Chapter 10
Ten
Alex
Ilean back in my chair and close my eyes, stretching out my neck. “That covers the private credit arrangements. Where are we on the family structure?”
“The board is clear enough,” Tomkin replies. He’s one of our senior analysts, and a regular on my team. “It’s the cousins that will take longer. They’re not so visible.”
“Do you have a split of their voting power?”
“Only about half of it so far.”
I nod. It’s Tuesday, two weeks since we kicked this off, and progress has been good. But my mind is elsewhere: on the dance in three days’ time.
And Vicky still hasn’t unblocked me, or confirmed she’s coming by any other method.
“Operating picture?” I ask, trying to stay focused. It’s been a long day already; most people have already gone home.
“Rough numbers so far, Alex,” Nair replies. He’s Tomkin’s level, another of my hand-picked analysts. “Upstream, midstream, and generation look pretty tight, but renewables and trading are murkier. Should have more later this week. I’m meeting for a market check with a midstream trader on Thursday.”
“Invite me to that,” I say. “I might come along.” I look at Stevens. He’s our in-house legal, and will be key for this. “Regulatory position?”
“Definitely enough to go hunting, but how are you going to do it?”
“Leave that bit to me,” I tell him. Only Rita knows about the Company and the link to Serrano, only because she needs to, and only what she needs to. DeLuca signed off on that; he told me he’d already briefed her, right after the lunch we’d had. Before we even attended the meeting at Westchester.
She gives me a look full of meaning now, and it’s not particularly subtle. I’ll have to talk to her about that, because I want all my fingers when this is done.
“Then let’s call it there for tonight. Good work, everyone.” I glance at the time: almost nine-thirty. I suppose I should go home, but there’s nothing there for me.
I’ve spent many nights in my Manhattan apartment and it’s never felt empty before. Now, knowing the house in Westchester is equally empty makes everything seem somehow… pointless?
That’s a crazy thought. I must just be tired.
The others make their way out and back to their boyfriends, girlfriends, or families. Rita lingers behind, waiting until we’re alone before she speaks.
“We still have the financial model to finish.”
“That’s my area.”
“I know. I want to help.”
“I’ll do it tonight, when I get home.”
“Home is two blocks away, Alex. It’s too late for you to drive to Westchester.
” She walks around my desk, comes behind my chair, then her hands are on my shoulders, kneading the muscles.
It’s not the first time she’s done this, but it is the first since she suggested I bent her over this very desk.
That gives it a different feel. “I’ll come with you. We need some food anyway, right?”
“I’m just going to order in.”
“Thai?” she suggests. She knows it’s my go-to when I’m feeling lazy and indulging. It’s shit for my gym routine, but once in a while it’s not too bad.
“Maybe.” I sigh. “What I’m really thinking about is a hot shower.”
She leans down until her lips are near my ear. “Now I’m thinking about that, too.”
I stand up, slipping out from beneath her touch, and she walks around the side of my desk like she was going to anyway. “I need to see if DeLuca’s still here before I head off.”
“That’s fine,” she says. “I’ll wait.”
“I want to see him alone.”
“Then I’ll get a cab and see you outside.”
I hesitate. But I am tired, and her help would be useful on the financial models. It’s far from the first time we’ve worked at my apartment; she’s even spent the night there, on more than one occasion. In the spare room.
“Fine. Give me ten minutes.”
She picks up her coat, drapes it over one arm, and heads for the door. Pauses with it open, throws me a look full of promise, adds a playful smile, and walks out.
I know damn well a lot of men would take her up on that offer. I heard a colleague remark that Rita’s sex on legs.
If I’d been single and we didn’t have a working relationship, maybe I’d look at her differently. But she’s more valuable to me as my Chief of Staff than as a fuck-and-chuck.
And she’s not Vicky, I remind myself. I’m not the kind of man to settle for second best.
You had the best. You let her go.
I’m going to make damn sure I get her back.
Talking to myself is one thing. Arguing with myself means I’ve been here too long.
I wander through the executive floor to find DeLuca.
It’s dark both outside and within, low-level security lighting in the hallways and most of the offices unoccupied.
