Bang

by E. K. Blair

  “Call me as soon as you land so that I know you’re okay.”

  “I love you.”

  I follow him to the elevator and give him one last kiss before he leaves and then make my way to the study to work on the laptop. Getting myself comfortable, I open the lid and type Declan McKinnon into the search engine. Link after link floods the screen. I click on one and read:

  Declan Alexander McKinnon

  Born in Edinburgh, Scotland

  Age: 31

  Son of Calum McKinnon and the late Lillian McKinnon

  MBA studies at The University of St. Andrews in Scotland

  I continue to read about his various academic and business accomplishments and recognitions. I’ve met his father on several occasions and know that the family name is a well-respected one, so I can imagine the pressure on him to keep it as such.

  Clicking over to the image search, hundreds of pictures of him grace the screen with a variety of women attached to his arm. Clearly he enjoys his bachelor status, but it seems he is new to the Chicago area.

  Without pondering on him too much, I close the internet down and open Bennett’s address book to begin working. Because of his notoriety, our extravagant annual event calls to the cravings of egos. For that alone, security and privacy are a necessity.

  In lieu of my usual distaste for my husband, I must give him credit for being a self-made man. For building this multi-billion dollar company from the ground up and making the Vanderwal name something to be admired. A name that adorns me when my former was tarnished.

  Once I have a rough guest list, I email it to Bennett for his lookover. Walking out of the study, Clara catches my eye. She’s busy unloading groceries in the kitchen when I say, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Mrs. Vanderwal, hi,” she says sweetly. “Your husband insisted that I come in today since he’s going away on business. Is he still here?”

  “No, you missed him.” Walking over, I step into the kitchen and start helping her put away the food.

  “Stop fussing over this,” she playfully scolds, and I smile at her when she shoos me out of the kitchen.

  I never had a mom, and although Clara is an employee, she fills our home with a warmth that only a woman with a strong maternal sense can do.

  “Would you like for me to fix you a cup of tea?”

  “No, thank you. I had one earlier.”

  I take a seat at the bar as she asks, “You hungry?”

  Shaking my head, I say, “I think I’m going to hang around here today. Bennett wants me to start working on the ball, so I figure I’ll lie around and surf the internet for ideas.”

  “Is it that time already?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “How fast the years go by. When you get to be my age, you better not blink. Ever,” she says with a soft smile as she starts to pull out pans to cook.

  I walk over to the windows and watch as the snow falls over the city. From up here on the seventy-first floor, I feel like a queen. I take a moment to enjoy the view before I get to work while Clara busies herself in the kitchen, preparing meals for the next few days. Time escapes me and before I know it, the sky is darkening and Clara is saying goodbye.

  WHEN I WAKE up the next morning, I take my time getting ready. I wander over to the windows, and as I’m looking down on the busy traffic in the loop on this Monday morning, I take a sip of my tea and then hear my phone ring. I see it’s Bennett and answer.

  “Hey, honey,” I say as I walk over to the sofa and take a seat.

  “Hi. I tried calling when I landed yesterday.”

  “Sorry. I went to bed early.”

  “That taxing of a day, huh?” he jokes with light laughter.

  “Yeah, something like that. Must be this constant snow we’re having. Makes me lazy,” I tell him. “So how is everything going?”

  “Good. Just met with our new client and had a late lunch. I’m heading back to the hotel now to grab a shower before I have to wine and dine these bastards later tonight at dinner, but I wanted to catch you because I missed hearing your voice last night.”

  “You missed my voice, huh?”

  “I missed more than your voice,” he flirts.

  Letting out a deep breath, I tell him, “I miss having you in bed with me. I’m always lonely without you here. This place is too quiet and too still.”

  “Didn’t Clara stop by yesterday?” he asks.

  “She did. You know, you don’t have to mollycoddle me. I’m a big girl.”

  “I like to . . . what did you call it? Mollycoddle?” I can hear the chuckle in his voice when he says this, and I play right back in laughter, saying, “Yes. Mollycoddle. For such a worldly man, you should broaden your vocabulary.”

  “Is that so? Well, maybe when I get back I should show you just how expansive my vocabulary is.”

  I laugh. If there’s one thing Bennett is not, it’s a dirty talker, but I give him a flirtatious, “Hmm . . . maybe you should come home early.”

  “I wish. Although I am enjoying the warmer temperatures here. It’s nice and sunny.”

  “If you’re trying to make me jealous, it won’t work. You know I love the cold and grey. Gives me a reason to cuddle up to your warmth every night.”

  “So what kept you warm last night?”

  “Stuffing my stomach full of Clara’s baked ziti and then huddling down deep in the blankets.”

  “Well, I’ll be home soon enough to keep you warm, hun,” he says in a smooth voice before asking, “So what’s on your agenda today?”

  “I was going to give the hotel a call to see if I can set up a meeting to look over the space again.”

  “We were just there.”

  “Yeah, but now I want to see it empty, without all of Chicago’s upper crust loitering in it.”

  He laughs at me and then says, “Sweetheart, don’t you forget that you are as upper crust as they get.”

