by Leigh Hays
“I’m sorry.” Lindsey looked at her. She couldn’t get a read off Rebekiah. A different mask had fallen into place, and the early connection had faded. She put on her boots and slipped into her jacket. Grabbing her bag, she moved to the door.
Rebekiah beat her to it and held it open. Leaning her head against it, she said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got your number.”
Rebekiah’s tone brought that closeness back, and Lindsey paused, aware of the weird intimacy of the last hour and the close proximity now. She felt an urge to brush a kiss against her cheek. Instead, she nodded vehemently. “Right, right. See you in Philly.”
Rebekiah winked. “Good night.”
Afraid that Rebekiah had read her intent, Lindsey said, “Good night,” and turned on her heel. It wasn’t until she hit the street that she realized she’d forgotten her scarf.
Chapter Eight
Lindsey watched the night settle over Victoria Harbour from the rooftop restaurant of the Hong Kong Four Seasons. Listening to the mix of English, Cantonese, and Mandarin around her, her mind wandered from one conversation to the next, picking up bits and pieces in all three languages. Looking out the window, she saw ghostly gray clouds lit up by the moon with patches of blackness below where the South China Sea looked like glass.
Two months had passed since Roger’s firing, and she was still dealing with the aftermath. She needed to move on Rebekiah’s portfolio; a whole month had passed since she’d seen her in person. But business wasn’t the only driving force for Lindsey. She’d liked the way Rebekiah made her feel when she took pictures. And honestly, she wouldn’t mind being in the spotlight again. But their schedules seemed to clash.
She stood when the waiter pulled the other chair out, and Li Jing settled across from her. With a flick of her wrist, she waved Lindsey down and said in Cantonese, “Sit.”
Lindsey sat and pulled her napkin back on her lap.
“Sorry I’m late.” Li Jing waved the waiter off and leaned forward, switching to English. “I can’t end a meeting on time these days.” Lindsey had worked with her for close to ten years and valued her insight and knowledge. An investment banker, Li Jing navigated disparate cultures and saw many perspectives, especially when her male counterparts weren’t paying attention. She had worked out of two of the three biggest banks in Southeast Asia before opening her own boutique investment shop three years ago. “Were you waiting long?”
“Not long.”
“I’m starved.” She caught the waiter’s eye and pulled him over. They ordered quickly before he left. “Your Cantonese is getting rusty.”
Lindsey shrugged. “Too much time in Beijing.”
“Yes, I hear more Mandarin these days, too.” In her late fifties, Li Jing came of age in the years before the handover. She pursed her lips. “I see you went on holiday with Jason Huang.” She raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Isn’t he a little…masculine for your tastes?”
Lindsey thanked the waiter as he refilled her tea. Li Jing held her hand up to tell him no. Li Jing knew she preferred women. Among the many business traditions Li Jing observed, procuring companions for her business associates was still one of them. After she stopped sending eligible men Lindsey’s way, Li Jing started sending women instead. Lindsey only slept with one of them, an event she only knew about the morning after. It was at the height of her drinking. Now, Lindsey just smiled.
Li Jing narrowed her eyes and asked, “How’s your mother?”
Lindsey nodded. “Senator Blackwell is good. She sends her well-wishes.” Lindsey’s mother wouldn’t be able to pick Li Jing out of a lineup, but her connection to Lindsey served Li Jing’s interests.
Their food arrived, and they ate with a minimum of small talk. They tended toward the larger debates: politics, economics, and current events. Lindsey enjoyed it. She liked someone who kept up and actually outplayed her on more than one occasion. Only after their meal was swept away and they were left with tea and oranges did the topic shift toward their business together. Li Jing wanted Lindsey’s investment contacts for a project in Seoul. They discussed options for another hour before coming to an agreement. No handshake, no contract, just a deal made over tea and Japanese whiskey.
Li Jing leaned back and asked, “How long has it been since you last drank?”
