by Rickie Blair
“How about we get a couple of beers and talk about old times while we wait for our pizza?”
“Good idea.” She smiled and the dimples made another appearance. Hari thought he saw the trace of a blush on her cheeks, but it may have been only the heat from the pizza ovens.
He pulled out a chair for her and they sat down.
“Do you live around here?” he asked.
“No, I’m in Tribeca, but I’ve been looking for an area rug and someone suggested I try ABC Carpet. It’s near here.”
“Yes, I’ve been there. So, not just any carpet, then? High end?”
“I suppose so, although to tell the truth I found it overwhelming. There were too many—”
“Carpets?” He smiled.
She chuckled and gave his arm a playful tap.
“Exactly. But then I remembered Grimaldi’s was nearby and I decided to stop by. I love their pizza.”
“Me, too. So, bring me up to date. What are you doing at Capital Street?”
Hours later, they were still at the table, among half-empty pizza boxes and several empty beer bottles. They had reminisced about Jason Bros., and talked about their work, then movies, and operas, and trips they had taken. Finally they stopped talking and sat silently, smiling.
He watched as she peeled the label off a beer bottle. Her hands were delicate, her fingers long and graceful. Hari studied her face. Even without makeup, her skin glowed.
She caught him looking at her, and smiled.
“Tell me about this case you’re working on.”
“It’s penny-ante stuff, embezzlement I think. Probably a billing scheme.” He rubbed his chin. “You know I can’t talk about my clients, right?”
“Of course. I’m sorry. It’s just interesting.”
“No, take it from me, it’s not.”
“I didn’t mean the case, I meant your new business.” She frowned. “Everybody on the Street was after you, Hari. You could have worked anywhere. Why did you decide to pack it all in to look for white-collar criminals?”
“I didn’t pack it in. It packed me in. And then some.” He turned to look out the window. The wind picked up a crumpled newspaper and tumbled it along the gutter, past pedestrians hurrying to the subway. He had spent the afternoon scouring TradeFair’s records, but still didn’t know who the embezzler was, or if there even was one. He wasn’t going to find the answer here. Time for him to hurry home, too. To a stack of financial statements and an empty apartment.
Leta rested a hand on his arm and he turned to look at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s not what I meant. I know about the insider trading and the money laundering and your,” she winced, “stabbing. But still, six months of penance on a beach somewhere and you could have stepped right back into your old life, with the limos and the artworks and the apartment on the Upper East Side. Nobody on the Street cares about your past. They only care how much money you can make them.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to step back into my old life. Maybe I wanted something better.”
She met his gaze for a moment, then looked down and tore a few more strips off the label.
“So. Tell me again why you like Tosca the best?”
“That’s easy. E lucevan le stelle. Best aria for a lyric tenor, ever.”
“It is beautiful.”
“I like singing Pinkerton, too, but he’s such an ass.”
“From Madama Butterfly? Ugh. He certainly is. Un bel di is my favorite aria for a soprano, though. It’s magnificent. The whole thing’s depressing, though. I mean, why is Cio-Cio-San such a coward? If somebody were trying to take my child away, I would fight for him. Not stick a knife in my gut.” Leta pantomimed the soprano’s final act, sticking out her tongue for emphasis.
Hari laughed, marveling at the gold flecks in her eyes. There was no reason to rush off. The TradeFair documents weren’t going anywhere.
“Why did you give it up?” Leta asked.
“What? Singing?”
She nodded.
“I attended a performing arts academy in Queens years ago. I suppose I thought I was headed for the Met or something. But I was never that good. My parents convinced me to try something else.”
“They’re in Mumbai?”
“Now they are, but I was raised in London.”
“Sorry, I should have realized that from your British accent. I’d love to hear you sing.”
“I don’t do that in public any more. And believe me, the ears of Manhattan are the better for it.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Maybe I’ll arrange a private performance for you some time and you can reassess that statement.” Their eyes met for a moment and they both looked away.
Leta put a hand on his wrist and bent closer to peer at his watch.
“Wow, is that the time? I need to get going, too. I have to be in early.”
They stood and turned to the door.
“Wait,” she said, stopping to gather up the remaining pizza. “We might want these for breakfast.” When she turned and saw the look on his face, she blushed and added, “Separately, I mean. Separate breakfasts.”
His stomach tightened at the image of Leta in a skimpy nightgown, or maybe one of those clingy T-shirts that stopped just shy of … He shook his head sheepishly and grinned.
“I knew that.”
They walked into the night and stood awkwardly on the sidewalk.
“You’re in Tribeca, right? Do you need a cab?”
Leta shook her head.
“I prefer to walk. It was great seeing you again, Hari.” She took a step nearer and reached up to kiss him on the cheek. He pulled her against him with one arm, tilted her chin up with his other hand and pressed his lips on hers. The pizza boxes tumbled from her hand. Breathless, she pulled her face away and turned her head.
“The pizza—”
“The hell with the pizza.” He pulled her back again.
They stumbled, arms entwined, the half-block to his building and took the elevator to the sixth floor. While Hari fumbled with the lock, Leta pulled her sweater off over her head. He turned to look at her and his stomach dropped to the floor. She was naked from the waist up. Smiling, she took the key from his hand.
