front pocket of his jeans.
Elise arrives with two tall glasses of golden liquid. “Have you been in touch with someone about
the documents?”
“Yeah. We’re on. Now we have to figure out a way of getting those documents to him.”
“What’s so hard about that?” Nonchalantly, she takes a sip of her lager. “We’ll just send them to
him off the phone. He has a smartphone doesn’t he?”
“How would I know?”
“Didn’t you ask him?”
“No! I didn’t,” he snaps, realising his mistake. “I was busy convincing him that it’s for real. If
that’s alright with you? Anyway…” He takes a long drawn out slug of lager, savouring the coolness of
it as it coats his tongue. “… Anyway, if you’re such a whizz, why don’t you send him the photos?” He
waits for a reply.
She checks her nails and shrugs her shoulders, seeming unconcerned about the urgency of the
matter. “I can’t do that.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want him to know my number.”
Dan’s laughter is met with an indignant stare. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? You just
broke into someone’s house and went through their stuff …”
“Did I?” She snorts. “I paid an old friend a friendly visit. I didn’t take a thing.”
She smiles so smugly he could slap her. “That’s right, you didn’t, but I don’t think Stone will be
pleased to know you were sniffing around his place with me in tow.”
“Then we won’t tell him, will we,” she sniggers, much too self-assured for Dan’s liking.
“But what about those photos? Are you telling me you won’t send them to my guy because you
don’t want him to know who you are?” His glass rattles as his slams it down on the table. Surprisingly
Elise doesn’t flinch. “After me giving him all the spiel about winning the fucking lottery?”
“Not necessarily. There’s another way.”
He waits. “And are you going to tell me what it is or are we going to play fucking charades until I
guess?”
She laughs at that ludicrous thought. “I could email them through my Gmail account.”
“Okay. Now you’re talking. Explain how that works.”
Making him wait, she sips her lager and places it delicately down before elaborating, “I could email
the photos to myself then email them to him and he could open them up as attachments.”
“Right. Do it.”
Stalling, purposely making him wait, she glances about the seedy public house. “Is this a favourite
haunt of yours?” She asks using her fingers like tweezers to pick up a beer mat. “It’s not exactly the
Ritz, is it?”
In a state of panic Dan retaliates. “Now how the fuck would you know that?”
She incinerates him with a look. It’s laced with such a venomous intensity, he can do no more than
look away. “Because I’ve been there several fucking times. That’s how I’d know.”
To break the stalemate Dan takes a dive. “Okay. I was a bit pushy. I should be asking not telling.
We are a team, after all.”
She turns to him awkwardly and arches her brows, looking down her nose at him at the same time.
“You think we’re a team?”
What a bitch!
“I thought we were, sort of …”
“For us to be a team Dan, we would need to have two things.” She’s bending back the forefinger on
her right hand preparing to count like a headmistress scolding a child. Dan’s having to grip his glass to
occupy his right hand and fears he may actually shatter the glass if she doesn’t stop with the fucking
counting.
“Firstly, you would have to be honest with me and …” Now she’s bending back another finger.
“Secondly, you would have to be honest with me.” Finding her own antics highly amusing she throws
back her head and roars with laughter.
Dan is rendered speechless. He has no riposte that will quell her audacity or halt her hysteria. She
has the upper hand. He knows it and she knows it. It’s a sucker punch he will have to recover from
quickly if he’s going to have a fighting chance of getting who and what he wants.
He’d underestimated her from the outset, he realises. But no more. His guard’s up and he’s boxing
clever again. “I think you’re enjoying this Elise. It’s just a game to you.” Knowing he has her attention
he reaches for the remains of his lager and tips it the length of the glass until it hits his lips, leaving
the glass empty of anything other than bubbles. He places it down gently, calmly. “You know, if
someone had done to me what you say Stone did to you, I would want him to pay for his crime.” He
cracks a smile. “But, that’s just me.” Sighing, he faces her squarely. “Instead, you’re happy to sip
your drink, laugh the night away at my expense and, don’t get me wrong, that’s your choice.” He pulls
out his phone. “But I‘ve got some guy hanging on the other end of a phone, waiting for information
that will hit Stone right where it hurts; in the pocket and in the public eye. So, it’s your move.”
Realising she has pushed him to the point of breaking, she reaches into her bag. “Alright.”
Dan sits quietly, not wanting to break her concentration, watching with admiration the way she
handles the phone, pressing buttons like an electronics wizard.
She pauses. “I’m about to send the photos to your friend but, before I do, tell me what will happen
when he gets them.” The phone rests on the seat between them. Another stalemate ensues.
“What do you care?” Dan asks curiously.
“Humour me. I won’t do it if you don’t tell me so you might as well.” Now she’s folding her arms
and leaning back in her seat, settling herself in. It could be a long night.