Lindsey sucked in a breath. Her sobriety was a well-kept secret; Cathryn didn’t even know she was in recovery. She often paid bartenders and waitstaff beforehand to keep her drinks nonalcoholic. The whiskey next to her was the real deal, but she hadn’t taken it in hand. No sense denying it. She pushed the drink across the table. “How long have you known?”
“I’ve had my suspicions for a few months.”
“It’s been several years.”
Li Jing sipped her drink and put it down. “I thought so. You don’t have to pretend with me.” She called the waiter over and told him in Cantonese to take the drinks away.
Lindsey shrugged. “I didn’t want to offend you.”
“Do you know why I make time in my schedule for you?”
“Because I always have something to offer you.”
Li Jing nodded. “Yes, but not what you think.” She waved her hand around. “I’m surrounded by sycophants and opportunists. You offer honesty and integrity. I can trust you. You can trust me. Let’s not have secrets between us. Let me know when you’re back in town, and I’ll have you out to my house instead.”
Lindsey left the restaurant a few minutes after Li Jing, still stunned by her personal offer. She took the elevator to her room and entered her suite. Ten years and they’d never set foot in each other’s personal space. Always a public location. For a moment, she considered that the offer might be a romantic overture before she pushed it aside. Li Jing had never indicated that she liked women that way. She followed the same professional code as Lindsey. But tonight, Li Jing had opened the door for her, and as a result, Lindsey had revealed her alcoholism. Only two people outside AA knew she was in recovery. She had drawn a line between public and private for so long that it felt weird to mix the two. Mixing her worlds wouldn’t kill her. She needed to accept the gesture as is and stop overthinking.
Tomorrow, she returned to Providence and another personal-professional dilemma. Rebekiah. Irene had gotten back to her about the Philadelphia trip. She grabbed her laptop and looked at her calendar. She sent off a series of emails and received confirmation from both Irene and Rebekiah within minutes of each other. Rebekiah’s email was brief and to the point: Sounds good. See you there.
She was halfway through an itinerary when Rebekiah’s second email arrived with the subject line Picture, and the body said I’d like to do more, with a link. She clicked on the link and was stunned at the image. Her headshots had never looked so good. Rebekiah had caught her mid-smile and captured a part of herself that she’d never seen before. It was almost as if it wasn’t her.
She smiled and typed back, If they all come out like that, then sure” The speed with which Rebekiah replied to her work email gave her pause. Could she have tried to connect with her earlier? Was she avoiding her without knowing it?
A third email arrived a few minutes later. After Philly? I can procure food afterward. Attached is my consent form. Like you, I don’t work without a contract. RK.
It was a standard contract giving Rebekiah rights to her image. She considered sending it along to her lawyer but didn’t want her business lawyer involved with a personal deal. Which was what it was, a deal. Nothing stood out. No indication that there might be something more. But then why did her breath catch or her face flush when she thought about the way Rebekiah touched her, so confident and calm with such careful intimacy? Was she like that with everyone or just her? She wanted to find out, so she’d reread them in the morning and send them back signed.
She stood up and stretched, then got ready for bed. Flipping on the TV, she found a Korean drama that turned off most of her work brain but did nothing for her personal thoughts. Sleep eluded her as her mind churned through scenes of R
ebekiah taking pictures of her followed by other scenes where Rebekiah convinced her to take other pictures. A pleasant thrum of arousal spread through her body and relaxed her until she fell asleep clutching the remote and dreaming of black chemises and spreadsheets.
Chapter Nine
Rebekiah arrived in Philadelphia midmorning to a text message from Lindsey saying her flight was delayed and that a driver was waiting to take her to their hotel. Her ambivalence toward her inheritance took a back seat to her desire to see Lindsey again, and she had agreed to a business trip in mid-November.
She’d managed only one photo shoot with Lindsey, and the pictures were not what she was expecting. Doubly impressive considering she’d been so involved in her own reactions to Lindsey’s presence, she thought they’d be all over the map. But the final results were breathtaking. She’d barely done any touch-up; Lindsey’s personality had come through so easily. She’d thought they’d be distant and engaging, the dual qualities that drew her in, but they revealed another facet, an honest vulnerability that she found herself coming back to again and again.
