by Alexa Davis
So, if for no other reason than to get Naomi to leave me alone about it, I say, “Fine.” I tell her, “I’ll drop by there and see if he wants to go out for a casual date or whatever. I’ll humiliate myself, I’m sure of it. I’ll probably be back before your next cup of cookie dough is ready.”
“That’s the spirit,” Naomi says. “Now seriously, get out of here. I don’t want you to see this.” With that, she gets up from the table and walks up to the counter.
I get up and start for the door. What Naomi doesn’t seem to be capable of getting through her thick, cookie-dough-addled brain is there’s a big part of me that’s been trying to find a way to say yes ever since I stood Nick up at the restaurant.
What are we going to talk about, though? “Hey, Nick, is it true they don’t make any real yachts anymore or is that just a ploy to get the less-rich to stop buying them from under you?”
If nothing else, though, maybe this will get Naomi and the more impulsive parts of me to leave me alone.
I go out and head toward the hotel. Whatever Nick’s got going there, it looks like he brought some friends. The usually empty parking lot of the hotel is full.
What do I say when I see him—if I see him? Do I try to make an excuse for why I haven’t called him, or do I go the aloof route and act like it’s nothing? Once I get through the doors of the hotel, it looks like I’m going to have plenty of time to figure it out.
The lobby is packed with half the people in town. Nobody’s talking, though. Everyone’s just standing around silently, waiting for something.
The sight is more than a little unnerving.
I nudge Tom from the local grocery store and ask, “What’s going on here?”
He looks around like he’s going to tell these people something they don’t already know and he whispers in my ear, “We heard they’re hiring for Stingray.”
I look around at the room. “You mean everyone here is looking for a job?”
“Have you heard how he treats his employees?” Tom asks. “The guy pays his interns more than most companies pay their managers.”
“I don’t know that that’s true,” I tell him, but know it’s not going to matter. Maybe this is why so many billionaires and millionaires turn out to be such cynical people. If I had a crowd of people that wanted something from me everywhere I went, I’d probably be pretty abrasive, myself.
“Either way, they’re doing something here in town. We want in on it,” he says. “After all, it’s only right that they hire from the place they’re going to set up shop, right?”
“Well, good luck,” I say.
I’m not going to compete with all these people for Nick’s attention. Turning, I start for the door, but someone grabs my arm.
Looking back, I find a woman about my age. As soon as I catch sight of her, she just says, “Come on,” and starts tugging.
I tell her, “I was just leaving,” but she’s surprisingly strong as she drags me through the throng toward the unknown. “Seriously,” I say, “where are we going?”
“Give me about twenty more feet and I can tell you,” she says.
I give her about twenty more feet, and I ask again.
“Mr. Scipio has been expecting you,” the woman says. “He’s just finishing up with someone. He’ll be happy to know you’ve finally deigned to show up,” she adds.
“Listen,” I say, “I don’t know who you think I am or why you think I’m here, but—”
“Oh, come off it, honey,” she says. “A lot of people try the unimpressed approach, and they always turn out to be the ones who end up doing something stupid—like fainting when they’re in front of him.”
“It’s good to know he’s spreading that around,” I say.
The woman glances back at me. “Spreading what around?” she asks.
We get to the hotel’s only conference room, and the smallish, dark-haired woman lets go of my arm and heads inside, saying, “Wait here.”
I wonder if Nick hired her because of her undeniable skill at pulling people through crowds. It’s a silly job description, but I imagine someone like him could use someone like her for something like that.
This is what I think about while I try to convince myself I’m not overwhelmingly nervous. Of course, the sweating palms, the dry throat, and the vague urge to run are getting harder and harder to ignore. I can’t leave now, though. The door is opening.
“You can go right in,” the woman says. “Also, I wouldn’t worry too much if you fainted when you first met him. A surprisingly large number of people lose bladder control.”
And now I have to pee.
“Thanks,” I say, only she doesn’t know it’s not appreciation.
“Go,” she says. “Otherwise, that crowd down there staring at you is probably going to lose its patience.”
“And they’d feel better if I go in?” I ask.
“Out of sight, out of mind,” she says. “It’s been nice to meet you, but I’ve got a lot of things that aren’t you to deal with.”
It’s not the best thing anyone’s ever said to me, but she reaches out her hand, and I take it. I’m expecting a shake, but as soon as those vice-like fingers of hers wrap around my hand, she yanks me into the room, saying, “Now talk.”
The hotel conference room, a thirty-foot by forty-foot space, is now a series of makeshift offices surrounding cubicles. The offices are all tan canvas, military-style tents.
“Hey!” Nick’s voice comes from the corner to my right. He’s sitting at a desk, in an open-doored tent, leafing through files. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have to make a very quick phone call,” he says. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
In a surrealist way, Nick looks like some commanding officer, though I don’t think too many of those wear Armani suits on duty. It’s not just the tents, either.