“Okay. Jack will contact his people in Riyadh and they will intercept the shipment …”
“By ‘intercept’ you mean steal?”
“Yes. Steal.”
“How will they do that?”
“How the fuck do I know?”
“Don’t you want to? Will anyone get hurt?”
He sighs for the last time. “Look, Elise, I haven’t a clue how it will go down. All I know is that your
Mr. Stone will take the rap and be out of service for a couple of days. He’ll have some fancy lawyer
say it wasn’t his fault and he didn’t know how sensitive the consignment was and maybe, just maybe,
he’ll be released. If not, you’ll get what you wanted. He’ll be thrown into jail and there he’ll be, sitting
pretty until some fat guy called Frank with a hard on comes to pay him a visit. Anything else I can
help you with?”
“No.” She picks up her phone and presses several more buttons. Throws it in her bag and looks to
Dan. “All done. Your round, I think.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, Miss Richards.” He stands and collects their glasses. “Can I get you a
packet of nuts to have with your drink?”
She sniggers. “No, thanks. But a whiskey chaser would be nice.”
The eleven hour flight to Vegas was unremarkable. Ayden explained how Jake was using the
company jet for business and how we could make the most of flying commercial with B.A., although
there was nothing commercial about our flight. It was first class all the way!
There were only two minor occurrences. I noticed Ayden wasn’t wearing his platinum ring. It had
become scratched somehow and he was having it polished. Whe
n I linked my fingers into his, his left
hand felt weightless and the patch of smooth skin on his middle finger resembled a cream coloured
wedding band, or it would have if it had been on the finger next to it. I stroked the naked skin with my
forefinger. It had been almost fifteen years since that part of his body had seen the light of day.
Forty minutes before landing Ayden had to take a call which, by the look on his face, surprised the
hell out of him. I looked on as he stared into the screen, frantically finger punching. With the event
over, he massaged his chin for a further minute and normal behaviour resumed.
As the limousine pulls into the enormous foyer I’m stunned into silence. Outside there was an
enormous monolithic screen with artwork on it, dancing and merging to a silent beat. I had to tip my
head back to see it. The only fixed images were two words in bold capitals: THE COSMOPOLITAN.
Now, beneath the glistening tower of blue glass and steel, I am surrounded by bell boys and baggage.
“Come on Beth, let’s get checked in. This won’t take long.”
I watch Ayden climb confidently out of the spacious car and I do the same on my side, blinking,
adjusting my eyes to the bright fluorescent lights.
With Ayden’s arm around my waist, we make our way inside to the foyer but rather than following
the crowd, he walks us over to an uninhabited spot, to the sign that says VIP. I learnt early on in our
relationship, Ayden Stone doesn’t queue for anything.
A dark haired woman of around 25 bounds over and is quick to sense his impatience.
“Stone three nights, the Bellagio Penthouse.” It’s a straightforward declaration.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Stone. How nice of you to join us here at The Cosmopolitan. I will get a member of
staff to take you to your room. Please give me a moment.”
Turning from him I cast a greenhorn’s eye over the check-in area. People are milling around but
there’s little hassle. Eight oversized, red check-in desks are arranged in a row and friendly staff are
welcoming excited guests to the hotel. A teenage girl holds my attention. Sensing my gaze, she turns
and our eyes lock. She grins and gives me a smile that says, “Isn’t this awesome?” and I give her one
back in return. It’s just so outrageously modern and chic.
“Thank you.” Ayden’s voice takes my mind away from animated artwork flashing and merging
across the eight enormous pillars of light.
From the corridor we enter the vestibule and make our way into a sumptuous lounge, beautifully
furnished in dark wood, art work on every wall, objet d’art and elegant accessories the likes I have not
seen since Rome.
I pirouette, taking it all in and edge over to the enormous wraparound terrace. I hear the helpful
young man giving Ayden the spiel about switches and facilities, knowing he isn’t listening to a single
word. I make mental notes and step out into the afternoon sunshine, feeling the wind on my face from
21 floors up.
The view is breath taking. It’s a Lego land landscape of hotels and buildings of every shape and
size; an architect’s playground, pure and simple. A couple of familiar landmarks catch my eye: Planet
Hollywood and a spectacular sized down version of the Eiffel Tower.
In a soft whisper that tickles my right ear, Ayden asks, “So … what do you think?”
All I do is huff. “I can’t take it all in. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll let you know.” I lean back,
allowing him to take my weight. Instinctively he enfolds me and I nuzzle my head under his chin.
“You spoil me … “
“Not at all. This is how I live Beth. I always stay here.”
The words rush out of my mouth in a gush. “Why? It’s way too big for one person …”
His lips skate across my hair. “I’ve not always been alone, felt alone but not been alone.”
“Oh.” I find it impossible to supress a giggle. “And there I was thinking you were doing this for
me.”
