by Holly Hart
The sultry night air hits me as we emerge from the front door into the streets. The girls continue to giggle as we meander our way toward the hotel where Maks and I – and, I suppose, our three new friends – are staying. People mill past in various stages of drunkenness. All of them are young and impossibly beautiful.
This is Milan, after all.
“How did you make your money?” Joanna asks as we walk. Her face suddenly turns beet red. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize how crass that would sound! You don’t have to tell us.”
“Not at all,” I say. “Elevator pitch: I invented a type of software that some people found very valuable, so they paid me a lot of money for it. The end.”
“You must be really smart,” says Georgia. I think the champagne affected her tiny body a bit more than the rest of us, judging by the way she’s weaving. “I can barely turn a computer on.”
I lean in close and whisper, “Well, you’re both doing an excellent job of turning me on.”
They flash each other a look that promises me I’m in for a night of delight.
Chapter Four
4. CARSON
“I am thinking I need to go to England,” Maksim muses as he stirs his Bloody Mary. He takes a long swallow and lays back down on the Gulfstream’s leather sofa.
“Yeah?” I say from my seat. Unlike Maks, I like something a little more substantial than vodka for breakfast, so I’m tucking into a platter from the jet’s pantry. “Why is that?”
“They know how to drink like Russians,” he sighs. “Emily drank me over the table last night. Even at hotel.”
I resist the urge to correct him and focus on my eggs instead. Coincidentally, they’re done in the English style, creamy and loaded with butter, so even reheated they’re delicious. The sausage on the side is greasy and savory and exactly what I need to kill last night’s hangover.
Matthias will probably kick my ass in the gym when he finds out about it, but it’s worth it. I wash it down with fresh-brewed black coffee and look out the window at the summer sky. We’re flying into the past: New York is six hours behind Milan, so even though the flight is eight hours long, we’ll arrive only two hours after we left.
Not that time has a lot of meaning for people like Maks and me. It’s one of the many perks of not having to work for a living. It’s also what’s responsible – I think – for the sense of disconnection that’s dogged me over the past several months. The feeling that I’m untethered from the rest of the world.
Maks gives me a quizzical look. “Something wrong, tovarishch?” he asks, using the Russian word for friend.
I put down my cutlery on my empty plate and push the tray aside. What could possibly be wrong? I think. I’ve got everything anyone could ever want.
Don’t I?
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I just—Maks, don’t you ever get… I don’t know. Bored?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Let go of my leg you are pulling on, Carson. Did you not take those two beautiful women to your bed last night?”
“Yes.”
“And do we not right now fly from Milan on your own jet back to New York City, the greatest city on the world?”
I run a hand through my hair and sigh. What am I talking about? When he puts it that way, how the hell can I believe I’m bored? Millions of men would trade places with me in a second. I can literally do anything I want, whenever I want, and, in a lot of cases, to whomever I want.
Maks finishes his drink and gets up to make another. I swear, the man has the constitution of a horse. He tilts the bottle in my direction and raises his eyebrows. I wave it off.
“Is it work you are looking for?” he asks. “Maybe you want to be boss again. Yes?”
“Hell, no,” I say. “I never miss the work. Software development wasn’t a career for me, it was just the means to an end.”
“What is this means, your end?”
I smile. Even when he doesn’t try, he’s hilarious.
“Sorry, I meant that I got into that field for the money. I didn’t enjoy it. After my father died, I realized that I didn’t want to be like him, to have my fate decided by other people.”
“Your papa was soldier, yes?”
“Yeah. We moved around all the time when I was a kid, from one base to another, as ordered. I didn’t want that kind of life. I always knew I was smart, and I wasn’t learning anything in college that I didn’t already know, so I dropped out and started Black Sword.”
“I have told you before, that is the awesomest name, my friend.”
“I know, I know. I went with a hacking defense system because I knew there was a huge gap in the market for it, not because it was particularly interesting. It took about six years to get it fully functional, but the second it was up and running, buyers were breaking down my door. And I guess three billion and change isn’t bad for a few years work. Plus stock options.”
“And so why you are bored here?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m searching for a new challenge. Building my company was probably the last time I really used my mind properly, you know. After I got rich, I had a list of things I wanted to accomplish, and none of them had anything to do with my brain. First off was getting that six-pack I always wanted.”
Maks spreads his arms wide. “Mission is accomplished,” he says. “If I was the gay man, I would be up on you, like Snoopy Dog sings.”
“Snoop Dogg. And yes, thanks to Matthias and a lot of hard work. Once I had the new physique in place, all I could think of was making up for lost time with the ladies. I guess I’ve gone a little overboard in that department.”
That’s the understatement of the century.
When I discovered that women were starting to notice me, I made it my mission to seduce everyone I met who would have ignored me in high school. All the former cheerleaders, all the society types. What amazed me was how easy it all was. It’s like someone handed me the cheat codes to life and women.