“Yeah,” Nick says into his phone. “Get over to Fifth and tell them this isn’t going to work for us. They’re trying to screw us because they know we’re relocating, but do me a favor and remind them that without me, they don’t have a company. If they give you any hassle, you know what to do.” Without waiting for an answer, Nick hangs up the phone, saying, “Ellie, I must say I’m a bit surprised to see you here.”
It occurs to me that with all this time I’ve been waiting, I could have figured out what I wanted to say. “Yeah,” I answer.
He smiles, but after a period of silence I can’t begin to quantify, the smile fades. “Ellie?” he asks.
“Yeah?” I return.
“You’re not saying anything. Are you all right?” he asks.
I’m looking around at the room, wondering where everyone is. I’m not sure exactly how long it takes me to realize he asked me a question. “Huh?” I ask.
“So, what brings you here this morning?” he asks. “I was under the impression you’d decided not to pick up the option.”
“Mr. Scipio,” I start.
“Please,” he says, “call me Nick.”
“Nick,” I say, “it occurs to me that I may not have been entirely polite.”
“How so?” he asks.
His phone rings before I can respond.
“Sorry,” he says as he picks up the phone on his desk. “I thought I told you to hold my calls,” he says. An instant later, he’s nodding and jotting something down on one corner of one of the papers in front of him. “I’ve got it,” he says. “Tell them if it makes it all the way to the quarter, we can talk, but the index is still recalibrating and it might not … Yeah, exactly. Thanks,” he says. Just for good measure, he adds, “No calls now.”
“Mr. Scipio,” I say as he answers the phone.
“Call me Nick,” he says. “What’s on your mind?”
I freeze. The truth is I’m curious. I don’t tell him that, though.
“You know,” I start, “it’s revealing that you went after me so hard that first day, but I haven’t heard anything from you since.”
Hey, there we go. This whole thing was hi
s idea. I don’t see why I have to be the one to make the effort.
“I don’t have your phone number,” he says.
All right, that’s a reasonable explanation.
“Seriously,” he says, “are you all right? You look a little green.”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I don’t know, maybe a bit disoriented. Where is everyone?”
“We’ve got people from corporate flying in this evening,” he says. “Listen, Ellie, it’s great to see you and all, but I do have a lot on my plate right now. Was there something you wanted?”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, hey, I know I wasn’t exactly fair to you the last time you asked me out,” I tell him. “I was wondering if you might like to give it another shot.”
Wait. How did I end up being the one to ask him to go out again?
He gives me a pristine, though brief smile and says, “That sounds great. If you leave me your number, I can give you a call when it’s not so hectic around here.”
“I know what you mean,” I say. “All those people waiting out front, I didn’t think I was going to get halfway into the lobby, much less actually—”
His head cocks to one side, and he raises an eyebrow. “What people are waiting out front?” he asks.
“I think they’re all waiting for a job,” I tell him. “At least, that’s what—“
“They think I’m in here hiring?” he asks. “We’re a long way away from staffing. Give me just a second.” He grabs his phone and dials a number. “Yeah, how many people are out there?”
He’s nodding, but not speaking. Nick lifts his head toward me and makes a writing motion with his hand. It takes me a second to get it, but a moment later, I’m grabbing a pen from his desk and writing my number on Nikolai Scipio’s open palm.
Nick smiles, and as he looks up at me, I let my defenses drop for a moment. He hasn’t given me any reason to think he’s playing me, but at the same time, what would he want with someone like me? I’m just the chick who works at the junk shop.
I catch Nick’s gaze and for six or seven heartbeats—it’s going too fast for an accurate count—and he parts his full lips, taking a quick breath of air. As he looks me in the eyes, he covers the phone with the palm on which I wrote my number, and he says, “Hey, this is probably going to be a minute. I’m going to have to talk her through this. Do you think you can get out all right? If not, I can have one of my guys—”
“No,” I say. In that brief, forgotten moment, I was almost ready to say yes to just about anything that came out of his mouth. “Besides, if they’re going to turn hostile, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who should be worried about the torches and pitchforks.”
“Okay,” he says. “If we’re going to stay here much longer, I’m going to insist they put in a few more exit doors—yeah,” he says, uncovering the phone, speaking into it. “Well, tell them that we’ll be happy to take their applications once we’ve gotten the forms back from the printers or something. They’re not responding when you tell them we’re not hiring yet?”
I guess that’s my cue.
Slowly, I turn and walk back to the door of the conference room. I glance back toward Nick. He notices my look and smiles before turning his attention back to the phone call.
It’s no secret, no matter how much I wanted it to be. I might be able to fool Naomi, but I wouldn’t be so worried that Nick might turn out to be one of those guys if I didn’t get a shot of adrenaline like a baseball bat to the chest every time I think about him.
This is dangerous territory, and I’m gladly signing up for it. I just have to be careful; that’s all. I’ve just got to keep my eyes open, and I’ll be okay.
It’s a bit exciting, going out with a billionaire. I’ll never admit it, but I’ve had the fantasies of the wealthy nobleman who might save me from my life of serfdom. Maybe I haven’t exactly fantasized about it in those terms, but the general concept is there.
