.” She grabs her phone. “Aria is here, Crystal.” She listens a moment and then replies with, “Yes. I will.” She hangs up and smiles. “Follow me. She said to bring you to her office.”
“Fabulous,” I say. “Thank you.”
Amber joins me on this side of the desk and we exit the lobby and travel a long hallway, our path ending at an office door. Amber motions me forward and then heads on her way. I step inside the office and find Crystal behind a large glass desk, her long blonde hair silky around her shoulders, and thankfully her wardrobe confirms my professional instincts. She too is wearing pants. In fact, her outfit is almost identical to mine, except her blouse is pink, not black.
“Welcome, Aria,” she says, popping to her feet and motioning to a small round table. “Let’s sit. I have the paperwork I need from you to get you on the VIP list.” She grabs a file and we both walk to the small round table. My purse is my Louis Vuitton briefcase today and I set it in the chair next to me and between us before claiming a seat across from Crystal.
“I’m sorry you didn’t snag that wine last night,” she says.
“About that,” I reply. “Any chance you could get me in contact with Alexander? I’d gladly pay a commission. My client has now decided he’ll go four twenty-five.” I slide a card in front of her. “You can offer him my cellphone number, if you will?”
“Don’t you love it when they decide after the fact? And of course, I will.” She grabs her phone from her pocket and clearly she knows Alexander personally because his number is in her phone. She punches his number and soon she’s leaving a message with my number and my purpose in asking to speak to him.
“He’ll call,” she says, setting her phone aside. “He likes the game in all this.”
“Kace warned me, but I have to try.”
“Kace.” Her lips curve slightly. “He’s an interesting one. I’m surprised he told you anything. For a man in the spotlight, he’s reserved. He’s not big on conversation, or strangers. Except apparently you.”
“He didn’t seem reserved to me at all,” I observe, but immediately question my own statement. He didn’t exactly hang around last night for conversation.
“I guess you speak his language,” she says. “I do not. I might have to call you to translate with that man. He’s actually playing at the VIP event, by the way. And Chris Merit, a world-renowned artist, is painting to his music.”
“Chris,” I repeat. “Yes. I met him Tuesday, I think.”
“Right. Mark told me that, actually. He had lunch with Chris and Kace and you showed up.” She laughs. “Very bold of you. I love that you did that.”
“I don’t think your husband would agree.”
She waves that off. “Mark loves when people punch his buttons. Or try. Chris and Kace are fabulous at it, too. Their presence at the event makes it ‘the’ event of the year for us. Half the proceeds are going to a children’s charity Chris supports.”
“It sounds spectacular. I’d love to see Chris and Kace together.”
She slides the folder to me. “Just fill that out and I’ll rush it through for you. Then you will.”
“Thank you for doing this, Crystal.”
“My pleasure.” She smiles a friendly smile. “I hope we’ll see you here often.”
“As do I,” I reply, and I mean it. This feels right. This place. This new direction for our business. It’s just missing Gio. “One thing, Crystal. Do you mind me asking who authenticated the violin?”
“Of course, I don’t mind. Once you’re cleared for the VIP event, you’ll get a package with all the information for each auction item, including validation and authentication.” Her phone buzzes with a text and she reads it before glancing at me. “I’m going to handle a little problem while you fill out your paperwork.”
“Of course,” I say, and grab the folder as well as the pen she’s set next to it.
The paperwork is fairly basic, but I’m giving her permission to run my security check. Which is fine, I remind myself. My mother made sure my father’s name doesn’t pull up on any of my paperwork. I fill out the documents, I’m just finishing when my cellphone rings with an unknown number.
Nervous every call is about Gio, and not in a good way, my adrenaline spikes and I answer tentatively. “This is Aria.”
“Aria, this is Alexander.” Even his voice radiates arrogance. “You want to talk wine, I hear?”
“I do,” I say, and as much as I hate to invite his flirtations, I know this needs to happen in person. “Can we meet?”
“I tried to make sure I saw you again last night, but you blew me off.”
“And yet here we are talking.”
“Can you meet me at Jerry’s bakery in Tribeca in an hour? If I can’t win you over, their cookies will.”
Tribeca, home of the rich and famous like Kace, but that area is busy and a bakery feels simple and friendly. “I’ll be there.”
We say a quick goodbye and disconnect just as Crystal returns. “All set?” she asks, walking toward me.
I stand and turn to face her. “I am,” I say, “and thanks to you, Alexander called. I’m going to meet him.” I hand her the file filled with my paperwork. “You don’t happen to know of any other rare wines you might have coming up?”
“I do believe we’ll have one or two ready to be auctioned off in a few weeks. I’ll see what I can find out about them and let you know when I call to officially invite you to the VIP event.”
