In the span of that second when his sharp eyes shot up and locked onto mine, a crackle of energy sparkled. As we made contact, the baby hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
The pressure in my chest was becoming unbearable.
“Alistair …” His name escaped my lips before I could stop myself.
My heart shuddered in … fear? Shock?
Wonderment.
Closer, I could make out those subtle details I missed on the stage. His face, if possible, was sharper than before. His high cheekbones were more prominent and his jawline cut steep angles to his powerful neck. If I had softened, he had hardened. The face that I knew so well looked back at me, its features similar but appearing to be forged from granite. Alistair’s shoulders were wider, and unless his impeccably tailored suit lied, he had gained quite a bit of muscle and girth since our teenage years.
Alistair held my gaze for a moment, then tore it away to say something to Thomas. He nodded, and now both Thomas and Alistair were looming towards me and I desperately needed to control my breathing. I worked to appear nonplussed and licked my lips before forcing a neutral yet friendly expression.
Thomas and Alistair approached and then halted in front of me, the pair of them almost laughable at the contrast. Alistair gave no emotion, simply held his pose with his hands in his pockets.
Thomas quickly gestured towards me with an open palm. “Mr. Blair, this is Ms. Florence Reynolds. She’ll be shadowing you and writing the profile piece on you for in the New York Journal.”
Alistair slid his gaze up my neck and lingered over my lips. His eyes flickered and the corner of his lips curled upwards in the barest of smiles. “Ms. Reynolds.” My name came from his lips without inflection, accompanied with a nod of his head.
I didn’t answer. We held eye contact for several moments, and one edge of his smile turned into a smirk, as if he felt using my surname was amusing. His dimples barely peeked out, but they weren’t friendly, nor did they thaw his face. Instead they added to the dark expression spreading across.
Those dimples had always driven me crazy.
Then Alistair extended his right hand between us for a handshake, and after hesitating for a split second, I reached over and gripped it. His palm was callused. It was cool to the touch and radiated strength. A shot of heat burst in between my legs just as Alistair squeezed my hand tightly in something that didn’t feel wholly professional.
“So, Ms. Reynolds.” I jerked my hand out of Alistair’s grip and whipped my head towards Thomas, his voice yanking me back into reality. He was studying his boss with a strange expression, but then turned to speak to me. “Let’s talk logistics. You were informed that at the end of next week, we’ll be traveling to California to investigate a downtown Los Angeles deal, correct?”
“Yes, Gertrude did inform me of that possibility.” Curtly and begrudgingly, I silently added.
“We’ll email you the dates so you can be present for those meetings. You must know, there will be restrictions of access, of course, as the deal is in the throes of competition and we must keep things under wra—”
“No,” Alistair interrupted. Both Thomas and I whipped our heads towards him, but Alistair continued to keep his eyes on me, his hands now back in his suit pockets.
“No?” Thomas repeated with a crease lining his forehead.
“No limits. You said yourself, Thomas, we need as honest of a profile as possible. We mustn’t stifle Ms. Reynolds’s work.”
“But, but—” Thomas sputtered. “The deal.”
“By the time this prints, the deal will be done and public. No harm, no foul. Ms. Reynolds won’t do anything to jeopardize our conversations.”
I frowned. Of course I wouldn’t purposefully try to steamroll his business deals, but the way he stated that with such confidence irritated me. We hadn’t seen each other in years; he didn’t know me or the way I’d present his case. I straightened my back and brushed my hair off my face.
“In actuality, I can’t guarantee that,” I said in as firm of a voice as I could force out. “I will write with the journalistic integrity I’m sure you understand my profession demands. That’s the only point I can guarantee. Blair Properties will simply have to understand that.”
Thomas reared back in shock just as Alistair gave a low chuckle. It was dark and dripping with sardonic humor.
I suppose he saw the ludicrous situation we both were in.
“Well, you heard Ms. Reynolds.” Alistair clasped a heavy hand on Thomas’s thin shoulders. I was impressed that the COO’s knees didn’t buckle under the weight. Instead, Thomas gawked at Alistair with a disbelieving expression, his mouth slightly agape. “Besides, you were the one who came up with the idea for a profile anyway.”
Thomas’s mouth opened and closed as if it was struggling with itself. His face went a bit pinker than his natural skin tone and he snapped his head between Alistair and me. His eyes fired an almost accusing glare in my direction.
I raised an eyebrow slightly in response.
“Go find Gertrude and let’s figure out a swift yet graceful exit from this,” Alistair said. “I’d like to leave after this conversation.”
“I’m on it,” Thomas answered with his previous posh conviction seeping back in. But as Thomas walked away, I imagined I heard him faintly cursing under his breath.
I watched Thomas go, even after he had melted back into the crowd, now just a sea of faceless unknowns. My heart was sucking the breath out of my lungs and I needed time to reorient myself.
Alistair’s attention continued to linger upon the side of my face, and very slowly, my cheeks began to heat under his scrutiny.
Finally, I met his eyes.
“Hello, Alistair,” I said in an even monotone.
Up close, I could read those familiar eyes, a little older, a little wearier, but still nostalgic in a terrifying way.
