The Beginning of Always (19 page)

I fought my gag reflex.

“Wait! Wait!” Tracy scrambled up off my brother and hurdled towards me. “Try it on! Wear it for Nini!”

“It’s fine, you already let me know it looks nice.” She had, at least fifty times in the store and a thousand more on the subway ride back to the apartment.

Tracy was wonders for my self-esteem, truly.

“Yeah, but we need a dude’s eye.” Tracy cocked a thumb in Nicolas’s direction. “Nico could let you know if he finds it as mind-blowing as I think Alistair will.”

Nicolas closed his book and placed it on the coffee table. “What’s this? You bought a dress to wear for Alistair?” His brow furrowed. We hadn’t really seen each other this week. When I was at work, he was at home sleeping and vice versa. He hadn’t been updated on the unfortunate changes in Alistair-land.

“I didn’t buy a dress to wear for Alistair,” I stressed. “I just bought a dress to wear to a function which Alistair is going to be at.”

“So … you bought it to impress him. You bought the dress for Alistair.” Nicolas grinned.

“Ugh!” I threw up my hands. “No! Besides, Tracy was the one who dragged me out shopping.” I pointed an accusing finger at her.

Tracy adopted an offended look and pressed an open palm against her prodigious chest. “Excuse you!”

“Wait, so do we still hate Alistair?” Nicolas asked, confused.

“Yes,” I immediately answered.

“Not a chance,” Tracy shouted at the same time.

I stormed out of the room to the sound of their laughter.

“Get your ass dressed!” Tracy called.

I slammed my bedroom door in response.

After I deposited the contents of my bags onto the bed, I pulled the cocktail dress out of its garment bag and hung it against my closet door.

The dress was made of several layers of sheer black silk, with opaque panels that cut asymmetrically across the bodice and down the waist. The skirt portion was free-flowing, with two tall slits up both thighs, the hem ending just below the knee.

It was gorgeous.

It was modern.

It was sexy.

It was criminally expensive.

I wondered what Alistair would think of it. Despite everything, I still wanted to look good. I was still a woman. I couldn’t deny the pull he had on me and my preexisting vanity.

But whether I wanted to act on it was something else entirely. I chewed over this question as I draped the dress over my head.

When I floated out of the room, Nicolas gave an approving smile and whistled low. Tracy clutched her fingers together, beaming.

“Oh! Darling, you are a vision!” she cried.

I cracked a small grin.

“Looking good, sis,” Nicolas said.

“Twirl! Twirl!” Tracy spun her fingers in a circle and skipped over to me. She seized my hand and forced me to do a pirouette. The fabric flew around my knees and I laughed.

“Más, más!” Tracy danced me around the living room and a weight lifted off me. I giggled while Tracy and I waltzed between the couch and armchairs, Nicolas watching with amusement.

“Okay, okay! Stop! Stop before I sweat on my new dress,” I pleaded. Tracy gave me one last spin and released me so she could collapse onto the couch.

Her white teeth grinned up at me, slight wrinkles fanning out from her eyes. I sat down next to her, a bit winded. “You’re so funny,” I said.

“That’s why you love me.” Tracy reached up to readjust my shoulder straps.

“Here, I’ll get you some water.” I stood up to go to the kitchen. Nicolas followed, but veered right to the hallway closet.

“Hey.” Nicolas picked up his Polaroid camera. He pointed at Tracy with it. “Let’s get a picture.”

I groaned audibly but Tracy perked up and all but vaulted off the couch. I quickly dropped the glasses of water on the table before she tackled me into the wall with a jubilant hug.

“Hey! You’re going to wrinkle it!” I protested in indignation, but Tracy just nuzzled my neck and hugged me tighter.

“Say cheese, Ms. Hollywood,” Tracy said.

A flash emitted and I saw spots. Tracy released me and skittered over to Nicolas. He yanked a paper tab and extracted the picture from the camera. He dropped it into Tracy’s waiting hands and she promptly began to shake it in the air, fanning herself with it.

