by Claire Kane
Victor immediately doubled into a deep bow. “Kombanawa, Taniguchi-sama,” he replied. “Thank you for inviting me to this party. It’s an honor to be here, sir.”
The Japanese businessman chuckled lightly, then in flawless English replied, “Please, Victor-san. You may address me as Taniguchi-senpai. I am your teacher, hai?”
“Hai, sir,” Victor said, inwardly amazed at how this man was able to dispel his usual, carefree self by his mere presence. Then again, Taniguchi was amazingly well connected, and the fact that Victor was even allowed into his office as a junior accountant would open probably as many doors as his degree would. This internship was one he couldn’t lose at any cost.
Mister Taniguchi grinned warmly. “You Americans. You take our ancient sense of honor too seriously; or not seriously enough, perhaps.” The man cast a quick glance at the interns crowded behind him. Several cowered until he looked away. “But I like you, Victor-san. You are… an honest young man.”
Victor tried not to let his swelling head become too obvious. “Arigatou, Taniguchi-senpai.”
“I see you are practicing Japanese ahead of your time in my country. Impressive.”
“Arigatou, sir.”
Taniguchi waved the comment away. “Victor, I would like you to meet one of my many associates. Allow me to introduce Orochi Watanabe, Chief Financial Officer of our partner firm, Mizuko Accounting.”
Victor bowed deeply again. Watanabe refused to return his bow, Victor began to wonder. The look in the other man’s eyes was anything but welcoming.
“Do not mind Orochi,” Taniguchi said with a small laugh. “He treats everyone like this. Even, once the emperor himself.”
Watanabe’s eyes tightened, and he threw a sidelong glance at his colleague, which was quietly but pointedly ignored. “I believe,” the older man continued lightly, “Orochi may be able to give you some valuable advice, during your stay in our country. He is a most skilled accountant, and understands international commerce exceedingly well.”
Victor inclined his head at the other man, and kept his clenched fists discreetly behind his back. Watanabe grunted but, at a look from Taniguchi, managed to nod almost politely. And just like that, Victor’s boss surged off into the crowd, which parted around Victor, leaving him too breathless and stunned to notice his fellows giving him the same, cold looks that Jessica had given him when he’d read her his acceptance letter to Kyoto Consulting.
He sighed, and made his way over to the bar. To the bartender’s surprise, he ordered root beer (why did everyone look at him funny when he did that?) He wanted to enjoy tonight and remember it. All around him swayed people who provided ample support for his reasoning. He thought about a couple glasses of white wine, just for the taste, but he was still in America, so he figured he’d get an all-American drink, just in case he couldn’t find any in Japan.
The bartender handed him his drink and Victor reclined against the bar to resume his search, wondering at the people who had come. These were intelligent people. People with clout and savvy. People with power, who could make things happen. So why would he rather be kayaking the Puget Sound instead of schmoozing and trying to get ahead?
He stood, suddenly wondering where the nearest exit was. Spotting it, he fast-walked over, pushing it open with a shoulder. He emerged into where cool air and solitude greeted him. He wiped his brow in relief, and glanced down the hotel’s hallway, just to see what else was going on that evening.
Next door’s banquet room had a door ajar. He meandered past, taking a curious look inside. Under dim lights, throbbing music kept the partygoers dancing—including some clearly drunk guy moving as though he were climbing an invisible wall—while others mingled near strategically-located tables laden with hors d’oeuvres. The people in there were dressed… richer, if that were possible, than the ones at Taniguchi’s shindig.
He stepped closer, peeking carefully in. There were quite a few beautiful women. It was interesting how everyone had perfectly coiffed hair, some looking like live Barbie and Ken dolls. Their smiles were practiced. The way they greeted each other with air kisses and hearty handshakes also felt superficial. However, there was one woman in the distance who wasn’t like the rest…
The Asian woman wore her long and loose black tendrils well, framing a pretty face. She was more real. She had an air of class above the rest. The way she crossed her slender legs, clutched her purse, wore a simple tennis bracelet with her black cocktail dress. He could stare at her for… forever.
