“Ms. Blackwell and a clerk chose it for me.”
“They may have chosen it, but you’re the one wearing it.”
“Ms. Blackwell insisted that I wear my hair up. Do you like it this way?”
“I actually like it when you wear it down, but Blackwell is right. At this sort of event, you’d wear it up. The better to see your graceful neck, not to mention the necklace. Maybe later, when I bring you home, you can take it down.”
It was an odd request from a man who only saw me as an object, but maybe that object also served as a fantasy figure for him. Not that he needed it. For whatever reason, Alex said he wasn’t looking for a relationship, but there still was a raw air of sexuality about him, and he had the look of a man who was enjoying his share of women on the side. Right then, looking him in the eye, there was something almost predatory about him. I wondered what his type was. I wondered how many women he slept with during a given week. No man who looked like him and who had his kind of money wasn’t getting his share of it when he wanted it. I was certain of that.
This would be so much easier if I wasn’t attracted to him.
“Should we go?” I asked.
“First, tell me how we met.”
“Oh, that was two weeks ago. We met at MoMA. Both of us were admiring our favorites—the Impressionists. We struck up a conversation. You suggested lunch. Lunch turned into dinner. We’ve been inseparable since.”
“Sounds romantic,” he said.
“It does.”
“But I like our story better. You looking back at me when you left the building. Me standing at the door looking at you. The connection we made, and then your collision with the fat man.”
Why is he talking about connections? It’s confusing. “I could have done without the latter.”
“At least he had some padding. It could have been worse. All of that chunk of his couldn’t have hurt too much.”
“I think my pride was hurt the most.”
“I hope today made up for it. And tonight. Are you ready for tonight? The press will be there. They’ll photograph us. You need to be prepared for that. You’ll be in newspapers and on blogs tomorrow. People have been waiting four years for me to find someone. And you’re it, at least to them.”
“Why four years?” I asked.
He shrugged, but didn’t answer. Was that when his parents died? Was he in a long-term relationship and it ended four years ago? I was surprised by how little I knew about him, but I kind of liked it that way. I enjoyed the mystery, which would protect me. The less I knew about him, the better. He’s an object. I’m an object. Keep it that way. You don’t need to know anything about him.
He reached out his hand for mine. “We probably should get used to this,” he said. “You know? So we look natural together.”
I took his hand in my own, and felt the heat pass between us. He pressed the button to call the elevator, but the doors immediately slid open. Obviously, no one had used it since I stepped out. We walked inside and stood silent, his shoulder against mine. The elevator plummeted to the lobby, and as we fell, he squeezed my hand.
It’s too much, I thought. I thought he’d be indifferent to our arrangement until we were in public, but he’s being anything but. He knows I’m attracted to him. He mentioned our connection. Is he just playing along so I’ll look all dreamy-eyed when we arrive at the Four Seasons? Maybe that’s it. In fact, that is it. This is important to him. The illusion needs to be real. People will know if it isn’t. He’s just doing what he needs to do. He’s playing me. Go with it.
Outside, a limousine was waiting for us. The driver wasn’t Eddie, but another man who stood beside the rear door, which he held open. It was warm out, but at least the sun had dipped below the Manhattan skyline. Ever the gentleman, Alex motioned for me to step inside first. I tucked my dress behind me, lowered my head, and slid across the seat, hoping that I wouldn’t wrinkle the material too much on our drive to the Four Seasons. He stepped in after me, reached again for my hand, and held it on his rock-hard thigh.
“Who are you hoping to see tonight?” I asked.
“Darius Stavros. He’s a Greek shipping tycoon. Wenn Oil is expanding. I’m hoping that we can come to a reasonable agreement to use his ships to export our oil.”
“That will be complicated.”
“He’ll make it complicated.”
“I know he will. It’s his reputation.”
He turned to me as the car pulled into traffic. “You know of him?”
“Of course, I do. I came here to use my MBA, remember? For years, I’ve devoured the business sections of any number of newspapers, mostly the Times and the Journal. I’m a business junky. I have to say, he seems like a son of a bitch to me. He’s too old. He’s off his game. I don’t want to speak out of line, but if I were you, I’d go through his son, Cyrus. He’s poised to take over his father’s empire. I’d talk with Darius first, but just keep it to a friendly chat. I wouldn’t talk business with him. If Cyrus is here tonight, I’d mention your idea to him, and see if he proposes anything. He’s young—maybe early thirties. And he needs to leave his mark, which Darius obviously doesn’t. But if Cyrus brings something to his father that has real potential to further their shipping empire, it’ll be a game changer. Darius will finally see the initiative he’s been waiting for years to see in his son. Do you know how powerful that is? Cyrus has a reputation for being a playboy. He’s a good-looking screw-up. If he shows some interest in his father’s empire and brings Darius a good deal, you’re on your way because Darius will want to encourage his son, not discourage him. Not at this point. As far as I see it, if you get Cyrus, you’ll get Darius. And then the negotiations will begin.”
A look of surprise came over his face. Yes, I’m more than just this dress, Alex. I worked hard in school. I came here to succeed in business, not to do this. Though this is a business deal, I guess, despite how tightly you’re holding my hand. “Do you know if Cyrus will be there?”