“Hey, I’ve been wanting to ask. Why do you always take pictures?” Tracy asked.

“You don’t need to shake it.” Nicolas reached over and took it from her fingers. “This is peel-apart film, so you remove the negative off the picture after the development time.” He gingerly laid it on the bar. “Shaking it does nothing and you might leak chemicals.”

“Why are you so into taking pictures?” Tracy repeated, her attention full-on.

Nicolas grunted a non-answer. I inched towards them, curious as well. I didn’t even know why Nicolas was so relentless in his picture taking. I doubted Nicolas knew himself. He just did it. No questions asked.

Tracy tapped him on the shoulder to grab his attention, but Nicolas busied himself with the camera, flipping it over to cap the lens.

“Nicolaaaas, come on. What’s with the picture taking?”

“I just do it, okay?” Nicolas’s voice was slightly sharp. He snapped the cap on the camera and without another word stalked out of the room.

Tracy’s brow wrinkled and she looked mildly hurt by his sudden shift in mood.

I frowned. Tracy was spunky and free, but she put up with me a lot, and in true form, the Reynolds siblings soured on the turn of a dime.

“I think he’s stressed at work,” I offered gently.

“Yeah. I can imagine.” But the good mood in the room had evaporated.

“Hey.” I nudged Tracy with my shoulder. She forced a grin.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Thank you,” I said while wrapping my arms around her. She patted my wrist and smiled at me.

“Thank you for everything,” I said. “You made me beautiful.” I squeezed her tighter and I leaned into her so I could whisper in her ear. “I love you.”

Tracy’s expression lightened and she rested the side of her head against mine. “I love you too.”

Chapter 11

T
he two days without Alistair had done a number on my mind and body. I was an addict and had long been denied my drug. Now, at the prospect of a new hit, my heart beat wildly as I climbed out of the cab.

Alistair had always been as potent as any drug could be. And as dangerous.

The Waldorf-Astoria loomed in front of me, all intimidation and money.

I exhaled a shaky sigh.
Here we go again
.

Gertrude had given me curt instructions on where the dinner was going to be (the steakhouse) and what time (6:30 sharp, don’t be late) and dress code (cocktail attire) and expectations (don’t get in their way). But I wasn’t sure where to meet Alistair and Thomas.

The Waldorf’s entrance opened to a tall staircase that led to the grand main lobby. I climbed up the steps, chewing over the most recent turn of events and how the night could unfold.

No, I told myself now how the night would unfold. I’d sit at dinner, smile, eat whatever the partner’s wife was eating, not talk, and take copious mental notes. Then I’d get a cab and rush out like a bat out of hell.

A perfect plan, I mused as I took one step at a time, slowly sliding my fingers along the glossy bannister.

A plan that Alistair promptly and utterly ruined for me.

For Alistair was waiting for me at the top of the staircase, perfect.

Perfect.

That’s the only way I could describe him in the moment. How he was perfectly at ease and perfectly in place, standing there amidst the patinated brass fixtures, the smooth flecked golden marble, tall white columns framing him. The streetlights outside on the sidewalk filtered through the blue stained-glass windows on the opposite end and cast the subtlest of shadows. He was in a black slim-fit suit with a black shirt and deep navy tie, his hair slicked back. His hands were in his pants pockets, and it was only then that I noticed him watching me.

And with that one potent look, one sidelong glance, all my intentions to leave dulled into a white noise I promptly ignored. For I just received it, that drug straight into my veins, the sensation of it flooding my core with a seizing of every nerve, refusing to let go.

Alistair lips curled as I ascended the staircase. I brushed the back of my fingers nervously against the baby hairs of my temples in an attempt to appear unfettered and unaffected.

I was everything but unaffected.

I stopped two paces away, feeling him against my skin with every brush of silk, his essence enveloping every curve of my body.

Alistair reached for my left hand and grasped it lightly in between his powerful fingers. He lifted them up to his lips and gave them a light kiss.

“You’re beautiful, Florence.”