Rebekiah checked into the Ritz-Carlton near Rittenhouse Square, reminded of the surreal experience of traveling with Emma in the company of the world’s rich and famous. Nothing about Lindsey suggested that level of financial wealth, but Rebekiah assumed her proximity to it must open the same doors.
Her room—suite, actually—had two separate spaces divided by a pocket door that shared the same view of downtown. Marble and stone buildings stared back at her against the gray sky. Low clouds hugged the horizon, signaling snow.
She turned on the TV and flopped on the couch. She considered going out and seeing the sights, but Lindsey had given no real timeline, and she was here to meet people, not sightsee. Besides, the wind was much colder than the jacket she’d brought. She listened to the slightly urgent talk about the latest winter storm heading straight toward Philadelphia. She glanced out the window and saw tiny flakes blowing around like bits of white ash in the wind. Giving up on the apocalyptic weather forecast, she flipped to the Food Network. She dozed through a second cooking show and startled awake to a text from Lindsey.
Just checked in. Want to meet in the lobby?
Rebekiah glanced outside. A steady sideways stream of snow blew across the buildings, but no accumulation yet. She grabbed her camera bag and headed downstairs.
Lindsey waited by the marble arch between the lobby and the restaurant, checking her phone with that same remote intensity Rebekiah had seen through her lens. She almost pulled out her camera, but Lindsey looked up and hefted her phone, forcing her to be present. “Irene just texted. How about a late lunch?”
Rebekiah glanced out the window and once again wished for a heavier jacket. “Sure.”
“I hope you don’t mind staying an extra day. The airport’s closed. I might have been the last flight in.” Lindsey nodded toward the windows where snowflakes had started to accumulate along the window well. The possibly of extra time with Lindsey caused a slight surge of excitement.
Halfway across the lobby, Rebekiah mentioned her jacket in an offhand joke, and Lindsey made a beeline toward one of the many boutique shops built into the hotel. She started to protest, but Lindsey held firm. Surprised by her thoughtfulness, Rebekiah followed and subjected herself to various coats until Lindsey nodded her approval. Lindsey thanked the sales rep and said, “Put it on my tab. Room 536.”
Rebekiah glanced at the price tag and shook her head. Thoughtfulness was one thing. This next-level generosity made her squirm. “Oh, no. I’m not letting you pay for this.”
Lindsey tucked her hand into her elbow and pulled her away from the counter. “It’s a business expense.”
Rebekiah frowned and stopped near the revolving door. “It is not. I do have money for this, you know.”
Lindsey took her in with a look and said, “I do. But you’re here as my guest. I take care of my clients.”
Client. Rebekiah hid her disappointment at being grouped in with everyone else. For a brief moment she’d felt special. She rolled her eyes and turned toward the door. “Of course you do.” Apparently, Lindsey had picked up the same cavalier attitude toward money as the people she represented. Emma would be pleased. Rebekiah smiled, knowing Emma would have liked how Lindsey made the cost of the coat easier to swallow.
Lindsey took Rebekiah to lunch at the Cooper Inn where they met Irene Talbot, the chief development officer of the Reiher Finance Fund. Irene’s discussion was frank and eye opening. Her foundation allowed her to seed a variety of projects and provide grant support to several nonprofits, creating a web of social justice financing. Listening to her speak, Rebekiah realized that giving it all away had less and less appeal. Lindsey, and now Irene, had a point. Managing it seemed like a better option to do long-term good. Emma’s words, “do something good with it,” kept rolling around in her head.
After lunch, Irene took them on a tour and spoke at length about the challenges facing the fund. By the time they left, Rebekiah had a newfound perspective of her wealth and the enormity of it as well. She’d never really understood just how much money Emma had left her; it had felt so abstract. No wonder she didn’t want to see it go to waste. Seeing the ways small donations stacked on others opened her eyes, yet the amount was so insignificant compared to what needed to be done. Overwhelmed, she couldn’t imagine trying to navigate it all without Lindsey beside her.