I still don’t know why he’s interested in me, but he did give me space when I told him I wasn’t ready to go out with him. Either it’s a long con, or there could be a chance that even as one of the richest men in the country, Nick Scipio just might be an okay guy.
It looks like I’m going to find out.
I hardly notice I’m looking at the floor smiling until I notice the complete lack of noise from the rabble and look up. There at the end of the hall, where the corridor leads out into the main foyer, are a few dozen scarlet faces with narrow eyes staring at me.
They all think I’m the reason they’re not getting jobs today.
Chapter Four
Dinner on the Beach
Nick
It’s taken a few days, but my schedule is finally pliable enough that I can take Ellie to one of my favorite spots, Kola Kitanabu. She was very impressed with the name, but I could see she’d never heard of the place. No matter, we’ll be there soon enough.
The best part so far is when we pull up to the airport and my driver stops the car. She’s sitting on the other side of the backseat, and she grabs my arm as she looks out the window.
“Why are we at the airport?” she asks.
“We’re going to Kola Kitanabu,” I answer.
My driver, Brent—hardly the old-money kind of name I was hoping for in a driver, but you work with what you can get—opens Ellie’s door and she’s leaning into me.
“We can go somewhere closer if you like,” I tell her. “When I called and asked where you’d like to get some dinner, though, you said—”
“Surprise me,” she interrupts. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Why’d you think I asked if you had a passport?” I respond.
Ellie looks up at me, eyes gaping either from surprise or some deathly fear of poor Brent, who’s still standing there, holding his hand out for Ellie to take.
“Your call,” I tell her.
She’s still staring at Brent like he’s an alien come to abduct her, but she says, “Tell me about it, where we’re going.”
It’s hard to contain my amusement when she realizes we’re not flying commercial.
Over the clouds now and somewhere over the vast, swallowing ocean, I don’t think Ellie’s stopped looking out her window for longer than a couple of seconds. That only seems to happen when we hit some unexpected turbulence.
“Is this your first time on a plane?” I ask.
“I went to New Jersey once,” she says. “I don’t know. I was little, though.”
“Mind if I ask why the passport then?” I ask.
She looks over at me and, after a quick glance back to the window; she sits back in her chair. “I don’t know,” she says. “I guess I just never wanted to be one of those people who dies twenty miles from where they were born, you know?”
“Did you have a destination in mind?” I ask. “I’m still working on our second date, and I’m open to ideas.”
Her lower eyelids come up a little, and she peers at me, saying, “What makes you think there’s going to be a second date?”
When she lets herself relax, she’s a lot of fun to talk to, but I guess the suspiciousness is going to hang around a while. “Just thought I’d put it out there,” I tell her. “I suppose you can call it an airing of hope.”
Her eyes unclench a little, and she faces forward. “Ah,” she says. “Well, the plane’s nice and everything, but it does seem a bit wasteful just for the two of us to go out on a date.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“That’s a lot of jet fuel,” she says and starts shaking her head. “Look at me. Here I am riding on your plane, but is that going to stop me from chastising you for doing the same thing?”
“You care,” I say. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing. You’re right that you don’t have a leg to stand on here, but you know, it’s a nice thought.”
For the very first time, I think since she realized who I was when she started talking to me in her store, Ellie seems to know that I’m joking. I don’t get a laugh
out of her, but her face goes that same dark red it was when she came to on the floor. This time, though, she’s smiling.
“Maybe next time we can do a date without all the jet fuel?” she asks. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not impressed, though,” she says, looking around the interior of the plane. “You seem like you’ve done all right for yourself.”
“I get by,” I smile. “We’re all paycheck to paycheck, though.”
“Yeah, but your paychecks are a little bigger, and if you’re going through the money that fast, you should probably have them turn the plane around,” she says. “It sounds like you can’t afford me.”
I’m not sure whether I’m coming or going with Ellie most of the time, but she’s here. I keep telling myself to wait until we get to know each other again before telling her, but it already feels like I missed my shot to do that if I was going to be totally upfront with her.
Right now, I’m just kind of glad she doesn’t recognize me.
“So,” she says, “I have to ask.”
“What would you like to know?” I respond.
“Your first name is Nikolai, which is Russian, but your last name is Scipio, which is Italian,” she starts.
“You're kind of good at that. Yeah,” I answer. “Mom was from Minsk. Dad was from—well, actually, he was from the Bronx, but his grandfather was from a small village in Italy.”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” she says. “I’ve just always wondered about that. You see someone on the cover of a magazine, and you never think you’re going ever to see them, much less talk to them …”
She’s still talking, but as she does, her face is growing ever redder.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“Oh, thank god,” she says. “I don’t know, sometimes when I’m nervous, I just start rambling, and I don’t even know what I’m talking about, and then I get all embarrassed and because I get all embarrassed, I feel like I have to keep talking which, I know, doesn’t make any sense, but—”
