A Gentleman in the Street

by Alisha Rai

  “When did you find it?”

  She recalled that glorious instant she had realized what she’d held, dressed down in Jacob’s mundane shopping bag. “Last week.”

  “And you waited until now to tell me?”

  “I’ve been busy. Sorry.”

  “If you want to send me photos of it, I have a couple of colleagues in Japan who might be able to help you track down the company that made that box, if it’s still in business,” Tatiana offered, affirming Akira’s decision to bring the other woman into her confidence. “I mean, I’m sure you have resources there too, but…”

  “Actually, I don’t. None in this particular sector.” Except for her paternal grandmother, whom she had never met, Akira’s parents and grandparents had all been born and raised outside of Japan—her father’s side in Europe, her mother’s in the United States. If she had relatives remaining in Japan, she didn’t know them.

  She had established a nightclub in Tokyo, but her contacts through that were limited to others in the nightlife and hospitality industries. “I’d appreciate your help. Though I have no idea if it was a company or a solo craftsman that made it, or when. My great-grandfather gave it to my grandma when she was young.” She turned it over in her hand, the sound of the contents tumbling inside oddly comforting her. “As far as I can tell, there’s no craftsman mark.”

  “Hmm. Well, send me the photos anyway. Do you know what’s inside?”

  “No. My grandma knew how to open it, but whenever I would try to grab it, she’d laugh and tell me it was a secret. She’d tell me only when she was older, so I would be able to open it after she died.” Akira paused. Her poor grandmother had been wholly unaware she would suffer a fatal stroke when Akira was nineteen, leaving the box in ignorant hands. “I have fiddled with it a little, wondering if I could get it open.”

  “I wouldn’t have the patience,” Tatiana said dryly. “I’d probably get frustrated and smash it after a day or so.”

  As much as Akira wanted to claim she would be capable of calmly manipulating the panels forever until she found the proper sequence of moves, she knew that was a lie. Sitting still had never been her forte.

  Tatiana frowned. “When I traveled to Japan, I saw these boxes in a couple of high-end stores, so someone is still making them. Maybe any manufacturer can give you some pointers, or if you send them the box, they can open it for you. That way you don’t have to resort to the hammer.”

  Something within Akira shied away from the thought of someone far away handling her grandmother’s treasure. The box itself was as important as what was inside it. “I’ll send you the pictures,” she said. “Let’s start there. In the meantime, I’ll keep poking at it.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for them. Where’d you find it, anyway? I thought you searched your mother’s house from top to bottom.”

  Akira tensed, Jacob’s stupid, sexy face rushing right back to the forefront of her brain. It appeared she would have no peace from the man. “My mother had given it to her ex-stepchild before she died. He returned it to me after I went to see him.” Speaking of which, she would have to come up with some way to compensate the Campbells. Jacob could take the high and mighty, saintlike road all he wanted, blathering on about who had a moral right to the box. Legally, Kati Campbell had a proper claim. Akira refused to be beholden to Jacob in any way.

  “Uh-oh.” Tatiana raised a honey-brown eyebrow. “I sense a story there.”

  Akira shook her head, unwilling to discuss the anger, resentment, pity, and desire making up her feelings toward that man.

  The last emotion was the most annoying. Now that she had discovered the truth about Jacob’s issues with her, nothing could ever come of it, which was a damn shame given his talented tongue. She demanded respect from her sexual partners, and she respected them in turn. As much as she lusted after Jacob, and as much as he might lust after her, he didn’t like her. Or want to want her. That was something that couldn’t be changed.

  You have kind of been a dick to him over the years too, an unassailably honest part of her whispered.

  It had been in self-defense, she assured herself. Driving people crazy was her time-honored way of dealing with those who disapproved of her. Give them exactly what they were looking for and they would never look any deeper.

  She forced a smile for Tatiana. “No story.”

  “I’m happy for you, Akira. You must feel relieved to have found this.”

  She should. After all, she’d won. Recovered her grandmother’s possession.