“He’ll be there. He goes everywhere with his father now, for the very reason you just pointed out. As you said, soon his father’s business will be handed down to him.”
“Then go to Cyrus,” I said. “He has something to prove. He’s your key, and you’re his.”
“Jennifer,” he said. The way he said it sounded as if he was about to thank me.
I squeezed his hand, and I have to admit that I felt a little powerful when I did so. The business world was in my blood. I finally felt a trace of confidence because I was talking about things I knew and loved. There was no awkwardness when it came to talking about the world to which I wanted to belong. “There’s nothing to say. Feel free to use me for business advice at any point.”
“But that will cost extra,” he teased.
“I think I’m fairly well compensated, so no worries.”
“Then why am I worried now?”
His voice was serious. “About what?”
“About this ending sooner than it should. You’re very bright. You gave me an angle I didn’t consider myself. I don’t know why someone hasn’t hired you, but they should have by now. I still think it’s because you intimidate people.”
“I’m a small-town girl from Maine. Before today, I was pretty much down to my last dime. How could I intimidate anyone here?”
“With your beauty,” he said. “And your intelligence. For whatever reason, you don’t see it. But others do. Why don’t you see it?”
I wasn’t going there with him, so I was relieved when the car started to slow. I looked through the windshield. “Looks like we’re here,” I said.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t intend to. I have my reasons, but they’re private. This is a business relationship. I need you to respect that.”
“I apologize.”
“There’s no need to.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Not anymore. Now that I know why we’re here, I’m excited. Work your magic on Cy
rus. I’ll work mine in other ways.”
“What ways?”
“You’ll see.”
“One thing,” he said.
“Yes?”
“I always come to these events alone. I meant what I said earlier—your presence with me will cause a commotion. Just hold on to my hand, and get ready for the press. It will be intense, they’ll shout out questions, but we say nothing. OK?”
The driver opened the door. Flashes of light started to go off, and I leaned toward his ear, a sign of intimacy that was part of our agreement. “OK,” I whispered. “I say nothing.”
And the melee began.
CHA
PTER SIXTEEN
When I stepped out of the car, the driver held out his hand to me. He assisted me with my dress so I wouldn’t step on it and take a digger on the sidewalk, so, because of him, I made a graceful exit despite the fact that I couldn’t see anything due the blinding explosions of light.
Alex was right behind me, which fueled the crowd of reporters more when they realized that we were together. I reached out my hand to him. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it, and I felt my knees go weak at the touch of his soft lips and the stubble on his chin against my skin.
That stubble is going to get me every time, I thought.
Deal with it.
In front of everyone, with that sort of lingering kiss on the back of my hand, he had just marked me as his own. No one knew about our arrangement. But with that simple gesture—which broke the rule of no kissing—the news would quickly spread that, at least on some level, Alexander Wenn was taken.
The questions began in earnest, but Alex just smiled and nodded to the crowd before leading me toward a line of other men and women in evening wear who were walking past the doorman and through the door he held open for us.
There was a staircase to our left. With his hand still firmly holding mine, we moved up the stairs to the receiving area. I’d heard so much about this iconic institution, I took it all in as if I might never see it again.
At the top of the stairs would be the Grille Room, as well as the bar. Down a hallway to the left would be the famed Pool Room where deals were struck every day over lunch. How often had I read about this place? About how important this restaurant was to the business community? I couldn’t believe I was here. The warm light glowed deep, and had the effect of making everyone look younger than they were, which likely was intentional.
I could hear a buzz of activity coming from the Pool Room. And then there was society itself. Most were talking in small groups, enjoying the glasses of champagne being offered on silver trays by the attractive wait staff. Others stood at the bar; this group was comprised only of men sipping glasses of Scotch with other men. Not one woman was part of that group, which said it all to me, and which disappointed me. This still was a man’s world into which I’d likely never fully enter. If I was lucky, I’d be tolerated along the periphery, but that’s where it would end.
As I looked around, I noted that the women in particular seemed adrift in ether, their shoes barely touching the floor. I was relieved to see that I wasn’t overdressed.
Blackwell nailed it.
So, this is what it’s like to be rich, I thought. And powerful. And successful. It’s incredible.
“Champagne, Mr. Wenn?” a server asked.
Alex picked up two bubbling flutes and handed one to me. “Thank you,” he said to the young man, who nodded before stepping away. Alex touched his glass against mine, we sipped, and I watched him admire me over the rim of his glass. I couldn’t tell what was an act and what was real. All I could remember was our arrangement, though I sensed there was something else between us. Or maybe I just hoped that there was. He turned me on physically and intellectually, a rare combination if ever there was one. I returned his smile, and then felt his hand press against the small of my back, which I permitted.
“I’m searching for Cyrus,” I said quietly to him.
“He’s likely in the Pool Room with his father. Darius likes to hold court there.”
“When do you want to spend time with him?”
“Later,” he said. “I know most everyone here, so I’ll need to say my hellos. I want to introduce you to those who will approach us—which will be everyone—but I need to keep things moving quickly, so I don’t lose Darius or Cyrus to the night. These events can go by quickly. Too quickly. I need to be careful of that.”
