Instead of the Lexus that picked her up regularly, this night she was picked up by a full-size limo, courtesy of SEF. There was champagne in the mini-fridge in the back, as well as another note on the seat, printed on thick paper. The host of the Gala was welcoming their guests and thanking them for accepting the invitation. It was another small but nice gesture, and Tasha read the note enjoying a glass of bubbly, a smile on her lips.
The limo arrived at The Manhattan Royal twenty minutes early (which Tasha appreciated) and joined the line of identical limos. They looked like a convoy you'd normally see arriving at a red carpet in Los Angeles, and there even was a red carpet here, what was missing were crowds of fans and press, cheering for their favorite movie stars. Instead, when the driver opened the door for her a gentleman in a tuxedo, with a tablet computer in his hand, greeted Tasha.
"Evening, miss!"
"Miss Hendricks, Tasha," she replied, following the man inside the hotel.
He checked her in and directed her past the wide reception desk and towards the ballroom. In front of its entrance was a large poster, once again welcoming all guests to the Annual SEF Gala. Inside, the party had already started: men wore tuxedos, and women wore evening dresses similar to her own, and everyone had a glass in their hand. Most were talking in groups and pairs, but a small crowd was gathered in front of the stage, where a band was playing soft jazz. Tasha could see a couple of familiar faces among the attendees, and once a waiter offered her a glass of champagne that she accepted, she walked towards them.
There was financial talk galore, as was to be expected at such an event, and Tasha was glad — it was one of the topics she could discuss for hours.
Later in the night she noticed a man in the crowd. There was a glass of wine in his left hand and a plate of shrimp cocktails in the other, which he offered to everyone who would take it. He commanded the space and was dressed superbly. His smile was as broad as his shoulders, and he was shaking hands all around. She thought she recognized his face, although it was hard to be sure, and asking the others would be foolish, so she just watched him discreetly as the night ran its course. He seemed open and talkative, very down to earth. A faint smile touched her lips every time he was near, although he was never near enough to notice her.
Tasha spent about an hour chatting with people of importance, both networking and just for fun (little as it was), but soon the event got rather boring for her. The band kept playing, and everyone present kept drinking champagne.
Finally, the man Tasha had been watching was once again making his way through the crowd, making a B-line to the stage. He looked a tiny bit nervous now, in contrast with the previous hour. There was a piece of paper in his hand, and from all it was obvious now who the man was. The music subsided, and conversations followed, as everyone turned towards the stage, glasses in their hands. All attention was on the man ascending the few steps and approaching the microphone. He adjusted its height, turning it up to his lips.
“Check, check.”
His voice sounded loud from everywhere at once, as if he was the Wizard of Oz, and everyone flinched. Noticing that, he distanced his mouth from the microphone.
“Is this better, folks?” The audience nodded, and he continued. “Phew! Good thing I got you all tipsy beforehand!” That got a little laugh. ”So, hello, everyone! Thank you all so much for coming tonight! The South East Finance family welcomes you! I’m Luke Briscoe, by the way!”
He made a pause for the few claps from the crowd. Luke Briscoe, of course! Tasha thought. She knew she’d recognized him from work somehow, but Briscoe wasn’t a public man, and his subordinates handled most of the SEF dealings, so Tasha had never spoken to him in person. She noticed now that the piece of paper was still in his hand, but he wasn’t reading off of it. It was probably there more as moral support.
He continued, “This year, admittedly, has been tough for all of us. The international arena has been unpredictable, but thanks to our friends, thanks to all of you here tonight, South East has sailed through all the storms and emerged from them victorious!” That got another, louder round of applause. “I bet you’d like to here about the profits, am I right? Of course! We have twenty to twenty-five per cent growth from last year in almost every department! The client portfolio has been expanded by half in every state!” He listed off more statistical facts, and each time the audience cheered, although each time the math got them less and less enthusiastic. Feeling that, he said, “Well, let me stop before I bore you to death! Bottom line is: we have a whole lot of money!” Then, almost whispering, “Don’t quote me on this, but we have an obscene amount of money!”
Tasha was slightly shocked by such candor, but it seemed to have worked: the applause broke out again, with added cheering. Good business was good business for everyone involved, and these people sure loved their money. Tasha did, too, although she thought she knew how well South East had done that year. She had helped get them there, after all.
“Let me stress this once again, that without you, my friends, yes, I’m talking about all of you,” he made a wide semi-circle with his hand. “Without you this would’ve never been possible! I thank each and every one who helped South East grow and prosper! Let us drink to the next year being even more prosperous!”
There was a waiter on the stage, delivering Briscoe a glass. He raised it to the crowd and got a hundred raised glasses in return; people without a drink were clapping, looking at him with admiration. Tasha's glass was raised, and she too was admiring the man on the stage. His speech gave her time to remember the few things she knew about him, most prominent of which were two: Luke Briscoe was of Italian origin, and his personal net worth surpassed 5 billion dollars. South East Financial was his baby, which he built himself from the ground up in a matter of just nine years! The company had shown growth every year, no matter the financial landscape in the country.