A bellboy rolling a rack of tuxedos interrupted his thoughts. “Can I help you, sir? Are you lost?”
Victor stepped back from the door as if being caught doing something against the law. “Me? No.”
The bellboy looked to be maybe eighteen years old, a fresh zit on his forehead. “Is there something I could help you find?” he asked.
Victor opened his mouth in thought. “Well, come to think of it, I am actually lost. I was at the party next door, in that hall”—he pointed—“but I believe I’m supposed to be in here, in this hall.” He meant every word of that, thinking of the mystery woman.
The bellboy smiled. “We don’t have bouncers at the door. You can just go in, sir.”
Victor pulled out his wallet in thought. Should he ask? “Listen, um…” He rifled through a few dollar bills and a five. He definitely was on a tight budget. Being a student did that to ya. “What would it take to borrow one of these fine tuxedos you have there? I don’t have much, but…”
The kid smiled big. He had braces, even. “I’ll do you a favor. Tell me your size.” Victor did, and the kid rifled through the rack for a few moments before producing a pair of slacks and a coat for Victor’s consideration. “These belong to the hotel. They’re for ‘just in case,’ so I don’t think my boss will mind me letting you borrow one. There’s a restroom, right over there, around the corner. Just return it to me by twelve midnight. No tip necessary.”
Victor’s blue eyes widened. “Well hot dang. A hotel that keeps tuxedos on hand for random guys like me. I guess fairytales do come true…”
*
“Who is that guy?” Lacey asked Cathy Higgins, her editor and friend. “Is he new?”
Cathy put her cat-eye glasses to the very tip of her nose in drunken thought. “Phil, our janitor?”
Phil was in the center of the dance floor, busting a move like washing tall windows, his belly jiggling along. A circle of people crowded around him, clapping, looking all the more foolish for being so stylishly dressed.
“Noooo.” Lacey shook her head. She shifted her position on the hotel’s stylish leather couch. “That guy!” She pointed to a handsome man standing in the doorway, people-watching under dark eyebrows.
Cathy perked up, and fixed her short red hair. “I don’t know, but I call dibbs!”
“We’re not fourteen, Cathy! You don’t call dibbs.”
“Well, the whole online dating thing lately has run dry, after my last three psycho dates. Let’s not forget the cable guy. So I think I have the right to call,” and she hiccupped, “dibbs.”
The guy glanced over. Lacey felt her heart skip. He did a double-take, fixing his gaze on her. He smiled. She couldn’t help but smile back.
Turning back to Cathy, Lacey was expecting to get a scolding, but instead found her friend passed out with a snore. Satisfied, she turned her gaze back to the stranger, but instead found network producer, and co-owner of channel KZTB, Greg Mendoza suddenly before her. Her boss wasn’t too shabby to look at—wavy black hair, tan skin—but he was married… and a little eccentric.
“Lovely Lace,” he said, holding a martini. “How goes it this evening?”
“Great!” Lacey said, standing up to meet him at eye level. She instinctively pulled the hem of her tight black dress down to her knees. “I’m enjoying what you’ve put together here.”
“It’s amazing, right?” He extended an arm toward the party scene. A disco ball glittered down from the tall hotel banquet room, sending z
igzagging neon lights across what could easily be over a hundred guests. In the distance, a banner filled nearly half the wall, celebrating thirty years of KZTB’s morning news program, Good Day Seattle.
“Yes, yes.” Lacey nodded, an irrational nervousness making her toes curl just a bit in her pointy-toed heels. That was painful. “You really knocked it out of the park, boss.”
Greg set his free hand on her shoulder, his brown eyes looking intently into hers. “Tonight, don’t call me boss, okay? I’m just a friend having a good time.”
“Where’s your wife?” The question sprang from her mouth without thought.
“My wife?” He paused. “She’s, uh, you know, not feeling too well. Her headaches. Bad headaches.”
Lacey glanced past Greg to the doorway. Dark Eyebrows guy was gone. There was no sign of him in the dimly-lit hallway beyond, either, nor could she pick him out in the crowded room. She grimaced. Shoot!