Inside the apartment, Hari tore off his jacket, yanked his T-shirt over his head, and pulled her close. They shivered as skin met skin, and he leaned in to kiss her neck. Leta’s hands slid around his back and stopped. Bending her head, she fluttered her fingers against a jagged mark on his side.
“Is that—”
“The famous stab wound? Yes, it is.” Hari chuckled through clenched teeth as her touch sent tremors straight to his groin. “You’re lucky. I usually charge people to see that scar.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not a bit,” he said, breathing raggedly. He pulled both of her hands in front of him and kissed them. Then he took a deep breath.
“I think you should know,” he stared into those vivid blue eyes and his heart skipped a beat, “I have a wife. I never see her, but—”
“I know you do. In Mumbai.”
“What?” He narrowed his eyes. “How do you—”
Leta lifted a finger to his lips and shook her head.
“Everybody knows, Hari,” she whispered. She bent her head to kiss his chest, then dropped to her knees and reached for his belt buckle. He groaned.
Much later, after they had moved to the bedroom and the mattress had slid several inches off the side of the box spring, they stretched out to face each other. She leaned her head on her outstretched arm and sighed luxuriously.
Hari placed his hand on her waist.
“I lied, you know. When I said I didn’t remember you at Jason.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He wondered how much to tell her. “You were so … focused. Almost as if you didn’t know the rest of us were there, that you didn’t notice the stares, the heads turning. We were invisible.”
&nbs
p; “I noticed you, Hari.”
Smiling, he lifted his hand from her waist and brushed the hair from her eyes.
“Liar.”
“No, really.” Soft fingers stroked his face. “You were always the smartest man in the room.” She clasped his hand and slid it farther down. “Let’s not think about the past. Let’s focus on the present.” She sighed, closing her eyes as he pulled her closer.
* * *
Dawn was glowing through the curtains and cars were honking outside when he shook her awake.
“Do you have to be somewhere?”
She opened one eye to look at him and then shut it again.
“Just once,” she said, “just once I’d like to sleep in.”
“You could call in sick.”
“I’m no good at that. They’d know I was lying.”
He ran a hand down her arm and chuckled.
“No they wouldn’t. They don’t know your résumé is fake, do they?”
Her eyes widened.
“What did you say?”
“Your résumé? It’s fake, right? I mean, parts of it.”
“How did you arrive at that conclusion?” Her voice was cold.
“Oh come on,” he laughed. “I can’t be the only person who’s figured it out.”
She sat up, pulled the sheet up over her chest and tucked it under her arms.
“What does that mean?”
“Well, it’s just … it’s just…” His words dried up at the look on her face. Yikes, way to blow it, Hari. “I mean, well, look at you.”
“Look at me?” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I got the job at Jason because of the way I look?”
“No. No, not at all. No, I’m sure you’re very competent. Extremely competent.” Hari grimaced. He was only making it worse. “I just meant that … ah … that people, I mean men, might be less inclined to check your … references.” Leta continued to stare and he stumbled headlong into his next disastrous sentence. “Like Stanford University, for instance. I know you were never there but, who cares?” He shrugged, holding his breath.
Her face softened and she smiled, still holding the sheet to her chest.
“Really? That’s so sweet. Which part of my anatomy do you think most makes up for not attending Stanford?”
Hari exhaled. Thank God, she was taking it as a joke. He should play along.
“Oh, your ass, definitely. I’d follow that ass anywhere.”
She dropped the sheet and slapped him, hard. Then she slid off the bed to dig through the rumpled clothes on the floor.
Hari rubbed his stinging cheek.
“Leta, please. It was a joke. I mean, not about your ass, which is very nice, but—” She turned and glared at him. “Sorry! I meant Stanford. It’s not that big a deal. Lots of people embroider their résumés.”
She turned her back to him and pulled her sweater over her head.
Hari winced and sat up.
“I’m sorry I mentioned it. Forgive me?”
She turned and glared at him.
“Who else knows? Who did you tell?”
“No one, I swear.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You know nothing about my life. Nothing.” She shoved his chest. Startled, he toppled back onto the bed.
She sat down and pulled on her leggings.
Hari sat up next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She shoved it away without turning around.
“Leta, the only reason I know about your résumé is because someone at Jason mentioned that you’d been at Stanford when I was and I didn’t remember you. So I checked the dates and realized it wasn’t possible. I deduced the rest from there. But I never would have told anyone—never. You have to trust me.”
“Trust you? After you admitted to spying on me?” She turned to look at him.
“I wasn’t spying. I was curious. I thought we had something in common and I wanted to—”
“Blackmail me?”
His gut twisted at the tears in her eyes.
“No. Never.”
Leta got up and walked down the hall to the door. He wound a sheet around his waist and followed, trying to keep from tripping over its trailing edges.
“Leta, listen—”
She turned to face him, eyes blazing.
“Don’t call me.” She slammed the door.