  So why did she still feel so damn itchy and off-kilter?

  “I do feel great,” she lied to Tatiana. “I’ll be in touch. I owe you one.”

  “Next time I’m in town, I expect a house party in my honor.”

  “Already done and planned, love.”

  They made plans to speak next week, and Akira hung up. She sat for a moment, pulling together the will to haul herself off the bed. Yesterday had been difficult. Marching herself off to work, putting on her cool, collected face, pretending nothing was wrong, when all the while she wanted to curl up under her covers and eat ice cream. Today would be easier. It had to get easier, right?

  How much power will you give this one, insignificant man?

  She showered and dressed in record time, aware that if she dawdled, she might be tempted to return to her large bed. Makeup was essential to cover the dark shadows under her eyes, but that didn’t take long either. While she might give the impression of high maintenance, she had learned long ago the value of efficiency with regards to her personal hygiene. She could probably make up her face in the time it took most women to select a lip color.

  She was fastening her watch as she strode down the stairs, directly to the front door. Since she had gotten a late start, she would grab some coffee and a bagel on the way to work.

  Akira almost stepped on the package on her doorstep, the crinkle of paper beneath her heel startling her into pulling back.

  On the front stoop lay a large bouquet of wildflowers, simply wrapped in brown butcher paper and tied with twine. Curious, she leaned down and picked up the offering. It wasn’t unusual for flowers to be delivered to her door, but the sunny mix of orange and yellow wildflowers, the ends unevenly cut, was out of the ordinary. Plus, it was early, far too early for a floral delivery, and this—she held up her fingers, where a stray bit of dirt clung to her skin—didn’t look like it had come from the local high-end florist.

  A small piece of yellow paper peeked out from the brown paper. She pulled it out. AKIRA, it spelled out in scrawled block letters. She flipped it over. Nothing. No florist she knew of would use a Post-It for a card.

  She shifted her bag and the bouquet to one arm and buried her face in the blooms, inhaling the sunshine.

  Orange is my favorite color.

  She shook her head. As if Jacob had trekked out here to leave her these.

  High heels clicking on the flagstone, she went back into the house. Only one member of her staff stayed on premises—the rest would come in much later in the day. She pressed the intercom next to the door. “Harris?”

  Her butler/housekeeper appeared almost before she finished the word. Harris had come highly recommended by a friend of a friend. In the six years he’d worked for Akira, she had never regretted her decision to hire the small, always impeccably dressed man. Dour, discreet, loyal, and unflappable, he was the perfect person to man her household, barely blinking at even her most outrageous requests. She was certain he didn’t miss a thing, including the flowers in her arms.

  “Yes, Ms. Akira. Good morning,” he intoned, as if it were perfectly normal to find the mistress of the house clutching a clumsily wrapped bouquet in the early morning.

  Akira hefted the weight of the bouquet. “Good morning. This was on the front stoop. It has my name on it. Do you know anything about it?”

  The permanent frown lines on his face deepening, Harris looked at the bouquet with genuine puzzlement. “No, Miss. I have been in
the kitchen since I came downstairs.”

  “Is anyone else from the staff here yet?”

  “No, Miss.”

  There was a privacy fence around her house, but the only gate was at the driveway around the side. It wouldn’t be a hardship for anyone to walk up to her door and leave her the gift. Obviously thinking the same thing, Harris scowled. “I shall review the security footage. Here, let me take those. You should not be handling any suspicious packages.”

  She hesitated a beat before handing him the bouquet, which he treated as gingerly as a bomb. “Let’s look at the footage right now.”

  Harris’s bald head shone in the morning light as he inclined it. “Yes, Miss.”

  She followed Harris through the kitchen, where he placed the bouquet on a counter, and into a small pantry she had converted into a security office. Three flat screens showed split video of all of the cameras, both inside and outside the house. Harris leaned over the keyboard and typed a series of commands. The middle screen changed, displaying the front door and the gate. Harris played the footage at double speed, until a dark blur had him pausing. He backtracked a bit.

