by Sarah Gerdes
But oh, she hoped he wouldn’t fail. She’d adored his manner and touch, and their ability to switch smoothly between discussing food and then work. His extraordinary knowledge of trading stimulated her on a purely intellectual level, one that had never been tapped only because she’d never dated someone in the industry.
Monday arrived and she diligently traded until ten-thirty when the two-rap came at her door.
“Nice Sunday?” Lars inquired.
She smiled politely. “Indeed. I had lunch with Lani and Stephen and gave them a heads up that you’ll be coming by later this week.”
Lars raised his eyebrows. “Is that right? I’ll be alone?”
Danielle’s eyes silently chided him. “I’ll already be there. As a part owner, one of the things I do is help out. And yes, that means I’ll get to…serve you,” she finished, placing the emphasis on that key word.
“Well then,” he said crisply. “I’ll be sure to be there Friday night. Say, eight?”
She nodded, turning to her screen after he left, barely able to focus. The week passed quickly, and Thursday, Johanne dropped by her office.
“You found a new man?” he asked, and Danielle’s eyes narrowed.
“What in the world makes you say that?”
He shrugged. “I missed you at the club last weekend and your numbers were out of this world this week.”
“I’ll never tell,” she said coyly. “But I can say this. He’s not a client.”
Johanne laughed. “I’m soo glad to hear it. We can only take so much drama around here.”
Just before she left the office, Lani called to ask Danielle to fill in for a couple of hours and she immediately agreed. She left the office promptly at three-thirty, going home to change and headed straight over to the restaurant. She wore black leggings with knee-high boots under a leather mini skirt and a black-mock turtleneck. Just to liven things up, she added a wide, grey metal belt, accentuating her narrow waist.
As usual, the evening was busy. Danielle tasted the pecan pie, happy it had been adjusted, and she found the macaroni and cheese as creamy as it needed to be. She had both hands full of food when Lars walked through the door. She felt him observing her as she put the food down and was about to call out to him when the bartender gestured him over to a single open seat at the counter.
“What can I get you?” she heard Paul, the bartender ask Lars. Danielle cruised over to Stephen.
“That’s Lars, at the bar, on the end,” she said.
“Guess he couldn’t wait until Friday,” Stephen said, giving the man a subtle look of interest.
Danielle made her way to the counter. Paul, an ex-pat American attorney who had put himself through law school by bartending, was both brilliant and fun, more than capable of having an intelligent conversation with Lars.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” she said to him. His appearance had altered dramatically. He was dressed in an olive-green V-neck sweater under a black leather coat, the inside of the collar a matching black fur. She glanced down, noticing his jeans that contoured his legs nicely.
“You left on-time, which was early for you, and I took a gamble you were here,” explained Lars, looking her up and down. “I’m glad I did.”
Danielle blushed. “Yeah. I have a slightly different look.”
“It works. I like it.”
Danielle leaned down to his ear. “I’m glad,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear. With a backward glance, she left him to get food from the kitchen.
When she told Lani Lars was at the bar, her friend couldn’t help sneak around the corner to catch a look. “Wow. He’s gorgeous,” Lani said, gawking. “I didn’t think anyone could match Andre, but he’s right up there.” She pulled her head back quickly, giggling. “I think he saw me.” Suddenly they were two fourteen girls at the high school football game all over again.
Lars unconsciously moved his head to the beat of the music as he checked his phone and ate a plateful of pot roast and mashed potatoes. Danielle was pleased when Stephen introduced himself, chatting Lars up between sitting guests at the tables. It wasn’t until around eight-thirty that the line at the door waned and she had time to take a break. Lars was slowly working his way through dessert when she sat down at the empty barstool next to him.
“Well, how was your meal?”
Lars wiped his mouth and took another drink. “Splendid.” Danielle raised her eyebrow in skepticism. “Really. Tastes like the best of New York.”
