Uncovered

by Silva, Amy

  I let out a smile, “That’s pretty good Oli. I wonder if that would be enough for him.”

  “Only one way to find out.” She grinned knowing that her brazen ways will force me to step up. “Figure out what makes you tick.”

  Chapter 2

  Jace Roland

  "Fuck GQ.” Jace grabbed the thick magazine by the corner and launched it across the room. It spiraled in the air before slamming into the wall above the trash bin missing the mark and landing next to it. It wasn’t anything personal against the publication, he’s enjoyed for years. It was who was on the cover that was driving him wild.

  Monolyth Marketing CEO Jace Roland leaned back in his big leather chair and took a deep breath. Looking to change his mood he picked up the latest investment report from the mahogany desk that dominated his home office. The numbers showed a sizable increase in his personal wealth from the last year. This was small change and he knew it. The way his business had been taking off, he would double these numbers himself within two years. At 28, Jace was hailed to be the undisputed marketing genius of Chicago. It took plenty of time and sacrifice and it paid off beyond his wildest dreams. At the age of thirteen, he was just a shy kid who enjoyed learning about web design and the Internet. Then he moved to online commerece and his mind began to separate the idea of making money from working for an hourly rate. He had become obsessed to find what made potential buyers buy specific items, and why. Over the next decade Jace perfected these ideas into a systematic approach. Now the biggest corporations were lining up to shell their marketing dollars for his systems. He registered the company name at nineteen and things took off from there. Within the last few years alone Jace had amassed nearly 60 million dollars and was easily one of the most sought after bachelors in the big city of Chicago.

  At six foot three and carved with well defined muscles there was just two words for him - walking sex. His strong muscular arms were highlighted by the bulging biceps and big forearms. His wide chest made all his designer shirts look great as they hugged his rock hard abs. His wide back could easily be used to shield someone. His amazingly bright olive eyes complemented the deep naturally tan skin with his dark hair and played devilishly well into the dark and mysterious look. Every day women would openly stare in the street when he passed though wearing plain t-shirts. When he was out in town in his Lamborghini sitting behind the wheel draped in tailored Italian silk, their prying eyes showed desire that couldn’t be matched.

  While he enjoyed the success, the celebrations and the parties, he was getting bored with all of it all.

  A man needs goals and his kept defaulting to his business aspirations. From cover stories in magazines to social obsequious crowds, he was surrounded by the mindset of “How can we make more money, and who do we network next?” This was boring to him, since his philosophy was that money is always a byproduct of doing something you excelled at. He simply wanted to be the best at what he did, and that fueled him, not the cash. Having already reached his goal of enough passive income off investments, he now could do virtually anything he wanted. However, the things he really wanted couldn’t be bought, which made him a little disappointed at the system that sold him the idea that total success meant everything is great across the board. A few years ago he dove into extreme car racing, ready to fuel his spirit with adrenaline and accomplishment that meant something directly. When you are first, you are first, there is no way around it. Racing was fair and clear cut, the opposite of the bullshit of the business world.

  He looked up from the papers as someone knocked on his door. He wasn’t expecting anyone to show up at his penthouse, and only a handful of people even had the access. He watched the office door open and saw a smiling man’s face peering at him. Jace recognized the visitor and quickly rose from his desk. Ben Challem, the 29 year old surfer with the wild blond hair, bright blue eyes and a permanent smile waltzed in presenting his entire five foot nine worth of charm.

  “What’s up, captain America?” Ben stretched out his arms for a hug.

  “Holy shit, Ben!? When did you get back?” Jace said as he embraced his friend.

  Ben patted his friend on the back, happy to see him again, “Late last night, can you believe the Russians had finally let me go?”

  Ben had been a longtime friend of Jace’s and one of the few people he truly trusted. His family had been heavily involved in yacht manufacturing and was one of the most reputable companies in the world. For over a century Ben’s family tree had designed some of the world’s best yachts and now it was Ben’s turn to take control at the wheel. In the recent years Russia’s financial growth reignited the ‘boat race’ for the super rich. The desire to own the biggest yacht had been generating billions of dollars for the industry from the newly rich Russian oligarchs who competed with the Arab Sheiks, and those in turn with the American finance and business mavericks.

  Beside yachts Ben’s favorite thing was computer hacking. He had started creating websites and databases in his spare time while his parents sailed him around the world on boats. Given that there was only so much fishing and snorkeling one could do in a day, this was a perfect complimentary hobby. Eventually he managed to create the software for running the yacht’s navigation systems automatically, and with his father’s help, license it to the majority of yacht builders. His love for hacking and discovering ways to find and track information introduced him to Jace, who was meticulous about measuring his racing stats. The hobby also at one point attracted the attention of Interpol, which, thanks to his family’s reputation had agreed to place him in the status of a “consultant”, instead of slamming him in jail for a couple of years.

