“I think he’s stressed at work,” I offered gently.
“Yeah. I can imagine.” But the good mood in the room had evaporated.
“Hey.” I nudged Tracy with my shoulder. She forced a grin.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“Thank you,” I said while wrapping my arms around her. She patted my wrist and smiled at me.
“Thank you for everything,” I said. “You made me beautiful.” I squeezed her tighter and I leaned into her so I could whisper in her ear. “I love you.”
Tracy’s expression lightened and she rested the side of her head against mine. “I love you too.”
Chapter 11
The two days without Alistair had done a number on my mind and body. I was an addict and had long been denied my drug. Now, at the prospect of a new hit, my heart beat wildly as I climbed out of the cab.
Alistair had always been as potent as any drug could be. And as dangerous.
The Waldorf-Astoria loomed in front of me, all intimidation and money.
I exhaled a shaky sigh. Here we go again.
Gertrude had given me curt instructions on where the dinner was going to be (the steakhouse) and what time (6:30 sharp, don’t be late) and dress code (cocktail attire) and expectations (don’t get in their way). But I wasn’t sure where to meet Alistair and Thomas.
The Waldorf’s entrance opened to a tall staircase that led to the grand main lobby. I climbed up the steps, chewing over the most recent turn of events and how the night could unfold.
No, I told myself now how the night would unfold. I’d sit at dinner, smile, eat whatever the partner’s wife was eating, not talk, and take copious mental notes. Then I’d get a cab and rush out like a bat out of hell.
A perfect plan, I mused as I took one step at a time, slowly sliding my fingers along the glossy bannister.
A plan that Alistair promptly and utterly ruined for me.
For Alistair was waiting for me at the top of the staircase, perfect.
Perfect.
That’s the only way I could describe him in the moment. How he was perfectly at ease and perfectly in place, standing there amidst the patinated brass fixtures, the smooth flecked golden marble, tall white columns framing him. The streetlights outside on the sidewalk filtered through the blue stained-glass windows on the opposite end and cast the subtlest of shadows. He was in a black slim-fit suit with a black shirt and deep navy tie, his hair slicked back. His hands were in his pants pockets, and it was only then that I noticed him watching me.
And with that one potent look, one sidelong glance, all my intentions to leave dulled into a white noise I promptly ignored. For I just received it, that drug straight into my veins, the sensation of it flooding my core with a seizing of every nerve, refusing to let go.
Alistair lips curled as I ascended the staircase. I brushed the back of my fingers nervously against the baby hairs of my temples in an attempt to appear unfettered and unaffected.
I was everything but unaffected.
I stopped two paces away, feeling him against my skin with every brush of silk, his essence enveloping every curve of my body.
Alistair reached for my left hand and grasped it lightly in between his powerful fingers. He lifted them up to his lips and gave them a light kiss.
“You’re beautiful, Florence.”
His grip on my fingers, the way he took one step towards me, it all blew apart that neat socially constructed sense of personal space and socially acceptable greetings.
I swallowed my nerves and straightened my back. I fought the urge to lace my fingers in his. The need was almost reflexive, and ignoring it bordered on unnatural.
“You clean up pretty well yourself, Alistair.”
Alistair’s rough fingers crept up from beneath my palms, tracing a straight line from my wrist and traveling the length of my forearms. I shivered as our skin rubbed against each other. I marveled at that beautiful friction. He looped an easy hand around my right elbow, thumbing the sensitive skin there.
Electricity pierced my every vein.
His touch was so intimate, his act was so wholly invasive I could scarcely breathe. He handled me as if he could, as if he always had and always would. He leaned close, so close I could see those gorgeously dark long eyelashes of his. His lips twitched into a sexy curl and he murmured to me, “Thank you.”
Alistair directed my right elbow to wind around his arm, until we were linked together.
“Let’s get a drink at the bar while we wait. Thomas is coming with Solomon.”