Danielle preened inside. “I’ll pass that along to Lani.”
His eyes glinted. “I was wondering, since I’ve come tonight and seen you here…” he let his comment trail.
“If we could forgo tomorrow night for something else?” she finished. “I’m not opposed to the suggestion, but am disappointed you didn’t get the full serving experience tonight.” Lars’ hand went to her hip, as if to see if she were willing to make her affections for him known, in this place, of all public spaces. “What are you thinking?” she asked.
“Dinner. My place.”
“I’m looking forward to it. And thank you for being normal this week.”
He gave her another squeeze and she left him. After the restaurant had cleared out, Lani pronounced Lars suitable dating material, and Stephen said he thought the man was serious.
“At least as much as we ever saw with Andre.”
Just as she opened the door to leave another man entered, almost hitting her. She looked at him, startled.
“Hello, Danielle.”
“Hi, Andre.” And that was it. No emotion. No heart-thumping fear. She was finally over him. She casually walked to the metro, elation filling her chest, the swell of a brighter future as tangible as the warm air she inhaled.
The following evening, she stood in front of her closet, contemplating what to wear for her dinner date at Lars’ home. She vacillated between the comfort of jeans, the elegance of a skirt, and which item was easiest to remove.
No, she said firmly. That is not going to happen.
In the end, she went with straight-legged black pants, closed-toe heels and a burgundy sweater with a broad, u-shaped neckline that stretched nearly to the edge of her shoulders. She turned to look at her appearance in the mirror. It was comfortable and sexy, and she’d always liked her neckline. So does he, she thought to herself, smiling.
She took the metro over to Lars’ building, having declined his offer to pick her up. She wanted the freedom to come without the obligation to stay.
Of all the places to live, however, Andre just had to pick the building where Lars owned his own unit. Danielle did suffer through five, full-minutes of heart-palpitating nerves as she waited for the doorman to call for permission to allow her into the building. She kept her hands in the comfort of the three-quarter-length camel-haired coat, grateful for the fur collar. Lars’ comment about the weather had been accurate; it had turned quickly. Clear but crisp, liked fall in the Northwest but without the rain.
The elevator pinged and she felt relief Lars was inside. He greeted her with a warm, elongated kiss to her cheek and placed his and on her lower back.
“You look stunning,” he murmured, his lips finding her ear as the elevator doors closed.
“And you…” she barely managed to say. “I’ve never seen you wear a grey-blue before. It sets off your eyes.”
The door slid open and he took her hand. “Come with me.”
CHAPTER 41
Danielle naturally assumed she’d walk into an apartment very similar in size to Andre’s. After all, she knew the Mettleren family worth—to the nearest billion—so was understandably amazed to enter the penthouse apartment that stretched an entire wing of the floor.
“Only one other resident lives on this level,” Lars informed her, as though assuring her she need not be concerned about a random run-in with Andre without saying his name. “I hope there’s not anything you can’t or won’t eat,” he said as they walked past the plush, round sitting couch in the f
oyer.
“I hope you didn’t make chicken, actually. It’s been leaving this weird aftertaste in my mouth.” She admired the curving marble and iron staircase leading to the second floor as they walked into an expansive living area.
Lars laughed. “Perhaps you aren’t used to the organic, Swiss version.”
“And maybe it hasn’t been made to American standards.”
“Touché,” he replied. He held her hand tight as they walked through the hallway. It opened into a room facing the water and beyond that, a separate formal dining room also facing the water. She caught a glimpse of the living room, and in it, a black, concert grand piano.
In the kitchen, Lars opened one of the fridges, retrieving what looked like a bottle of flavored sparkling water. She accepted a glass and he toasted her being in with him on a date.
“I’m just glad we’re here, instead of sitting in a formal restaurant, surrounded by grey-haired men and women who look like beautiful mannequins.”