They parted ways at the hotel. Lindsey had a conference call she needed to take, but they agreed to meet for dinner. Back in her room, Rebekiah stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her before collapsing on her bed.
She awoke a few hours later with her stomach rumbling. She rolled over and glanced at her phone. No text from Lindsey.
Standing, she tossed her towel in the bathroom and rummaged in her suitcase for clothes, settling on blue jeans and a black Henley. She touched up her hair, getting rid of the slept-in look before slipping on her black boots and grabbing her camera bag. She palmed her key card and left her room.
She knocked on the door to Lindsey’s suite and waited. She fidgeted with her camera bag before the door swung open, and Lindsey motioned for her to enter. She wore jeans and a button-down, her hair loose around her face. She held her finger up to her lips and tapped the Bluetooth headset in her left ear. “Have a seat. I’ll be done in a few minutes.” She swung away and said, “Well, if you look at the figures on page fifteen, you’ll see the numbers we’re talking about.”
Rebekiah walked into the suite and glanced around. Her own room down the hall boasted the same features. She settled on the couch and looked out the window. Lindsey’s suite looked down into a park that Rebekiah assumed was Rittenhouse Square. But her eyes tracked back to Lindsey.
“No, the number above. Yes, that one.” Lindsey sat at the large, glass topped desk with her red-clad feet propped up on the table. One hand swiped across her iPad while the other twirled an expensive-looking pen.
The juxtaposition of professional tone and relaxed posture called to Rebekiah. She gave into her urge and started shooting.
Lindsey glanced up at the quiet click. For just an instant, her entire presence stared into the lens. Then her face changed, and it was gone. “No, Robert, that’s not what it’s saying. Yes, that’s true, but the research indicates…”
Rebekiah tuned her out and slipped into wallpaper mode. She moved around the room, making herself a part of the furniture so she could take the shots she wanted. Lindsey ignored her for the most part and spent the next twenty minutes mildly chiding and gently educating the other caller. Something about Lindsey’s work demeanor struck her, and she zeroed in on that strength and determination. The set of her jaw while she spoke, the way she articulated her point with her hands even though her colleagues couldn’t see her, the intense focus while she listened to understand their point, and finally, the smile that spoke of her pleasure in the work. Rebekiah watched her body language start to wrap up the conversation and
settled on the couch just as Lindsey disconnected the call.
Pulling the headset out of her ear, she tossed the tiny gadget on her desk with a clink. She leaned back, rubbed her hands across her face, and sighed. “That was too much work for such a simple concept.”
Rebekiah set her camera down.
Lindsey dropped her hands into her lap and turned toward her. She smiled. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” She nodded toward the camera. “Is this part of our deal?”
Rebekiah stilled. She’d pulled her camera out almost automatically, with no thought to art or technique. She’d just wanted a couple photos of her. When had she stopped taking pictures for fun? She shook her head and tucked that thought away. “No.” She cocked her head to the side and hefted the camera. “Do you mind? I can delete them.”
Lindsey paused for the briefest of moments and shook her head. “If you can use them, by all means, keep them.”
Rebekiah smiled, knowing they’d never go into a show. Lindsey only saw the work and not the way she interacted with the work. Her facial expressions, her gestures, even her posture shared pieces of her that Rebekiah found fascinating. No, these pictures were for her alone. Rebekiah clapped her hands against her knees and got to her feet. “Are you hungry?”
* * *
“How long have you lived in Providence?” Rebekiah asked.
Lindsey plucked a mussel from its shell and popped it in her mouth. She chewed and swallowed while she counted in her head. “Six years.”
Rebekiah’s eyes shot up. “Really?”
Not the reaction she was expecting, but still, she welcomed the back and forth of conversation. She didn’t mind being photographed. In fact, it felt good to be seen as picture worthy. It unnerved her just how much she liked it. “Why does that surprise you?”
Rebekiah took a piece of cheese off the cheese board and shook her head. “I assumed you’d just moved here.”