In fact, during the financial crisis of 2008 SEF shown the most growth compared to the previous year. It was a minor miracle in their line of work, and since then the company had only been gaining momentum. Briscoe was in his very early thirties, Tasha guessed, and the fact that he alone was responsible for this well-oiled machine was something to marvel at. The man himself kept a low profile, and thus little of his personal information was a matter of public knowledge. If anything, money could buy you anonymity. Given the desire, she was sure Briscoe could disappear from public records altogether.
“Thank you, thank you,” he repeated. “You’ll think it silly, but there will be a magic show later tonight! I know,” he replied to tiny laughs, “but it’ll be worth your time, trust me! Enjoy the evening, folks!” Then, to the band: “Carry on, gentlemen, you’re doing a fabulous job!”
Briscoe attached the microphone back to its stand and stepped off the stage, as the band resumed playing, a livelier tune this time. A few couples were dancing, and Tasha saw men congratulate Briscoe as he joined them on the floor. His glass was already empty, and he put it on one of the waiter’s tray, exchanging it for a full glass of white wine. He joined the crowd then and was lost to sight, without even glancing in Tasha’s direction. Not that he was obligated to, she reasoned. She had to admit the champagne had made her a tad too emotional. There was more chitchat, and now that everyone had had something to drink, the topics had shifted from finance and politics to sports and movies. Everyone was having fun, and soon would be having even more of it, as the magic show was about to start.
Crowds started moving towards the far wall, off to the left of the stage, where various props and machines had been set up. Tasha wasn’t a fan of magic. She could appreciate the sleight of hand, but she couldn’t stand being tricked, even if it was meant to be in good fun. So, she held back, grabbing another glass and spending some more time with a couple from the West Coast. The wife was an accountant with the LA branch of SEF, while the husband was an art dealer. Both of them were boring in their own right, but the subject of art at least offered Tasha new information, which
she was always hungry for. The man told her that art in the classic sense – paintings and sculpture – had stopped being a product for masses, and become a prerogative of the rich. The little man, he claimed, could no longer afford real art, although he gave no explanation as to what that was exactly, and how to tell real art from anything else. He did say that magic shows were the kind of cheap entertainment the masses had always enjoyed, and even Tasha had to politely disagree with that, quick to excuse herself from the conversation.
Everyone had formed a circle around the magician now, and Tasha couldn’t really see any of the action. That was okay. She hung back, instead taking the opportunity to look around the beautiful ballroom, at its chandeliers and ornate ceiling moldings. It was a very light room, with mirrors on the walls, as well as a few paintings of mid-twentieth century New York. The biggest painting was that of the Manhattan Royal itself, on the day of its opening in 1892. She realized then how special the evening truly was…
“I know what you’re thinking,” a man’s voice said beside her.
“Pardon me? ”Tasha turned, and it took her a moment to recognize Luke Briscoe next to her. Up close he was different: taller and a lot more real. She could see he had long eyelashes, and noticed he had been biting at his lips. She turned back at the painting.
“I said I know what you’re thinking.”
“Is this part of the magic show?”
“In a sense,” he replied seriously.
“Very well. What am I thinking?”
He paused, admiring the painting. “The same thing I think every time I look at the Royal. That history is rarely tangible. Except, when I look at this painting… I feel it.”
Tasha didn’t know what to say exactly, but her feelings were similar.
Briscoe said, “I find it hard to wrap my head around the fact that this building has been here for over a hundred years. It’s been renovated, I’ll give you that, and it’s been painted and cleaned, but essentially, it’s been the same building all along. For over a century.”
“And it’ll be here for another one, I suppose,” Tasha added.
“Indeed it will be.”
“Now that’s what I call a long-term investment!”
He laughed. “I’m Luke.”
She shook his hand. “I know. And I’m Tasha.”
“So do I. Nice to meet you, Miss Hendricks.”
Her eyes widened. Luke Briscoe actually knew who she was!
“Please, Luke’ll do. And yes, I’m well aware of your contributions to this company’s well being.”
“You are?”
They moved away from the crowd and the painting on the wall, back towards the stage, where a few more trays with wine glasses waited for them.
“Of course,” Luke said, “we made a few billions thanks to your input. I am very impressed. I might even seek some advice from you myself!”
She was flattered and charmed, completely taken by him already. They clinked glasses and drank to mutual prosperity, among other things.
“Doesn’t look like you need financial advice, Luke, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Not at all. But don’t let the appearance fool you – I know very little when it comes to investment.”
“Get out of here,” she replied, perhaps too harshly, given the context of the conversation.
But Luke seemed not to notice. He said, “I’m telling you, I’m a dummy. It’s thanks to people like you, who actually know their stuff that this company has been able to exist for as long as it has. It’s people like you, Tasha, who make the financial world turn.”
“You are too kind!”
“I’m serious! All I’m good at is finding the right people and giving them the resources to realize their potential. Hopefully, we make a change, as well as tons of cash.”
