by Bec Linder
“I’m not mourning,” I said. “We were only together for a about a month. It wasn’t serious.”
“Of course,” Carolina said. “Whatever you say. You will go on a date with my friend, then, yes? She is very beautiful, and she just arrived in New York and knows nobody.”
“Except for you, clearly,” I said. This was classic Carolina—she always had a friend who was new in town and needed to be shown the sights.
“Oh, I don’t count,” she said, with an airy wave of her hand. “Say you will take her out. It will be good for both of you. You are far too serious, Carter. Spend less time working and enjoy yourself. Soon you will be too old to have any fun.”
“I’m thirty-one,” I pointed out.
“Yes, exactly,” Carolina said. “Oh, don’t remind me that we’re all in our thirties now. I cannot think of it, I’ll grow wrinkles just from the thought.”
“You don’t look a day over eighteen,” I told her loyally. I was fudging the truth, but only slightly: she was still as fresh-faced and wide-eyed as she’d been in her early twenties.
“What a flatterer,” Carolina said, but she looked pleased. “So my friend—”
“Yes, okay,” I said, succumbing to the inevitable. It was one evening. The worst that could happen was that she would be incredibly boring. And I couldn’t spend the rest of my life feeling sorry for myself. “Fine. I’ll go on a date with her. Are you happy?”
“Immensely,” Carolina said, beaming.
* * *
The girl’s name was Jenna, which sounded suspiciously Middle America for someone Carolina claimed to be friends with. I met her on Friday evening at one of my favorite restaurants in Midtown. I made sure to arrive fifteen minutes early, so that I was seated and had already ordered a bottle of wine by the time the maitre d’ escorted her to the table.
She was, as Carolina had promised, very beautiful: long auburn hair waving loose over her shoulders, a full mouth, high cheekbones. She wore a low-cut dress that revealed ample breasts lightly dusted with freckles. I appreciated a woman who knew how to display her assets to good effect.
I rose as she approached the table, and bent over her hand, very gallant, and kissed her knuckles. She blushed prettily and said, “Am I at the right table?”
I laughed. “Did Carolina make you think I’m a complete ogre? I’ve got my work cut out for me, in that case.” I pulled out her chair for her while the maitre d’ uncorked and poured the wine, and she sat and smiled up at me in thanks.
She really was very lovely. Even if the date went horribly, at least I would have a nice view. I could think of worse ways to spend a Friday night than admiring Jenna’s cleavage.
“So, how did you and Carolina meet?” I asked. Not the most interesting opening, but I’d found that the simple approach was often the best—both in business, and with women.
“Summer camp, actually,” Jenna said, smiling. “In high school. Well, I was in high school. Carolina was my counselor. We stayed in touch, and when I told her I was moving to New York, she helped me find an apartment and get settled in. She’s been so helpful. I would be completely lost without her.”
“That’s right, I’d forgotten about her camp counselor days,” I said. “She did that all through college, didn’t she? I still can’t believe that anyone put her in charge of helpless children.”
“Miraculously, none of us died,” Jenna said. “Don’t tell Carolina I said that! It’s just, she was afraid of everything—”
“The snakes, the pine needles,” I said. “I can imagine. Well, I’m glad you survived that experience.”
“Only a little worse for the wear,” she said. She picked up her glass and swirled the wine around. “Is this any good?”
I pressed a hand to my chest in mock affront. “I would never order anything but the very best.”
She grinned. “That’s right, you’re some kind of fancy businessman, aren’t you? Carolina told me you run some sort of company, but I’ve made it a policy not to go digging around on the internet before the first date.”
“You’re a wise woman,” I said, amused. “Did you move here to be a model?”
“Wow, you think I look like a model?” she asked. “I’m flattered. No, I’m an actuary. I’ve been living in Boston for the last few years, but my job gave me the option to transfer to the New York office, and I thought it would be nice to have a change of scenery.”
I raised my eyebrows, impressed. Beautiful and intelligent? This woman was the full package. “Tell me about your work,” I said. “How did you decide to become an actuary? I thought all little girls dreamed about riding horses professionally.”
“What a horrible stereotype,” she said, laughing and shaking her hair over her shoulder. “See, I took this statistics course...”
She told me about how she started college intending to be an English major and ended up with a degree in mathematics, and how she loved her work even though it wasn’t glamorous or exciting. Her hands moved as she spoke, and I watched her, thinking about that I should have been plotting to end the night with her in my bed—but I wasn’t. There was no spark. The first time I saw Regan, it was like sticking a fork in an outlet. Talking to Jenna was more like looking at the outlet, knowing that it held a current, and seeing no reason to investigate further. I could already predict how the evening was going to play out. We would have a nice meal and an interesting conversation, and at the end of the night, I would leave alone.
I didn’t know what in God’s name was wrong with me.
Or, more accurately: I knew, but I preferred not to think about it.