  “And I only have you to thank for that, darling,” I tease. “But seriously, I want to see what the space looks like empty and talk to management to find out if they have any new leads on vendors. I’d like to step out of the norm from what we’ve done the past couple of years.”

  “As long as it has your hand in it, it will be amazing. Everything you touch turns to perfection. Just look at me.”

  “Perfection, huh? Well, I can’t argue with that ego of yours. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

  “And I you,” he compliments before saying, “The car just pulled up to the hotel, so I need to let you go.”

  “Okay. Try not to work too hard. I miss you.”

  “Miss you too, love. Have a good day.”

  We hang up and I let out a deep breath. Talking to him like that used to be difficult in the beginning, but now it’s as natural as wanting to wipe dog shit off your shoe.

  I walk into my closet to pull out the clutch I took to the party the other night. Opening it, I take out the business card that Declan gave me and walk back out to the living room to make the call.

  “Lotus,” a woman’s voice purrs.

  “Declan McKinnon, is he available?”

  “And who shall I say is calling?”

  “Nina Vanderwal.”

  She puts me on hold for a moment and when the line is picked up, she tells me, “Mr. McKinnon is finishing up a meeting. Would you like me to take a message?”

  “Well, I don’t want to disturb his schedule, but I will be organizing an event and would like to come see the main ballroom space and discuss vendors.”

  “Of course. Let me direct you over to our manager,” she says before transferring me.

  After a brief chat with the hotel manager, we set up a meeting an hour from now. Hanging up the phone, I call Baldwin to have the car ready to drive me over to the hotel. When he arrives, I’m ready as he helps me slip my coat on over my ivory silk top that’s tucked into my tailored, black, wool pants.

  “Are you ready?” Baldwin asks as I grab my purse.

 
“Ready.”

  We ride down on the elevator, and as we walk through the lobby, the car has already been pulled around out front.

  “Watch your step,” Baldwin says as I maneuver around the small ice patches in my high heels.

  When I arrive at Lotus, I walk in and am greeted by the manager who is waiting for me. He leads me into the ballroom, and I take note of the space. The main seating area will easily accommodate the event, and there is an attached lounge that houses various cigars and liquors that are displayed around the dark mahogany room. The bar is broad and masculine, and the woodwork is quite impressive. It’s a shame all this was hidden beneath the sea of people that was here at the grand opening. The setting is an intimate one despite the vast size of the room. The dance floor is situated down a small flight of stairs, setting it off from the dining room, creating a less hectic atmosphere for entertaining.

  A familiar accent catches me off guard as I’m walking around and taking notes in my memo book.

  “How does she look?” His brogue casts through the room, and when I turn to catch his eye, I ask, “Excuse me?”

  Scanning the space, he clarifies, “The space, I mean. Looks different empty, doesn’t it?”

  Turning my head to admire the décor, I say, “Yes. I was just thinking about how much detail I failed to see the other night with all the people here.”

  He walks over to me, looking polished in his slacks and fitted button-up, sans suit jacket and tie, with a slight grin on his face, and reaches out for my hand and finally greets, “It’s good to see you again, Nina.”

  The way my name is caressed by his accent is without a doubt sexy as hell.

  As he brushes his lips over my knuckles, the stubble along his jaw grazing over the soft skin of my hand, I don’t respond, but when he keeps his hold a beat too long, I pull away. His smirk remains, as if amused by my reaction.

  He casually turns to the man that was showing me around and dismisses him. Turning back to me, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks and asks, “So, what do you think?”

  “I think my husband was right; it’s the perfect place to host the party.”

  “Great. Did you need to look around anymore?”

  “I think I’ve gotten my fill for the moment.”

  He seems humored by something, maybe me, and pulls his hands out of his pockets, placing one on my back as he leads me out of the room.

  “Let’s go to my office and discuss the details then.”

  We make our way into his office, and I stand in the center of the oversized room as he walks over to his desk, moving with a relaxed confidence, and grabs the laptop. He nods his head towards the leather couch, saying, “Please, have a seat.”

  I situate myself and open my planner, flipping through the pages to find my calendar, when I feel his eyes on me.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask when I look up at him, feigning my annoyance.

  “Where does one even buy a paper planner anymore?” he teases.

  “Lots of places.”

  “I haven’t seen one of those in years. You do know they make these things called tablets now.”

  Smiling at his banter, I say, “Yes. Every now and then I’m able to crawl out from under my rock to keep up to speed with modern technology, thank you.”

  He shakes his head and laughs as I watch his smile reach his green eyes and crinkle at the corners.

  “Do you even own one?” he asks, still smirking at me.

  “No.”

  He doesn’t respond, but his unfaltering look pulls out my answer to his unspoken ‘Why?’

  “I like privacy. Technology disrupts that. I can burn paper and throw the ashes away as if it never existed. Untraceable.” Giving the sly grin back to him, I add, “But you? Don’t you think it’s foolish that you’re putting yourself out there? To be exposed?”

  “Is this a riddle?”

  I laugh, ignoring his question as I flip through my calendar and confirm, “You have December 31st open, correct?”

  Sighing, he shifts and looks at his laptop, saying, “Yes.”