“Thank you so much, Crystal,” I say, and I’m probably saying thank you too much, but it’s out, it’s done. I just can’t stop myself. I’m very polite, as Kace had readily pointed out. And he’s not wrong. I say thank you. I say please. Please. That word reminds me of Kace all over again. Please has appropriate uses, he’d said, and just thinking about the raspy, sultry tone of his voice has me swallowing hard.
“We should have lunch,” Crystal suggests, drawing me out of my reverie. “It seems we live in a similar world. Maybe we can help each other out here or there.”
Friends are not a good idea, not in my world, but there’s something about Crystal that is hard to resist. She’s also a great connection to help our business. “I’d love that.”
“Terrific. I’ll call you Monday and we’ll work out all the details for the event and lunch.”
“Perfect. Now, I’m going to go wrestle for that wine.”
She laughs. “Good luck.”
I turn and then hesitate, rotating to face her again. “Is there a Sofia who works
here or that you know?”
Her brows furrow. “No. That name is remotely familiar, but no bells are ringing. Why?”
“My brother’s traveling, but he’d gotten a tip from her about the violin. I just wanted to thank her. I thought he said she worked here, but I must have misunderstood. Anyway. Thank you again.”
A few minutes later, I exit to the street, and disappointment jabs at me. No one knows Sofia but Gio. And now he’s missing. What if Sofia isn’t even her real name?
I need to hire a PI and that means I need to buy this wine off Alexander.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jerry’s Bakery is smack in the most elite part of the rich and famous strip of Tribeca and near the Hudson River. After a packed subway ride, I arrive at the cute little spot, easy to identify by way of its baby blue wooden sign and two matching wooden benches out front. A line of people has formed and extends past the double open doors. I step past the crowd and enter the bakery, walking around the register. The scent of sweet treats is deliciously tempting, while the seating area I bring into view is a cute rainbow of colored wooden tables and chairs.
“Aria.”
I glance to my right and toward the back of the seating area to find Alexander standing just behind an order pick-up counter, motioning for me to join him. To my surprise, he’s not perfectly pressed and in a suit today. In fact, not only is he wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but as I close the space between us, I find his thick dark hair in wavy disarray. Somehow it all makes him a little more human and likable. Even more so when I stop in front of him and he announces, “I bought some cookies and a coffee for you, to spare you the line.”
It’s a thoughtful gesture and I decide then that perhaps I’ve been hard on him. “Thank you,” I say ever so politely, shoving aside a memory of Kace. Again. I can’t get him out of my mind.
“Of course,” Alexander says, motioning me into action and I follow him around the counter to another private seating area of at least another half-dozen filled tables.
We settle into our chairs across from each other and he hands me the coffee he’s ordered for me. “It’s their house vanilla latte. I hope that works. In hindsight, I should have sent you a text and asked what you liked.”
“This is perfect,” I say, sipping the sweet, warm beverage. “Thanks for the coffee and for meeting me.”
“My second chance,” he comments and when I might fidget a bit, I don’t get the chance. He moves on. “And I get it. Auction remorse is common. I feel for you. How pissed was your client?”
“He’s too nice to be angry and I pushed him for his max right before the auction. He’ll go to four hundred and twenty-five thousand today if you’ll sell the bottle.”
He thrums fingers on the table, his Rolex glinting in the overhead light. “Here’s the thing,” he says. “I can’t sell this bottle.”
My spine slowly straightens, the idea that he’s playing me setting me on edge. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t. I bought it for a client that does tens of millions with our company. I teased him with it. I promised him I’d get it for him. And he’s paying me.”
Feelings I try to avoid and dislike—anger and desperation—rip through me. “Why did you bring me out here for this then, Alexander?”
“Because I’d like to be your friend and—”
I stand up.
“Wait,” he says. “I have a proposition. Please.” He pats the table. “Sit. Hear me out.”
I’m torn. I feel played, but I remind myself of my reasons for being here, and they all come back to Gio. I breathe in a calming breath and settle back into my chair across from Alexander.
He studies me a moment. “You really don’t want to like me, do you?”
“It’s not that—”
“Then what is it?”
It’s a complicated question. He’s a good-looking man. He’s wealthy. Most women would be flattered by his attention but I know my problem with him. Powerful men, collectors of rare items at that, stir unease in me. He reminds me of the powerful men my mother said my father did business with before he disappeared. But the truth is, I’m not being fair. I judged him before he ever opened his mouth.
“I’m sorry. I’m on edge over this client. And I’m confused about what we’re doing here.”
“I’m trying to help. I really am. I have a large rare wine collection. I’m willing to part with a bottle to make this up to you. You can come over and see what catches your fancy and we’ll negotiate.”
Unbidden, suspicion spins round and round in my mind all over again. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”
“But I want to know you. And I find it’s good to make friends. I help you. You help me one day.”
