by July Hall
“I’m not trading any teeth,” Charles said. She giggled. He repeated, “Hong Kong. Well.”
“Yes. If you okay it, there’s a few things to take care of. The whole process is kind of, um, expensive.” At this last, she sounded very hesitant. “The brokers charge a fee, and I’m guessing you’d want pretty tight security if it’s the real thing. I don’t want you to think I’m just calling people and spending your money. I know you might not want to.”
Charles had more money than he could spend in his lifetime. On an average year, his net worth increased by the billion. He wondered if she understood that. He didn’t consider himself a wasteful man. However, there was a difference between the members of his class and the millionaires who made a point of living modestly to conserve their wealth. The sort of people her parents might be.
“Don’t worry about that part of it,” was all he said.
“Oh. Uh, okay. Anyway, depending on what you’re willing to trade and how long Mr. Zhou takes to decide, we might be looking at a couple of weeks,” Sandra continued. “So, that’s where we are. But like I said. You might not even want to.”
“Strike Eleanor’s portrait off the list,” he told her.
“I would never have put it on there,” she said indignantly.
“And take off the Cézanne. It’s mine, but Rosalie would never forgive me. The rest can stay.”
“All of it?” Sandra sounded astonished. “The Gottlieb and the Napoleon chess—”
“All of it,” Charles said firmly. “Send him the list and see what he says. He’ll choose something.”
“How do you know that? Do you know him?” Now Sandra sounded puzzled. “I didn’t give you his whole name, did I?”
“If he owns Macau casinos and can afford Ru ware, he’s in one of the five big families of Hong Kong,” Charles said. “And if he’s willing to open discussion on this, then he’s bored and wants to see what else is on offer. And he wants to see if he can out bargain me. You gave him my name, correct?”
“Well—yeah. Should I not have?” A note of panic entered her voice. “Shit. I never thought…I just said we were inquiring…”
“My name is the reason he replied,” Charles said. “Mr. Zhou wants to joust a little. We’ll let him.”
The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Magister, Ms. Davies is here with her assistant,” Violet said.
He pressed the button. “Give me five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And get the jet ready for an international flight tomorrow evening. I’ve decided to drop in on Andrew Huan and see how things are going in Hong Kong.”
“You what?” Sandra said in his ear.
Violet didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, sir. Shall I call ahead to let him know you’re coming?”
“Yes.” If she didn’t, Keisha Davies probably would anyway. “I’ll want to speak to him on Friday afternoon. It should give him time to get his people in one room and show me what he’s got.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll also arrange for your accommodations. The Peninsula?”
Charles hesitated. “No, that other one I stayed at last year. What’s it called? The smaller one.”
“The Landmark?”
“Yes, that’s it.” The Peninsula was the pinnacle of Establishment luxury, but not exactly inconspicuous. The Landmark had fewer rooms and a less flashy, though no less exclusive, clientele. “We’ll finalize it after I meet with Ms. Davies. Five minutes,” he repeated.
“Yes, sir.”
“Charles?” Sandra said. “What are you doing?”
“Maximizing my efficiency,” Charles said. “Or killing two birds with one stone, whichever you prefer. You said your passport’s current?”
After a pause, she said, “You’re kidding. How…how am I supposed to explain…”
“Say that I insist on the personal attention of your firm, and I’m paying all your travel expenses,” Charles said. “Throw it in with all the other fees and send me the bill. Or say something else if you want.”
“I’m supposed to tell Arnaud that I’m flying over there with you in your private jet?” she asked disbelievingly. “Just because you happened to be heading that way?”
Charles had forgotten what it was like to have to explain yourself. It was as tedious as he would have guessed. “You can do that. Or you don’t tell him that I’m going at all. Why does he need to know what I’m doing?”
“He…he doesn’t, I guess,” she said. She sounded stunned. “Oh. Um, okay. But what if Mr. Zhou decides not to…”
“You’ll like Hong Kong,” Charles said. “Wonderful shopping.”
“Charles!”