His chest rattles against my shoulder blades as he contains a chuckle. He’s teasing me something
shameful and I’m happy to play along.
“Now why would I do that Beth? You know I only settle for the very best.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you love me …?”
“Mm … there is always that.”
“And you want me to experience everything with you …”
“This is true”
“So you admit to going all out to impress me then?” I turn around to see the laughter in his eyes.
He pulls back my hair and nips at my ear. “I think I may be willing to concede defeat this one
time.”
“Does that mean I win?”
He laughs at my impudence. “It means you might be right …” He kisses my nose. “Go and have a
wander while I check my messages.”
Following his lead inside, I begin my exploration of this outrageously beautiful suite, beginning
with the guest bathroom and bedroom. No expense has been spared. A narrow corridor opens out into
an enormous bathroom in a cream marble colour, with a shower large enough to accommodate a five-
a-side football team. Alongside is a spacious bedroom with glass doors that open onto the terrace;
centre stage is a four poster bed and in front of it an over-sized TV screen mounted onto the wall, in
which the room is reflected.
I take a tentative step into the next room. Once again everything is super-sized; the L shaped suite
in white leather, the dining table, the kitchen area with gleaming accessories and granite worktops.
How smooth and cold the surfaces feel compared to my warm hands.
Excitedly I stroll to the far end of another corridor and discover it, the piece de resistance, the
master suite: plush, extravagant, sumptuous. It’s all that and more. Acres of bed linen must have been
used to cover the bed. It’s ginormous. Ayden and I will have fun in this bed.
The room is light and airy, and the floor to ceiling glass doors open out onto the terrace. I trot over
to them and pull one ajar, becoming aware of the sound of distant traffic on The Strip and beyond.
I pop my head into the bathroom and lose myself in the side rooms; once again I trace the veins in
the cream marble with my fingers and they come to rest on the counter. Laid out upon it are luxurious
toiletries for him and for her. Nothing has been overlooked.
On the bed is my case. I unzip it quickly and begin arranging my clothes in the wardrobe to the
right. It takes no time at all. Regardless of how much I spread them out, there is still enough room to
accommodate a small car. I close the wardrobe door and prepare to trace my footsteps back to the
lounge.
Ayden is stretched out on the sofa, arms spread wide, jacket tossed onto the arm, tie loose around
his neck. It’s a good look for him.
“There you are. I was beginning to think you’d got lost.” He points to two glasses of wine on the
breakfast bar. “I poured us out a dry white.”
I reach over and pick up the drinks before sitting down next to him, almost losing my balance as I
sink into the soft folds of leather. Our glasses touch but we have no need of a toast.
I let out a satisfied sigh. “Whoever you brought here must have been very impressed,” I state
frankly.
He’s laughing and shaking his head. “I’ve never brought anyone here Beth. I was only teasing. I’ve
only stayed here once before. I had the master and Jake had th
e guest bedroom. It was strictly
business.”
I hold off on a satisfied grin. “Oh.” The wine is chilled and tastes delicious. It gives me something
to wrap my smiling lips around.
He strokes my hair; it’s a comforting gesture. “It’s late. Even though it’s afternoon here our body
clocks are telling us it’s almost bedtime.” He places down his glass on the coffee table. “Do you want
a light supper … an early night …?”
I see mischief in those azure eyes and watch his mouth lift momentarily at the right side. “I’m not
tired and I’m not hungry.”
“I could order room service later and we could sit out on the terrace bed, and watch the sun go
down. How would that be?”
Only one word comes to mind. “Perfect.”
“I’ll go and change and meet you out there.” He reaches for the vibrating iPhone in his pocket. All
at once he’s lost to me. His eyes are fixed on it. I know that look. It’s his bad news face.
“I won’t be a minute. I’ve got to take this.”
With that he heads out onto the balcony, closing the glass door behind him securely, deliberately.
With one hand on the phone and the other massaging his neck his conversation gets underway. I have
no way of knowing how serious this is or if we will be taking the next flight home. With that in mind I
return to our bedroom, anticipating I will soon be packing.
As I step into the bedroom, I become aware of the open door onto the balcony. I can hear him
speaking. I’m about to turn and walk away but something tells me I need to hear this.
“Yes, I get that. So who knew Jay? Who the fuck had wind of the delivery?”
He waits for Jake’s reply.
“Intercepted? What the fuck! By who?”
A moment’s silence.
“And they’ve got the chips? You’re telling me, I’m here in Vegas with everything planned and a
bunch of fucking extremists are running around with our chips?”
I hold my hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp.
“Tell me this is some kind of fucking joke. This was your baby Jake. I told you to work hand in glove
with the MOD. I told you to make sure it was kept under wraps. Fuck!!”
Realising the magnitude of the disaster, I sit heavily down on the bed, ears pricked for more
TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) Page 32