by Raven Scott
“Follow him,” instructed Evan as he revved the engine. “I’ve got your location and I’m on my way.”
He hung up the phone, then pulled the Bentley smoothly out into traffic, headed toward the Boston neighborhood of Dorchester.
Chapter 2
“Wow, he was hot!”
Nia gave Emma an exasperated glance. They were back at the reception desk in the rear of the gallery.
“You think every rich guy who walks in here is hot,” Nia replied.
“Not like that. I haven’t seen anything that yummy in a long time. Rich or not,” Emma surmised. “It’s just an observation. I’m not interested or anything. I’m seeing someone.”
Nia raised an eyebrow but didn’t bother to respond. She didn’t have time for idle chitchat about men or relationships.
“Has the courier arrived yet?” she asked instead, changing the subject.
“Yup, here you go.”
Emma handed her a bundle of envelopes and parcels.
“Thanks,” Nia added
“Oh, and Edward’s going to be here at about two o’clock this afternoon. Are you still available to meet with him?” Emma asked.
“Of course. My calendar is up to date, so just book whatever time he needs.”
Emma nodded, and Nia turned to make her way through the spacious gallery and up the stairs to her office on the second floor. She placed the packages on the desk before shrugging off her suit jacket to drape it over her chair. Once seated, she eased off her shoes and wiggled her toes to stimulate circulation. Her feet were throbbing. As much as she cherished her shoe collection, it was a love/hate relationship.
Thinking about the upcoming meeting with her boss, Edward Worthington, Nia logged into her laptop to double-check her e-mails and schedule for the rest of the afternoon. As suggested, Emma had booked ninety minutes for them to meet in Worthington’s office. It was going to be a difficult conversation, and she could not afford to be distracted by any other tasks due by the end of the day. So, she had just over an hour to get as much work done as possible.
But, first things first. Evan DaCosta appeared to be a very viable potential client. She needed to do some research on him and his family to prepare for their meeting that evening. As she launched an Internet name search, Nia nibbled on the side of her cheek, thinking about their brief conversation. It was common for her and the other account managers on her sales team to conduct meetings outside of the office. Their clients were some of the wealthiest in the northeastern United States, which meant they were often very busy and very demanding. Supporting their needs meant being available wherever and whenever they had time.
But Evan DaCosta’s suggestion for a dinner meeting had still caught her off guard. Well, it was less of a suggestion and more of a command. And her hesitation had nothing to do with how viable his business could be. While Nia would not admit it to Emma, “hot” was just one way to describe him. Gorgeous, delicious, and sexy as hell also came to mind.
Many of their clients wore Savile Row tailored suits, handmade Italian leather shoes, and Patek Philippe watches. It was her job to notice those types of details as part of the sales assessment process. But none of those things had anything to do with her first impressions of Evan DaCosta as she walked toward him in the gallery. In fact, sales potential was the last thing on her mind. Nia’s first thought had been that he was a spectacular male specimen, and it was too bad he was wearing so many layers. He was something north of six feet tall, with broad, tight shoulders that tapered into a lean torso. Her keen eye suspected the real prize was under his very expensive wrapping. Now, the thought of a dinner meeting at his hotel just heightened the inappropriate desire to peel off his clothes.
She let out a deep breath, and tried to focus on the task at hand. While her physical reaction to him as a man was completely human, now was not the time to indulge in fantasies. In the end, Evan DaCosta was no different from any other potential client and she had a job to do, while she still had one.
The Internet search results provided a couple of pages of useful information, mostly about the late Santos DaCosta. Up to his death last year, Santos was the founder and CEO of DaCosta Solutions, a major U.S. military defense contractor based in McLean, Virginia. One site had his obituary, noting that he was born and raised in Brazil where his family owned a coffee plantation. There he met and married his African-American wife Cecile Rothman while her father was the U.S. ambassador to Brazil. They moved to the U.S. soon after, settling in the D.C. area.
Another page had a picture of Santos and Cecile at a charity event a couple of years ago. Evan looked like a blend of both. He had the imposing size, rich hazelnut skin, and wavy hair of his father, but dark eyes and sensuous lips of his mother.
Nia continued to build an account file on the DaCosta family. There were some details about Evan as an only child, working overseas for his father’s company, and his appointment as the new CEO at DaCosta Solutions four months ago. There was little about his personal life. Not that she was looking.
Once she was satisfied with her research, she moved on to the various other things that needed to be done in her workday. The biggest focus was the preparation for the upcoming jewelry auction in August and the various exhibits scheduled in the weeks prior. Everything still had to be planned, despite the disastrous events on Monday night. So that’s what she would do until Edward told her differently.
When the meeting with her boss was only a few minutes away, Nia took a few quiet moments to try to calm her nerves. But it was hard. At moments like this, it was so easy to relive the sense of panic and disbelief when she opened the safe on Tuesday morning and found it empty, the Crimson Amazon necklace gone, along with half a dozen other pieces of jewelry. Even now, over eighteen hours later, Nia was still in disbelief, her heart often racing with dread. Of the nine permanent employees in the Boston office, she and Edward were the only ones who had known the diamond was in the safe, and only they knew the combination, which Edward had updated the Friday prior as an added measure of security.
