Wanted

by J. Kenner

  "Close your eyes."

  I did, effectively blocking out the tiny bits of light that had crept in under the mask. His fingers brushed my hair as he gripped the elastic and pulled the mask up and off my face. "All right," he said softly. "Open."

  I did, and then gasped in awe and wonder. "Evan--oh my god."

  I have no memory of moving, but I must have, because now I was standing, and all of Chicago was spread out beneath and around me, and my heart was pounding because we were suspended above the city and all I could think was that there was no place more perfect that he could have brought me. "It's the Skydeck," I said. "You brought me to the Ledge."

  "I did," he said, moving to stand beside me. I'd gone to the edge, and now my hands were pressed to the glass, but I wasn't looking out, I was looking down, watching the world falling away beneath our feet as we stood in this clear box that hung from the side of the Willis Tower.

  "Are you ready for breakfast?"

  "What?" I asked foolishly.

  He took my shoulder and gently turned me around. I saw the chair where I'd originally been sitting next to a white cloth-covered table topped with dishes and a shiny silver coffeepot.

  For a moment I frowned. "Breakfast? I've wanted to come here for breakfast since I learned they served, but I thought it was closed on Sundays."

  "It is," Evan said. "I arranged catering for a private party."

  "A party?" I asked, lifting a brow.

  "A very small party," he said. "Will you join me for breakfast on this lovely Sunday morning, Ms. Raine?" he asked, holding out his hand and drawing me toward him.

  "Yes, Mr. Black. I'd be delighted."

  He held my chair out, and as I sat, I looked down at the city again. The world seemed to swirl around me, making me both dizzy and excited, making my heart swell and soar. But no matter what, I knew that I wouldn't go crashing down to earth. I was safe here. Safe on this ledge, and safe with Evan.

  "Thank you," I said. "This is incredible. More than incredible, in fact. It's perfect."

  "I told you I'd make you fly," he said.

  "Yes," I agreed. "You did."

  Esther Martin swooped into my cubicle, her smile as wide as her eyes were sad. She crossed the small space in one stride, arms outstretched, and folded me into the kind of genuinely emotional hug that most women of Esther's money and breeding usually eschewed.

  "We've missed you," she said, releasing me. "Are you doing okay?"

  I nodded. "Yeah, I miss him. But I'm doing okay."

  "Oh, honey. We all miss him." She stood back so that she could look me up and down. "You look good. You got some sun."

  I nodded. "I spent most of yesterday outside." I shrugged a little. "It was nice."

  Nice, in fact, was an understatement. After a breakfast among the clouds, Evan and I spent the day like petals on the wind, soft and lazy and with no purpose other than to move and to explore the city. After breakfast on the Ledge, we'd walked from the Willis Tower all the way down the Magnificent Mile to the Oak Street Beach. I'd expected him to balk when I'd suggested it, because most people don't share my love of simply walking around big cities, soaking up the vibe and absorbing the energy. But Evan didn't complain, despite the fact that we walked about three miles even before our adventure truly started.

  I pointed out my favorite haunts along the way, including the funky water tower. The real one, not the mall, though as far as shopping went, I fully approved of the multistoried shopping complex.

  "It's a castle in the middle of the city," I'd said, tugging Evan to a stop and pointing at the building that had miraculously survived the Chicago Fire. I dragged him inside, ignoring his mock protests, and we stood with our hands pressed against the Plexiglas as we peered down at the tubes and equipment before going into the adjacent tourist center.

  "Can I help you or answer any questions?" the clerk asked as we entered. And Evan, with a straight face, told him we were tourists with only thirty-six hours to spend in town, and we needed to figure out how to do everything.

  The clerk, bless him, actually had some decent suggestions, and we left with a handful of brochures and a plan that started with bike rental from the stands that dotted the city. Then we continued on to the beach, leaving the bikes parked as we walked barefoot in the sand.

  "I don't have a favorite part of Chicago," I'd said. "But if I did, this might be it. How cool is it that we're in the middle of a continent and walking along a sandy beach?"