“You’ll like the Landmark too,” he continued. “Stephen told me they ran him a bath and filled it with rose petals.”
“Charles. If I go, I’m going to work. I’m doing this for you, but it’s my job.”
He shrugged. “Fine. The concierge can do the shopping for you.” She spluttered. “You do your job. I’ll do mine. And then—” He caught himself.
After a pause, she said softly, “And then we’ll be together someplace.”
He still ached with desire, but now it was of a different kind. “Two nights in Hong Kong,” he said. “There are worse ways to spend a weekend, aren’t there?”
“Wow.” She inhaled deeply. “Okay.” Then she laughed breathlessly. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I better go. I’ve got to take care of…well, everything. You’ll let me know when we’re leaving?”
He couldn’t stop a smile. “Yes. I’ll let you know.”
“Jesus. Okay. I can’t believe…okay. Bye!” She hung up, apparently too excited to wait for his reply. How rude for proper Miss Dane. He must really have caught her off-guard.
Charles kept smiling. His earlier frustration retreated like storm clouds before the sun. Let Lawrence make his drunken jokes. He wouldn’t have—none of them would have—Sandra on board a private jet for an international flight.
A knock at the door. “Come in,” Charles called, making sure that his face looked appropriately stern.
Keisha Davies entered with her personal assistant. “Is now a good time?” she asked.
“Of course.” Charles gestured at the chairs across from his desk. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Keisha sat down. The assistant took no such liberties. “You’re off to Hong Kong? Checking up on the new regime, I suppose.”
“Something like that.” Charles sat down too.
“I haven’t been to Hong Kong in…God, it must be thirty years.” Keisha extended her hand without looking at her assistant, who gave her a manila folder. “But it was all work, work, work for me then, too.”
“Indeed.” Charles took a folder containing his copy of Keisha’s report from the assistant. “Work.”
Yes, of course. For him and Sandra both. Work.
But at least this time…a little play as well.
CHAPTER TWELVE
So this was what it was like to fly private.
Sandra licked her lips nervously and looked around the airplane cabin in awe. Charles hadn’t arrived yet, so she had a moment to get used to her surroundings without looking like a total rube in front of him.
It turned out that private planes didn’t just have comfier seats, like in first class. Charles’s Boeing 737 had those as well, enough to seat fourteen people, plus a separate compartment for any flight attendants. And it had a conference table, which made sense. But it also had a plush sectional sofa facing a flat-screen TV. And bookshelves. And paintings. And a kitchen with an espresso machine.
And a bedroom.
Sandra took one look in there, squeaked, and immediately sat down in one of the cushy chairs with her hands folded primly in her lap. She probably looked absurd. If the flight attendant didn’t know that this trip wasn’t entirely business, then she sure would soon.
It wasn’t just the amenities that had Sandra boggling. She hadn’t needed to go through any security checkpoints. There was no waiting in
line. A taxi dropped her off at the hangar, her bag was carried up into the cabin, she climbed aboard, and that was it. A TSA official told her that her luggage would be subject to customs inspection when she returned from Hong Kong, but they would be coming to her, not the other way around.
No wonder Charles didn’t mind being patient during sex. It was the only time he had to be.
“Would you like some music?”
Sandra twitched and looked up to see the attendant, who had introduced herself as Laura, smiling politely down at her. Laura was a woman who appeared to be somewhere in her fifties. Violet was too, and Emilia the maid. It seemed Charles employed women who were less likely to become objects of gossip, even if it was an unfair stereotype.
Sandra was pretty sure that she’d be an object of gossip if word got out.
Laura continued, “There’s a multimedia dock in your armrest right there. If you have an iPod or something, you can plug it in. If not, we have a selection.” She smiled. “Though it’s not very current or exciting. More for ambience.”
“Do you have anything—” Sandra almost said soothing. Way to keep cool. “Classical?”
“Of course. There’s a playlist. Shall I?”
“Thank you,” Sandra said feelingly.