With no sign of a break-in, or anything suspicious on the surveillance cameras, it was logical to assume it was an inside job. It didn’t take much to deduct she would be the first person suspected.
With another deep breath, she slipped on her shoes and walked to the much bigger office only a few feet from hers. Edward was standing behind his desk on the phone. With a slim build and a full head of hair, he was still an attractive man for fifty-five years old. He also had a kind, open face with a personality to match. Though today, his face looked much more tired and haggard than usual. Nia really enjoyed working for him, and only hoped the current situation would not put an end to that.
When he saw her waiting by the doorway, he waved her in, gesturing to the small, round table in the middle of the room. She nodded and walked over to sit in one of four chairs around it.
“How are you doing?” he asked once his call ended.
His eyes showed genuine concern. Nia felt her throat close with the urge to cry. She blinked and tried to smile.
“I’m okay,” she replied.
He walked across the room and sat beside her.
“The investigators want to meet with you tomorrow morning to review everything that happened on Monday afternoon and Tuesday when you came in,” he continued.
“Okay, but I don’t really have much else to contribute.”
“I know, but these guys are professionals. They’re hoping you’ll remember something more during the conversation.”
“You mean the interrogation,” she stated, trying really hard not to sound resentful.
Edward shrugged with one shoulder. After working together for almost a year, he was used to her blunt honesty.
“It can’t be helped, Nia. Yes, it might be uncomfortable, but I’ve hired them to solve this problem as quickly as possible. So they’re going to take the straightest route to the answers.”
“I know. Of course I’ll cooperate,” she con
ceded, feeling a little childish. “Are you sure this is the best approach, Edward? Shouldn’t we just call the police and the insurance company? For all we know, they’ve already taken the pieces out of the country. It’s safe to assume they’ll be broken down and sold as loose stones.”
Edward let out a deep breath and ran both hands through his gray-streaked brown hair.
“From what I’ve been told, Fortis is the best at finding things. This is what they do. If there is any chance to get the pieces back intact, I have to try. But, if we don’t have any answers back by the end of the week, then I might have to pull the plug on the whole thing.”
Nia nodded. It seemed pretty unlikely that anything could be solved within the next couple days. She had been in the jewelry industry long enough to know this was the work of professional and well-funded thieves. They weren’t waiting around to be found with the goods.
“In the meantime, it’s business as usual,” Edward continued. “Let’s look at last month’s numbers.”
They spent the remainder of the meeting reviewing the sales results from her team. As managing director for the Boston office, Nia was responsible for the overall revenue. She had four sales managers under her, all who secured new and repeat clients to sell and buy valuable inventory. Her team also included two sales coordinators who provided support for the various events scheduled every week. All the other support functions were managed by the operations manager, Chris Morton; Emma; and temporary warehouse staff when needed. It was a small team. But as the newest Worthington location, the costs needed to be kept low until they started to make a profit. If the August auction was half as successful as anticipated, it would guarantee their profitability by the end of the year. It was just one more thing that was at risk.
Nia was back in her office just after four o’clock. By the time she finally went through the stack of courier deliveries and responded to various phone and e-mail messages, it was after five. There was no time to stop at home before the meeting with Evan DaCosta. She pulled a mirror out of her desk drawer to have a look at how her makeup was holding up. With some blotting to her nose, and the reapplication of her lipstick, she’d be okay. Her skirt was a little crushed, but it couldn’t be helped. With her jacket on, it would have to do.
The hotel was only a five- or ten-minute cab ride from the office, so she continued working for another half hour. That left enough time to pack up her large purse with her laptop, power cable, and cell phone before she locked up her office and freshened up in the bathroom. Everyone else on her sales team was already gone for the night.
Down in the gallery, Emma and Chris Morton where near the main doors, locking things up.
“Hey Chris,” Nia said politely.
“Hey,” he replied, pausing to look back at her. “Have you met with those security consultants yet?” he asked.
Nia looked at him speculatively. Chris was a few years older than her, maybe in his early thirties. He was a decent-looking guy, with dark hair and hazel eyes. Many of the women in the office thought he was charming, including Emma. But Nia didn’t see it. He was nice enough, but just didn’t seem to know when to take no for an answer.
“Not yet. I have a meeting with them tomorrow morning,” she confirmed.
“Me too. I just don’t get why Edward is looking at a new security system. The one we have is barely a year old.”
Nia shrugged. That was the memo that Edward has sent to the rest of the employees yesterday. That he was bringing in a security consulting firm to review their current system and protocols, then make recommendations for improvement.
“I guess you can’t be too careful,” Nia suggested.
Chris smiled back.
“I’m meeting them tomorrow too,” inserted Emma, looking between Nia and Chris.
“Well, I’m sure it will be fine. Have a good night, guys,” added Nia before pushing through the front doors.
Outside, she flagged down a taxi and arrived at her destination with a few minutes to spare. The Boston Harbor was a swanky, five-star waterfront hotel. Nia had been there a few other times over the years for sale conferences and charity events. The food was always fantastic.