  Three a.m. A large figure came up the walkway, bold as anything, and carefully placed the bouquet on the stoop. Though the exterior lights didn’t shine directly on the man’s face, they didn’t need to. Akira stiffened. Oh. My. God. She would recognize the way that man moved anywhere.

  Jacob had left her flowers in the middle of the night? Jacob? Straight-and-narrow, felt-ashamed-to-get-a-boner-for-her Jacob?

  “Hmm. Rather late to leave flowers. Suspiciously late. Shall I call the police?”

  Yes. Call them. Have this man arrested for delivering flowers and reminding me he exists. Here, I can give you his address.

  “No.” Damn it.

  “Miss?”

  “No, Harris. I can handle this.” She spoke through her teeth, wishing she could be cold enough to shuffle her ex-stepbrother and ex-moment-of-madness-lover to the big house.

  “I’ve told you before, you should consider around-the-clock security,” Harris fretted.

  She had an alarm system and excellent locks on her doors. Generally, she only employed security when it was absolutely necessary. Her father had insisted on personal bodyguards because he’d liked how important they made him feel—she’d had enough of people following her around when she was growing up. “No. This is no one to be concerned with.” Maybe he had suffered momentary insanity, resulting in a floral delivery. Of course Jacob had to be exceptional even when he went insane.

  She could call him and chew him out, or visit his house. The bolt of anticipation shooting through her at those ideas immediately nixed them. Hadn’t she decided just last night she didn’t need his brand of crazy? Her life was volatile enough on a good day.

  “All the same, you never know—”

  “Trust me. I know. This man isn’t unstable.” She glanced at the screen and muttered under her breath, “Just annoying as hell.”

  Harris bowed in that way he had that managed to look neither mocking nor ridiculous. “Yes, Miss.”

  She almost made it to the exit of the kitchen before she had to halt, her body quivering. Muttering a curse, she stomped to the counter, picked up the bouquet, and glared at the fragrant sunshine.

  She thought of the tidy home she had visited a couple of weeks ago, where she’d found Jacob’s sister instead of him. There had been no room in front, but perhaps Jacob had a flower garden behind his house filled with the sunflowers and daffodils and other various blooms making up this bouquet.

  Don’t you dare be charmed. Don’t you dare find the thought of a massive Jacob lumbering through flowers and snipping them for you the slightest bit adorable.

  Oh God, what if he had arranged this bouquet?

  Control yourself, woman.

  What was she supposed to do with these? What was this anyway? Weeds to serve as a sop to his conscience?

  They were a pretty sop, though…

  She stiffened, her spine straightening. Fuck this weird, vague offering. And fuck him.

  She marched over to the trash can and held the bouquet over the bin. For some strange reason, her fingers wouldn’t uncurl enough to drop the blooms into the basket.

  Finally calling herself a weakling, she laid the flowers on the counter as Harris joined her in the kitchen. “Put these in water, please,” she said, not caring that she sounded more than a little grumpy. “You can leave them in my bedroom.”

  She didn’t wait for a reply. If the scent of sunshine and spring followed her out the door and all the way to her office, she’d never admit it out loud.

  Chapter Nine

  Akira managed to keep Jacob out of her mind until noon, due to a fire at one of her Houston locations. Thankfully, the bar hadn’t yet opened for the day when the wiring in the walls had sparked, so no one was hurt. Still, the damage meant the place would be out of commission for a few weeks, at least, and she was kept busy dealing with the fallout.

  The media was the biggest hassle. She understood she was an easy target since a lot of people would love to see her fail, and implying her venues were unsafe or dangerous was a favorite pastime, but it was annoying as hell to have to grit her teeth and calmly instruct her PR department on how to proceed.

  Not for the first time, she cursed the arrogance of her youth that had dictated the name of her business. She should have gone for something anonymous, placed a no-name figurehead at the helm, and faded into the background as a faux-silent partner. Thanks to her father, this fucking name of hers practically painted a bull’s-eye on her company.