His grip on my fingers, the way he took one step towards me, it all blew apart that neat socially constructed sense of personal space and socially acceptable greetings.

I swallowed my nerves and straightened my back. I fought the urge to lace my fingers in his. The need was almost reflexive, and ignoring it bordered on unnatural.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Alistair.”

Alistair’s rough fingers crept up from beneath my palms, tracing a straight line from my wrist and traveling the length of my forearms. I shivered as our skin rubbed against each other. I marveled at that beautiful friction. He looped an easy hand around my right elbow, thumbing the sensitive skin there.

Electricity pierced my every vein.

His touch was so intimate, his act was so wholly invasive I could scarcely breathe. He handled me as if he could, as if he always had and always would. He leaned close, so close I could see those gorgeously dark long eyelashes of his. His lips twitched into a sexy curl and he murmured to me, “Thank you.”

Alistair directed my right elbow to wind around his arm, until we were linked together.

“Let’s get a drink at the bar while we wait. Thomas is coming with Solomon.”

I glanced down at his watch. It was as dark as his suit, its face simple and understated. It probably cost more than my college tuition, and it said it was 6:15 p.m.

“I thought the dinner started at six thirty,” I said. Alistair guided me across the plush carpet to the direction of the bar.

“They’re arriving at seven,” Alistair said.

“But Gertrude told me it wa—” I stopped. My mind caught up with the facts.

Alistair had had me come early so he could meet with me by himself.

I worked up the indignation to get angry, but the night pulsated, flooding me with a completely polar emotion—flattery. I was flattered and frankly fighting against my slowly climbing desire.

I’d worry about that fact in the morning.

“Alright,” I answered simply.

The hotel bar wasn’t too crowded and Alistair led me to a tall round table with barstools. The cocktail waitress materialized and I ordered a gin and tonic, heavy on the tonic and lime. I didn’t want to get too sloshed too soon. I couldn’t really hold my liquor; two drinks and I would be gone. I needed my wits about me, so it’d be best to err on the safe side. Alistair ordered a finger of scotch.

After the waitress returned with our drinks and left, I leaned against the table with my hands grasping my glass in front of me. A bit too late, I realized the position pushed my cleavage out of my dress and Alistair’s gaze flickered to them.

I leaned back, cleared my throat and brought the glass to my lips, needing to break the heat between us.

“So what’s the story here? Who is this Solomon character?” I had done my research and Alistair knew it. I was fully aware of who Solomon was. I was making small talk to break that thread between us.

And to his credit, Alistair didn’t betray anything.

“Blair Properties owns nearly eighty-five percent of all our properties exclusively. From top to bottom, it’s just us. But sometimes we want to lessen our risk, or we need another angle, or the building owner is asking for more security, and we find a partner. We’ve done work with Solomon before. He’s not my favorite guy, but I trust him and we do decent together. He’s old-school, old money, straight and honest. And above all, loyal. I made him a lot of money a year ago, so we’re on good terms. He’s trying to get me to invest in this Fifth Ave spot.”

This wasn’t on the Google. I was intrigued. “Well, if you guys had done well before, why are you hesitant?”

Alistair ran his thumb against the side of his glass, bringing the drink close to his lips, then lowering it before he could take a sip. “He’s old, a genius businessman for sure, but ancient in his thinking. There’s been some talk of shady dealings where a foreign organization is trying to dump this place fast and cheap before it gets seized by the federal government. The price is too good and he came across this information just recently and immediately contacted me. I’m suspicious. I don’t want to invest, buy it with him, and then have the feds get involved and possibly take the property. It’s bad for business and even worse for publicity. We’d get crucified in the papers and I’d prefer to avoid all of the above.”

“Is that a possibility?”

“Anything is a possibility. It’s happened before, several years ago. But that was taken directly from an Iranian company with ties to terrorism. But if I’m just being paranoid and this a truly clean building, if we do this and get away with it, this could be big. Five hundred million plus in yearly revenue due to its location. But at the same time, I want to know who’s selling it. I’m not looking to funnel cash into some foreign organization with questionable loyalties.”