Three and a Half Weeks

by Lulu Astor

  It’s from Maya. It reads: I remembered her name! It’s Natasha.

  Chapter 37

  Abandon All Hope Ye That Enter Here:

  He wakes up at two, then three-thirty, and then again at 4:20. He just cannot get any rest; the stress mounts in his bloodstream like a cyanide drip, as the hippocampus in his brain secretes hormones triggering a fight or flight response.

  This time it will be fight.

  It is his looming four o’clock appointment that is the culprit. He hadn’t cancelled it. Instead, he’d decided to meet with the turncoat bitch and find out for once and for all what the hell it was all about.

  Too early to go into the office, he tries to reach Daniel Butler—it’s later in New York. Shortly after first meeting Butler, he began to suspect the man has… unique… abilities, so why not make use of them, since Butler had made the offer? Of course, he could be entirely mistaken. Perhaps the sharp businessman is merely intuitive?

  Butler answers on the third ring. “Yes?”

  “Ian Blackmon here. Can you spare a minute?”

  “I can. What’s going on?”

  He tells him about Natasha as briefly as possible, ending with the appointment scheduled for later today. “Any thoughts?”

  There’s a slight pause on the other end. “The fact that this is so personal explains a lot, Ian. My advice is to go ahead and meet with her. Can’t hurt and can only help. Just make sure you don’t lose it and kill her.” He says it jokingly but both men know it’s a distinct possibility at this point in the game.

  “Any news on the other front?”

  Ian snorts, disgustedly. “The bastard showed up in Portland to talk to Ella.”

  “I’m not surprised. He has motives that you haven’t identified yet, Ian. A man like Phillips doesn’t go chasing a woman around the country except for a good reason. I say that with all respect for Ella.”

  “Yes. I agree. I just don’t know what more I can do to ferret out the information—short of water boarding.”

  “Remind me how Ella met him?”

  “Through a college friend. I can’t remember her name.”

  “Remember her name, Ian. Start with her. She probably holds the missing slice of information, knowingly or not.”

  Ian sighs; he’s tired of it all and wants to take a vacation with Ella. “Yes, I will. How was your trip, by the way?”

  “Perfect. I recommend getting away for a long weekend, Ian, does wonders for perspective, not to mention disposition. Oh, by the way, we received the lovely gift from you and Ella. Thank you. I believe Olivia sent a note of appreciation.”

  “Yes. She did. I look forward to meeting her in the near future.”

  “Absolutely. Perhaps you might make it to New York for our wedding.”

  “I can do that… if you can get to Portland for ours.”

  “Oh? I suppose congratulations are in order, then. I’m very glad to hear it but I’m sure you’ll be breaking hearts all over the great state of Oregon.”

  Ian laughs. “Thanks for the minute, Daniel. Have a good day.”

  As the clock strikes 3:55, he swivels his chair away from the large window behind his desk to face the doors of the office head-on. Ian has been glancing at the damn clock all fucking day—he might just have to get rid of it after today. Is she actually going to show? He hasn’t set eyes on Natasha in over five years. The last time he saw her was the day he realized she’d betrayed him… utterly. At that minute, her sensual beauty began to take on sinister proportions.

  He had loved her since high school. Since the moment he’d set eyes on her. It was the first time in his young life that he’d felt such a passion for another human being outside of his own family. Perhaps pathetically, he’d believed his feelings were fully requited… but he’d been wrong, dead wrong. Instead of love, she’d set her sights on ruining him.

  But she hadn’t and still could not. And now? Well, it took a long time, over five years, long, lonely ones to be sure, but now he found he could feel again. He loved Ella with everything he had to give, so Natasha didn’t win on any count and he would make sure she knew it, if he did nothing else today.

  Just after noon, Janine had buzzed him. “Mr. Blackmon. Ms. Yenin is on the line. She wants to know if she can reschedule her appointment for tomorrow instead?”

  What? The bitch is just jerking my chain, he thought. “Where’s Claudia?”

  “She took an early lunch today; I think she had a doctor’s appointment.”