“After awhile,” I continue, “I got so used to women falling for me that I started flirting without even thinking, and they started throwing themselves at me. Last night was a perfect example. They were lovely girls, but it was a foregone conclusion that I was taking at least one of them to bed. And, let’s be blunt, it’s not like I was going to be discussing chaos theory or the Fibonacci integer sequence with them afterwards.”
There was only one girl I ever really talked with, and I haven’t seen her in twelve years. I try not to think about her.
I don’t succeed, but I try.
Maks sits back in the sofa and stares out the window beside my head for several long moments. He seems to be debating something with himself, and I wonder if I’m going crazy. Looking to Maksim Orlov for life advice is like looking to a monk for sex advice.
He’s totally unequipped to answer.
“So if I am listening right,” he says, “you want something that will make you use your head and your khuy.” He uses the Russian word for – well, little head. As usual, he has absolutely no subtlety, but he’s hit the nail on the khuy.
“I guess you could say that,” I chuckle. “Don’t ask me how to put those two things together, because I don’t know.”
Maksim nods, and his expression is as serious as I’ve ever seen it, which is not at all what I expected.
“My friend,” he says. “I think I may know of something that might be what you are looking about.”
He leans close and lowers his voice to a whisper, as if we weren’t the only two people in the jet’s cabin. Antonio and Patrick, the pilots, are behind the cockpit’s soundproof door.
“You must promise that you will not talk about this to anyone. It is very important that you understand that.”
What’s this cloak and dagger bullshit?
“Fine,” I say, making the sign of the cross with a mocking grin. “I’ll take your secret to the grave… now what the hell are you talking about?”
“What I am talking about,” he says, “is the Cha
se.”
Chapter Five
5. CASSANDRA
I’m not sure exactly how I expected this meeting to go, but it certainly wasn’t like this.
The rich leather of my chair feels like butter against the luxurious fabric of my best dress. This office is unlike anything I’ve ever seen: rich mahogany paneling on the walls, a filigreed walnut desk, a Turkish rug that must have cost upwards of $20,000.
And across from me, behind the desk, sits a middle-aged lady in a Stella McCartney pantsuit who had every reason to laugh me out of the room, and yet is nodding in agreement.
“I think you’re really on to something,” says Miranda Winthrop, vice president of Tate Capital and the daughter of the firm’s founder, the legendary Oscar Tate. “Your business plan is sound, but what really inspires me is your passion for the product.”
I nod, working hard to keep the excitement out of my face. I’ve been trained to keep my emotions in check, but it’s not easy. Part of me wants to jump up and down and shriek like a teenage girl at a Justin Bieber concert.
“I appreciate that,” I say, trying to sound professional. “I think our approach would be unique in the frozen treat industry, since Ms. Clarke and I both want to keep the recipes original.”
“That’s so important,” she says. “A lot of companies have cut corners to maximize profits over the years and it shows. I don’t know if you’ve eaten any store-brand ice cream recently…”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to tell me,” I say. “It’s nothing like we used to eat when I was a kid.”
“You’re preaching to the choir. Honestly, I’m already a big fan of Patty’s. If you and Tricia can manage mass production and still hold onto what makes that ice cream so special, I have every confidence that this will be a going concern.”
This is really happening. I’m so close. Now comes the hard part.
“So,” I say. “Do you have a number in mind?”
She flips through a stack of papers with a beautifully manicured hand for several moments as my heart rate doubles. I’ve been in plenty of life-or-death situations in the last several years, but this has them all beat.
“Based on what I see here, the money you’re offering to put up would constitute a thirty percent stake of the total deal.”
I do the math instantly in my head: three and a half million is thirty percent of eleven million and change. Tate Capital puts up the other seven and a half and we’ll get our factory up and running. And then, after we – naturally – become a wild success, the initial public offering will take the company public and I’ll sell out for easily ten times my investment and retire to a Greek island before I’m thirty-five.
Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a day for fourteen days. I can’t keep the smile off my face. I’ve had years of training, years of field operations, years of pushing myself to my limits, mentally and physically. If I can’t avoid a group of rich old geezers for two weeks, I better hand in my CIA special operative card.
Well, I suppose I already did that. But you get what I mean.
“That sounds eminently doable,” I say, wincing inwardly at the lame buzzwords. But my resume says I’ve been a business consultant for the last six years, so I need to be able to talk the talk. “With your assurances, I’ll move forward with due diligence and I’ll get to gathering my capital.”
Buzzword. Buzzword. Buzzword.
“Excellent,” says Miranda, returning my smile. She reaches a hand across the desk and I take it in mine. “Let’s set another appointment for three weeks from now and we can expand on the details. I’m looking forward to working together, Sandra.”
“As am I. And I’m sure Tricia will be over the moon when I let her know.”
Miranda puts on an expression of mock gravity. “Tell her as a partner, I expect to be added to the sampling team.”