I like being here at this late hour. It’s familiar, like the place is just mine, when the work really matters because it has to be done now, not tomorrow.
There’s a light on in DeLuca’s office, and I rap twice and open the door. He looks up, waves me in, then clicks a button to bring his screensaver up. Even though the monitor isn’t facing me. The reflection in the window behind him shows a classic Jaguar, blurry and distorted.
“What can I do for you?” he asks.
“Nothing important. We were just finishing up for the night and I saw your light on.”
He waves me to one of the chairs before his desk. “It’s the first proper chance we’ve had to talk since last Monday. Your opinion?”
I use the action of sitting down to compose my thoughts. “The model makes sense,” I say carefully. “Greenstone will be a good test case for me.”
“More than a test, I hope,” he says. “I’m expecting you to own it—all of it—and use the likes of Serrano as you need to.”
Another reminder that I don’t have the option of failing. Or is it ‘we’? DeLuca is my sponsor; will his fingers join mine on the table? “Don’t worry, I have a plan laid out already.”
He tilts his head, regarding me for a long moment, then nods. “Good. I knew I was right about you.”
“This social on Friday.” There’s a crack in the leather armrest of my chair, and I pick at it. “I’m not sure Vicky will be able to attend.”
“Get her there, Alex.” It’s not a request.
“She’s not been well.”
“It’s a ball,” he says flatly. “I told you having a partner is important.”
“Then I’ll bring another.”
His eyes narrow and his head moves like he’s weighing it up. “It’s not ideal, especially for your first social event, but I suppose it matters less when they haven’t met Victoria yet.”
He always uses her full name, even when I don’t.
“You told me that stability was important,” I say, keeping it light. “Is that another word for loyalty?”
“After a fashion.” He leans back, resting his hands on his ample stomach. “Fournier in particular surrounds himself with family men. And what Fournier says goes.”
“So it’s a preference?” I ask.
“No, Alex. It’s very much a requirement.” DeLuca stills in his chair, head coming forward as his eyes fix on me. “Why the reluctance?”
“There’s no reluctance,” I say dismissively. “Only that… I’m not yet married. There’s always a possibility I’ll decide this one isn’t right.” I tilt my head politely. “Will that be a problem?”
He watches me for a long moment before he speaks. “No, it’s not a problem,” he says at last. “So long as you choose someone, and soon.” He sniffs lightly. “How long do you think it will take you to close Greenstone?”
“We’ve only just started,” I say in reflex, distracted by the ‘someone soon.’ But at least that takes the pressure off this coming Friday. And off Vicky.
“I’m well aware.”
Of course he is. “A project like this could take—”
“Twelve months. I’ve been doing this longer than you have.”
I nod, both conceding the point, and recognizing he wants me to stop being evasive. “Nine months is my current estimate, and that assumes I get what I want from Serrano and the others.”
“You’ve got six.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Six months? To acquire a seven-billion dollar organization?”
“Yes,” he says bluntly. “With the combined weight of the Company behind you, that’s not going to be a problem, is it?”
He’s not asking. He’s telling me.
“Absolutely not.” There’s no other answer to give.
I push myself out of the chair, give him a nod, and walk for the door.
“Alexander.”
I turn with my hand on the handle. “Marco?”
“Six months for Greenstone, and six months to get married. Make sure they both happen, okay?” He flaps a hand at me. “Take whoever you want to the social, but take someone. Doesn’t your Chief of Staff dance?”
“What’s bothering you?” Rita asks as we ride the elevator up to my apartment.
“Why do you think anything’s bothering me?”
“Because for the last two years, I’ve spent all my professional time in your company. Along with a fair amount of my personal time. I know when something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s bothering me.”
She doesn’t buy it. “Is it this Company business?”
The elevator decelerates, coming to stop at my floor, giving me a moment to work out my answer as we walk to my apartment.
It’s a place I picked up just after I made partner, chosen for its proximity and convenience to the office.
Three bedrooms and a large study, formal dining room, herringbone floors, proper moldings.
I’ve spent more time here than at Westchester, though neither really feel like home. They’re conveniences, nothing more.
Rita follows me in with familiarity. I hit the light switches and the keys go in a bowl on the dresser near the door.