  “Listen to me, Janine, very carefully. Tell Ms. Yenin that tomorrow is not possible. As far as I’m concerned, it’s either today or never. But don’t tell her that. Just say no to any other time or day she suggests. She’ll get the message rather quickly. Then get back to me with her answer.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  He sat there, tapping his fingers against the desk, marshaling all of his resources to remain serene, a near impossible task. Finally, he acceded to his inner rage and sent a heavy crystal paperweight sailing across the room. It blasted into the far wall, gouging a crater into the formerly pristine white of the painted sheetrock. Calmly, he rose to his feet, and walked to a small watercolor painting to the left of the hole. Removing the painting, he pulled its hook out, rammed it just above the cratered hole, and hung the painting to obscure his very recently acquired wall adornment.

  All of her options denied, Natasha Yenin relented, deciding to keep the appointment today after all. He knew she would because she had a reason for coming to see him and if he’d learned one thing about Natasha—and learned it the hard way—it was that if she sets her sights on something or someone, she would not back down until it was finished.

  At ten to four, the receptionist in the lobby calls to inform him that Ms. Yenin is on her way up. Ian rises to his feet, stretches, rolls his neck, and strides to the other side of the office to get a bottle of water, which he downs in one long pull. He’s trying to distract himself from the feelings threatening to swallow him whole: agitation, anger, even confusion. He never did find out why Natasha turned on him so viciously. Perhaps today would deliver the moment of truth?

  The buzzer rings as Claudia’s echoing voice fills the room a few moments later. “Dragon lady just got off the elevator. How would you like me to proceed?”

  “Seat her in reception and make her wait, like everyone else. I’ll buzz you when I’m ready. Thanks, Claudia.”

  “You’re welcome, Ian. I’ll await your call.”

  Pacing the room, he tries to work off some of the manic energy coursing through his veins, knowing it’s stress-induced. Calm is what he needs more than anything else. Calm will allow him to control the situation and that’s exactly what he needs to do. He cannot allow his anger—or any other emotion to get in his way.

  Toward that end, he makes her wait over ten minutes, figuring with each passing minute he’s ratcheting up her stress level exponentially. He’ll be calm; she’ll be tense and angry, giving him the advantage over her in their “discussion.” Finally, at six minutes after four he buzzes Claudia. “Okay. Send her in.”

  The door is pushed open with purpose and the tall, blond woman strides through it, walking right to his desk, as if she owns the place. The moment she comes into view, Ian feels his body instantly respond to her physical presence: his heart begins to race erratically and he gets an instant hard-on—and it annoys the hell out of him. He can’t help it though: he was sexually attracted to the woman from the second he set his teenaged eyes on her.

  Natasha appears not to have aged a day since the last time he saw her. Perhaps her hair is now a lighter blond but her face still holds all the youthful animation it always had and her eyes sparkle with her misspent plans. Her long lean figure sheathed in a body-hugging navy suit, she’s wearing a low-cut white camisole under the jacket. Around her throat are multiple strands of pearls, from the last of which dangles a large white-gold Russian Orthodox cross. On her feet are navy stilettos, with five-inch heels, worn with flair des
pite her tall height. With the shoes, she easily breaches six feet.

  Ian stands and slowly comes around his desk to meet her head on. Since she refused to sit, he wasn’t about to look up to her from his own seated position. By standing opposite her, he still manages to tower over her by a couple of inches.

  Ice-blue eyes unabashedly examine him up and down, appraising him as an adversary. “What? No hug and kiss?” she asks, her voice deep and throaty as she smiles, revealing her toothpaste-ad row of teeth.

  Ignoring her comment, he instead asks a question of his own. “To what do I owe this unparalleled pleasure, Ms. Yenin?”

  “I’m not here to verbally spar with you, Blackmon. I’ve come to talk business: first about TES. Then… other, shall we say more personal, business.”

  “Personal?”

  Waving her hand in dismissal, she retorts, “Table it for now. Shall we discuss our competition for TES and Alt-En?”

  Ian shrugs, his attention on his fingernails; he decides a manicure is in order. “Nothing to discuss,” he says airily. “As far as Alt-En is concerned, have at it. Excalibur is no longer interested and has withdrawn its offer. As for TES, you may or may not know, the sale of the company to a corporation based in Tokyo is already well underway. Is that all?”

