Chapter 30
Thirty
Alex
Tuesday, I’m in my office and alone for once, the door closed, my phone on ‘do not disturb,’ and the rain against the window is white noise, blotting out the sound of the traffic below.
Vicky’s dot sits on a map on my second screen, and I stare at it when I think, check it between tasks, and flick to it whenever she crosses my mind.
Every five fucking minutes.
That’s not healthy. What’s going on in my head?
I put it down to the fact that I’m not working. The only Greenstone file I have open is to pull across and hide what I’m actually doing, in case someone like DeLuca walks in.
Instead, I’m putting my plans in motion. Setting up accounts abroad. Having debit cards delivered where I’ll need them. Chartering a flight. Ordering a burner phone to my apartment, closing down my email addresses, wiping my social media presence.
It all takes time.
Early afternoon, my phone rings. I pick it up immediately, checking the number. Disappointment that it’s not Vicky; relief that it’s finally the call I’ve been waiting for.
I hit the accept. “Daniel.”
“Alex, good to speak. Maggie said it was urgent?”
I appreciate him getting to the point. “Yes. I need liquidity, and I need it fast.”
There’s a two-second delay before he replies. “How much are we talking?”
“Fifty to seventy-five mill, minimum.”
A pause. “Is everything all right?”
He was bound to ask. “Let’s call it flexibility.”
“Can’t that be arranged without selling half your book?”
“Get me the money, Daniel. How long?”
He exhales over the phone. “Well… I’ll start unwinding liquid positions. If we do it properly through the institutional desk, we shouldn’t move the market too much.”
“Good. But speed is more important than efficiency.”
“When do you need it by?”
“Tomorrow.”
A hiss of breath. “It’s doable, but it’ll cost you.”
I watch the rain streak down the window, the sky grey and gloomy beyond. “I know.”
“And you’re going to take a massive tax hit.”
“I’m aware.”
“Yes, of course you are.” Daniel sighs. “Where do you want the proceeds?”
“Split across some new accounts. I’ll send you the details. And I’m going to need to access it internationally.”
A longer pause this time. “Are you moving abroad?”
“Nothing like that.” Exactly like that. “Let’s say I’ll be traveling for a while.”
“I see.” He clicks his tongue, a habit he has. “If you need anything beyond the portfolio—legal contacts, banking in Europe—let me know.”
“Kind of you to ask.” I hesitate, considering. “All right. Who do you know in real estate?”
The day passes in a whirl of a hundred necessary tasks, and when I glance at the time, it’s already gone eight.
Shit. I wanted to see Vicky. Maybe she’s back home, waiting for me.
But the dot’s where it’s been all day.
I pick my phone up and send her a text, her response comes immediately.
Sorry, I’m still not feeling well. Feeling worse, if anything. Aches and pains all over.
You’re still at Carol’s?
The dot tells me she is. But it would be odd if I didn’t ask; she might think I’m doing exactly what I’m doing: tracking her.
Do you want a picture of her living room?
I laugh. She’s taken it as mistrust anyway. The irony is… well… pointed.
Of course not. It’s enough to know where you are.
Which I will always do, from now on.
Sorry. I’m grouchy. For… reasons.
Maybe this is the reason for the other times she was short with me. I genuinely can’t remember the last time she had her period; she must’ve just not told me.
Rita knocks on my door and walks in, then closes the door with meticulous care.
“Just a second,” I say, and type a reply.
I quite understand. Tomorrow, though? I’m going to leave early. I’ll pick you up if you’re not feeling well enough to travel.
The three dots of typing come, then go, then return. Sounds good.
And I find I’m looking forward to it too.
I throw my phone onto the desk. “Well?”
She walks to the chair before my desk and sits before she replies. One leg crosses over the other, her short skirt riding up. She must know it’s too late for that; I think she does it out of habit.
“Good news and bad.”
“Bad first.”
“Bad is he’s still here, and he’s in a meeting. He bumped his flight.”
“Shit.” I lean back in my leather seat and run my hands through my hair. “What the hell do I do now?”
“Good news,” Rita says, in answer. “His flight tomorrow leaves at seven in the evening, so he’ll be gone by six, and this place will be quiet.”
That’s different, then. “You should’ve started with that.”
“You always ask for the bad news first.”
True. “So we get the whole evening in his office.”
And damn, I just told Vicky I’d pick her up. She’s going to think I’m abandoning her again. That won’t go down well.
I almost text her back, but I wait. Maybe she won’t be feeling better, and she’ll cancel before I have to. If not, I can check on her then.
“That works,” I say. “I have some errands to run tomorrow, so I’m going to be out.”
“What kind of errands?” Rita asks. “Seeing your—”
“The next word better not be ‘vapid,’” I warn.
She inclines her head, acknowledging the point.
“The answer’s no, anyway,” I continue. “It’s practical stuff. A trip to Westchester, another to my apartment here. Luggage, clothes, valuables. Passports.” I already have Vicky’s. That’s convenient. “And I’m meeting Daniel Easton.”
“Your wealth manager?”
“Yeah.”
Rita nods. “That’s probably—”
She breaks off as someone raps on the door, and it opens immediately. DeLuca steps in.
“Evening Alexander.”
“Marco.” I lean back in my chair with as much nonchalance as I can muster. “I thought you’d be on a flight to California.”
“Something came up. I bumped it to tomorrow.”
His tone’s off, and the way he’s watching me makes me uncomfortable. Or maybe it’s paranoia. I use all my control to keep my face composed.