I glanced down at his watch. It was as dark as his suit, its face simple and understated. It probably cost more than my college tuition, and it said it was 6:15 p.m.
“I thought the dinner started at six thirty,” I said. Alistair guided me across the plush carpet to the direction of the bar.
“They’re arriving at seven,” Alistair said.
“But Gertrude told me it wa—” I stopped. My mind caught up with the facts.
Alistair had had me come early so he could meet with me by himself.
I worked up the indignation to get angry, but the night pulsated, flooding me with a completely polar emotion—flattery. I was flattered and frankly fighting against my slowly climbing desire.
I’d worry about that fact in the morning.
“Alright,” I answered simply.
The hotel bar wasn’t too crowded and Alistair led me to a tall round table with barstools. The cocktail waitress materialized and I ordered a gin and tonic, heavy on the tonic and lime. I didn’t want to get too sloshed too soon. I couldn’t really hold my liquor; two drinks and I would be gone. I needed my wits about me, so it’d be best to err on the safe side. Alistair ordered a finger of scotch.
After the waitress returned with our drinks and left, I leaned against the table with my hands grasping my glass in front of me. A bit too late, I realized the position pushed my cleavage out of my dress and Alistair’s gaze flickered to them.
I leaned back, cleared my throat and brought the glass to my lips, needing to break the heat between us.
“So what’s the story here? Who is this Solomon character?” I had done my research and Alistair knew it. I was fully aware of who Solomon was. I was making small talk to break that thread between us.
And to his credit, Alistair didn’t betray anything.
“Blair Properties owns nearly eighty-five percent of all our properties exclusively. From top to bottom, it’s just us. But sometimes we want to lessen our risk, or we need another angle, or the building owner is asking for more security, and we find a partner. We’ve done work with Solomon before. He’s not my favorite guy, but I trust him and we do decent together. He’s old-school, old money, straight and honest. And above all, loyal. I made him a lot of money a year ago, so we’re on good terms. He’s trying to get me to invest in this Fifth Ave spot.”
This wasn’t on the Google. I was intrigued. “Well, if you guys had done well before, why are you hesitant?”
Alistair ran his thumb against the side of his glass, bringing the drink close to his lips, then lowering it before he could take a sip. “He’s old, a genius businessman for sure, but ancient in his thinking. There’s been some talk of shady dealings where a foreign organization is trying to dump this place fast and cheap before it gets seized by the federal government. The price is too good and he came across this information just recently and immediately contacted me. I’m suspicious. I don’t want to invest, buy it with him, and then have the feds get involved and possibly take the property. It’s bad for business and even worse for publicity. We’d get crucified in the papers and I’d prefer to avoid all of the above.”
“Is that a possibility?”
“Anything is a possibility. It’s happened before, several years ago. But that was taken directly from an Iranian company with ties to terrorism. But if I’m just being paranoid and this a truly clean building, if we do this and get away with it, this could be big. Five hundred million plus in yearl
y revenue due to its location. But at the same time, I want to know who’s selling it. I’m not looking to funnel cash into some foreign organization with questionable loyalties.”
“Well, why not?” Businessmen and their loyalties always rested with the bottom line. Frankly, I was a bit surprised to hear Alistair skeptical about the possibility of such a large boon.
Alistair rubbed his knuckles over his jaw. “When you’re dealing with so much money and you don’t know where it’s going, or if there is so much smoke and mirrors between the buyer and the seller, you have to wonder where the cash flow is being directed. I can’t begrudge someone their frivolous spending, but I refuse to help war, terrorism, or mass killing. That stains the soul; no chase is worth that.”
He locked gazes with me, strength radiating off him in waves. “That’s what tonight is about. I need more information before we move forward. Solomon likes doing business over dinner, so here we are.”
This was a side of Alistair I hadn’t seen before. He was self-assured, confident, and surprisingly principled. There was integrity behind his words and I was impressed. I had imagined the city had changed him. I was happy to see otherwise.