  The blond woman retains her cool, eyeing him with no apparent emotion. Though Ian finds her inscrutable expression unnerving, he doesn’t allow it show. It’s a stare down at this point. Finally, she ruptures the silent impasse.

  “You’ve proven to be a most unworthy opponent, Blackmon. You’ve had so much time and yet you haven’t even begun to figure it out. I suppose I should have left a trail of breadcrumbs… or in your case perhaps just a chorus line of whores. Here, let me take your hand and guide you to it, like leading the blind, deaf, and dumb.” She cocks her head, pausing for a short moment. “On second thought: I’ll give you a hint and it will be up to you to figure out the story. How’s that?” She didn’t wait for his comment. “Look to your grandfather.”

  “My grandfather?” He crosses his arms. “What can my grandfather possibly have to do with this matter? Further, I happen to have two of them. To whom do you refer? My paternal grandfather, who was a judge, or my mother’s father, the oncologist?” He leans his hip against the desk, barely breathing and never taking his eyes off the shapely opponent in front of him. He treats her like the snake in the grass she is.

  Tapping her foot in a staccato beat, she spits out her next question. “What kind of judge, Blackmon?

  “Immigration.”

  “Bingo. Ever notice that I speak with traces of an accent? I’m a Russian national, as are my parents… as are my grandparents.” She looks at him pointedly, as if that’s supposed to mean something.

  He snickers. “Good for you. Now get to the fucking point. I have no time for chitchat about family history, fascinating though it may be.”

  She finally deigns to take a seat, and he follows suit. Ian tries not to look but fails miserably as her skirt, already fairly short at several inches above the knee, rides up her shapely thighs as she crosses her legs. He suspects she’s not wearing anything underneath since that was a penchant of hers. If she does have on an undergarment, it is probably a skimpy thong. He musters everything he has at his disposal to banish the image that rides on the coattails of that thought.

  Natasha grins, knowing exactly what’s running through his mind. He could never resist her physically and that gave her enormous power over him. She believed he’d mastered it by now but a few minutes in his presence and she could tell he’s still susceptible. If necessary, she’ll use it to her advantage. “You know what, Ian Blackmon? I’m not going to make this too easy for you. Perhaps I’ll merely provide you with the impetus to solve the puzzle. You know what they say: incentive is the mother of invention?”

  “I believe the word is necessity not incentive, my dear. But please,” he gestures widely with his arm, “go on. The floor is yours—in more ways than one.”

  “I had my plan all mapped out: I was going to obliterate your business bit by bit until you had nothing left. All the players and pieces were in place and poised, ready to play their parts. The initial act was executed—and brilliantly at that.

  “And then what happens? You dismantle the fucking company yourself! Why would any sane businessperson do something so drastic? Tell me, Ian. Why?”

  He shrugs. “I was no longer interested in capitalizing on the misfortune of others. Call it an ethical epiphany, if you will.”

  “Ethical? I’d call it weakness. You’re weak, Ian, disappointingly so. I thought if there were anything I could count on, it would be your ruthless pursuit of success and profit. Yet, you proved yourself feeble, susceptible to pathetic human emotions, just as you’re beholden to your emotions in your personal life now.” She sneers with contempt.

  “Yes, it’s a problem among us humans. But you wouldn’t know, would you? Someone like you wouldn’t be able to grasp my motivations because I was not propelled by self-profit nor aggrandizement. I think those two motivations and some ridiculous blood vendetta are all you’re capable of understanding. You are a psychopathic cunt, Yenin, and I have no purpose for you. Get out of my office and don’t darken my doorway again. You do not deserve to draw your next breath of oxygen.”

  “How dare you call me that word?”

  He laughs. “Trust me, I never use it lightly or even at all. In this case, it is richly deserved.” He leans in closer, making every word count. “You are a cunt, of the highest order. Moreover, I never want to be forced to look upon your evil again. It’s ironic that your twisted ugliness is encased in such a glossy veneer; however, now that I can see beneath it, I can easily identify the monster within… and it’s so irretrievably hideous.”