“What did DeLuca tell you about the Company?” I ask in answer to her question.
“Only that it’s an extension of Cadrion Holdings and a big deal. A way for us to leverage some of the capabilities across the group for our own success.”
That’s more than I expected him to say, but discloses nothing inherently illegal. It makes sense for my Chief of Staff to be at last somewhat in the know, but it doesn’t explain why she came out looking pale. “What else did he say to you?”
Rita gives me a smile, then walks into my kitchen and helps herself to two wine glasses and a bottle of red, pulling them unerringly from the right cupboards.
“He said my success is tied to yours.” She opens the bottle with my corkscrew and pours, then slides a glass across the island to me. “And my failure. He was quite clear about that.”
I pick up the glass, swirling the ruby liquid, considering. “Did he ask if you could dance?” He already knew; I wonder how.
Rita blinks at the unexpected question. “No.” She takes a sip of her wine. “It is on my résumé.”
“Is it?” I’d read that. I must’ve forgotten.
“In my interests. I did ballroom and Latin for eight years.” She gives a sigh and sets her wineglass down, then heads toward the bedroom she uses with a sway of her hips.
“My feet are killing me and I’m going to change.
See you in your study in twenty minutes, and we’ll start these financial models. ”
I lean against the counter, staring unseeing after where she disappeared.
Vicky’s been to this apartment a grand total of twice.
Once when we had a quiet dinner here, once when we were too tired to return to Westchester after a night out.
Rita has a room here, even if I never officially gave it to her.
It grew out of convenience, from too many late nights.
But she has clothes in there, some of her things, enough to make it a personal space.
Vicky doesn’t know, and for the first time, that gives me a twinge of awkwardness.
Then I brush it aside. Rita’s my Chief of Staff; of course we’re going to have a close working relationship. Vicky understands that.
I leave the bottle and carry my glass into my study, sitting down behind the large mahogany desk, flicking my dual monitors awake.
It’s a warmer room than the glass corner office I have at Northbridge, with wood paneling and a thick, dark grey carpet.
A dozen sconces with bulbs on dimmer switches let me set the mood I need, but they’re turned up full. I need to be alert to work.
Rita is taking her time. I’m well into the model when she finally enters, and I don’t look up, even when she turns the lights lower. She takes her usual chair opposite my desk and says nothing for a while, letting me concentrate.
Eventually, she breaks the silence. “Why did you ask if I could dance?”
“There’s a social event at the end of the week,” I reply, my mind on the spreadsheet before me. “I need a partner.”
“Do you dance?”
“I do. Not eight years of it, but yes.”
“I bet you move very well.”
I glance up at that. Not merely the words, but something in her tone.
She’s lounging in her chair in a satin bathrobe, one bare leg crossed over the other. Her elbow’s on the armrest, her glass in her hand, watching me from beneath her lashes.
When she said get changed, for some reason I thought sweater and slacks. Not… lingerie. I must be more distracted than I thought. Vicky. The social. Greenstone. Two fingers lying on a table in a pool of their own blood. There’s a lot on my mind.
I lean back in my chair, picking up my untouched wine, and focus my attention on Rita. She’s capable—she wouldn’t be my Chief of Staff if she wasn’t—and I’d be a fool to underestimate her. She’s dangerous, what she’s doing is dangerous, and that damn bathrobe is dangerous too.
“I suppose I could come,” she says, meeting my gaze. “But you haven’t given me much notice.”
“Why, did you have plans?” I know she doesn’t. If she has friends or a social life, she manages it around our work. Weekends included.
“It’s more about finding the right dress.”
I flap a hand dismissively. “Get one tomorrow.” And just like that, Rita’s now accompanying me to the ball. I feel a flare of irritation at Vicky. Her refusal to commit, even though I’ve been clear I want her there.
Tomorrow marks two weeks since her birthday. Two weeks since she left, and she’s still not back. What’s more, she doesn’t look like she’s about to change her mind, either.
Fine. She needs a nudge.
I reach for my phone and pull up the text Julian Serrano sent me just this morning: It’s all ready. Proceed?
I send him back a single word, then focus on my next challenge: keeping Rita close but not too close, without tipping the balance between useful and costly.