Chapter 17
Seventeen
Alex
She’s gone when I awake.
I usually sleep so lightly, any noise disturbs me. How did she manage to get out of the bed without waking me?
Maybe she’s in the kitchen, making coffee.
But I don’t think she is. The bed is cold beside me.
Fine. If she wants to play it like this, it’ll be another spanking for having to go to Carol’s and drag her back again.
We’ll both enjoy that. Even if it is a punishment.
It’s Saturday, and I don’t have to get up early. I take my time, having breakfast for once. Her dress is where I left it, but my tux jacket has gone. She can keep it if she wears it for me with nothing beneath. The thought stirs my blood.
As do images from last night. Vicky, naked beneath my hands. Vicky, with her ass raised. Vicky, wet and open and oh so willing. Vicky, begging me to fuck her and coming around my cock.
There have been women before, but none that stir me like she does.
I hit the gym in my building’s basement. Some weights, time on the treadmill.
Whatever I do makes no difference; my mind fixates on Vicky.
For some reason, I can’t stop thinking of how we met, nine months ago.
We were both present at a closing arbitration for the acquisition of Origin Engineering, on opposite sides of the table.
The irony was that I shouldn’t even have been there—at the last minute, DeLuca asked me to attend.
Yes, it was my client, but I usually left it in the hands of legal. That day, I didn’t.
We won, of course. And when it was all over, I took their corporate investigator out for drinks. At first, she wasn’t interested. Drinks with the man who’d just helped destroy her client’s case? But I do love a challenge. Besides, I was impressed by her. And intrigued.
How could I not be? She has an indefinable quality that drew me to her. When I first met her, I couldn’t name it. Now I can: vulnerability. It has other names, I suppose. Latent sexuality. Repressed need. Exposed innocence. They all apply to my Vicky.
But she’s not weak. Far from it. And that was clear in the way she held herself, back at that arbitration. A confidence that wasn’t overt, but subtle. Courageous, too—even more so, perhaps, because of that vulnerability she has. For what is courage, if it isn’t acting when one is afraid?
So they say. I’ve never been afraid.
Vicky has, though.
I think she is every day. Yet she gets up, she faces the world, she makes it hers. That’s courage, right there.
Her job, her business. The way she… mingled at the ball last night. Maria coming to me. (That woman is dangerous.) What did she say?
“I’ve been quite entertained, thank you.” And, “She’s so intriguing. A wonderful mind and a delightful conversationist. Winning over so many people.”
Yes, that’s my Vicky.
I kill the treadmill and head back up to my apartment. I can’t remember anything I’ve just done. I stop because my muscles are tired. The passage of time, who’s entered, who’s left—no idea. My thoughts have only been on her.
People don’t even know why they’re drawn to her. But I do.
It’s her vulnerability.
Most don’t see it, but they don’t know her like I do. How the strength she shows is her illusion, her defense.
It bothers me that Van Wyk did, too. I don’t think it’s a coincidence she was dancing with him. He’s a predator, and for all her strength, she’s prey. She pulls in men like him… like me.
Yes, I’m a predator. I don’t deny it, why would I? Mankind is born to be predators, even if most people prefer to be sheep. We’re the apex predators.
But I’m done with this intellectual masturbation. It’s time to get her back.
It would be a lot simpler if she’d just unblock my number. Then I could do that new-fangled thing and call her, instead of having to show up in person. So inconvenient. So nineteenth century.
After a shower, I dress in dark designer jeans, a fitted turtleneck in charcoal, and a casual blazer. It does the job.
Brooklyn’s a forty-five minute drive. I park my Audi R8 outside her apartment building, and play my usual hit-a-random-apartment-number game until the door clicks open. I don’t see why these people have security when it takes thirty-two seconds to bypass it.
It’s ten-thirty when I knock on her door. Plenty of time for Vicky to be up, yet early enough—I hope—for her not to be out. She’ll be sore; that much I’m certain of, so I’m guessing the plan is Saturday spent lazing about.
I wonder which pajama bottoms she’s wearing today, and bet myself it’s the one with the rainbows and the clouds.
The door opens, but it’s Carol. Her eyes narrow.
“Good morning,” I say, giving her my best smile. It’s easy; I’m in a good mood. I look past her, into the empty apartment. “Where’s my girl?”
“Not here.” Carol crosses her arms.
“Out?”
“Gone.”
I blink. “Gone out?”
“No, gone.”
“Oh. Where?”
Carol lifts her chin and looks down at her nose at me. Impressive, given that I’m a foot taller than she is. “She didn’t tell me.”
Perhaps Carol’s not such a good friend after all. “Disappointing,” I mutter. “She didn’t say anything at all?”