Lars laughed, setting his glass down and pulling her to him. She giggled as he covered her face in his kisses, both playful and passionate. When he stopped, he touched her face. “Your laugh…it’s adorable. Very girlish.”
Danielle smirked. “I am very girlish. One doesn’t need to be a hard-charging business person all the time.”
“I consider you aggressive and focused, not hard-charging in the classical sense of the word. That implies a certain ruthlessness that’s inconsiderate of everyone along the way.”
Danielle moved around the kitchen bar, taking a seat on one of the stools. “Trades don’t require ruthlessness. They require intelligence.”
“Agreed. Would you like to take a look around as I finish getting things ready?”
Danielle stifled a smart response. Here he was, in this humongous cavern of a penthouse, whipping up a meal, for her. “I’ll just admire your kitchen if you don’t mind. You over did it, you know,” pointing to the three fridges. One had a stainless steel front, the other a glass front, and the third was just for beverages. “And seriously. Who needs four Gagenau ovens?”
“I entertain,” he said simply.
Danielle admired his backside when he was turned to the stove, inhaling deeply. The aroma of onions, garlic and meat was divine. She also caught the smell of mushrooms and nutmeg, which she guessed was coming from the pot on another burner. Lars lifted the top and dipped in a spoon. He turned, bringing it to her mouth.
“It’s cool enough,” he said. She took a sip, feeling a lovely rush of warmth in her belly which didn’t have a thing to do with the food.
“Needs more salt,” she said. “But I tend to think food over here can be a bit bland. I’ve noticed that none of the restaurants put salt on the table. Why is that?”
Lars tasted the soup again and tilted his head. “We focus on flavor. You sure you don’t want to look around?”
“Actually,” she said, “I would rather have you show me.”
Once he turned the salt grinder a few times over the soup and put the lid on the pot, the tour began. Lars walked her down the hall, opening doors to bathrooms, a library and an enormous wood-paneled office, reminding her of Georgy’s, replete with a stone fireplace. The apartment had three bedrooms, each with en-suite bathrooms, and a separate room at the end for animals.
“I don’t see any dogs,” she remarked upon noticing the tub and kenneling area.
Lars shrugged. “I might have one someday. Good to be prepared.”
Danielle laughed. “Or, if and when you have children, you can kennel them up here. What?” she asked at seeing the look on his face. “You have the beds,” she said, pointing to the permanent kennel that was built in to the wall. “And you have the bathtub. It even has its own washer and dryer. It’s perfect!”
Back in the living room she complimented him on the beauty of the deck and view beyond. Ornate stone pots hung off the wrought-iron metal, masterfully tooled iron chairs with thick pads were dotted along the deck, perfect for summer or fall evenings. She walked outside with him, not minding the chill.
The vibe in Lars’ flat was completely opposite Andres’, once again highlighting the differences in taste and age. Andre had selected bright furniture, vibrant, artistic pieces for the walls, the overall effect trendy with a bit of flash, just like the motorcycles he drove. Lars’ apartment was contemporary and elegant, the furniture and pieces on the walls more substantial, made to transcend fads.
“You’re like Zeus on your own personal Mt. Olympus.”
“And you,” he said in her ear, putting his arms around her waist, “are like Athena. Not all that impressed by the beauty surrounding you.”
Danielle hummed, tilting her head so he could kiss her neck. “I’m glad you chose a warrior princess instead of Aphrodite. Big boobs and being stuck in an oyster shell most of the time hasn’t ever really worked for me.”
“You…” he said between laughs and nibbles on her neck. “Make it so hard to be romantic.” Lars moved his mouth up her neck and to her ear. “Are you getting to know me?” he murmured.
Her hum of pleasure became a soft groan as his lips pushed the material of her sweater over the narrow slip of her undershirt and off her shoulder. He bit the skin lightly, his hands on her waist pressing harder.
“You want to tell me who plays the piano?” she asked softly.
