Mr. Corporate (Mister #3) Page 3
My eyes dart to another part of the restaurant and I say, “Oh, there he is! Never mind, thank you.” And I slip away, hoping I didn’t draw too much attention to myself.
Shit. I know West is in there getting info. Hell, Wallace might even be there. If he is, I’ve lost.
Think, Victoria. Think.
I go outside onto the patio where people are eating and drinking underneath large canvas umbrellas, and walk along until I reach the end. There’s a kitchen door propped open, so I look over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching, then open it up and go inside.
There’s commotion and bustle as cooks and servers do their thing, but I raise up my head and walk through like I own the place. Everyone glances twice, but that’s because I’m a beautiful woman. Not because they feel like stopping me.
Where was that back room? I bet they have an entrance from the kitchen.
I spy a server with the same red pocket square as the host, and follow them down a hallway and through a swinging door. On one side of the hallway are restrooms, the open kind that have a curvy wall made out of stone and not the kind with a door. On the other side is another door.
“Please don’t let this lead to the front,” I mutter, ducking into the women’s restroom when the door starts to swing open again. I turn around as soon as I get around the corner of the marble wall and head right back into the hallway, smiling at the server carrying a tray as I let him pass towards the kitchen. I push open the door he came through and smile.
OK. I’m in. Everyone in here has that same uniform on. So this is the private area where Weston is surely meeting some contact.
I scan the room, which is partitioned off with hand-painted folding screens depicting scenes of Cuba, but come up with no Weston Conrad.
Dammit. Where is he?
I’m just about to give up when I hear his familiar laugh.
He’s on the other side of a screen. And even though there are at least fifty diners in here, now that I know he’s here, I can’t miss him. That arrogant voice carries through the screen and across the room. I find myself leaning in to try to hear what he’s saying. And in another moment, my feet are traveling that direction.
His voice grows louder as I approach, unseen because of the screen, and I take a seat at a table that has been recently vacated.
I look around for a server, but they are all busy.
I look down at the table setting and realize this is some kind of event. A party or some luncheon for a club. So I relax and concentrate on Weston’s words.
Chapter Four - Weston
“OK,” I say, barely managing to contain my bad mood through the whole Mr. Mysterious act Paxton puts on. “What do you have for me?” I don’t know why Pax always has to fill me in on his life these days. But he does. It’s always something with this guy. These jobs he takes. I can’t stand it. I liked him so much better when he ignored me. But ever since that whole thing with Mr. Romantic went down he’s been over-sharing like a motherfucker. It’s way too much TMI for me.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Pax says.
“What was the question again?”
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“What?” I know my expression says, Come the fuck on, but I hold it together. Pax has info I need. And I need it now. Before Victoria gets it first. She has something up her sleeve. Or down her bra, more likely. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question, Mysterious? I’m the headhunter here. Besides, I’m on track. I got it all planned. You, on the other hand, I have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I got a track. I’ve got many tracks, in fact.”
“Name one,” I say, the annoyance leaking through.
“You name one. I’m the one who asked.”
“Is this what you need to fill me in? Fine. In five years I’ve gone global. I’ve got offices in LA, New York, London, Paris, Moscow, Berlin, Hong Kong, and Tokyo.”
“Is that where you’re headed? Global?” Pax takes a sip of his drink, which is a fucking mint julep of all things, and I suddenly feel like I’m being played.
“Yeah,” I say. “Global. I’ve got the London office set up. Hong Kong is next. And after that, it’s on to Russia. I’ll be in Tokyo and Paris in three years. Hell, in five years, I might retire.”
“You ever think about doing something else?”
I don’t have a word for the look on my face or the depth of confusion in my mind. “What? What the fuck else would I do? This is my job. I fucking rock this job. I’m heading out and moving up. Why the hell would I do something else?”
“Hey,” Pax says. “I’m not knocking it, man. I’m just asking.”
“Why, are you? Gonna do something different?” I ask him.
“Sure. Why the fuck would I be a fixer for the rest of my life? People get old, Weston. Shit gets old. My shit is getting old. I’m ready to do something else.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno,” Pax says, sipping that ridiculous drink.
Is he playing me?
“Well, you can do something else after you give me my info. I need to know where Wallace Arlington is today.” I knock my knuckles on the wooden table to emphasize my point.
“Do you like the party?” Pax asks, changing the subject.
“What?” I look around as he pans his hand, like he’s showing off this event. “Whose party is it, anyway?”
“Some charity thing. Do-gooder awards. You win any of those things, Weston? Do-gooder awards?
“I’ll let Mr. Perfect corner that market, thanks. And yeah,” I say, one hundred percent bored and well on my way to irritated. “It’s a great party. Now where is Wallace?”
“Well,” Pax says, lowering his voice and leaning in, “I hear he’s going to be on some island tomorrow for a corporate event.”