  Pushing herself to her feet and spinning around, she begins to stalk to the door. “I do hope your bravado holds out when your precious Ariel goes missing, Ian. Perhaps then you’ll have the time and necessity to figure out why I detest you so much.”

  The fires of Hades are ablaze in his eyes and his voice crackles with fury as he tears into her. “If you harm one hair on my Ella’s head, I’m going to take you apart piece by piece and I mean that in the literal not figurative sense, Yenin. That is a solemn vow.”

  “Oh, please. I’ve already had her in my grips. Of course, Lucien disappointed me, big time. One would think a sophisticated, one might even say continental, man such as he could take on a silly little schoolgirl like your Ariel. Lucien blamed you for making it impossible.”

  “So it was you who enlisted Lucien? I should have known: the man gave me the creeps from the first moment I met him… just as you do.”

  “Your mouth can lie, Ian, but your eyes confess the whole truth.” She drops her voice to a low, husky register. “If I were to stand here in front of you and remove my clothing, I’d have you on your knees in seconds.”

  He shakes his head in disgust. “Keep deluding yourself, Natasha. I wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire, I assure you.”

  “Yes, the clever Ian Blackmon… and yet again you couldn’t figure it out—any of it. It was so obvious. I mean, why would a man like Lucien go out of his way for a mousy little thing like your Ariel? That fact in and of itself should have alerted you.

  “Lucien is mine: he fell hard for my charm so I tried to utilize his devotion to my advantage. Since he left his long-time girlfriend for me, I wanted to make it worth his while. Your cute young fluff, so apparently innocent, seemed like she might provide my darling with a few hours of fun and, silly me, I truly thought he was up to the challenge. He wasn’t though, not up to outplaying you, Blackmon. Complicating matters, I do believe he began to develop feelings for the girl somewhere along his road to perdition, which was funny because he swears he’s madly in love with me. Itty-bitty Ella foiled that part of our plan.”

  “Good for her. Yenin, you’re not fit to lick my Ella’s boots, quite frankly. Don’t bring her into this conversation again. I
won’t have her name sullied by coming off your dirty lips.”

  Natasha could easily see and identify the blistering rage in his eyes when she mentioned his woman—intense emotion, love or hate, darkens the light blue-gray to slate, but they remain lighter around the edges. She remembers that about her old friend, her first lover—that and other things. For example, his beautiful face aglow with triumph when they scored a big deal, the way his eyes glistened like late-afternoon sunshine on water when he was amused and gleamed when he looked upon her in admiration, the way his dark locks of hair floated on the wind as the two of them tooled around in his pale blue convertible—the one he swore he bought because the color matched her eyes.

  But the memory she adored the most and perhaps caused her the most regret was without doubt the expression on his face when they made love, as if he’d attained Nirvana, the way his eyes fell dark not with anger but with unbridled passion, the iris all but disappearing within the murky depths just before they rolled up into his head when he hit his orgasm. Yes, that was her favorite memory of all. Perhaps she’d see it again one day.

  Surprising herself, she also feels a bolt of hot jealousy streak through her, scorching her blood. Ian belongs to her, not that little American snot; Natasha just chooses not to accept him currently. How dare that college girl think she could take on Ian Blackmon? Natasha decides Ariel needs another comeuppance. Maybe this time she’d give the green light to her uncles to have their way with her.

  Shaking off her extreme reaction, she tosses her blond head back and laughs throatily at Ian’s last comment—every move she makes is calculated to be alluring to him. She’s rehearsed it all, leaving nothing to chance and she anticipates his every response. Her responses are the wild cards here: she must temper her emotions to succeed. Ian remains sitting in his chair watching her closely, a strange little smile dancing on his lips. What happened to the fury of a moment ago?

  Ah, the master has resumed his poker face: outwardly, he is impervious, like a chess player carefully contemplating his next move. Inwardly, all hell is breaking loose and his sincerest desire is to wrap his long fingers around her elegant throat and squeeze every last bit of life out of her treacherous person.