by Robin Cain
“Sadie, beautiful Sadie, this is absolute torture. I want you so bad I can taste it.”
Breathless and absent from a reply, Sadie merely nodded her head. Tyler stroked her face and looked directly into her eyes, seeing deep within her what he now knew to be the reflection of his own soul.
“I’m sorry, Tyler. Not here, not now. Not under these circumstances.” She nervously brushed the sand that had stuck to her legs and straightened the blanket, askew from their passionate embrace at the water’s edge.
“I can’t do this to him—and I can’t do this to you. W--we hardly know each other.”
He quickly stopped her, “I understand. I just meant that I want you. Not today, not tomorrow, but one day when you’re ready. And I don’t mean just for a poke on the beach. It feels like I could hold you for a lifetime, like I have found my other half. Do you understand me? I want you, Sadie. I... I want to grow old with you.”
Tyler’s words—as well as the ones left unspoken—found their way to Sadie’s heart, which now ached from their homecoming. Their connection, this link between them, was more than just a chance meeting, or just a “poke on the beach” as he had said. As certain as that of another beat of her heart, Sadie knew this wasn’t ending here. Their journey had begun and there was no turning back.
“And I want you,” Sadie told him.
They looked into each other’s eyes and they both came to believe—in that very instant—that they at last understood the meaning of forever. Tyler put his hand up to her face, stroked her cheek and they made this their promise: One day they would be together.
They kissed again and silently gathered the blanket from the ground, each of them knowing this was not the time or place. With this connection between them, they climbed into the boat and, hand-in-hand, drove back to the distant shore.
It would be hours later before Sadie realized Frank still hadn’t called.
eleven
THE GRAND white stone building at 5 Rue de la Paix that housed the Park Hyatt Paris-Vendôme stood as a modern palatial hotel for those requiring luxurious accommodation. Its opulent marble floors, soaring columns and intricate metalwork-bordered windows paid homage to the roots of its ancestry while its glass conservatory-dining room’s natural lighting and stunning display of potted rare orchids alongside works by contemporary artists set the tone of its future. The building stood as a monument to the architects of contrast.
A taxi pulled up to the entrance, opened its doors, and left its occupants to continue their argument on the curb.
“Frank, I cannot believe you treated me like that, right in front of clients!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You had an idea; I didn’t like it; and I told you so. Am I not entitled, as your boss, to tell you when I don’t agree? You are taking this far too personally. And keep your voice down. You are making a scene.” Pedestrians, out for an evening stroll, shook their heads with annoyance while trying to get past Frank and Citra on the sidewalk.
So angry she couldn’t breathe, Citra felt belittled. Frank had been simply trying to prove a point in the meeting they had just attended— that regardless of what they shared or what deals they’d made, he was still her boss for now. Her anger caused tears to well up in her eyes.
“Damn you, Frank. This isn’t about us right now. What you did in that meeting was wrong. My suggestion for their customization of the software was dead-on.”
“You were taking over and you shouldn’t have been. We let the client tell us what they want, remember? You know better.” Frustrated with having to explain himself, his voice was becoming louder and louder. Passersby continued to glare as the argument intruded upon their peaceful Parisian evening.
“I was simply making a suggestion. I’m sorry if you thought I was ‘taking over.’”
Both of them knew that this argument wasn’t about a meeting with a client or about her taking over. Their frustration with the situation between them had been bubbling at the surface for awhile, finally rising to a crescendo that day. Friends for years, as well as lovers and co-workers for nearly that long, and now future partners, they’d had to let their personal feelings sit on the sidelines in an effort to maintain normalcy. It hadn’t been easy. Theirs was a strong connection.
As a married man guaranteeing his ex-lover a stake in his own business, Frank was doing his best to keep his promises, but it hadn’t been easy. Citra was a strong, sexual and beautiful woman. Their business relationship kept them in regular contact; their personal feelings for each other battled their sense of decency at every turn.
Frank realized it would have been easier if Citra had left the company, but his need for her, in both a business and personal sense, took precedence. He had originally thought he could deal with the temptation and, as a man, he did enjoy the thrill of it. But most days he found it a real struggle. Paris, the city of lovers, was proving to be one of their biggest challenges.
“Look, Citra, I’m sorry. Maybe you’re right. Maybe this isn’t all about business. I still believe you shouldn’t have second-guessed the client, but maybe I was wrong to act that way in there.” It was difficult for him to apologize, but he knew he had to. Keeping her happy was more important in the bigger scheme of things for right now.
“No, you were just plain wrong to act that way in that meeting,” she insisted.
“Citra, I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. Have dinner with me somewhere fabulous?” he suggested, hoping his charm would work magic on her. Looking down at his watch, he saw that it was once again too late to try and reach Sadie. “Oh shit!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Believe it or not...” He quickly wracked his brain for an excuse. “I made dinner reservations this morning and we only have twenty minutes to get there.”