“Mmm-mmn,” he responded. Danielle placed her fingers lightly under his chin, lifting his head slowly as she turned to face him. His look was a plea for her to give him what he wanted, while hers was a request to wait, to hold out until they’d had more time to be with one another. He sighed in mock frustration, but obliged her by answering the question.
“I hire people to play because I don’t,” he said, gently readjusting her sweater. “Would you like to play while I finish preparing our meal?”
“Sure,” said Danielle. She was still quivering from Lars’ affection, but a new sensation took over when she saw the casing. A Bosendorfer Imperial Grand with 97 keys. “A limited edition,” she said to herself, reverently gliding her fingers along the edge of the open lid. The black shone like glass, and her nerves tingled in awe.
“When was this last used?” she asked him.
“A few months ago.”
“This is exquisite,” she said to herself. “I’d play it every day.” She much preferred the rich, deep sound of a Bosendorfer to that of a Steinway, which was brighter, with a different touch and tone. She looked at him for permission and he nodded with a smile, leaning on the end of the counter. She took a breath of anticipation and set her fingers on the ivory keys. When she finished her piece, he started clapping.
“Okay,” she said archly, standing up. “No clapping. Only tips.” Her voice was playful and inviting.
Lars didn’t have a quick comeback for that, and instead gave her the only compensation she required.
The meal was as good as it smelled, and an hour later, Lars asked if her she was ready for dessert.
“But I’m full,” she protested, touching her belly for emphasis. They’d moved from the kitchen in to the family room where she sat on an oversized, high-backed chaise lounge, the leather and fur warm and inviting. It was also large enough to comfortably hold three. Danielle had learned Lars had a penchant for fur, advocating it in all its forms.
“Fur takes the chill off. It gets really cold here and the moisture adds to it.” He sat on the couch opposite her, his shoes on the floor, his feet on his glass and wood coffee table.
“I think fur makes a person want to get naked,” she said without thinking.
“This is how you are all the time when you’re just being yourself, isn’t it?” he asked her.
“What? Transparent?” she said as she took a small bite of the pastry he’d made.
He shook his head. “Sexual.”
She thought back to Andre, and his comment about her being a sexual tsunami. “No. I’m probably just like all the other women you’ve known, especially in New York.”<
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“Danielle, you are nothing like any woman I’ve encountered, anywhere.” His voice was warm and serious. He rose and sat beside her, their feet touching one another. It was a simple act, and yet very intimate.
“It’s your turn,” he said diplomatically.
“For what?”
“To tell me about yourself. The parts I don’t know already.”
“What do you want to know?” He was interested in her parents, which led to more details about her father’s health. She had already told him about the pregnancy, but now revealed her reproductive issues. If they stayed together, and if he had a hankering to have a child, he should know right now, before they slept together, that she could never have a child.
“Does that mean you don’t use birth control?”
“I haven’t had to for seven years.” Lars took the fact as calmly as any other piece of information she’d provided.
Lars asked if she’d play one more song before he took her home and she agreed. Danielle played a tune that was melodic and light and completely perfect for the setting.
“I like that one.” Lars moved around behind her, carefully touching her hair. She watched him in the window. He was waiting for any indication of disapproval on her part, and she gave none. He unclasped the metal clip, placing it on the piano, and separated her curls into smaller pieces. Danielle transitioned into another piece, this one without words. He brought his fingers to the base of her neck, touching it ever so lightly, then up through her scalp. The sensual massage sent a shudder through her body, making her nipples harden.
“Have you learned anything surprising?” she asked.
“Yes, a few unexpected revelations,” he said, his thumbs massaging her neck. “What I find most intriguing is that it’s effortless and easy with you.” She murmured her agreement, turning her head just enough that so that her cheek rubbed his forearm.
She began playing Gimme Lovin by Goloka, an obscure tune she’d found on the Internet radio, doing her best to replicate the deeper voice of the female singer. “Gimme lovin/tell me something/words that make me feel so happy.”