  We'd gathered rocks to toss back into the water, drank beer at a beach-hut style restaurant, and watched an old man search for treasure with a metal detector. Then we'd backtracked to The Drake hotel and bought two cheap backpacks from the gift store downstairs. After that, we took our rented bikes and cruised along the lakefront and zipped through the parks, finally ending up at the famous Bean sculpture. We'd made faces at ourselves in the curved reflective surface and held hands while we walked underneath and peered up into the interior that seemed to me like the vortex of a black hole.

  "Where to next?" he'd asked. "Wait, let me guess. The Art Institute?"

  I paused beside my rented bike and grinned, delighted that he knew me so well. "Where else? After all, it's in keeping with today's theme."

  "We have a theme?"

  I moved toward him and took his hands in mine, then lifted myself on tiptoes to kiss him. "Art makes me feel like I'm soaring--and that's how I've felt all day with you. Hanging over the city at breakfast, walking hand in hand. And now, just looking in your eyes."

  "Careful," he said, with a tease in his voice. "You'll make me blush."

  I laughed aloud. "That, I'd like to see."

  We left our bikes at the kiosk and continued strolling through Millennium Park toward the Art Institute. "Have you ever been to Europe?" I asked.

  "A few times," he said.

  "I haven't. I've always wanted to, though. I want to see the Louvre and the Sistine Chapel. I want to stand there and feel the power of what those men left behind because it's important and it's enduring and--" I cut myself off with a shake of my head.

  "What?" he asked.

  "Nothing. Never mind."

  He reached for my hand and gave me a little tug.

  "Nothing, really. Just random stupid thoughts."

  "Those are the best kind for a Sunday afternoon stroll."

  "Fine," I said, shaking my head in mock exasperation. "I was thinking about my dad. I love him, I do. But there's no passion in politics. There never has been for me. I did the work and I earned the degree, but it never got inside me, you know? Because it's not creation, it's consumption. Politics is all about taking what others created and divvying it up."

  "And yet you're leaving for Washington."

  I looked away, shrugging. "It's an excellent opportunity."

  "It is," he said.

  My eyes snapped to him. "But?"

  "I just wonder if it's an excellent opportunity for you."

  I didn't answer. I'd told Evan once that he truly saw me, but only now did I realize what that meant, and I wasn't sure I liked it. It was one thing for him to know what I wanted in bed. It was something else entirely for him to see so clearly inside of me.

  At the time, I'd made a point of brushing his words away like so many gnats. Trivial and meaningless. No big deal at all.

  And, because I didn't want to talk about art or politics or anything that even hinted at what I might want to do with my life, I suggested that we forget about the museum and take a cab to the Lincoln Park Zoo. It had been the perfect solution. We'd left the subject of my work and passions behind and spent the rest of the day walking hand in hand, buying soft-serve ice cream and soda to ward off the heat, then snapping pictures of the animals with our phones and texting them to one another.

  It was silly. It was fun. It was just what I'd needed.

  And after a dinner al fresco at a small Italian restaurant, we'd returned to the condo. During the drive, I'd fantasized about wild sexual escapades. About boun
d wrists and spanking and all sorts of new delights forged in Evan's erotic imagination. The thought had fired me, making me tingly with anticipation. But when we'd reached the apartment, the remainder of the evening didn't go as I'd planned at all. Instead, we'd made love lazily in the shower, then taken a bottle of wine up to the patio. We'd sat on the love seat, my head on his lap, his fingers stroking my hair, and talked about our day and our lives and everything and nothing.

  It was, I think, the most romantic and sensual day of my life. And though I'd originally been drawn to Evan's wild side, I couldn't help but fear that somehow, someway, this sweet romanticism was the part of him that was truly dangerous to me.

  Now I stood in my tiny cubicle with the memory clutched tight around me. I didn't want to let it go, much less share it with Esther, for fear that talking about it would lessen its vibrancy in my mind.

  Instead, I just smiled, told her I was refreshed, and asked where she wanted to begin. "I'm sorry I've been gone so long. I'm guessing things have been piling up?"