“No problem. Please let me know if there’s anything else we can do to make you comfortable. Mr. Magister’s driver called and said he’s nearly here.”
Sandra made sure to keep smiling. “Oh, that’s great, thanks.”
She must not look as cool as she thought. Laura gave her a sympathetic smile, leaned forward, and said conspiratorially, “He’s not that bad. Just keep your head down and do your job well.”
Then Laura looked surprised, probably because Sandra’s own face filled with heat. Oh, hell. “Thanks,” Sandra squeaked again. She looked at her watch. Nearly 6:30 p.m. Not too early to ask for alcohol, but Laura would look askance at that too. Laura was probably about to look askance at a lot of things.
Sandra took a deep breath, told herself to chill out, and looked around at the luxurious cabin. If she was going to be a scarlet woman, there were worse ways to do it than this. And had Charles mentioned rose petals in the hotel bath?
She shook her head at herself. She was here to work. She texted Meiling Yu, her contact in Hong Kong, to let her know that the flight was on schedule. So far, everything seemed to be. Warrick had compiled the list of Charles’s possessions, Sandra had sent it to Mr. Zhou’s personal assistant, and this very morning she’d received a reply. Mr. Zhou would be delighted to meet with Mr. Magister, since he was going to be there in person, and discuss the trade.
At the moment Sandra sent her text, at the other end of the cabin, Laura said, “Thanks. We’re all ready for him.” Sandra looked over to see her touching her earpiece as she hurried toward the cabin door at the front of the plane. She opened it and stood to the side with a cheerful, flight-attendant smile. A minute or so later, Charles stepped in.
If she’d expected a demonstrative greeting, Sandra needn’t have worried. He was talking a mile a minute on his cell phone, nodding at Laura as he entered the cabin. Sandra’s own phone beeped with a return text from Meiling: if she wasn’t in the air yet, would a call be too much trouble?
It wouldn’t. Sandra immediately dialed Meiling’s number, praying this wasn’t a crisis. She and Charles both settled in for the least romantic flight prep ever while they talked business to other people.
“…don’t need a tour of the cubicles,” Charles said as he shrugged out of his overcoat. “That’s what people do to fill time if they don’t have enough to show you. For Christ’s sake, they could send me a picture, it’d be the same thing. Staged.”
“Oh, a half-hour adjustment?” Sandra asked in relief. “I don’t think that will be a problem. What? Oh no, I don’t need an assistant, but thank you…”
“I want to see who he’s surrounded himself with and what they contribute.” Charles handed his overcoat to Laura. “I want a full report while they look me in the eyes and remember that they’re a part of Magister Enterprises.”
“So we’ll be meeting with Mr. Zhou at 3:00 p.m. on Saturday now? I think that should be fine, but we’re scheduled to leave Hong Kong around eight, so we don’t want to push it back any further.” Sandra felt the plane move beneath her as it began to taxi out of the hangar and toward the runway. “Oh, I better go. Anything else?”
“Any other crises before I hang up?” Charles said. “No? Good.”
“Okay, great, can’t wait to meet you,” Sandra said. “Good-bye, Ms. Yu.”
She hung up, Charles hung up, and now Sandra couldn’t help giving him a smile. Then she remembered what her role was supposed to be and, with a quick glance at Laura, said, “Good evening, Mr. Magister.”
He blinked and after a moment replied politely, “Miss Dane. Glad you could make it.”
At the deep sound of his voice and the look of his green eyes, Sandra gulped and forced herself not to glance back at the bedroom.
Classical music began piping softly through the cabin. Charles looked up at the speakers. “Is this okay?” Sandra said quickly. “They asked if I wanted music, so—”
“This is fine.” Charles turned to Laura. “We’ll dine shortly after takeoff.”
And boy, did he mean dine. Sandra hadn’t expected prepackaged food that pretended to be lasagna or chicken, but she also hadn’t expected veal chops from Per Se, or a Cheval Blanc Cabernet. Sandra had the impression that when a bigger party was on board, there were more flight attendants and there was a bigger fuss. But tonight, she and Charles had a quiet meal on a table that folded down between two of the cushy seats.