  She was not in the best of moods when Tammy came in carrying the salad Akira had ordered from the deli down the street. “Bless your heart. I’m starving.”

  Tammy set the familiar plastic takeout box on her desk and placed a brown bag next to it. Akira cast her a questioning look at the latter. “What’s that?”

  “It was waiting for you at the security desk downstairs. I told them to send it up with your lunch order. I figured you ordered something else?”

  Akira studied the innocuous bag, her morning flower delivery popping into her brain. “No. Just my salad.”

  “Do you want me to…?”

  “No.” Akira waved her away. “I know who it’s from. Thanks.” She waited for Tammy to leave. The second the door closed behind the other woman, she snatched the bag closer. The name emblazoned on the front was familiar, though she hadn’t seen the swirling script in a while. Davide. She traced her finger over the simple black lettering. How on earth had Jacob known…?

  Akira stiffened. Ah. Yes. How long ago had that been? Five years? Leaving her mother’s house on a brittle New Year’s Eve, she had encountered the woman gushing to Jacob where he stood on the stoop, ready to leave, his coat draped over his arm. “The clock hasn’t even struck midnight yet, Jacob.”

  Jacob had responded, but Akira hadn’t been concentrating on his words. So rarely did she get to hear the low rumble of his voice, she wallowed in it when she did.

  “Well, give Kati and the boys my regards. I’ll drop by your house tomorrow. With Davide’s of course.”

  A pang of hurt had wormed through the champagne Akira had been drinking all night to make the evening at her mother’s home bearable. It wasn’t enough Mei showed Jacob and his siblings more warmth at these parties than she did Akira. She also stopped by their homes the day after? With treats from one of the most expensive bakeries in San Francisco?

  This time, she heard Jacob’s response. “Kati’s looking forward to it. She loves those scones you bring.”

  She sneered at the exact moment Jacob’s eyes shifted to her standing behind her mother. His easy smile froze.

  It took a second for her to banish the outward signs of emotion, but she managed it by the time Mei glanced over her shoulder, her shiny black bob swinging. Disdain replaced the affection. “Are you leaving?” There was no entreaty to stay, as Jacob had received.

  She hadn’t
planned on going. It was barely ten. There was a stockbroker lingering in the ballroom she’d been working on seducing all night. She always tried for at least one conquest at each of these parties.

  Hell, she needed to eke some pleasure out of the experience. And her mother’s angry attention was better than no attention at all.

  But suddenly, facing this matching wall of disapproval, she lost her stomach for courting even that. “Yes. I have a hot date waiting for me at home,” she lied. She stepped around her mother and through the door, her hurt insulating her from the cold breeze brushing over her bare arms. She hadn’t worn a coat, the better to shock her mom upon arrival with her short slip of a dress.

  Jacob took two hasty steps back as she descended the stairs. Annoyance over his retreat, combined with the alcohol in her system, made her toss her next words over her shoulder. “I’ll try to clear my, um, friend out tomorrow in time for our traditional New Year’s lunch, Mother.”

  “Don’t rush on my account, dear,” her mother said smoothly, both of them aware they were playing a game. “I know how you like your fun.”

  That was her. Fun.

  Jacob’s eyes shifted warily between her and her mother. “I have to get going. The kids are waiting for me.”

  Mei softened. “Of course. Good night, Jacob.”

  “See you tomorrow, Mei. Akira.” Jacob gave her a curt nod and turned on his heel, heading down the path to the valet.

  “That man is a saint,” her mother murmured behind her. “As kind as his father, but far more responsible.”

  Akira struggled not to shiver. “Yes. A regular saint. I suppose I’ll see you at Easter.”

  “Valentine’s. I’m having a fundraiser requiring your presence. Try to behave. Important people will be in attendance.”

  She merely looked at her mother standing framed in the door. “I show up.” Appearances were met. In society’s eyes, her mother was the poor, kind mother with the slutty, useless daughter.