  “About time you came back,” Jace raised his eyebrow. “How long were you supposed to be gone for, three months? And here you are six months later…” his lips curled up, “I clearly thought you’ve been kidnapped and gone for good.”

  “And you didn’t even alert the press? No SEAL teams looking for me through the canals of St Petersburg?” Be retorted as he looked over Jace’s office.

  “I’ve had my assistant put up a poster on the tree by my downtown office!” Jace feigned a concern.

  Ben smiled, “You’re full of crap, there are no trees by your office.”

  The two friends laughed happy to see each other after such a long time apart.

  Jace reached for a couple of beers and handed one to Ben. “It’s great to see you brother.”

  Ben studied the clean office, the papers next to the laptop. “What’s this working from the home deal anyway? Are you trying to escape the female attention?” He didn’t know how close he hit to the mark.

  “Not really, I just concentrate better here.” Jace took a swig and turned to his computer.

  Ben stared through the ceiling to floor windows at Lake Michigan in front of him. He watched the sail boats in the distance breeze through the blue water.

  “How can you possibly concentrate with this view?” he said. “Speaking of concentration, you won’t believe the women over there Jace. Russians are great people, they are so down to earth. I even considered going to the Moscow embassy to apply for citizenship, twice! Then I remembered I like it here too much.” Ben looked at his reflection in the window. ”I gotta tell you man, one of these days I will find me a nice girl and sail away.” He finished his beer in a few swigs and walked over to toss it. His eyes fell on the magazine laying by the trash can, his brows shot up as he recognized the model on the cover.

  Ben walked over to Jace, who was staring at his computer.

  “Speaking of which, how are you doing?”

  Jace knew Ben long enough to guess where he was intending to go.

  “Besides business?” he avoided giving it away.

  “Do you have to ask?” Ben grinned and stared at Jace.

  Jace leaned back from the monitor and rubbed his eyes. "Man, I am better but still at times feel in a daze. Since Giselle left the country I’ve just been working a lot. I couldn’t concentrate, shit I even stopp
ed racing because I knew it would kill me in a state like this.”

  Ben looked squarely at him, “Come on, man. It’s been half a year.” Jace looked up and looked at his friend. “Giselle wanted to be a model and she made her choice. She had you and the good life no matter if she stayed or went, so her choosing to go…”

  “Yeah, I get it.” said Jace. “Still stings though.”

  Ben nodded, “I know it hurts, but the only way to get over it is to meet other girls who show you that life is still a wonderful and exciting thing. Racing is good, and I know you’d kick ass as soon as you got behind the wheel again. And come on, Mr. Chicago’s finest, I am now here to help you rock this town!”

  “Lucky me,” smiled Jace. “I am glad you’re back though, I’ve been working too much!”

  “Well you can thank me twice,” Ben grinned, “because I managed to drag you into some fun already.”

  Jace raised his eyebrow at his friend “Oh yeah?”

  “You, my friend, have a date at La Rouge tonight.” Ben was giddy with excitement.

  “Who with?” Jace said surprised.

  “Oh, a sweet nice girl. A younger sister of one of my friends from Russia. We ran into each other in London’s airport and made plans while flying back together. It’s all taken care of, just show up at La Rouge around ten tonight, table four at their fancy steakhouse downstairs. Her name is Sasha. She is a blond, 167 centim… excuse me, 5”6. A very cool girl. Who knows, if you guys hit it off you could take her dancing to the club on the second level. I heard they just renovated and I know girls think you are a great dancer.”

  “Let’s see how the dinner goes.” Jace said calmly. It’s been a while since he went dancing anywhere.

  “Great, I will stop by there a little later for a drink.” Ben shook Jace’s hand. ‘Right now I have to go see my folks.”

  “Sounds good, we’ll have to catch up more soon.” Jace paused as Ben approached the door, “And thank you, brother.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Ben as he walked out, “Consider it my welcome back present.”

  Chapter 3

  La Rouge was dropped downtown Chicago with the sole purpose of being the most excellent of places for fine dining and entertainment for the wealthy. The ridiculously expensive menu, private guest lists and menacing bouncers worked together to provide the atmosphere of being truly exclusive. It didn’t however stop the crowds of hopefuls from waiting outside and pleading their case to the gatekeepers, who, with the mathematical precision worked to separate the chaff from the wheat. Atmosphere can be bought, secured, prized, but at an elite club, it can never, ever be re-framed. That is the whole magic of atmosphere: it is whatever people agree it is. So when Jace pulled up in his $450,000 Lamborghini to the front valet spot, the host of the club immediately stretched his smile a few inches closer to his ears.

