Chapter 1 #4
Well, it looked like Lowlife—Sam Reston—wasn’t a serial killer or a drug dealer.
Actually, he, um, was the owner of a company she knew to be very successful.
The success of Reston Security constituted a significant portion of the gossip machine that was alive and well in the Morrison Building.
Reston Security was certainly much more successful than Wordsmith, which was clinging to life by the occasional IV line of new clients.
If the extremely dangerous-looking, seriously scruffy man in front of her, watching her quietly, was Sam Reston of Reston Security, then surely she could do this.
A deal was a deal. If he could somehow open her door and allow her to make her videoconference call, she would owe him far more than could be repaid by a couple of hours spent consuming a meal.
He was watching her quietly, and standing oh-so still.
9:23. She took a deep breath. “Okay, you have a dinner date, for an evening of your choosing.” She gestured behind her.
“But you’re going to have to open my door, Mr. Reston, right now.
I have a very important business call coming in at 9:30 sharp, and if I don’t make that call, then our deal is off. ”
He dipped his head gravely. “Fair enough. And the name is Sam.”
“Nicole.” Nicole gritted her teeth, glancing at the big clock at the end of the corridor and wincing. However Sam Reston was going to get her into her office, he’d have to do it in the next six minutes or she was toast. “I wonder…is there a building super with a master key?”
“No.” He shook his head. “So—we have the deal?”
“Um, yes. We do.” Nicole barely refrained from tapping her toe.
“You’ll go out to dinner with me tonight?” he pressed. At her look, he shrugged broad shoulders. “Ever since I left the Navy and became a businessman, I’ve learned to nail agreements down.”
Actually, he looked like the kind of man who would enforce deals at the end of a gun. But she’d promised.
“As a new businesswoman myself, I’ve learned to keep my word. So, yes, I accept your invitation. Now, please open my door. And if you kick it open, I’ll expect you to pay damages.”
“Of course,” he murmured.
Nicole shot a glance at her watch. Damn. It had taken her several days to set up this conference call. The client was a Wall Street “Master of the Universe,” almost impossible to pin down to an appointment.
The “Master” in question was an anal retentive and when he said a 9:30 conference call, it would be 9:30 to the second, and she knew that he’d never call again if she wasn’t on the line.
In a harsh, nasal New Yawk accent, the words spilling out almost more quickly than she could understand them, he’d told her he couldn’t have anyone wasting his time because his time was worth at least a thousand dollars a minute.
The message couldn’t have been clearer. Be at the end of the line at 9:30 or else.
Nicole worked with two retired professors of economics, one of whom had been born in Russia and had come to the States as a teenager, and another who had studied in Moscow for ten years.
They would be perfect for the big, long-term translation job and she had every intention of asking the Master of the Universe top prices.
Her commission off the deal would go a long way toward paying for the night nurse.
Four minutes to go. She was going to lose this appointment, and probably the client. So much for…
She looked up from her wrist and blinked.
Her door was wide open, her tiny, pretty office beckoning beyond it.
She turned her stunned gaze to Sam Reston, who was straightening and moving away from her door. “How did you do that? Did you just pick the lock?” Surely picking a lock required some kind of effort? Some time? In the movies, the thief jiggled at the lock forever.
He wasn’t looking smug or even proud of himself. In fact, he was scowling. “You haven’t improved on the building security at all,” he said, his deep voice making it an accusation.
“Um, no.” Nicole felt like she’d fallen into a rabbit hole. The real-estate agent had stressed the excellent building security and had dwelled lovingly on the quality of the office locks. “Was I supposed to?”
“Well, sure. When it’s as crappy as this.” His scowl deepened as he pocketed something. Though she’d love to see if it was a lockpick, she didn’t have time to waste.
Another glance at her watch and she hurried into her office. She was just barely going to make the videoconference.
She had less than two minutes to spare.
“Thank you, Mr. Reston. So I guess—”
“Sam.”
“Sam.” She gritted her teeth. A minute and a half left. “Tell me where to meet you and when.”
His scowl grew deeper. “Absolutely not. I’ll pick you up at your house.”
There wasn’t time to argue, not even time to roll her eyes. “Okay. Shall we say seven? I live on Mulberry Street. Three forty-six Mulberry Street. Is that okay?”
“Fine. I’ll be there at seven to pick you up.” A muscle in his jaw rippled, though the words were low and quiet.
Did he live far away? Well, if he had to drive across town, he’d asked for it. She’d been willing to meet him at the restaurant.
He turned away, she closed the door and the phone rang.
Nicole leaped to pick it up, heard the Master’s nasal tones. She’d made it! The price had been high, but she’d made it.