“Oh, she said loads,” Carol assures me. “Mostly how she needs space away from you.”
Fuck.
“Uh-huh. And she went where?”
“Like I just said,” Carol replies, each word enunciated slowly, “she didn’t tell me.”
And with clear intuition, I know why.
Because Carol likes to talk, and Vicky knew I’d come here. Because Carol would’ve given it away, and Vicky wants to hide.
“How long ago did she leave?”
“Early this morning. Before I was up.” Carol scowls at me. “You don’t deserve that girl. You know that?”
That’s my Vicky; making everyone defend and protect her, merely by existing.
I walk away. Carol has nothing more to offer me.
It’s a setback, but only a minor one. I’ll get that resort and spa list Rita pulled up for me, and see who’s next on it. There were only two other names.
It’s irritating, but also cute.
So she wants to play? Fine, let’s play. It ultimately won’t make any difference.
Vicky can’t hide from me.
Come Monday, I’m in a bad mood.
Tracking down Vicky’s other friends consumed my weekend and ultimately proved fruitless. She’s gone, and I have no leads.
I turn up to work late for the first time in… ever… and walk into my office to find Rita, sitting at my desk, at my computer.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Saving your ass,” she says without looking up from the screen. “Have you forgotten we have a commercial presentation on Greenstone with DeLuca and Wilson in fifteen minutes?”
Shit.
“The financial models are already done.”
Her laugh carries a note of derision. “Heavy weekend, Alex? Not like you to be three steps behind.”
I close the door and walk in, my irritation rising. Partly because I know she’s right. My weekend wasn’t heavy, but I know I’m distracted. Still, this is too much. “Watch your tone.”
She pauses in whatever it is she’s doing—on my computer—and finally looks at me. “The models we put together show a six-month turn-around and a two-billion return.”
“I know,” I say sharply. “They’re my damn models.”
“Yes, my dear,” she replies, tone dripping condescension, “but do you think Wilson will accept them?”
I pull up short. Wilson may be the senior partner and DeLuca’s boss, but he’s Northbridge, not Company. We’ve modelled to DeLuca’s ask, not an internal bullshit meeting that’s nothing more than process.
Rita’s right. As always.
I switch tack. “How the hell did you get into my computer?”
“I know you only hired me for my figure,” she says, attention switching back to my screen, “but I have other skills, and an IQ almost your equal, sir. It comes with a highly developed visual memory.”
Impressive, when she’s only ever seen me type it in from her side of the desk. “Then I’ll change my password.”
“Good idea,” she murmurs, focused on the screen. “Try not to choose the same one with a number two after it.”
I take a seat in one of the guest chairs, propping my elbows on the leather armrests. “You’re pissed about the way Friday night ended.”
“Do I look pissed?”
“No. But I know you are.”
That earns me a glance before she returns to the numbers she’s editing. “Yes, I am,” she admits. “You humiliated me, not merely in front of our Northbridge colleagues, but in front of the Company.”
“You kissed me.”
“So I deserved my punishment, is that it?” She clicks a few more buttons then leans back in my desk chair, evidently finished, her focus on me. “Don’t worry, Alex. I haven’t forgotten who I work for.”
“Me.”
“I said I haven’t forgotten. DeLuca made it perfectly clear. Your success is mine.”
“And my failure, too.” I wonder how that works. Whether Rita would lose a finger alongside me, when she’s not even agreed to join.
Or did she? Is that what she was doing in DeLuca’s office?
No, that doesn’t fit. The Company wants front-men, not assistants. And however accomplished Rita is, hers is a support role. Besides, she wasn’t at the house at Westchester. And she’s not married.
She gestures at the screen. “I just ensured you don’t fail.” Her head tilts. “Are you capable of saying, ‘thank you’?”
“Good catch,” I reply.
Her lips curl in amusement. A nice burgundy today, to match her nails. “What about, ‘I’m sorry’? That one in your range?”
I push myself up. “We should get to that meeting.”
“Oh, a step too far. Alas.”
DeLuca collars me in the hallway after the meeting with Wilson. “I assume those figures aren’t the best you’ve got?”
Rita smirks, but says nothing.
“They’re one version,” I reply.
DeLuca nods. “Maria enjoyed meeting Victoria on Friday. Between you both, you made quite the stir.”
He pointedly ignores the way Rita tenses, but at least he didn’t say ‘the three of you.’
“It was a surprise she made it,” I say lightly. “A miraculous recovery.”
“So it seems.” DeLuca regards me for a moment, expression neutral. “You’ve been summoned, Alexander. Fournier wants to meet with you.”
That’s not the sort of attention I want. “Did he say why?”