At the entrance of the main restaurant, she approached the hostess.
“Hi, ma’am, will you be dining alone or with a party?” the young woman asked.
“Hi, I’m meeting Mr. Evan DaCosta. I believe he has reservations?” Nia replied, questioningly.
The hostess smiled brightly.
“Miss James, I presume?”
Nia blinked.
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. Mr. DaCosta is running a few minutes late. He asked that you meet him in his hotel room. Oliver will escort you upstairs,” she told Nia, gesturing to a bellhop standing nearby.
Nia opened her mouth to object, looking back and forth between the two polite and eager hotel employees, but closed it instead. They wouldn’t have any answers to her questions.
“Thank you,” she stated instead.
In her head, she was thinking there was no way she was going up to that hotel room! Sure, Google had confirmed his identity, but it couldn’t guarantee that he wasn’t a serial rapist or murderer. Now, she wished she had satisfied her curiosity and done more digging into his life.
“Right this way, ma’am,” urged the bellhop as he walked farther into the lobby and toward the elevators.
“Would you mind giving me a minute to make a quick phone call?” she asked, bringing them to a stop.
“Certainly,” he replied, then walked a few steps away to give her some privacy.
Nia reached into her purse and pulled out the business card she had tucked into the inside pocket earlier that afternoon. She had no idea what she was going to say to Mr. DaCosta to cancel the meeting, but that was exactly what she was going to do. Or would have done, if he had answered his phone. But he didn’t. Instead, it went to voice mail. She hung up and let out a deep breath. Then she dialed his assistant’s number.
“Evan DaCosta’s office, Sandra speaking. How can I help you?”
“Yes, hi. My name is Nia James. I have a six o’clock appointment with Mr. DaCosta.”
“Yes, Miss James. Are you at the hotel? Did you get the message at the restaurant?” the woman asked.
“Yes, I’m downstairs. But—”
“Good! We’ll see you in his room shortly.”
And the line went dead. Really?!
“Is everything okay, ma’am?” asked the bellhop.
Well, if Nia took Evan’s assistant literally, it sounded like they were both in his room. Her well-earned streetwise instincts told her something was still fishy. But, it now seemed less likely that it was all an elaborate ruse to kill her, or worse.
“Yes, thank you. I’m all set.”
The young man nodded politely and gestured for her to follow him. He guided her into the elevators where they exited on an upper floor, then stopped at the end of the hall.
“Here you are, ma’am. Have a great evening.”
Then he was gone, without even hinting for a tip.
Nia squared her shoulders, brushed invisible lint off her suit jacket, then knocked. The door was immediately opened by a middle-aged woman in a blue pantsuit. She smiled warmly and opened the door widely.
“Miss James, thank you for being so flexible this evening. I’m Sandra Blake, Evan’s assistant.”
Nia followed her into the room, her apprehension reduced considerably. Sandra reminded her of the head librarian at the UMass Boston campus library. A stickler for the rules but pretty harmless and motherly otherwise.
“Nice to meet you, Sandra,” she replied with a genuine smile. “Is Mr. DaCosta still available? I’m happy to rebook our meeting if needed.”
“He’s just finishing a call, then he’s all yours. We’ve just had a few delays with a contract negotiation. So it seemed easier for him to meet you here while we wait for the final paperwork to be sent. Why don’t you have a seat?”
Nia loo
ked across the very expansive room toward the seating area near the wraparound windows of the corner suite. She also took in the full-size dining area, and the double French doors that must lead into the separate bedroom. It was a beautiful room, decorated with stately pieces, traditional style, and character. Very representative of historical Boston.
“Would you like something to drink?” continued Sandra.
“No, thank you,” she replied, perching on the edge of the sofa, placing her tote-size purse on the cushion beside her. “I’m fine for now.”
“I’ll let Evan know you’re here. I’m sure he’ll be out shortly.”
Sandra went through the French doors, leaving Nia alone in the parlor.
After one minute turned into ten, she couldn’t sit idle any longer. Nia walked across the room to look out at the harbor and city-line. Once in front of the windows, she noticed a door that let out onto a large terrace. Without hesitation, she opened the door and stepped outside. The May evening was cool and breezy at such a height, but it was such a spectacular view that Nia lost track of time.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
She jumped with surprise before turning to the voice. It was Evan DaCosta, standing near the terrace doors. His jacket and tie were gone, and his crisp white shirt had the sleeves rolled up past his elbows and several buttons undone at the neck. The wind pressed the cotton and fine wool of his clothes against his body, confirmation of her earlier assessment. He was a pretty spectacular male specimen.
“Yes, it is,” she finally replied, glad for the distance between them to hide her discomfort. “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind me coming out here.”
He smiled. A slow teasing twist of well-shaped lips.
“Access to the balcony is the least I can offer you after keeping you waiting so long. I should be the one apologizing.”
She looked away, back out at the harbor. Funny things were happening in her stomach. Things that had no place at a business meeting.
“Your assistant let me know you were unexpectedly detained. Did everything work out?” she asked politely as she walked toward him.