Greg cut in. “I was thinking, Lacey. Let’s say we get back to business Monday, at a lunch meeting. I’ve been mulling over some opportunities. I know how you’ve been eyeing the lead anchorwoman position.”
That got her attention. “Yes? Deborah’s not leaving, is she?” Deborah had been lead anchorwoman for seventeen-point-five years now. Perky. Pretty. Perky. Rumors flew that Kelly Rippa herself was envious of the brunette star. Lacey glanced around and noticed Deborah at the bar. The woman looked away suddenly as if she’d been caught staring.
“No, no, no.” He shook his head with a wide Cheshire cat smile across his tan face. “Deborah is staying. There’s another opportunity that’s presented itself that I think would be perfect for you, however, if you’d be in. It could make you nationally, no, internationally known. I’ll leave it at that.” He patted her shoulder, chewed the olive out of his martini glass and sauntered away.
“Well,” Lacey said out loud in curiosity.
“He seems interesting,” a man said playfully, a hint of sarcasm peeking through.
Lacey looked over her left shoulder, confirming what she thought. It was the guy. “Oh,” she simply said, turning to him.
“Lacey Ling, right?” he asked, extending a hand.
“I’m sorry, have we met before?” she asked, shaking it.
“So to speak. TV. Yeah, you probably get that all the time, but you’re…” he paused, and she could tell he was weighing his words, “…you’re hard to miss. You did a live report at the U of W, not long ago. I was actually in the background for that one.”
“Oh, of course. Your name would be…?”
“St. John—Victor St. John,” he said with a wry smile, speaking like he was Bond. He had pretty white teeth, like the character. He then ran a hand through his dark hair that bounced perfectly back into place. Lacey wondered how much Palmade he used. Regardless, it looked good.
“I’m teasing.” He chuckled.
She let herself laugh. “Of course. So… what is your position with the program? I don’t believe I’ve seen you on set. Or in the production room.”
“That’s because I don’t work for KZTB.” He shrugged, and she couldn’t help but notice how well his tux fit him. It didn’t hurt that his dress shoes had a mirror polish that went well with his gold cuff links, and slick bowtie.
This guy’s probably super conceited, probably has a girlfriend or two… Which took her to her next thought. “I get it—you’re a guest of someone. Karina?” Lacey glanced over at the bombshell chatting it up with other girls.
“No, I came alone.” The sparkle in his blue eyes showed he liked the anticipation of playing the ‘mystery man’ game.
Lacey posted a hand on her hips and cocked her head. “Do I need to ask twenty questions to find out just what you’re doing here?” It was her turn to smile. Okay, so she could go for a good game, occasionally.
“Yes, twenty questions.”
She bit her lip, thinking. “Question number one—how much hairspray do you use?”
“Hey now, what’s that got to do with—”
“Doesn’t matter. I get to ask whatever I wish.”
“But they also have to lead to yes or no answers.”
“Do you always play by the rules?” She arched a brow.
He tugged at his bowtie. “Me? Hardly. So the answer is ‘no.’ That’s two questions down, Miss Ling.”
Eighteen questions, and two hours later, the two believed in love at first sight.
SIX
Four months earlier…
Victor had never had a better month in memory. Though his Japanese was only just adequate, he still greeted the perky receptionist on his way into the main lobby of Kyoto Consulting and smelled business; and business was good. That optimism was reflected in the polished marble flooring, the confident looks on the faces of other employees, all of whom wore the uniforms of the corporate elite, and even in the really cool waterfall that cascaded down from the second floor on the far side of the lobby.
Victor vowed he would play in that waterfall at least once before leaving Japan.
He strode to the elevator, chin held high, and barely managing to contain his smirk. It had taken him the better part of his first week at Kyoto Consulting to stop trying to say hello to everyone, regardless of whether they were engrossed in a phone or a tablet. His mentor had set him straight on protocol fairly quickly, which Victor would later learn had saved him just enough face to avoid an early termination.