The corners of Alistair’s lips twitched up slightly.
“Hello, Florence,” he answered.
Silence stretched.
“How have you been?” I asked with a slight raise of my chin. I was not cowed. I was not frightened.
We watched each other. He just stood there, the angle of his head slightly crooked, his entire self completely still except for his eyes. His eyes were active; they were deep and they roamed to flicker their gaze over me, reading me.
I waited for his answer, which didn’t seem to be forthcoming.
So when he finally opened his mouth, I didn’t expect the next phrase that came out.
“Come on, dance with me.”
Before I could voice a protest, Alistair grasped a strong cool palm around my right wrist and wound his other arm around my waist. A gentle but insistent cajoling pressure prompted me towards the shimmering crystal center floor filled with swirling chiffon and tuxedos.
Alistair spun me lightly and before I could right myself, he slipped one hand into mine, intertwining our fingers together.
I steadied myself and immediately worked to push Alistair away. But as I began to muster the force to shove him with my elbow, I noticed that some guests standing at the fringes of the dance floor pointed at us, gesturing bluntly.
I froze.
“People are watching.”
“So let them watch.”
I gave Alistair a pointed look of annoyance, but the more agitated I got, the greater the response I received. His eyes smoldered with amused challenge and those dimples made their return.
“They’ll take pictures for the tabloids tomorrow. You’re a pretty popular media draw.”
“This is a closed event. No cameras, no press inside the building.” Alistair peered down at me. “Well, I mean besides you.”
I opened my mouth to throw a scathing retort, but Alistair let me go and spun me around while holding one of my hands aloft over my head. With the twirling action, my dress flared out around my ankles and before I knew it, he had wound me back and crushed me against his hard body.
My ne
rves screamed at the contact. I quickly backed away.
“Just some fun.” Alistair’s eyes twinkled in mischief.
I scoffed loudly. “Since when did you have fun? Or dance, for that matter?”
“Since when? Right now, that’s when.”
“How coincidental,” I intoned flatly. I was treated to a fleeting glimpse of those dimples.
The tune was soft and light, so there was no urgency in our steps. My mind warred with my heart as I worked through the logic and the emotion behind this.
I shouldn’t make a scene; I should just play nice. But the close contact was intensifying the strange storm inside.
“So. You will be writing the piece on me,” Alistair stated. The cool palm of his hand slid subtly from the curve of my waist over the exposed area at the small of my back, leaving a path of fire in its wake. I had the reflexive urge to curve my body into his grip, but I kept my posture tense and froze.
“Yes, I will be,” I said, fighting hard to keep my words neutral.
Alistair gave an ironic chuckle as we slowly wound around the dance floor. “I suppose if there was anyone to write something about me, it would be you.” His eyes bored into mine, reading my soul with a single unwavering intention.
It was getting really hard to breathe now, impossible, even. I quickly glanced away to train my eyes on the corner of his suit lapel.
I didn’t want to see his face; I didn’t want to be drawn in.
I didn’t want to feel this helpless longing and confusion assailing my entire sense of self.
The music continued its beat. Alistair navigated me slowly across the glossy wooden dance floor, away from the other couples closer to the edges. His hand rested heavily on my skin and I had this strange feeling that we were drifting closer. My heart thudded painfully and I wracked my brain for something to say.
Hey, long time no see! Remember the last time I saw you, when you broke up with me? Crushed my heart when I needed you the most? That was amazing, good times. Fond memories. So, how have you been for the last decade, now that you’re one of the richest young bachelors along the East Coast?
I decided to go towards the awkward yet obvious.
“So, your speech was interesting.”
His face demonstrated no hint of remorse for hanging out my family’s dirty laundry. Instead, Alistair just asked, “How is your dad?”
Typical sidestepping. I huffed a small internal sigh. This was going to be a difficult job and an even longer month.
I answered, irritated. “Good, the same.” My tone softened. “The same since Mom died.” My heart clenched at the thought of her.
Alistair nodded and then he tightened his arms slightly to bring me closer. I wanted to resist, but somehow in this moment, reality was beginning to melt away and it was just him and me.
Old emotions stirred.
Memories scratched at the walls of my soul, threatening, crying out for release from their bonds.
I had to regain control.
“How have you been?” I asked.
“Off the record?”
“Yes, off the record.”
Alistair’s face grew tense. “Difficult. Life has been difficult.”
I nodded. “I can imagine; you have a lot of responsibilities right now. Big business, Blair Properties.”
“No, not responsibilities. Difficult for other reasons.”
Before I could respond, a booming voice rang out. “Mr. Blair!”
Alistair’s fingers twitched slightly again my skin. In response, I stopped dancing and started to take a step back, just as a very large shadow suddenly fell over the two of us.
A beefy man with stocky, square shoulders and a shaved head towered over us. He had thick black eyebrows framing small black eyes, a crooked nose, and a large bushy beard that covered the bottom half of his face. In contrast, round, rosy cheeks dominated the beard-free section of his face.
Alistair sighed and pulled away, the sudden flood of cool air that came with the disconnect alarmingly painful.