  “Mr. Roland, how are you? A VIP package tonight?” The voice oozed obsequiously.

  “No Claude, thank you, just dining.” Jace was wearing his dark cream Armani dress shirt. Tight fitted and tailored it hugged his ripped muscular body with precision. A couple of buttons were left unbuttoned at the top, demonstrating the upper V of his rock hard pectorals. Sleeves were rolled up half way, showing off his large forearms. A platinum Rolex glistened on the wrist finished off his portrait.

  “Very well, sir. Please come right in, Armando will sit you.” The bouncers separated the red velvet rope and ushered Jace inside the building, to the outcries of the hopefuls nearby.

  Upon entrance to the steakhouse at La Rouge a small Italian man by the name of Armando excitedly shook Jace’s hand.

  “Bueno Notte, signor. A table for you tonight? We are quite full but of course for you we will be happy to accommodate any request.”

  “Good evening, Armando, I have number four reserved.”

  Armando looked down at the reservations in front of him. “Si, of course. Please follow me.”

  Inside everyone from one table to another was draped in sophistication and luxury. Jace studied the room and realized he knew half of the people present. There in the corner was the general manager of the Sears tower, Rich Jones. There was Ed David, the owner of Bentley Gold Coast, the largest exotic car dealership in the Midwest. At the big table Victor Russo, who owned half of the waterfront property, was entertaining a group of friends. At one social event or another they had all managed to make their way over and make an introduction to the young marketing hotshot, who had been on fire long enough to be taken seriously. They listened attentively when he shared his thoughts. Treating people with respect was important for Jace, but here and now he would have rather preferred to be somewhere a bit more private.

  He arrived at table four, which was still unoccupied.

  Good, I could use a drink to relax a bit.

  “Scotch and soda, please.” Jace said to his table’s private waiter as he handed his Black American Express. Entirely made of titanium, this card was reserved only for the elite. Those who could afford to spend a ridiculous amount of money per month Amex required were in turn showered with perks such as private 24/7 concierge and absolutely no worry about any spending limits.

  He was still solo when he finished his first drink. He ordered another and looked around the room. Some guests were moving on, looking to continue the night. Some were just arriving and starting theirs. La Rouge buzzed with the rich and the famous enjoying themselves while sharing laughs and the latest gossip at the tables around him. Jace looked down at his watch.

  Nine thirty. Well, at least getting out of the house was a good idea.

  He was in the middle of deciding whether to order the third drink when a pair of hands reached from behind him and covered his eyes.

  “Guess who?” A heavy accent gave her away immediately.

  “Catwoman?” Replied Jace.

  “It is me, your Russian princess!” Her hands opened and a face full of blond hair appeared over his head. She had playful blue eyes and light sun kissed freckles. Her wide smile was contagious.

  Jace smiled back, “Hey Sasha. Thank you for coming.”

  “Pleased to meet you!” she said with a strong accent. “Very nice, you looking. I see you on the magazine, Fortune, it say very nice man you are. Sorry I am late. You know true lady she is late often, need look fashionable always.”

  Sasha was indeed looking true to her word. She made a statement by wearing a white lace dress that hugged her impressive body. A pair of long tanned legs completed the picture well. She would be a desired companion anywhere, and even at the fancy La Rouge she caught the looks some clearly jealous trophy wives were giving both to her and their husbands who kept sneaking peeks her way. Her clear big blue eyes were smiling non of a less, she was full of life.

  “You look great Sasha. Nicely done.”

  “Oh thank you Jace R-r-roland” she rolled the hard R’s, “the Chicago playboy. I too excited!” She giggled and squeezed his hand.

  “I’m glad you are here, do you want to eat?”

  “Yes, very hungry. But you give suggestions to me, da?” she looked at him with eyes full of sincerity.

  “Here is the menu, Sasha, order anything you’d like. The filet mignon here is one of the best in the world.”

  “Steak I like, but first, cocktail? You need one, da? And me order sex on the beach. May be we both soon see it come true, eh?” She winked and pulled a cigarette out of her purse, then lit it up. A waiter was already rushing over to help explain the local laws to the excited tourist.

  ~~~~~~

  Kate

  The Calvin Klein fashion show was in full effect, as hundreds of people buzzed around show. A long runway stood as the centerpiece, with models walking up and down the podium, glamour in toe. They were lit with the bright lights displaying the latest fashions. It had been an important event and I was glad things were going smooth. The show was getting quite a bit of press as one of the highlights of Chicago fashion culture. Even Xavier seemed to be acting better. Busy with doz
ens of things to check and hands to shake, he barely said more than ten words all evening. After a hectic few hours, the designers finally had entered the podium for the final bow. I made my way to the backstage, ready to go straight home after the stressful workday.