It wasn’t Jenna’s fault, though, and it wouldn’t be fair to punish her for my inability to move on with my life. I had agreed to this date; it was my responsibility to ensure that Jenna had a good time. I did my best to be entertaining and attentive company, asking her questions about herself, how she liked New York so far, whether she had picked a baseball team yet. And she made it easy for me, laughing at my weak attempts at humor, teasing me about how she thought fancy businessmen were supposed to rent out the entire restaurant when they had a date. If I had met her six months earlier, I would have been completely smitten.
But I didn’t. I met Regan, and now there was an empty place in my chest where she used to be.
I resented her for it. She had drawn me in, made me care about her in a way I hadn’t cared about anyone since Prentice, and she hadn’t cared about me at all. I was a diversion to her, an amusing pastime.
It wasn’t worth thinking about.
The food was excellent, as always. This was one of my favorite restaurants for a reason. We ordered creme brulee and coffee to finish off the meal, and I watched with great amusement as Jenna devoured her dessert.
“It’s so good,” she said, a little sheepish.
I said, “I will never judge a woman for enjoying her food. You can even get another one, if you’d like.”
“Don’t tempt me!” she said, smiling. Then she cocked her head to one side and looked at me, sobering.“You aren’t going to ask me out again, are you.”
I hadn’t expected her to say that, but there was no point in trying to deny it. I would be a disaster of a businessman if I couldn’t cope with unanticipated events and respond to them appropriately. I took one of her hands in mine and looked into her eyes. “It’s nothing about you. You’re an incredible woman, and any man would be lucky to have you.”
She chuckled wryly. “It’s not me, it’s you?”
“It’s me,” I said. “I’m... I haven’t quite gotten over my last relationship.”
“Ah,” she said, and nodded. “Haunted by the ex. I understand.”
“I wish that weren’t the case,” I said. “You’re a delight. If I brought you home to my mother, she would pass out from joy.”
“Heaven forbid,” Jenna said. “I couldn’t have your mother’s fainting spell on my head.” She sighed. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to ask Carolina to set me up with some other el
igible bachelor of her acquaintance.”
“Jenna, you are funny, smart, and drop-dead gorgeous,” I said. “I can’t imagine that men aren’t falling all over themselves to talk to you every time you step out your front door.”
“You really are dangerously charming,” she said. “Carolina should have warned me! Don’t worry, Carter. I’m sure I’ll find true love with one of the delinquents who meows at me while I walk to the subway station.”
“Do they really meow?” I asked.
“Oh, the stories I could tell you,” she said.
At the end of the night, I walked her out to her waiting cab and bent to kiss her on the cheek. “I truly enjoyed myself tonight,” I said. “This is going to sound horrible, but I’d like to be friends, if you’re interested.”
“That does sound horrible,” she said, smiling up at me. “Men always say that, and they never mean it.”
“I mean it, though,” I said. “Give me a call sometime, if you’d like. Carolina can give you my number.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” she said. She winked at me and climbed into the cab.
I waited until she had pulled away from the curb, then sighed and pulled out my phone to call Henry. No more blind dates for me, no matter how much Carolina thought it was a good idea. I felt terrible for wasting Jenna’s time.
When Henry arrived, I asked him to take me to the office. I could already tell that I wasn’t going to get much sleep, so I might as well get some work done. I checked my email on my phone as we headed south. My inbox was full, as usual, and I idly scrolled through, looking for anything that needed immediate attention.
One message caught my eye. It was from Richard Hackett, the fraudster I’d spent the last year trying to catch doing something incriminating.
He wanted to meet at the Silver Cross on Sunday night, to discuss some business.
Reading his email, I took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled until my lungs were empty. I had promised myself that I would stay away from Regan, in an effort to give us both the space that we needed, and showing up at her workplace would directly violate that vow. But if Hackett wanted to talk, I couldn’t let that opportunity pass by.
I would just have to hope that Regan wouldn’t be working on Sunday.
Chapter 13
Sunday night at the Silver Cross was in full swing by the time I arrived around 8:00, but the hostess recognized me and sat me at a small table near the stage. I ordered a Scotch and watched the dancer gyrate around the pole, contorting herself into positions that broke at least three laws of physics. Blondes weren’t my type, but I couldn’t deny that she was incredibly attractive. Of course, Germaine ran a tight ship, and wouldn’t hire a girl who was anything less than jaw-dropping.
I looked around the room, noting a handful of familiar faces, customers and servers alike.
Christ. I should admit it to myself: I was looking for Regan. Hackett was the ostensible reason I had come here tonight, but the real reason was Regan.
Obviously a stupid decision. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t come looking for her, and yet here I was, pathetically looking over my shoulder as though she would materialize and beg me to take her back.
If I hadn’t told Hackett that I would meet with him, I would have left right then. I should have left anyway, and sent him an apologetic email claiming that something came up at the office. Hackett, for all his many faults, was a businessman at heart; he would understand that the demands of my company took precedence over everything else.
Well. Almost everything.
I had halfway talked myself into abandoning the meeting when I saw Hackett approaching me. Too late, then. I discreetly checked that my wire was still in place. If I couldn’t get Hackett on tape, it didn’t matter what he said to me: it would be my word against his, and the prosecutors would never be able to get the charges to stick.