Four grueling weeks of being a glorified courier and coffee runner had done nothing to get Victor down. By the time the summer was up, Victor was sure Mister Taniguchi would be making him an offer; and a good one. Hopefully in the Seattle branch, but he was learning to love Tokyo, even if he hadn’t seen his apartment in three straight days.
It’s like Navy SEAL training, he kept telling himself. They’re just playing mind games. Weeding out the slackers from the rest of us. And so it was that he set out to make this day the best day he’d had yet; and the best was yet to come. Lacey was set to arrive in Tokyo later today, and was on assignment here for two weeks. The thought brought a smile to his face as the elevator doors closed, hiding the scowls of at least two other Kyoto Consulting employees who probably thought he was smiling at their misfortune of missing the elevator by mere seconds. Victor was too caught up in the vision of Lacey to care.
He managed to make it to his desk after only two tries, but found that focusing on work was harder than he thought. Instead of tracking quarterly profit margins and figuring out how he was going to cart five cups of coffee to as many co-workers, he found himself checking and rechecking directions to Tokyo International Airport. His distraction nearly caused him to dump a cup of steaming coffee on a fellow employee, but he saved it in time, and managed to bow his way out of the man’s heated rebuke (almost none of which he understood, though the man’s tone needed no translation). Forcing himself back on task, he prevented himself from screwing up deliveries. Remembering that he was doing this for Lacey propelled him forward to lunch.
Lunch was the typical affair—lock his computer, instead of logging off, grab his pre-made meal, and head to the little garden area Kyoto Consulting had built into the center of its main office building. A quaint affair, the garden had real grass, fed by a small stream. The location of the garden blocked enough of the ambient smog that Victor could actually smell the cherry blossoms on the two trees standing in the middle of it all. Two or three others were seated on benches, glued to their tablets as they sucked protein shakes through straws. They’d never bothered Victor, and he’d given up trying to talk to them, though he was sure they were nice people. Taking his seat under one of the trees, he glanced at his phone to check the time, even as he hastily bit into his sandwich.
When he leaned back against the tree, something dug into his back. Turning, he was surprised to see a small box wrapped in plain, brown paper and tied with cheap string.
“Hello,” he said, noticing a note under the string. “What brings you to the garden today?” He bent down to
peer at the note. To his surprise, it was written in several languages, including English.
“He who gives anonymously,” he read softly, “is more blessed than he who parades his gift.” Victor raised his eyebrows. “Sounds a little too ‘New Testament’ for Japan, but hey, Buddhism has some pretty cool sayings too.” He read on.
“Please, if you find me, open me.” With a shrug, he did as the message said.
And his jaw dropped.
Inside, placed just above pictures of Japanese children clearly hard on their luck was a carefully folded wad of cash. Victor felt his face flush, and he looked around, wondering whether someone would take him for a thief. A note inside caught his eye. He slipped it out, while quietly turning and sitting on the box and its mother lode, and read the note. It was simple—the children pictured had been identified as being “in need.” The note included information for an anonymous charity account that had been set up for such children, and instructed anyone who found the money to please deposit it, and to show the teller the pictures of the children involved. The bank in question had agreed to match the anonymous donation yen for yen in helping the kids.
And Victor was the man who got to make the deposit.
He frowned. “How’m I going to get to the bank before it closes?” The Japanese had a very different idea of “business hours” than he was accustomed to, and while he was certain the banks probably stayed open later as well, he didn’t think they’d be open late enough to accommodate his schedule.
Then it hit him—he was an accountant, and he was a courier. Surely he could figure out some reason to get Mister Nagamo to let him make a trip. At once, he felt a plan begin congealing in his mind.
*
Victor’s plan worked. In the name of “market research,” he’d persuaded his supervisor to allow him to visit several local banks to discuss accounting practices with them. Nagamo had been skeptical, citing the fact that Kyoto Consulting had well-established guidelines, and that it already followed market practices to the letter. He argued that Victor was just trying to be a sight-seeing tourist, and that he was lazy. That changed when Victor suggested that he might be able to grab some American coffee from a specialty shop along his route, and that a free cup of the stuff might just make its way on to his boss’s desk before the afternoon was out.