A violin screeches a wrong note in my mind. “I don’t like owing favors. And I don’t know you.”
He leans closer. “I want to know you, Aria. Come on. Give me the chance. Don’t let this wine get in the way. I had a job to do last night. So did you.”
“You’re right. You did and that’s why you don’t owe me this. It’s fine.”
His cellphone buzzes and he grabs it, reads the message, and presses his lips together. “I’m meeting that client to give him his bottle. You won’t owe me. I’ll text you a list of some bottles I’ll consider letting go for the right price. Call me when you look it over. We’ll make this work.” He stands up, grabs the cookies, and just that quickly, he’s gone.
I blink, confused. I don’t know why I’m being so hard on Alexander. He’s trying to help. Or not. I don’t know. Kace is just as rich and powerful, also a collector, and of violins, of all things, and he doesn’t stir unease in me the way Alexander does. Which, in truth, probably makes him more dangerous than Alexander.
I stand up. I can’t sit here in Tribeca. I need to be at home, trying to figure out how to make money to hire that private detective. I walk to the trashcan, toss my coffee, and head for the door. I didn’t even get a cookie, but I’m not standing in that line today. I pass through the seating area and exit to the sidewalk, cutting right to run smack into a hard body. The man catches my arms and I twist fingers around his burnt orange T-shirt to try to right my footing.
“I’m sorry. I’m so—” I look up and gasp. “Kace?”
“Aria.” His lips curve and those blue eyes fleck with orange fire to match his shirt. “Small world again.”
His hands are touching me and I’m burning alive. “How are you here?”
“I live around the corner, and this is a popular spot in the neighborhood. How are you here?”
Suddenly, I realize that I’m clinging to his shirt. “Oh God. Oh ah, sorry.” I release it and it’s all wrinkled. “It’s a mess now.” I run my hand over the wrinkles, which means a whole lot of hard muscle. Oh yes, lots of muscle. And the man looks good in orange, and somehow my eyes are on his snug jeans, tan leather jacket, and biker boots. My gaze jerks to his. “God, what am I doing?” I drop my hands. “I’m sorry, Kace.”
He laughs a low, sultry, masculine laugh. “My shirt will survive.” His hands slide down my arms, lingering until they fall away from my body, and I want him to touch me again. I cannot believe how badly I want him to touch me again. “So? How are you here?” he repeats.
“My client wanted me to offer Alexander four hundred and twenty-five thousand. I met him here.”
“And?”
“And he said he bought it for some client. He offered to let me look at his personal collection to pick a bottle for my client, though.”
His brow shoots up. “Why would he do that?”
“Exactly,” I say. “And I asked him that. He said it’s good to make friends and friends help each other.”
His jaw tenses. He is not pleased with my little encounter and I don’t know why. “What did you say?”
“That I don’t like being in debt to someone I don’t know.”
His expression softens. “Good decision. Be caref
ul with Alexander. Aria, I know him well, too well. We actually live in the same building. He even tipped me off on my place. I tipped him off on this bakery.” His mood shifts, his energy noticeably lighter. “Did you try the iced sugar cookies?”
“No. I had coffee and the line is too long to wait right now.”
“Have a cookie with me.”
Have a cookie with him. I’m instantly all about that cookie, but should I be? He pulls down my walls. He affects me. He confuses me. “I shouldn’t.”
He steps closer, and my God, all that spice and man smells better than the bakery. “You should.”
“Kace—”
He catches my hand and I’m melting right here on the New York sidewalk. “Just a little sweet treat for the road.” He says those words as if I’m the sweet treat and then turns us toward the bakery. And with his hand holding mine, I’m not going anywhere but with him.
CHAPTER NINE
Kace notches up the intimacy of him holding my hand by lacing our fingers together, which is confusing and wonderful and wrong and right. I don’t know what I feel right now. Maybe he’s a touchy-feely person, I think, but quickly discard this idea. Crystal had called him reserved and I sense that in him, but then I of all people understand what’s it’s like to be friendly, but still guarded.
He leads me past the line to the register where a sixty-something woman with shoulder-length silky all-gray hair and delicate, lovely features, is filling orders. “Hey, Jenny,” he says and pulls me closer, intimately closer, my hip at his hip, and when he looks down at me, heat blossoms between us. “You do like sugar cookies, right?”
Somehow the question feels as intimate as how we are now standing. And I don’t want to step away. “I love sugar cookies,” I confess. “The more icing the better.”
“She’s a keeper, Kace,” Jenny announces, clearly overhearing.
My cheeks heat with the implication that we’re on a date. Kace gives me a light nudge under the chin. “There’s that blush again. How do you drink your latte? Jenny has every latte flavor you can think of.”
A Reckless Note Page 4