She loved how sincerely humble he sounded. Tasha had met her fair share of billionaires, and most of them were self-important old men who thought their billions gave them the right to treat other people like crap. Luke was different, that was obvious even from what little time she had spent with him up until that point. Perhaps it was his age that made him different – there were undertones of young idealism in him when he spoke. It was as if all the money had not screwed him up, like it did to many people. Tasha remembered a saying she’d heard somewhere: money doesn’t change a person; it just enhances who the person already is. Or something along those lines. The point was – Luke Briscoe seemed like a good guy.
“Well,” Tasha said, “if that’s all you do, then it’s one valuable talent!”
“I get that a lot, trust me, and I do believe talent is all it is.”
“How so?”
“Well, you see, and please don’t tell this to anyone, but I never really liked the whole financial hustle-bustle… I was more into liberal arts, when I was in school.” Luke took a big gulp of his wine. In the background, the crowd cheered for the magician.
“I see. Did your parents force you into it?” Tasha thought the question wasn’t too intrusive – her parents did force her into the business, although she enjoyed it.
“You could say that, yes.” Luke looked away, obviously uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, that’s okay,” he said, but didn’t elaborate on the subject. “Is it hot in here? Do you want to take a breath of fresh air?”
Tasha realized that was exactly what she wanted. They left the glasses on one of the tables and walked out onto the balcony. The noisy crowd was left behind, and instead they were left with the noise of the evening city. The balcony was massive, as if disproportional for normal humans, making Tasha feel small, but comfortably so. They weren’t the only people outside, but the other couple was smoking on the other end of the balcony and paying them no attention.
“So, how do you survive, if you don’t like your job?” Tasha asked bluntly. That wouldn’t fly with anyone else of Luke’s social status, but with him she felt easy and relaxed.
“Oh, but I do like my job, very much so. I like the intricacies of the business. I look at it as a strategy game. Resources, workers, buildings, buy-sell-trade. I used to play those games all the time when I was a teenager, on my dad’s laptop. Now I play them for real.”
Tasha had nothing to contribute on the subject of video games, but she did know finance, and she agreed with Luke in his assessment. “I know what you mean. I see it the same way, now that you’ve put it into words.”
“I like data, weird as that sounds. I like to find things out.”
“Exactly!”
They were both nodding agreement, even without saying anything more. The street was only a couple dozen feet beneath them, and they watched it for a while – two people having a good evening.
“I wish I were you,” Tasha said all of a sudden.
Luke uttered a laugh. “No you don’t.”
There was something mysterious about him, in the way he talked about himself, or, rather, didn’t talk. There was a puzzle there, and Tasha grew more and more excited by it and set on putting it together. She wanted to know everything about Luke Briscoe. She wanted to know more than anyone knew about him.
“Why not?” she asked, but felt he wouldn’t respond. Not yet.
She was right.
“It’s a long story, Tasha, and not as exciting.”
“Oh. You mean to tell me you aren’t Batman?”
He laughed heartily. “No. I’m the farthest thing from that, Tasha.”
He said that last bit with a sorrowful smile, and she understood it was time to go back inside.
He followed her, and they found themselves in the middle of the crowd – the magic show was over, and the guests had spread back out in the ballroom, fresh drinks and jokes between them. Somebody immediately pulled Luke aside, asking for his opinion on the Saudi Arabia oil stocks. The question itself amused Tasha, and she let Luke handle it, going for the appetizer table, where she’d seen delicious looking veggie rolls.
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Luke had been occupied for most of the rest of the evening, leaving Tasha once again to drift among guests, taking part in endless conversations. It was eleven when she decided to leave, since she did have work in the morning. She was nowhere near drunk, which was a good thing, but she did pick up a small bottle of Vitel on her way out of the ballroom. She had expected there’d be a car waiting to take her home, but that was not the case. The same man who’d greeted her was in the foyer of the hotel, and Tasha approached him regarding the transportation.
“Let me find something for you,” he replied and dialed his phone, while Tasha waited aside.
She saw Luke come out of the ballroom, looking around. He saw her and smiled, and approached.
“Is everything alright, Miss Hendricks?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, just waiting for my ride.”
“Let me help you with that.”
Luke snapped his fingers at the tuxedo guy, asking for the phone.
“Hello? Yes, it’s Luke Briscoe. I need a car at the front immediately. Yes. Yes, that’ll do, thanks.”
He returned the phone, and smiled at Tasha.
“Just a minute,” he said. He thanked the guy and lead Tasha to the exit. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“You’ve already done more than you could’ve.”
“Will you do something for me then, Tasha?”
“What’s that?”
He produced his phone from his chest pocket and handed it to her. “Can I have your number?”
Chapter 3
She got home quickly, but once she entered the apartment, the exhaustion fell on her shoulders like a pile of rocks. Tasha got out of the dress, put it away and washed off the makeup. By the time she got to her bedroom it was midnight, and her eyes were shut even as she was getting under the blanket.
Her Russian Millionaire (BWWM Romance Book 1) Page 15