  “Great. Bennett likes to keep this event small, two hundred or so. Security is important to him—”

  “You as well?” he interrupts and I soften my face, smile, and say, “Yes. Me, as well. As I was saying, guests will need to check in, so will your staff provide that amenity?”

  “Anything you want.”

  We spend the next hour discussing ideas for setup and scheduling meetings with a few vendors for the next couple of weeks before I call to have Baldwin pick me up. Declan’s well-bred manners sway to the salacious side with the way he kisses me when I leave, gripping my upper arms in his hands and dragging his lips along my cheek before pressing his lips on the shell of my ear, whispering, “Until next time.”

  DECLAN CALLED ME two days ago to confirm my meeting with the florist. He recommended the company located in Andersonville that his hotel uses to outfit the lobby, so I agreed. After discussing the masked ball theme with Bennett this morning, he gave me the green light, which made me happy. I can tell he misses me from our phone call—he wasn’t quick to hang up—but he’ll be returning from Dubai tomorrow evening. Despite his loneliness, he was happy to have acquired the production plant that he set out to buy from the nearly bankrupt company over there.

  The drive to Andersonville takes longer than usual with the weather. Winters in Chicago are brutal to the city but a brutality that I enjoy. So as I ride in the backseat, I find myself watching the white snow hit the window and slowly melt to a drizzling cascade down the glass.

  Arriving at Marguerite Gardens, I walk into the rustic shop. Brick walls, weathered wooden floors, extravagant floral arrangements set atop the agrarian tables, and him. Standing there in charcoal slacks and a light blue button-up, he turns away from the woman he’s speaking with and smiles as I walk over to him. Miffed.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You made it,” Declan announces quietly with what looks like irritation and drops a scant kiss to my hand when he takes it.

  “I didn’t know you’d be joining me.”

  “I promised your husband I would oversee everything to ensure you get exactly what you want. So here I am,” he states, and then lowers his voice, “ensuring you get exactly what you want.”

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “That,” I say. “Your crass flirting.”

  “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

  “Are you trying to make me uncomfortable?”

  Completely ignoring my question, he turns around and calls out, “Betty, show us what you have.”

  The lady he was talking to when I walked in is now situated behind one of the tables.

  Declan pulls a chair out for me, and as I take a seat, Betty greets me and says, “So I was informed that we are planning a New Year’s Eve party. Do you already have an idea of what you’d like?”

  “I believe we are firm on a masquerade theme. I was leaning towards dark oranges and whites.”

  Betty and I go through a couple of books, taking notes on flowers and arrangement styles while Declan remains quiet in the seat next to me. At the end of our meeting, we decide on various arrangements of rusty orange dahlias, mint and buttercup roses, antique hydrangeas, ranunculus, and aspidistra.

  After Betty excuses herself to leave Declan and me, I pull out my phone to text for the car, but before I can start typing, he snatches it out of my hands and says, “I’m starving.”

  “Good to know,” I snap—annoyed—and grab for my phone at the same time he pulls it away and out of reach. “Give me my phone.”

  “Have lunch with me.”

  “No, thank you,” I say, making a mockery of my politeness.

  Taking my hand and pulling me out of my seat as he stands, he says, “It wasn’t a question.”

  His words come out clipped, almost angry, so I don’t give him attitude when he picks up my coat and help
s me put it on. I’m not sure what to think about this shift in his demeanor. Normally, he’s light and flirty, but today he’s quiet and stern.

  The frigid wind nearly stings my skin when he leads me outside and walks us over to his black Mercedes sports car. Of course he would drive a luxury car like this. It fits the mysterious, sexy look about him. I slip down into the cold leather seat and watch as he walks around the front of the car before he opens his door and gets in.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Not telling.” He says this with no interpretable body language as he pulls out of the parking lot.

  “Why?”

  “Because you argue too much.”

  Feeling like a scolded child with his tone, I want to defy him just to piss him off, but instead, I’ll play his game. I’ll give him the cooperation he wants.

  It’s time to start testing the waters.

  The drive is short and quiet, and I’m surprised when he turns this luxury car into the lot at the Over Easy Café. I can’t even hide the smile on my face at the contrast of this picture as he parks in front of the modest diner.

  “Is something funny about this?” he asks when he shuts the car off.

  Shooting my narrowed eyes at him, I say, “Your mood is really starting to scathe me. I don’t know why you’re so pissy, but I wish you’d just cut the shit,” before opening my door and walking towards the building. When I look back, he’s standing there with an almost proud grin on his face. What the hell? I can’t figure out what this guy wants, sass or obedience.

  Once inside, the place is busy with busboys clearing tables and people chatting loudly while eating. We are quickly served with coffee, and when I pick up the menu, Declan finally speaks, saying, “I figured you hadn’t eaten in a place like this in a while, so I thought I would take you somewhere low-key. Don’t worry; you’ll like the food. Order the blueberry crunch pancakes.”

  His eyes are soft, as well as his voice, when he says this, and I ask, “Why are you suddenly being nice?”

  “I’m cutting the shit. Take it while it lasts because I’m not a man who likes to take orders.”

  And now, I read him clearly.