“You’ve got a second set of eyes in me.”
“What I have are many eyes on you. Unless you haven’t noticed, Ms. Kent, you’re the buzz of the ball. Or whatever this event is.”
“It’s a fundraiser for the Met.”
He sipped his champagne and smiled at me. “Oh, that’s right. Sorry. The Met.”
Could his eyes set me on fire any more than they already did? I couldn’t let them or him get to me, but that was a lost cause.
“And so it begins,” he murmured to me. “Here comes Tootie Staunton-Miller and her husband, Addison, or Addy. She’s difficult, but he’s a very nice man, probably because he’s in a sham of a marriage and knows it.” He checked himself. “Actually, that’s not fair. I like Addy regardless of his secrets. He’s one of the kinder people you’ll meet here tonight.”
I watched an elegant couple move toward us.
“What do you mean about Addy?”
“He’s gay. It’s notorious, but no one speaks of it. You’ll like him. Everyone likes him. As for her? Not so much. They have their own arrangement. I suppose lots of people here do.”
He looked up at them as they approached. “Tootie,” he said. “So good to see you.” He gave her a peck on each cheek, and then held out his hand to Addy, who shook it.
“Hellohoware?” Tootie said, glancing sideways at me. “It’s been what? A week? You look very handsome, Alex. But, then, you always do. Who is this?”
“This is Jennifer Kent,” he said.
She nodded at me. “Hellohoware? Are you of the Philadelphia Kents?”
“No. I’m of the Maine Kents.”
Tootie, who was fiftyish, though her face had been molded and pulled into something that stretched toward fortyish, smiled tightly at me. She had blonde hair that just touched her shoulders, and wore understated jewels at her throat, wrists and fingers, and a light yellow gown that I had to admit was sublime. I knew next to nothing about fashion, but in her form-fitting dress, which could betray more mature curves, Tootie Staunton-Miller looked trim and terrific. She also reeked of class and old money.
“I don’t know the Maine Kents,” she said. “Should I?”
“I doubt it.”
“Oh.” She looked at Alex with confusion, likely because his hand was still on my back and it appeared to those not in the know that we were a couple.
“Are you of the Northeast Harbor set?”
“No.”
“The Seal Harbor set?”
“Sorry.”
“The Grindstone Neck set?”
“Not even close.”
“The Bar Harbor set?”
“I’m not.”
“Which set are you from?”
“I don’t have a set. Unless Bangor is a set.”
She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Of course. So sorry. I always think coast. I always think Atlantic and rocky shores when it comes to Maine. When the lumber barons ruled Bangor, there absolutely was a set, which has roots in Philadelphia and New York. I’m assuming that’s your set.”
“I’m afraid it isn’t.”
“Oh, dear.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Kent,” Addison Miller interrupted. He took my hand in his, and kissed the back of it. That was twice tonight that someone had made such a gesture. Maybe Alex hadn’t crossed the ‘no kissing’ line. Maybe this was just who they were. The first one I received was from a stud who now was stroking my back, and the second one was from a gay man who had a gentle demeanor I immediately liked. I couldn’t imagi
ne a better combination for my entree to society, but then I loved gay men.
“It’s a pleasure. Please call me Jennifer.”
“Jennifer it is. You look lovely, my dear. Ravishing.”
“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”
“It’s Addy. Always Addy. None of this ‘Mr. Miller’ stuff.”
He really was kind. Better yet, unaffected, unlike his wife.
“Is that Valentino?” Tootie asked.
“It is.”
“I saw it on the runway.”
“You don’t say?”
“Paris. That leather bodice will certainly turn heads tonight.”
“I would imagine the designer intended for that.”
“It seems so aggressive for an event such as this. Leather and lace to support the Met. Goodness!”
“I think it’s beautiful,” Alex said.
“Hear, hear,” Addy said.
Tootie blinked at Alex. “Oh. Well, of course, it is. Valentino and everything. You can’t go wrong. Well, not really.”
“I can’t imagine anyone judging him,” Alex said. “As you know, my mother wore him often. She loved his work. You remember mother in Valentino, don’t you, Tootie?”
“What I remember is her in Dior. But, yes, also Valentino. And Karl, of course. She loved Karl. Such style your mother had. Such panache. Did she ever go wrong? No. Fashion was just an extension of her. We miss her so much, Alex. Even after all these years.”
“Thank you, Tootie.”
“Are you two seeing each other?”
The question was so abrupt, I blushed, wondering how Alex would handle it.
“We are. It’s only been a few weeks, but we are committed to each other, and we’re very happy.”
“This is cause for celebration,” Addy said. “It’s been too long. I’m happy for each of you.”
What’s been too long?
“So am I,” Tootie said, though her voice was so cool, it was clear that she didn’t mean it. I wasn’t part of any set she could relate to. I was common in her eyes, which was fine by me because it was true. I was common. I had nothing on these people. I didn’t belong to this group, and I didn’t want to belong to it.
Annihilate Me (Vol. 1) (The Annihilate Me Series) Page 7