  "Now you're just being silly. Jahn needed you, and we've managed to muddle on." She pulled out my chair and sat in it, leaving me to lean against the desktop. "To be honest, things slowed down while he was sick. As callous as it sounds, we wanted to keep a low profile. Too much exposure might remind people, and then investors might get nervous."

  "And now it's time to regroup," I said, essentially telling her that I understood. Howard Jahn Holdings & Acquisitions was in the business of buying and selling businesses, and although Jahn had hired some of the best and the brightest to go out in the world and evaluate all sorts of opportunities, Jahn was still the face of the company. His death was going to change things--no doubt about that. And I didn't fault the PR department for wanting to publicly downplay his infirmity. Now that he'd passed on, though, there was no avoiding reality.

  "It is," she said. "But I think we're well covered. I actually wanted to talk to you about shifting your job responsibilities over to the foundation. Things are heating up over there."

  "Because of the transfers?"

  She nodded, then settled in to explain more fully. "Our goal is to grow the assets and income of the Jahn Foundation," Esther said, "and use that increased revenue to start a consistent program of distributions. Education, preservation, and restoration. Your uncle's interests centered on youth, art, and history. There are too many children who don't have access to the education they deserve, and too many exceptional documents and canvases that won't survive the decade much less another millennium."

  "I agree," I said, though I'm sure I sounded wary. If I was hearing her right, she was asking me to work for the foundation. And that, frankly, would be my dream job.

  And then reality hit me. So hard, in fact, that I actually stumbled a bit, and was grateful that I was leaning up against the counter. "Esther," I said dully. "I'm sure whatever you have in mind would be wonderful. But I'm moving. I'm going to Washington," I explained, even as she gaped at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. "I'm going to work on the Hill."

  "Oh." For a moment, she looked blank. Then her face bloomed. "But, sweetie, that's wonderful! Your uncle would be so proud of you."

  "Would he?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound as desperate as I felt.

  If she noticed anything odd in my tone, she didn't call me out on it. "My goodness, yes. He adored his brother as much as he admired him. To know that you're following your dad into politics would have thrilled him."

  "I'm glad of that," I said sincerely.

  "Of course, I'd hoped--but never mind. I'm just chattering on. And this isn't about me. I'm very proud of you, Angelina."

  "Thanks."

  "Well, this changes things." She flipped open her folio on my workspace and started sorting through papers. "We'll just plan to keep you in PR for the rest of your tenure. So why don't we head into the conference room and we can brainstorm a bit about consumer confidence."

  I followed her, and we spent the next two hours talking about ways to keep HJH&A at the forefront of shareholders' minds, without freaking anyone out with the unavoidable fact that Howard Jahn would not be returning to the helm. Honestly, I'm not sure of the details we discussed; I was too busy thinking about lost opportunities.

  I only fully tuned in, for that matter, when Esther sighed, closed her folio, and said, "I think that's enough for today. Though there is one more thing I'd like to ask you to do. It involves the foundation, though, so if you want to decline, I understand. But since you've had social contact with so many of Mr. Jahn's friends ..."

  "What is it?"

  She explained that the one official act of the foundation since Jahn's death was to announce an upcoming fund-raiser and kick-off party. "We want to start this new phase in the life of the foundation with a bang. Tie it in a tasteful way to Jahn's passing. It is, after all, his legacy."

  "How can I help?"

  "We need to find a venue in which to host the function. To be honest, we've already been contacted by several local businesses and philanthropists interested in participating. It's going to be tricky. As soon as we pick one to host, we risk insulting the ones we decline--"

  "--and losing their future charitable contributions," I said. "I get it."

  "It's a job that requires diplomacy," Esther said, with a barely suppressed grin. "It seems to me a young woman with a burgeoning political career would be able to negotiate those land mines brilliantly."

  "Or fail miserably and then escape to Washington?"

  She laughed. "That, too."

  I had to laugh as well. At least she was honest. And, frankly, the politics of society notwithstanding, it sounded like more fun than writing upbeat press releases for investors.

  "Okay," I said. "I'm in."