Hari stared at the door for a few moments, wondering if he should find his pants and go after her. He sighed. Probably best to wait until she calmed down. He hiked up the sheet and shuffled back into the bedroom, where he lay down and shut his eyes. But no matter how much he tossed and turned, Leta’s scent and the remembered touch of her body were overwhelming. He pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, stumbled into the living room, and collapsed onto the sofa.
He would call her. He would find her number at Capital Street and call her. She couldn’t stay mad forever. And after that—he yawned—he would look into that TradeFair thing. He closed his eyes.
Chapter Nine
In the back seat of a cab headed to her apartment, Leta found it hard to ignore thoughts of Hari’s eyes gazing into hers, his hands sliding down her body, the way he … she snapped her head upright. She wouldn’t think about that bastard Hari Bhatt. Not the Hari Bhatt of last night, anyway.
Three years earlier, when she had been a struggling intern at Jason Bros., Hari had been the resident hotshot. He was a math genius with an uncanny ability to make money for the firm by devising complex new financial investments. She recalled seeing him in the middle of a group of Jason Bros. traders, all high-fiving his latest success. Hari turned in her direction and their eyes met across the room. He flashed a boyish grin at her. Her stomach had fluttered and she had ducked her head behind her monitor.
She had no time for a relationship, anyway. Leta had earned her internship with a work ethic that was impressive even in a business where twelve-hour days were the norm.
Her facade had cracked only once. The receptionist called to say that Leta had a visitor. Puzzled, she walked into the reception area and stopped dead. A young man was stretched out in a chair, his hands jammed into the pockets of a tattered gray hoodie. He looked as if he needed a good meal and a bath, not necessarily in that order.
He jumped to his feet when he saw her.
“Hey! Great to see you, girl!” He raised a hand to slap against hers.
For a moment she couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe. The receptionist stared at her and Leta struggled to speak.
“I’m afraid I … don’t know you.”
The young man lowered his hand and stared at her. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak she marched over and took his arm.
“Why don’t I walk you downstairs and we can talk about where you know me from.” Leta glanced at the receptionist and arched her eyebrows. “Or think you know me.”
Outside, on the sidewalk, she punched his upper arm.
“What are you doing here, Terrell?”
“Whad’ya mean? I heard you had a new gig and I thought I’d pay a visit. For old times’ sake. Where’s the problem?”
“I’m not going to talk about this here. Give me your number and I’ll call you later.”
“I’m not doing the number thing at the moment.” He turned out his pockets. “No phone.”
“There’s a coffee shop, Mike’s, near the bridge. I’ll meet you there in an hour.” She took a step nearer, grabbed his hoodie and twisted it tightly. “Don’t ever, ever, come into the office again.”
When she released her hold, Terrell stepped back and shrugged.
“No need to act all crazy about it.” He sauntered off.
Upstairs, Leta smiled at the Jason Bros. receptionist.
“He’s gone.”
“Where did he know you from?”
“We met once a long time ago. He thinks, anyway.” Leta walked back to her office where she sat, trembling, at her desk. She pulled her wallet from her purse to see how much cash she had. Two hundred dollars. That should be enough to sati
sfy Terrell.
She had been wrong about that. Two years later and she still had no solution for the ongoing problem of Terrell Oakes. Leta sighed and smoothed her forehead. That problem would have to wait for another day. When the cab pulled up in front of her building she handed the driver a twenty.
“Can you wait for me? Fifteen minutes?”
He nodded.
She raced upstairs and took a shower, toweled her hair dry, slipped on a pantsuit and heels, and was back in the cab fourteen minutes later. At the coffee shop in Capital Street’s lobby Leta ordered a grande dark roast, black, and carried it onto the elevator. She tried to focus on the day ahead, but other thoughts interfered. She’d have to see Hari again, if only to discover what else he might know. The thought made her smile.
Upstairs, she placed the coffee next to her computer and glanced at Cole’s desk. Her office mate was still not in. Not only that, but his normally overflowing inbox was empty, his desk had been wiped clean of tchotchkes, and his battered umbrella was not by the door. She pulled open a drawer. It was empty.
“Leaving me a love note?”
Leta looked up. Gage stood in the doorway, smirking. He held a cardboard box piled high with manuals, pens, coffee mugs, and sticky notes. An office softball tournament trophy stuck out of the top. He walked past her, put the box on Cole’s desk and shut the drawer.
“What happened to Cole?”
He turned to her and shrugged.
“Gone.”
Leta bit her lip and then turned away, picking up her pen and notepad and placing her cellphone on the desk. No point getting involved. There was nothing to be done. And Fulton would be texting her soon.
But Gage’s phone was the one that beeped. He pulled it from his pocket, tapped in a quick reply and stood up, winking at her.
“Looks like I’m on.”
She frowned. “What do you mean? I always take the morning meeting with Fulton.”
“Not today.” Gage waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe not tomorrow, either.” He pushed open the door that led to the executive offices, turned in the entrance, and winked at her again. The door swung shut behind him.
Leta stared at the closed door. Son of a bitch. Yesterday Fulton told her she had done a good job. And today...? Tears stung her eyes and she closed them, digging her nails into her palms. Breathe in. Breathe out. In, out. In, out. Gradually her muscles relaxed. She opened her eyes, pulled out her chair, and switched on her computer.
