Chapter Seventy-Five
Seventy-Five
Fourteen Years Ago
London
That night, Grace had chosen to go out in one of her favorite neighborhoods in Central London – Knightsbridge – very classy and very touristic, with a high number of upper-class restaurants, bars, pubs and nightclubs scattered all over the place.
Her first stop had been a very elegant cocktail lounge on Brompton Road, not that far away from Harrods, the world-renowned department store.
Grace looked stunning, like she did every night, but on that particular evening there seemed to be something else about her, a different sparkle, perhaps, as if she could sense that something special was about to happen.
For that Friday evening, she had chosen a blue sleeveless dress that went down to about mid-thigh.
Her auburn hair, or better yet, her auburn wig, fell down past her shoulders in perfect mermaid waves.
Her shoes were the kind of shoes that women with a lot of money would recognize and appreciate.
The cocktail lounge wasn’t exactly busy, but it was still early – just past eight o’clock in the evening – and spotting the right mark was always a waiting game.
Grace knew that well… and she could play that game better than most. She’d been sitting at the bar for less than ten minutes, nursing a barely touched cocktail that had been served in a smoking goblet, when she heard a male voice come from her right.
‘Hi there… I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here, all by yourself. Do you mind if I join you?’
Grace glanced at the guy trying to chat her up. He looked like a typical young executive, with his neat suit, designer shoes and pristine appearance. His cologne was very masculine, with a hint of leather to it, and he held himself with the sort of confidence that most women would find attractive.
‘Sorry,’ she replied. Her tone was friendly, but not overly so, and the smile on her lips was polite, but not inviting. ‘I’m actually waiting for someone.’
‘Well,’ the man countered. ‘I’m someone.’ His smile, on the other hand, was a smirk.
‘You certainly are,’ Grace agreed, as she had a micro-sip of her cocktail. ‘Just not the someone I’m waiting for.’
‘But I could be… if you give me a chance.’ He moved closer, taking the stool next to hers. ‘Trust me, you won’t regret it.’
Grace turned to finally face the man who, in less than ten seconds, had already burnt all his bridges.
‘I’m Steven.’ He offered Grace his hand. ‘And it’s a real pleasure to meet you.’
Grace didn’t take it, her eyes narrowing at him just a fraction, as if she was trying to place him. ‘Oh, hold on… I think I know you.’
Steven hesitated for a moment. ‘Do you?’ His head tilted right. ‘Where from?’
‘I do,’ Grace nodded, her tone calm. ‘You’re one of those blokes who never takes the hint, aren’t you? One of those for whom “no” never means “no”.’
Steven’s eyebrows arched, carelessly. ‘C’mon! You must know that “no” is nothing more than a pit stop on the road to “yes”. Most of the time “no” doesn’t actually mean “no”… it just means “try harder”.’
‘No, it isn’t, and no, it doesn’t,’ Grace replied. There was no play in her voice. ‘It never did… and it never will. “No” will always mean “no”. But you really don’t seem to understand that, do you?’
‘Ooh, feisty. I like that.’
Grace shook her head in an ‘I give up’ gesture. ‘I rest my case.’
‘Hey, mate.’ This was a new voice. Not Steven’s. ‘You heard what the lady said. She’s not interested.’
Grace looked right. Standing a few feet behind Steven was a second man.
This one was a couple of inches shorter than Steven and quite a few pounds lighter too.
His face, though, seemed fuller and more chiseled.
His black hair was tousled in uneven and imperfect waves, which made him look like an Emo kid who had grown up but was still a little reluctant to lose the hairstyle.
He was handsome in his own quirky way, which made him uniquely handsome, and Grace really liked that.
Steven turned to look at the man. ‘Sorry, mate, what was that?’ He sarcastically angled his head in the direction of the new arrival.
‘The lady said she isn’t interested,’ the man repeated himself, without backing an inch. His tone was non-aggressive… diplomatic even. ‘So please, just grab a drink and leave her be.’
Steven chuckled before getting to his feet and squaring up to the shorter man. ‘I have a better idea, mate – why don’t you go mind your own business… and leave us be?’ His right index finger went back and forth between him and Grace a couple of times.
‘I am minding my business,’ the man replied, meeting Steven’s stare.
‘Oh!’ Steven seemed taken aback by the man’s reply. He turned to face Grace. ‘Is he the bloke you’ve been waiting for?’
‘No, she’s not waiting for me,’ the man beat Grace to the answer.
Steven looked back at him, intrigued. ‘So how is this your business, mate?’
‘Because this is my bar,’ the man replied, with a single nod. ‘And you seem to be harassing one of my customers, which makes it my business. So please, before I ask security to escort you out, just grab a drink… on the house… and leave the lady alone.’
Steven paused for a fraction of a second before addressing Grace. ‘I’m not harassing anyone, am I?’
‘Mate,’ the man’s voice was a lot firmer this time. ‘I’m really trying to make this easy for you. Take the hint.’
‘Oh, he’s not so good with hints,’ Grace tried to explain, her expression relaxed.
‘It appears so,’ the man agreed.
Steven took another moment before shrugging. ‘Fine, nothing interesting happening here anyway. I’ll take that drink on the house, though.’
‘Not a problem.’ The man gestured at the bartender. ‘Sergio, please serve the gentleman… whatever he wants.’ His stare returned to Steven, and it stayed on him until he finally walked away to the other end of the bar.
‘I’m so terribly sorry about that,’ the man said, turning to face Grace. ‘Some people are just clueless.’ Only his eyes moved right to indicate Steven.
‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ Grace said back, meeting the man’s stare. Other than how attractive he was, she’d also noticed that on his left wrist, he was wearing an F.P.Journe watch.
Over the past two years, Grace and Julia had become a lot more knowledgeable in the lifestyle of the wealthy.
To better identify what to take once they were inside the mark’s hotel room, they read about brands, special editions and collectors’ items in jewelry, fashion, watches, handbags, shoes, perfumes, pens…
even hats… and they both had a pretty good eye when it came to spotting expensive items.
‘Could I offer you a drink on the house,’ the man continued. ‘As an apology.’
‘No apology needed,’ Grace said back. ‘There was no harm done.’
The man bowed his thanks, placing both hands over his heart. ‘Still, whenever you’re ready, your next drink is on the house. I insist.’ He gave Grace a polite nod. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening.’
The man turned to walk away, but Grace halted him.
‘So, this really is your bar?’
The man faced her again, his lips hiding a smile, while his forehead creased just a touch.
‘I thought that that was just…’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Bollocks?’ the man said, the smile finally breaking through.
Grace smiled back. ‘Yeah… you know… just to get him to go away.’
‘Trust me… I do talk a lot of bollocks, but not this time. This really is one of my bars.’ He extended his hand. ‘I’m Phillip… Phillip Evans.’
‘Grace Mitchell,’ she replied, shaking Phillip’s hand.
That night, Grace didn’t go back to a hotel room with a mark.
She didn’t go back to Phillip’s place either, but she did spend most of her evening chatting to him.
He was funny and a great conversationalist, but that wasn’t all.
Underneath all the jokes and the undeniable charm, there seemed to be a deeper substance to him.
He was articulate, intelligent and kind…
but best of all, he was rich… richer than any mark that Grace or Julia had ever targeted.