  "Excellent." She gathered her papers as my cell phone began to ring. "I'm going to get out of here so you can get that. And," she added, pointing a red lacquered nail at me, "so that I'm long gone by the time you change your mind."

  I rolled my eyes and snatched up my phone, my heart doing a little butterfly flutter when I saw that it was from the number that Evan had given me over the weekend. "Hey," I said. "You called at the perfect time."

  "I planned it that way, of course."

  "Would I sound too desperate if I told you that anytime would be the perfect time?"

  "If it's me that you're desperate for, I have no objections."

  I giggled--god help me, I actually giggled. "Well, then. You've found me out. What's up?"

  "Tonight. My place. Seven."

  "All right," I said. "But I don't have a clue where you live."

  "I'll send a car. To the condo or to your office?"

  "Condo," I said. "A woman needs to freshen up before a date."

  "Does she? Well then, I look forward to enjoying the results of her efforts."

  "Yeah," I said. "I bet you do."

  When I hung up, I was smiling. Maybe I was leaving town for a job I didn't really want, but at least for right now, I had it pretty damn good.

  sixteen

  "Here? Seriously?" I peered out the window of the Lexus that Evan had sent for me. We'd just turned into the entrance of Burnham Harbor, and now we were maneuvering our way through the slips. "I thought you were taking me to Mr. Black's house."

  The driver, who'd introduced himself to me as Red, met my eyes in the rearview mirror. "I am, Ms. Raine."

  "Yeah? He lives on a boat?" I had to admit it seemed pretty Evan-like. I mean, the guy constantly surprised me. And, honestly, it was pretty freaking cool. It added to the illusion that he could fly away at any moment--and that he could take me with him wherever he went.

  I settled back in my seat, grinning, and watched as we passed slip after slip. I played a game with myself, trying to guess which boat was his, but each time we reached a boat that looked truly spectacular, Red just kept on driving. I was starting to think that Red had turned onto the wrong section and was just too proud to admit it, when we reached the very end.

  Evan'
s boat was anchored in the very last slip, and as I stepped out of the Lexus I saw Evan on the deck wearing cargo shorts and a polo-style shirt. His hair was wind-tossed, and he looked like he'd spent most of the day on the water. For all I knew, maybe he had.

  "Ahoy," I called, and he grinned like a boy, full of eagerness and life. "You have a houseboat."

  "Your powers of observation are truly spectacular." He hurried toward the ramp that was set up for easy access and met me halfway. I'd boldly brought a backpack with a change of clothes, a toothbrush, and some makeup, and he took it off my shoulder. And although it may have been my imagination, I think he not only correctly guessed what I'd brought, but that he wholeheartedly approved.

  It's a wonder I didn't trip walking up the ramp I was so busy ogling the boat. It was massive, all white, and formed in sleek lines and curves that gave it a futuristic feel. I didn't know much about boats, but I knew it was huge. And I knew that it must have cost a fortune.

  "So what made you decide to live on a houseboat?" I asked, once I'd reached the deck. I had to admit that even from the small peek I'd had so far, I could see the appeal. The deck was both spacious and well appointed, with furniture designed for dining or lounging, fishing or swimming. Hell, it even had a hot tub.

  "It was a whim," he said. "I'm not prone to them--I tend to plan out my moves in both my business and my personal life."

  "Do you? What do you have planned for me?"

  "A great many things," he said. "I promise you won't be disappointed."

  "Oh." I swallowed, suddenly feeling very warm.

  "To be fair, though," he continued, returning to the topic of the boat, "while this is technically a houseboat since I live on it, most people would call it a yacht." He shrugged. "I don't call it, either. She's His Girl Friday to me."

  I laughed, delighted. "I love it."

  He inclined his head. "I'm glad you approve."

  "But you still haven't told me why."

  "I suppose the thought of living on a boat played to my fantasies of being a pirate. Of taking off whenever I want. And, of course, it has all the essential compartments for smuggling my ill gotten gains."

  "Well, of course," I said lightly, even though I was wondering if he meant it. "Who'd bother with a houseboat that wasn't well-equipped?"