“What kind of event?”
“What do I look like, fucking Google? I don’t know.”
“What island? I need to make arrangements.”
“Well, you can’t take the jet, it’s float plane or boat access only. And the water is gonna be rough, so I doubt you’ll get a charter boat to take you.”
“Who fucking cares? Fuck the boat ride. I can get a float plane. Just tell me where I need to be.” Why is he dragging this shit out?
“Sandcastle Cay. The northern part of the Exuma Cays. It’s about fifty miles southeast of Nassau. He’s gonna be there tomorrow, but after that I have no clue where he’s going. I only got this tip after I threatened to expose a secret I’m holding for a friend of his.”
“Shit. How the fuck am I gonna get a private flight out there with half a day’s notice?”
“I got a guy if you need a reference.”
I almost don’t stop my eye roll. A reference. Jesus Christ. “Yes, Pax. I’d like a reference. Just get me to this guy tomorrow and I’ll knock off half a mil from that debt you owe me.”
“I pay my debts, Corporate. I don’t need your charity.” He laughs hard as he tries to take a sip of his girly drink, and doesn’t quite succeed without dribbling it down his chin.
I can’t even with this guy.
“Here,” he says, pulling a business card out of his wallet. “Give my friend a call this afternoon and tell him Mysterious gave you his number. He’ll take care of you.”
I take it and stand up, ready to get the fuck away from him. “OK, well, thanks. And hey, if you’d like to pay that debt off, it’s seven point five million now. With the interest.”
Mysterious sends me a wide grin and shoots me with his finger. Something that reminds me a little too much of the equally cocky Mr. Match. They have been spending far too much time together if he’s picking up his mannerisms.
“See ya around,” Pax calls, after I’m already walking away. “And don’t fuck this up. We can’t afford any more mistakes.”
I’m not the fuckup. What kind of drugs is he on? He’s the fuckup. But I don’t stop. He’s crazy. We all know he’s crazy. I got what I needed and I’m
gonna nail down Wallace Arlington tomorrow. This whole deal will be one and done and then I can get back to building my global empire.
Chapter Five - Victoria
I met Weston Conrad the night before the night before the big night. You’d think that it might get lost in the hustle and bustle of what happened over the next two days, but it didn’t. Because the night before the night before the big night was the best one of my life.
Even up to this very moment.
No other night, before or since, will ever be able to compare.
He wasn’t Mr. Corporate when we met. He was just Mr. Conrad.
He wasn’t sweet, he wasn’t particularly smart—I mean, everyone at Brown was smart, so I’m just saying he didn’t stand out—and he wasn’t particularly motivated.
But he was very drunk.
I found him sitting under a tree in front of the administration building holding a bottle of whiskey wrapped up in a paper bag. He was wearing a suit, was covered in leaves, and he was singing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. His voice was deep, mimicking the Johnny Cash version perfectly.
He was a cliché of desperation and defeat.
I joined in from a tree nearby and we sang that song together.
That’s how I met Weston Conrad. The night his world really fell apart, although I still don’t really understand what all that melancholy was about. That was forty-eight hours before he was accused of a crime that would test my limits and my faith.
I always knew he was innocent. It was not me who questioned his morality and virtues. It was him.
We talked all night long. I never once joined him under his tree, just kept my distance about twenty feet away from under mine. And I didn’t even know who he was until daylight broke and he was almost sober.
“Let me walk you home,” he said. “It’s an ugly, fucked-up world out there and I’d kill myself if anything happened to you on your way home.” He said it like it was fact. And looking back, it sounds a little bit like a premonition.
I said yes, of course. By this time, I knew he was handsome. I knew something had gone terribly wrong with his life, and I knew that he was planning something and my appearance several hours before had interrupted those plans.
But I still don’t quite comprehend his desperate situation that night. Why he was sitting under the tree in front of administration. And why his world was falling apart even before that girl accused him of that crime.
He said he was broke, now that I think back. Hmmm. Funny how I never thought about that little detail ever again. Or maybe not so funny. Life got weird, and complicated, and messy.
Well, he isn’t broke now, so I guess prosperity begets prosperity. Isn’t that what they say? Money makes money? Power gains power? It’s a never-ending cycle of predetermination.
When we got to the house I shared with my roommates he leaned against the porch railing and looked at me.
I was waiting for him to try something. Kiss me or grope me like most men did at the end of a first date.
But he didn’t. He just looked. Not leered, which again was atypical.
And I told myself that he was hungover and it really wasn’t a date. Because it made me feel… a little… insecure, I guess.
I have been beautiful all my life. I expect men to treat me a certain way. So when Weston Conrad didn’t meet those expectations I was thrown.
Instead, he said, “Thank you.”
And I said, my heart beating faster than it should, “For what?”
“Saving me.” Then he turned away and walked off.
“What’s your name?” I called after him.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, never looking back. “I know yours.”