I return the look. “Of course,” I say. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, this is serious business.”
We both laugh as she shows me out onto the streets of Manhattan. Well, the elevator bank, anyway. Another handshake and she walks back to her office, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The initial excitement is still there, but something below the surface is threatening to throw cold water on my celebration.
Don’t focus on that, I scold myself. Focus on the money. Two weeks, that’s all. Maybe I can add in a few days for good measure, build up my own finances as well. An extra four days would mean a million dollars for myself, tax-free in an offshore account. That’s nothing to sneeze at.
Do as many days as you want, it’s going to end the same way no matter what: you in bed with a stranger.
I shake my head and raise my hand to hail a cab, trying to get into the right headspace. I was an expert in pragmatism for years, I tell myself. I know the end justifies the means, and the means aren’t always pretty.
In this case, the end is a one-third stake in a multi-million-dollar company that will eventually go public and leave me financially independent for the rest of my life.
The means are simple: they call it the Chase.
Chapter Six
6. CARSON
“The Chase?” I say. “You mean that British quiz show?”
Maksim looks at me like I’m an idiot. “What? No, not TV show. I am talking about something very secret.”
He puts a finger to his lips. Like I don’t what the word means.
I raise my hands, palms up, inviting him to tell me more. I also sit back in my chair, because he’s still leaning close and speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, and his breath reeks of vodka.
Which wouldn’t be such a bad thing, except for the fact my head is still pounding from last night.
“My uncle has said some things that I overlistened,” he says. “He and my father have many wealthy colleagues, as you know.”
I do know. I also know they and a lot of their colleagues are on FBI watch lists. I’m sure Maks suspects as much, but he never talks about it.
“Some of them are like you, very smart. And bored. I can see it on their faces when we are at church and at gatherings of family. One day, I hear uncle talking about a woman who was in US Army intelligence, and how she was ‘the prize.’ His friend says to him, ‘I’m in. I will get you money tomorrow.’”
I tent my fingers under my chin, an old habit that helps me focus.
This sounds crazy. Like something out of a low-budget movie. In my experience, at least, being a billionaire isn’t that different from my old life. I just fly on fancier jets and drink better booze. And the women, of course.
But this – this sounds like it’s come off Hollywood’s rejected script pile.
“So,” I say. “You’re telling me this is a hunt of some kind? Maks, you know me, I’m not into – ”
“No, no, no, not a hunt.” He frowns at me. “What kind of family do you think I have?”
I leave that one well alone.
“No, the Chase is not about killing anyone. Not animal, not person. I don’t know details, but it is about finding someone. A woman.”
“Why would someone pay money to find a woman? They’re all over the place, in case you hadn’t noticed. Especially when you’re like us. You know me, Maks. I don’t pay for women.”
“Not Army intelligence officer women. They are not all over the place. And uncle said this one was… special.”
“Special how?”
He leans in even closer. “I think she was virgin.”
Now I’m the one frowning.
“Are you talking about rape?” I demand. “Because if you are, this conversation is over.”
Maksim’s expression droops into a wounded puppy look, and I realize I’ve crossed a line.
“Carson,” he says. “I would never – ”
“I know, I know,” I soothe. “I’m sorry, you’re a man of honor. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. But if not that, then what? What’s the purpose of the Chase? Why would any woman, especially one who’s smart
and capable, allow herself to be chased and give up her virginity to someone she doesn’t even know?”
His eyebrows go up. “Money, of course. What else is there?”
He’s got me there. I recently read an article about a Romanian teen who auctioned off her virginity online for over €2 million. Her reasoning was actually pretty sound: she asked how many women would have taken advantage of the deal if they’d had the opportunity to revisit their first time? A night of sex for a lifetime of financial security.
“So there’s more than one pursuer involved, obviously?”
“Yes,” says Maks. “Like I say, I don’t know details but I know it is competition. Losers lose money, winner wins money and the woman.”
“And your uncle takes a commission.”
It makes sense, and technically I guess it’s not illegal. I’m sure the handling of the money isn’t above board, but it never is in something like this. All offshore accounts and anonymous transfers. The prize money could never show up on the books anywhere. I can just picture telling an IRS audit about the money I won popping a woman’s cherry.
As far as I know, I’ve never slept with a virgin.
All my conquests have been experienced. Some more than others – some much more than others – but never a first-timer. It would certainly be a new experience for me, and I’m all about new experiences.
But what really has me intrigued is matching wits with someone who’s trained in evading capture. That’s the kind of real challenge I’m looking for. Suddenly, jumping off a cliff into a lake seems like a juvenile stunt by comparison.
Maksim finally leans back on the sofa and takes a pull directly from the vodka bottle this time, a smile creeping across his swarthy face.
“I can see there are wheels rolling in your head,” he says. “You are interested, yes? I have caught you like hook on fish.”
“I am interested maybe,” I say.