“It’s not quite dinner at your place,” Sandra said in a low voice, smiling at him. “But it’ll do, huh?”
“Mmm.” Charles topped off her wine. He’d taken off his jacket and waistcoat, a man at the end of a long workday. “It’s interesting, having someone to talk to on a business flight other than my employees. Which I suppose you are too, but—well, never mind that.”
Sandra raised her eyebrows. “What about Stephen?” He couldn’t really think of his own brother as his employee, could he?
Charles shook his head. “Stephen and I never fly together. He’s the executive VP. Imagine if the plane went down with both of us on board? The company would be finished.”
Sandra looked at him in horror.
He shrugged. “It’s a common corporate policy. You have to consider these things, even if they’re unpleasant.”
“Yeah,” Sandra said. “I never thought of that. Yikes.” She took a quick sip of her wine. Compared to that, it seemed silly to wonder what Laura might think of her. Charles’s worries were obviously on a different scale.
But maybe Charles read her mind, because when Laura approached to take their plates away, he told Sandra, “You’ll take the bedroom, of course.”
Sandra froze for a second and then said, “Oh no, Mr. Magister, I couldn’t. It’s your plane. That couch looks very comfortable—”
“It is. I’m sure I’ll sleep very well on it.” He turned to Laura. “I’ll want to go to sleep around ten thirty. Dim the cabin lights then.”
“Of course, sir.” Laura loaded the plates on a tray and departed.
Charles gave Sandra a bland smile. “There you are.”
This was sort of disappointing, which was so stupid, because Sandra was the one who’d been freaking out earlier. “What about at the hotel?” she asked.
Charles gave her a long, considering look. “Stephen doesn’t know you’re actually coming along,” he said. “Nobody at the company does, except Violet. And your employer doesn’t know I’m with you.”
No, but her employer had been invited to Stephen’s wedding. Sandra made a mental note to tell Arnaud not to say anything about her going to Hong Kong. She could spin it easily enough—tell him that it was a sensitive matter with the family or something after the breakup. Bradley’s mom could be difficult about it, she’d
say, and that would be enough. As always, Arnaud wouldn’t want to know the particulars.
Charles continued, “The company pays for the jet and the hotel because I am flying on legitimate business. If you want a separate hotel room for yourself, then of course I’ll pay for that with my own funds.”
It all sounded so formal. His eyes were not particularly warm; he might have been briefing any employee on company travel rules.
“I don’t want my own room,” she said. Wasn’t the point of this trip that they’d do their jobs and then have a chance to be together? She fisted her hands in her lap. Told herself not to be precious. “And you don’t have to take the couch.”
“Your greeting implied something a little different,” he said.
Sandra stared at him. “What was I supposed to do? Give you a big kiss hello?”
“Did you want to?” Charles asked.
The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. She’d been too nervous. He nodded. “I thought not.”
“That’s not fair,” Sandra whispered. Why had he brought it up? She’d at least tried to be professional. Now all she could think about was how they had not, in fact, kissed in several days. “I always want to kiss you.”
“Is that so?” Charles asked. She couldn’t read the look in his eyes. She was getting better, a little, at working out what went on in his head—but when he really wanted to hide something, she had no hope of figuring him out. Now she had no idea if he was teasing her, or testing her, or what.
Sandra didn’t much care for being tested. “Yes,” she said. “You want a kiss?”
“Oh, don’t put yourself out on my account,” Charles said. “I wouldn’t want you to go to any tr—”
Sandra reached across the table, took hold of his hand, and looked into his eyes. Never dropping her gaze, she licked the pad of his thumb, closed her mouth around it, and gently sucked.
Charles’s words died in his mouth. His breath caught. Sandra heard the sound of footsteps from the front cabin, let go of his hand, and sat back with a bland smile of her own as Laura returned.
“Will either of you be having dessert, sir, ma’am?” Laura asked.