“This is Mr. Villa.” Alistair gestured towards the small building of a man. “Mr. Villa, this is Ms. Florence Reynolds. She’s the journalist that will be profiling the company for the next month.”
The man broke into a wide grin.
“Hey, there!” Mr. Villa said in a boisterous voice. His words held a New York City drawl. His face relaxed and despite his intimidating mass, his beaming expression put me strangely at ease.
“Hello,” I said with a small smile.
Mr. Villa winked at me and then turned to Alistair. “G is looking for you, says it’s important. I think she’s planning on bouncing soon.”
Alistair nodded. “Noted.”
Suddenly, Alistair reached over and grasped both of my hands in his. I gave a small twitch of surprise.
“I have to go,” he said.
“So go.”
Alistair didn’t respond, simply held on to my hands and then raised my knuckles to his lips. He grazed his mouth over the mountains and valleys and very lightly planted a single kiss upon them. The feel of his lips on my skin numbed me.
“Pleasure, it was all mine.”
My mouth broke into a strangled smile, my heart pounding in my chest. “Well, haven’t we learned the art of how to be charming?”
“Business is all about the bullshit. You must know that.”
“Well, then, thank you for the bullshit, I suppose.”
I gently tugged my fingers away, but Alistair didn’t let go. Instead, he gently ran his thumb over the backs of my fingers on my left hand. He lingered over my ring finger and his grip tightened slightly.
He leaned in closer, and all signs of mirth and the professional veneer of politeness evaporated. He asked me in a low voice, almost a growl, “Not married?”
My expression shuttered and I curled my fingers inwards from his grasp and yanked them away again, this time harder and with more force.
Alistair let go.
I took a step back and nervously ran my hand through my hair before answering.
“No.”
“Dating, then?” He straightened up to his full height and I had to crane my head up to speak to him.
“Just got back.” I tucked my hands behind me. “Too busy.”
Alistair gave me a rare smile, one of those complete smiles that dug deep dimples in his cheeks, a smile that spread across his entire expression. Slight wrinkles feathered out from the sides of his eyes and my stomach twisted at the sight.
“It seems busy is the name of the game. I’ll see you on Monday, Ms. Reynolds.”
Alistair turned to leave and I watched his back as he cut between the tables, patting a couple guests on the shoulders along his way. When he moved beyond the crowds, Gertrude materialized out of nowhere to greet him at the opposite wall. Her lips moved rapidly and Alistair nodded several times. Then he went right and disappeared down a hallway.
And despite his boss making his exit, Mr. Villa didn’t follow. Instead, he stared at me as if I had four heads.
I shook my single head and smoothed my clammy palms on my dress. I sucked in several deep breaths and then glanced up to my audience. “Alright!” I said in a peppy voice that belied my internal tornado of emotions. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Villa. I look forward to working with you.”
He considered me from his height advantage.
I returned him a shaky smile.
“Call me Train. Boss is the only guy who insists on this Mr. Villa crap. But what can I say, it’s what Boss wants, so, ya, Boss gets.”
“Okay. Train it is,” I said with a small laugh.
I stretched out my hand and Train’s palm swallowed it. We shared two or three pumps and let go. But he still didn’t leave. His dark eyes combed over me in a strangely knowing way, with more perception than I was comfortable with.
I shifted on my feet.
“You know, he gets a lot of grief, but Mr. Blair is a solid guy,” Train offered.
“
Oh, yeah?” I said casually.
“Just don’t let the excess noise throw you off the real story.”
“And what’s that?”
“Boss takes care of everyone. I mean, everyone. Except one guy: himself. That’s the real story here.” Train fisted his two palms and knocked them together with a grim nod. “Sacrifice.”
Chapter 6
Alistair Blair, fourteen years old
“Alistair.”
A whisper and a tapping noise.
“Mrrgghhhh.” I slammed my palm against my bedside table to turn off my alarm.
The tapping continued.
“Alistair.” The voice got louder.
My fingertips scampered haphazardly over slippery wood, trying to locate the snooze button on my alarm clock.
“Psst. Wake up. Aaaaaaal-is-teeeerrrrr.”
“Noooo.” I moaned into my pillow. “Two more minutes,” I muttered.
“Hey!”
“What?” I popped up out of bed and threw my blankets to the side to glare at the source of the noise.
A mess of brown hair and grinning white teeth peered down at me. Florence Reynolds was hanging upside down off the tree outside my second-story window and tapping on the glass. She stuck her tongue out, and then she swung forward and pulled the window open.
I cocked an eyebrow as she flipped over and slipped in. A leaf was caught in her hair.
“Are you aware of what time it is?”
“Yah huh,” she answered dismissively as she pulled in a small canvas knapsack to follow. “It’s two oh nine in the morning.”
“You know normal people are sleeping at this hour, right?”
“Normal people are missing out!”
“On what? Axe murderers?”
A tinkling giggle emanated to fill the room, and the sound scrubbed my brain clean for several seconds. A clattering noise followed Florence as she thumped her bag on the floor.
“You have stuff in your hair,” I pointed out.
The Beginning of Always Page 7