I told him so. “I’m impressed. Big leagues, huh?”
“Like you said, we’re a long way from Michigan. He’s here, let’s go.”
Alistair wound his fingers around mine, our fingers lacing together. He tugged me out of the bar and I silently allowed it, following him.
* * *
When we emerged back into the lobby, I pulled my hand out of Alistair’s grasp and he dropped it without giving me a second glance. His attention was on the far side of the room, back at the staircases.
The view outside the panel windows denoted a monstrous spring storm, fat raindrops crashing against the moving cars and umbrellas swarming the sidewalks. Two unfamiliar men walked towards us, or more specifically one walked while the other rumbled. Both were older than Alistair and me by at least thirty years, but that was where the similarities ended. One was pin-thin and clean-shaven while his companion was a large corpulent beast of a man with patchy half-grown stubble dotting his many chins. The thin man was bald, giving a sterile air to his demeanor, while the large one gelled his thinning hair flat against his scalp. His small watery eyes were nearly swallowed by his generous cheeks. Thomas, in his smart glasses, scurried alongside the pair, mouth moving a mile a minute.
Alistair ate up the distance in large strides to this very amusing group of three. He nodded to Thomas.
“Solomon,” Alistair said simply, offering his hand.
The man gripped it and boomed, “Blair!” Alistair shook hands with the pin-thin partner, calling him Greg.
And just as Alistair took a step back to direct their attention toward me, Solomon beat him to the punch.
“Who are you?” Solomon said, stretching out the last word with a downward sneer of his puffy lips.
I immediately detested him and his greasy leering quality. I gritted my teeth in what I hoped was a passive friendly expression and I extended my hand. “My name is Florence Reynolds. I work for the New York Journal. We are currently running a profile on Mr. Blair.”
Beefy grunted a non-reply and grasped my hand with his. “Solomon Morgan.”
His palm was damp and was made of spongy flesh that swallowed my hand in its humid grip. We shook, web to web, and I immediately withdrew, giving an internal shudder.
Solomon threw Alistair a nasty look. “Why is she here? This is supposed to be confidential. I told you this information is worth its weight in gold.”
Alistair’s face was impassive. “She won’t print anything to give the deal away.”
“How can you guarantee it?”
“I guarantee it.”
A wave of déjà vu hit and I had an overwhelming urge to speak up and say there was no guarantee, but I bit my tongue. There was nothing to be gained from engaging in a pissing contest with what looked to me like two men who definitely cared the most about how far and high their streams went. I needed to keep the peace, so I nodded.
“This is strictly for understanding Alistair’s business practices and company. We will not include anything about the meeting until all the details of your deal go full-press elsewhere.”
Solomon glared and I stared back, unblinking.
After a short silence, he grunted to Alistair.
“Come on, the women are already at our table.”
* * *
The women, as I came to find out, consisted of Solomon’s and Greg’s wives.
Mrs. Solomon Morgan was at least five years younger than I was, with breasts large enough to function as ledges, and makeup dripping off her face. Jewels covered her more than clothing did, with a large diamond-studded necklace overflowing against her bosom and rubies the size of grapes weighing down her earlobes. Her dress was blood red and straining over her hips and curves, the hem ending just a hair below her crotch. Lush white-blond hair cascaded over her slim shoulders to the middle of her back.
Greg’s wife was nearly the exact opposite. She was on the early side of middle-aged with faint wrinkles fanning gently across her face, but with the soft look of aging well. She wore a very simple knee-length black dress. She gave me a shy smile, using her fingers to brush back her straight bob.
Both women stood up at the sight of us, with Blonde and Boobs fluttering over to her husband and throwing herself against his body.
“Lover!” she purred in a throaty voice. “Oh, I missed you!”
Solomon beamed at her.
I fought my reflex to roll my eyes.
“This fine creature, gentlemen, is Cassandra,” Solomon said as he wound an arm around her slim waist. She pressed herself against him and tittered.