Between the jet lag, the back-to-back meetings and the additional stimulus of having Citra with him, his body clock was a mess. His assistant Janie had suggested La Tour d’Argent, a restaurant that prided itself on having one of the most technically perfect wine cellars in all of France. Its treasures included vintages single-handedly saved from the German occupation during the Second World War. Knowing its cellars held more than four-hundred thousand bottles, Frank now felt like he could use at least a couple of them. Thank God he’d had Janie make a reservation.
“Are you going to be okay to go with me now?” Frank asked his still pouting companion.
When Citra reluctantly agreed, Frank hailed another taxi. They rode in silence to the restaurant, but while Frank was feeling guilty for having not called Sadie, he suspected Citra was planning the next attack on his senses.
They arrived a little too early for customary European dining, so they had their choice of tables. When Citra chose one in the back of the restaurant with a view of the Seine, Frank hoped the privacy it offered would prove to be a wise choice. As they settled in, they each took their time to review the lengthy wine list and menu.
When their waiter eventually approached to the table, he arrived sheathed in an air of indifference. Suspecting ignorant tourists with little idea of the gastronomical pleasures that awaited them, he inquired in French if they would like to order wine, taking pleasure in his efforts to showcase their lack of culture.
In response—and flawless French—Citra asked him for his recommendation. She then proceeded to order a far more expensive bottle of a 1996 Château Rollan de By.
“C’est magnifique!” Not only charmed by her beauty and mastery of the language, the waiter agreed with her wine selection. “Un moment, s’il vous plait?”
With the waiter now gone to get the wine, Citra wasted no time getting to the point.
“So, how long am I going to have to wait before we’re partners, Frank?” Her eyes bore holes into his. It was apparent she was choosing to not yet address the romantic angle of the equation.
“Citra,” he began, exasperatedly. “We have had this conversation before.”
“Yes, but you seem to be draggi
ng your feet?”
“I have got people working on this project around the clock. It’ll be ready when it’s ready. You don’t want to take ownership of a halfassed piece of code, do you?”
“Of course not, but I don’t get any sense of urgency from you. You’re not trying to drag this out further than necessary, are you?” It was becoming clear Citra trusted no one.
“Of course not. You’ve been following this. You know where we’re at. Besides, you have a contract. Your place is secure.”
Changing the subject, Citra coyly asked, “So, how’s married life, Frank?” At the same time, she slipped her stocking-clad foot out of her shoe under the table and slid it slowly over to inside his trouser leg. “You don’t seem to be spending very much time with your new bride? Why is that? Don’t want to associate with a killer?”
Startled and trying not to overreact, Frank carefully moved his leg out of her reach. “C’mon, Citra. Don’t.”
“What’s the matter? You used to like when I touched you.”
“I’m married now,” he said, though he was fairly certain it made no difference to her. “And Sadie had nothing to do with that guy’s death. Don’t try to just piss me off now.”
“Come on, Frank. You don’t know that for sure. The reports I’ve read say they don’t know what happened. Someone made it look like suicide, but there were signs of a struggle. And from what I’ve read, the guy had a history of abusing women. Maybe it was self-defense. Maybe he chose the wrong woman to beat.”
“There is no way that Sadie had anything to do with that murder. End of subject.”
“Funny how she left town right after, though, wouldn’t you say? You’d think, if she was innocent, she’d stay to defend her good name, no?” Citra played with the strands of her hair as she toyed with Frank’s mind. “You hardly know the woman. And he was a pretty fine-looking piece of movie star, if I must say so myself.”
“Citra, stop. Right now. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Sadie was done with Billy. In fact, she was afraid of him.”
“Hmm, sounds to me like the perfect reason to fight back.”
“Enough! Let’s talk about something else,” Frank said, clearly irritated at Citra’s tactics.
“Want to talk about us then? About how long it’s been since you’ve been loved? Hmm...?”
“Citra, can we keep this on track for now? Please? We can’t be business partners and still be having these kinds of conversations.”
Never one to mince words, Citra stayed at it, “This wife of yours can’t possibly give you what you need. We make a hell of a partnership. How could you just let that part go to waste?”
“Sadie is a kind woman. I couldn’t hurt her like that. Besides, you said you were done with me, Citra. Remember?”
“It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, no?” This time Citra reached out and caressed his arm. “I’d hate to see some irrational action on your part preclude what could be the perfect balance.”
Frank knew what Citra was alluding to and, as tempting at it was, he couldn’t take the risk. Though having intimated loyalty was no longer one of her strong suits, Citra was obviously still in love with him. She wasn’t likely to go anywhere else anytime soon and, as long as he could keep her in his sights and dangling on the line, he’d have the upper hand.
“And I know you want me,” Citra suggestively added, but her bold statement went ignored when the waiter appeared with their bottle of wine.
After declining the formalities of twirling and testing, Frank asked to order right away. He needed food. He didn’t want to embarrass himself with his rusty high school French, so he told Citra to just order the duck for him. Citra opened her menu and ordered for them both.