He comes farther into my office, not bothering to sit but standing by the window, looking out. It’s still raining.
“In fact,” he says, “something came across my desk that affects you.”
“Oh?”
“Or that investigator of yours, more accurately.” He turns to me as he says it, watching for my reaction.
“What’s she done this time?” My attention is on the screen, affecting disinterest, while I casually minimize the window showing her dot in Brooklyn.
“Investigated,” DeLuca replies dryly. “Do you know what she’s working on?”
“A construction company,” I say. Though by now, it’s damn clear that’s not true.
Vicky’s lied to me. Something cold moves through me, and I’m not sure if it’s anger, or worse.
DeLuca leans against the window, his gaze steady. “You know how you sometimes get to a point in a project when it’s just sinking time and money, going nowhere?”
“I suppose so,” I say. “Can’t say it’s happened to me.”
He gives that the wry smile it deserves. “Ironic, because I think it’s happening to you right now.” His eyes narrow. “If I were you, I’d cut Victoria loose.” His eyes flick to Rita and back to me. “You might genuinely want to consider switching horses.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, fingers twitching with the desire to check her map. It sounded a lot like a threat.
“Let’s just say her job and your career may not be compatible any longer.”
Rita gives a breathless little laugh. “Oh, so timely.” She pushes herself up, smooths down her short skirt, and slinks around my desk until she’s standing beside me, a hand draped over my shoulder.
“I’ve been telling Alex he should do just that for weeks now.
I thought our kiss at the dance would get the message public, but…
” She sighs fondly like I’m past all hope, and pats my chest, addressing DeLuca.
“He’s a little slow when it comes to matters of the heart, but I’m working on him. ”
I’m aware I’m sitting stiffly, resisting the urge to push Rita away, and DeLuca’s eyes miss nothing. But maybe he’ll put it down to that condescending comment. Or maybe not.
I slip an arm around Rita’s waist, tugging her a little closer, and she takes my hand and blatantly slides it down to her ass.
And that’s a step too far. She knows it; she knows I know it. This isn’t a move to undermine Vicky. She’s playing, asking me to run with her ploy.
I give her ass a couple of pats and let him read what he wants into it.
DeLuca watches our performance without emotion. “I see.” He nods, half to himself. “I underestimated you, Alexander. I suppose this is why they were both at the dance?”
“It was your suggestion, if you recall,” I say, reminding him, while ignoring it’s only a half-truth. “You all but gave me permission to bring Rita. We thought that was public acknowledgment… until Bastien then invited Vicky.” I give a little shake of my head. “That threw us, I won’t deny.”
“Well… quite.” His eyes narrow, regarding us for a moment longer, then he shrugs and heads for the door. “Enjoy your evening… both of you.”
“Oh, we will.” Rita’s tone exudes promise.
DeLuca seems mollified and closes the door behind him.
Rita tenses, then gives a playful laugh and drapes herself across my lap. It catches me by surprise, and I almost push her away.
Then the door opens again. Rita gasps in pleasure, like I’ve just touched her, before cutting it off abruptly and looking toward the door with a nervous laugh.
“Just one other thing—” DeLuca pauses with a foot inside the door. “My apologies.”
I slide a hand up Rita’s thigh. “No problem. We’re outside of official hours, aren’t we?”
He chuckles. “Indeed, indeed. Greenstone update?”
That’s a blatant fabrication. I don’t owe him anything. “We’ll give you one for Monday. We’ll be… working over the weekend.”
“I’m sure you will.” He gives another laugh and closes the door again.
We both still, listening, and this time we hear his footsteps walk away.
“That was quick thinking,” I murmur to her.
“It had to be.” She uses the edge of my desk to lever herself off my lap, and straightens her clothing. “Working with you, a pretty face might open a door, but it doesn’t keep you in the room.”
She’s not wrong, as always, and I owe her a lot. “Thank you for…” Covering for me. But that doesn’t cut it. “…everything.”
“Thank you?” she echoes, with a note of surprise. Then she gives me a sad smile. “It’s strange to think that’s as close as I’ll ever get to you.” She pauses, unblinking as she regards me, eyes filled with some deep emotion. “This feels like goodbye.”
“It’s not. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Oh, I’ll be here. Still… you’re really leaving.”
“Well, yes.” I feel a twinge of guilt. Her emotions have seemed more genuine in the past two days than any time in the past two years. It’s entirely one-sided, but I still can’t help feeling bad for her. What must it be like to love, and not be loved in return?
What must it be like to love?
I wonder if I’ll ever know.
But that’s just sentimentality, my imminent departure playing with my head.
Rita walks back to her chair. “We were interrupted.” She opens the folder she’d left resting on it, and places a single piece of paper on my desk.
“What’s that?” I ask, not bothering to pick it up.
“My resignation,” she says. “Effective immediately.”
That somehow makes it all the more real.
Rita’s been a large part of my life for the last two years.
I’m leaving, I’m taking Vicky with me, but Rita quitting is what brings it home? It’s strange.
“Got something lined up?” I ask casually.
“Of course I have.” She shrugs one shoulder and gives me a coy smile. “I’m going to do some management consultancy work with Greenstone. They’re really in a shit situation, did you know? Six month contract to help them restructure. Very good pay.”
I laugh at work for the second time in as many days. “That’s… perfect.”
“See you tomorrow, Alex. Six p.m.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Understatement of the year.