Greg’s expression didn’t change and he gave her the barest of nods. Alistair offered a polite hello and extended his hand.
Cassandra nearly fell over from the weight of her breasts as she leaned to take Alistair’s hands with both of hers. She clawed the tips of her nails against the back of his palm.
“Mr. Blair, it’s an honor,” she crooned as she petted him. I warred with an uncomfortable urge to swat her off. Alistair shook her hand, and when he pulled away, a fleeting edge of annoyance flitted across her expression.
But it was stamped out quickly when she flicked her eyes to me. Cassandra looked me up and down, in much the same way Gertrude had the first time, except Cassandra’s disdain was much more obvious.
“I didn’t know Blair had a girlfriend!” Cassandra cried loudly.
“I’m not a guest, I’m a journalist writing an article on Mr. Blair,” I said coldly.
Cassandra raised her fingers to her lips and giggled girlishly behind them. Her nails were at least three inches long and blood red to match her dress. “A journalist! How adorable.”
The way she said “journalist” was condescending and vaguely insulting, as if I was beneath her. What was I? A working-class pleb?
I bit my tongue and forced a smile on my lips. “Yes, a journalist.”
But Cassandra turned away, already bored and ready to put her attentions to something shinier and more expensive. This was going to be her husband, who was gingerly lowering himself into his chair, his cheeks reddening with exertion.
There was much attention and fawning over Solomon’s descent into his chair, so when Alistair brushed beside me and pulled my chair out for me, no one really noticed.
Except me, especially when he leaned close to me as I was sitting down.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Alistair murmured next to my ear.
I smiled wide as I rearranged my skirt over my knees. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said to the air before me.
Alistair gave a short snort of disbelief. He sat to my left, to the right of Solomon, and readjusted his seat closer to mine. Our knees brushed against each other, and even with two layers of fabric between the two of us, a jolt of heat still shot up my thigh where we made contact. I sh
ifted in my seat so my legs swung opposite from him.
“Alright!” Solomon boomed, adjusting himself in his seat and crashing his elbows against the table. “Wine!”
Solomon proceeded to make a big show of harassing the waiter about the wine list, snorting loudly in disapproval as the poor guy suggested bottle after bottle. Finally, after a ten-minute aggravation, Solomon settled on two bottles he deemed “merely acceptable” and had the man bring them over.
As the waiter poured wine into our glasses, Greg’s wife delicately declining, Solomon clasped his hands and spoke to Alistair.
“I simply cannot wait any longer, I must know. Have you looked at the property details? Beautiful building, just a beautiful building.”
Greg spoke up. “Price is better than any we’ve seen, ever. This is an amazing opportunity for Blair Properties and Solomon Co. to collaborate on. The location is right in the heart of retail, any company could slip right in. All for seven fifty a square foot. We could just turn around and sell it for upwards of seventeen fifty.”
“I’ve read over the proposal you sent over last week. All the details do fall perfectly into place,” Alistair said.
“So?” Solomon grinned widely, toasting his wineglass at the table. “You accept? This will be a celebratory dinner!”
Thomas raised a palm to silence Solomon. “Not so fast. The details do fall perfectly, but too perfectly. Mr. Blair and I have concerns about the sellers.”
Thomas glanced at Alistair for approval, and Alistair nodded slightly for him to proceed. I sipped my wine casually, watching the back-and-forth like a tennis match, the menu forgotten on my lap.
I had to hand it to Solomon, the wine was delicious.
“What do you know about them? Have you met with the current owners? The numbers are too ideal. It’s cause for suspicion.”
Greg nodded. “We’ve communicated, but they reassure us it’ll be a clean sale, no funny business.”
Thomas wasn’t convinced. “Look, we in the industry all know we always have to cover our backs, even more so after that whole ordeal with that building on Fifth and Fifty-Second. Being seized by the federal government and having the media report on Iranian ties is not good for any business.”
The Beginning of Always Page 15