“Jes voidrais tracon de canard caramelize á l’orange, nougatine d’amande et cherise, mousseline de petits pois a la menthe,” she told the waiter. “Raviole ephemere de ‘King Crab’ et crevettes grises, parfumee au bouillon mangue.”
“Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle!” the waiter exclaimed, nodding his head to affirm Citra’s excellent selections. He left them to finish their conversation.
As Citra began again, Frank took what was likely a twenty-Euro gulp of wine, preparing himself for her onslaught.
“I have stood by your side for years. Isn’t it time for us to stop trying to extinguish this flame?”
“This is my life. I’m not trying to hurt you. One day this will all work out for the best. I promise.” Frank knew it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but he had no intention of jumping from one fire into another. Having tried to end their relationship many times over the years, he knew she had signed up for this ride and, as such, she was able to get off anytime she wanted. The fact that she continued to stay told him she wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
“Don’t think I’m naïve enough not to realize you bought me off with your promise of a partnership, Frank. I understand that. I’m not reneging on the deal. I just thought that now, after you’ve seen what a mistake you made, I’d offer you a second shot.”
“What mistake are you referring to?” Frank wanted her to say the words.
“Oh come on, Frank. You got married on the spur of the moment; you ship your wife off to Washington after her boyfriend is mysteriously murdered; and here you are in Paris with me—it doesn’t take a psychiatrist to see things aren’t fabulous in Disneyland.”
“Things are fine, Citra. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, don’t I?” Her coy smile got right under his skin. “When was the last time you saw your new bride, Frank?”
The truth of the answer nagged at Frank’s conscience. He had been pretty busy lately and let time get away from him, but everything seemed fine. “It’s only been a few weeks. Everything is fine.”
“You sure about that? You barely even knew this woman, yet you rush off and get married; her boyfriend turns up dead; and she flees out of state. Doesn’t sound to me like your needs are getting met— but what do I know?”
“I know,” Frank begrudgingly acknowledged. “But things will change once the house gets done and work isn’t so crazy. Part of the reason is you—you know, Citra. I’m trying to get this deal in place for you—as I promised.”
“I’m tired of waiting, being made to sit in the second seat. You know, there are a lot of companies out there that would pay dearly to have me work for them. Not to mention all the men who would give up their right nut to share my bed.”
Frank’s posture immediately stiffened. He resented her deliberate attempts to try and scare him. “Oh, is there now?”
“Frank, come on, I’m not trying to be that way. I’m just saying that I’m talented, beautiful and successful. And here I am waiting for you and your promises like an idiot.”
Citra’s words, though true enough, were not something Frank wanted to hear. As for their personal relationship, he had struggled with his craving for her for longer than he could remember. Some days he couldn’t even remember the reasons for giving her up and marrying Sadie. But, if things weren’t moving fast enough for her, there was nothing he could do about that. It was all going as he planned.
“Hello?” Citra was losing Frank’s attention to his overwhelming hunger. When he didn’t respond and simply glared at her, she changed the subject until their food arrived.
Two hours later, after finishing their meals and nearly two bottles of wine, Frank excused himself to the men’s room. He left his jacket, asking Citra to pay the bill. She watched as he stumbled to the men’s room. The waiter arrived a few minutes later, removed the last empty wine bottle and set the bill on the table.
“Merci,” Citra said, reaching over for Frank’s jacket. She pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. She scanned the cards—Black American Express, VISA, MasterCard, driver’s license, insurance card. She pulled out the American Express and set it on the table. When she went to replace the wallet, she found a loose card inside his pocket. It was a blank white card of some sor
t.
His private MineWare security pass.
MineWare had a state-of-the-art security system. With its highly sought-after products in various stages of development and the hundreds of people the company employed, MineWare had to be vigilant when it came to protecting its assets. Employees were issued IDs, each with their own separate access codes. Scanners, mounted at every building entrance and at various department entrances, regulated and kept track records of admittance. Surveillance cameras and encrypted computer security added another level of protection.
In all the years Frank had known Citra, he had never mentioned or discussed with her the security features of MineWare. Then, out of the blue, just last week, Frank had leaned over one night at dinner and confided something. She had taken his sudden confidence as a sign of his commitment, also attributing his loose tongue to three too many martinis and jet lag. He told her he had determined long ago that there were very few people he could completely trust. With that in mind, he explained, he had the head of his IT department make him a special ID card, its magnetic strip containing information that allowed him access anytime anywhere in MineWare’s building, without detection.
Just a plain plastic white card, it looked exactly like every other employee’s, except for the information on the back. He’d even pulled it out of his wallet and showed it to her. Crediting what he felt was his extraordinary ingenuity, he bragged that no one outside a “select handful of his most trusted and respected employees” even knew of its existence or, for that matter, could possibly even comprehend its capabilities. To substantiate his cleverness (and she was sure to impress her with his trust of her), he had even made a game out of her guessing his computer password. He had been so smug, she never let on that she had figured it out.