I knew Hackett through my father. He had been something of a protégé, at one point, before my father realized that Hackett lacked a moral compass and had no compunctions about doing whatever it took to turn a profit. There was no overt falling out, but my father had subtly distanced himself from Hackett, and instead of becoming a VP at Sutton Industries like everyone expected, Hackett had gone to work for a hedge fund.
All of this happened before I was old enough to understand the details, but I still had enough of an association with Hackett that federal prosecutors had approached me for assistance with building a case against the man. That had been one of the strangest meetings of my life: two men in dark suits talking in circles until I finally figured out what they were asking me to do. I understood that they needed to make certain I wouldn’t go running straight to Hackett, but it was incredibly difficult to agree to covert observation when nobody was willing to outright state that they wanted me to perform said observation.
At first, I had felt a little like James Bond, wearing a wire to Hackett’s favorite sex club and doing my best to entrap him into revealing sensitive information. As the months wore on, though, the novelty wore off. I had been inviting Hackett to private parties at the club for a solid year, and he had shown every inclination to take advantage of the nude dancers and no inclination whatsoever to tell me the details of his ongoing securities fraud.
Also, I despised the man. He had no respect for women, and it gave me the creeps.
I stood up as he approached the table, and held out my hand for him to shake. His palm was clammy, and he looked, as always, both sweaty and excessively pale. He was pudgy in the way that settled on men as they approached middle age, unless they made concerted efforts to avoid it; and Hackett spent most of his time sitting behind a desk, eating greasy takeout. He was good at what he did, and one of the hardest workers I knew, but he had gotten greedy and succumbed to the timeless allure of insider trading and Ponzi schemes.
“Good to see you, Carter,” he said. “Jesus, what a day I’ve had.” He slumped down into an empty chair and rested his elbows on the table. “Thanks for meeting with me.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” I said. “I’m always happy to see an old friend.” The words tasted sour in my mouth. I didn’t enjoy lying, even when it served the greater good.
“Good man, Sutton,” he said. A waitress approached our table, and Hackett ordered a martini, extra dry, because he was evidently determined to be a walking stereotype. As soon the waitress walked away, he turned to me and said, “Business first, and then let’s party.”
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you want.” I had little hope that tonight would be the night he finally spilled something worth listening to, but the FBI agent who was primary contact had told me again and again that my most important duty was cultivating a friendly relationship with Hackett. Spend enough time making nice, the idea was, and eventually he would let something slip.
“We’re having this problem at the office,” he said. “New kid, real smart, thinks he knows more than he does but don’t they all, seems like he’s got real promise.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a problem,” I said.
“Yeah, well, he tried to screw the secretary, and when she told him to get lost, he told her that, and I quote, women are too stupid to work anywhere but on their backs. I mean, he’s right, but you can’t say that anymore what with all of the feminazis.”
God, I despised him. “Sure,” I said, forcing myself to nod in agreement. “Feminazis.”
“So anyway, now the kid needs a new job,” Hackett said. “And I thought, he’s smart, maybe Sutton can snap him up. He’d be a real asset, Carter. I had a chat with him about keeping it in his pants at the office, and I thought maybe you could—”
“I’ll try,” I said, seething inside. “You know I’m not directly in charge of personnel decisions, but—”
“Right, of course,” Hackett said. “I know that, but I thought, maybe you could put a good word in—”
“Send me his resume, and I’ll make sure it goes exactly where it needs to,” I said. I m
eant my trash folder, not HR, but Hackett didn’t need to know that.
“Thanks, Carter,” he said, looking relieved. “You’re a real champ. The kid’s dad is one of my best clients, you see.”
Ah, and there it was: nepotism at work. Hackett had likely promised to get the son a job to secure the father’s continued business, and with the job suddenly vanished into thin air, Hackett was concerned that the business would disappear as well. “I’ll do what I can,” I said.
“Yeah, I know you will,” Hackett said. “Okay. Great. Problem solved. Let’s drink.”
And drink we did: five martinis for Hackett over the next hour, while I sipped my Scotch and listened to him rant about his job. His co-workers were idiots, his superiors were incompetent, and whoever hired the black guy was taking affirmative action way too seriously. As he drank more, he talked less and spent more time staring at the dancers on the stage; and so I encouraged him to get refills as soon as he emptied his glass. A silent Hackett was, in my opinion, the only good Hackett.
My plan was so successful that he staggered to his feet around 9:30 and slurred, “Gotta get home. Work in the mornin’. Seeya later, Sutton.”
“Take care, Richard,” I said, and he stumbled off toward the door.
Christ. Another wasted evening. I was beginning to think that I would never get anything useful out of the man. Maybe I should start billing the FBI at my hourly consulting rate and donate the proceeds to Nelson’s robotics team.
I finished my drink and stood up, preparing to head home and get to bed at a reasonable hour. I looked around the club one last time, trying and failing to pretend that I wasn’t looking for Regan, when I noticed that Germaine’s office door was cracked open.
I hesitated. I had resisted the temptation to call Regan, or to show up at her apartment in a fit of deranged masochism, but surely speaking with Germaine...