He was waiting for me after my four o’clock class that afternoon, looking more handsome and more put-together.
“Miss Arias,” he said, when I noticed him leaning against the wall as the people poured out of the auditorium. “Can I interest you in a coffee?”
I was more put-together as well. The night before was one for the books in my little world too. I had just had a fight with an ex and I was questioning everything about my life when I stumbled upon Weston Conrad. I was angry that a man would make me question things that should be certain. I was angry that I had let myself be controlled and manipulated into being someone I wasn’t.
But West smoothed all those wrinkles over. He was like a balm on a burn or a soothing tea before bed.
We talked over coffee. I got his name, of course. He already knew mine. Coffee turned into dinner, turned into drinks.
And even though I should’ve felt dirty for moving on to another man so quickly, I didn’t. The whole thing felt like fate.
And then… everything fell apart. Again, and again, and again.
I pull myself out of the past with a shake of my head. Weston is walking down the beach of Virginia Key and I’m relaxing under an umbrella, a big straw hat giving me cover. He’s dressed for a business trip and I’m immediately grateful I didn’t opt for casual wear either. I can’t see his eyes because he’s wearing dark streamlined sunglasses.
His tan slacks are pressed and crisp, accentuated with a brown belt. The dress shirt is white, sleeves rolled up like he’s about to get his hands dirty, and the tie…
Well, my heart skips a beat when I see the tie. It’s a light purple. Lavender, actually. Which is my color and that tells me something.
He’s been thinking about me.
This morning. When he got dressed, he was thinking about me.
Get it together, Victoria.
I almost laugh. If Weston Conrad was thinking about me, it was not in a flattering way. It’s far more likely that he spent the night cursing my name and he reached for that tie unconsciously.
I’m going to steal this contract from him and he knows it.
Chapter Six - Weston
“Vlad?” I ask the pilot as I make my way onto the beach and towards the sea plane. What kind of guy is called Vlad in Miami? Well, if he’s Pax’s friend, you never know. The guy is probably some international criminal. “Are you Vlad?” I call again when the guy ignores me.
He looks up from whatever he’s doing to his seaplane and squints his eyes. “That’s me,” he says, in a perfect American accent. He looks a little bit familiar.
Well, at least he’s not some displaced Romanian.
“I’m Weston Conrad. We spoke last night.” I pause to look him over. Why does he look so familiar? “Have I met you before?”
Vlad wipes his hand on his jeans and extends it. We shake as he says, “Nope, never seen you before in my life. Nice to meet you. We’ll get started as soon as the other guest arrives.”
“Other guest? This is a private charter, Mr.… Vlad.”
“I told Pax I’d take other clients since this was a favor. And I have one. Here she comes now.”
“She?” But I know who it is the moment before I turn and look in the direction he’s pointing.
Victoria Arias’ long dark hair is billowing out behind her, her heels clasped in her fingertips, swinging as she walks across the sand to meet us. She’s wearing a silk lavender shirt that ripples in the ocean breeze, giving me… and Vlad… a nice peek at her matching bra between the buttons.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask.
“This was the only Sandcastle Cay charter available, Weston. Do you really think I didn’t know where Wallace Arlington would be today?”
“You two know each other?” Vlad asks.
“Yes,” we say together, sneering the word with equal amounts of contempt.
God, just what the fuck?
“Back off, Victoria. This is my contract and you know it.”
“It’s not,” she says, flipping her hair in that way that drives me crazy. “We’re vying for it, Weston. The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the sooner you come to terms with the fact that I will be the one who gets this contract when this is all over.”
“Like hell.” Goddammit.
That bitch. “No,” I say, the word rumbling out like a growl. “Everything is fine.”
“Good,” he says. “Stow your… oh, you don’t have any gear.” Vlad turns to look at Victoria and notices she has no gear either. “You’re not staying overnight?”
“No,” we say together.
“Day trip only, I told you that last night,” I say. “It’s a one-day corporate event on Sandcastle Cay. I’ll only be an hour. You can just wait.”
“I’m not waiting,” Vlad says. “I have clients on another cay who need a ride back this afternoon. I’m gonna head over there, get lunch and a drink with them, then fly them back to Miami.”
“Pick me up on the way home,” Victoria says. “I’ll be ready.”
“I won’t have room, Miss Arias. This is a four-passenger plane and there are three of them plus luggage.”
“So we’re just going to be stuck out there?”
“I can come back. But it won’t be until late afternoon.”
“Fine, that will work,” I say.
“Good,” Vlad says. Then he winks at Victoria and points to the co-pilot seat. “You can sit next to me if this guy creeps you out. We’re gonna land during low tide today, so the beaches will be nice for whatever you have going on out there. Perfect, actually.”
Victoria smiles that beautiful smile and says, “Why, thank you, Vlad. I think I’ll take you up on that. And thanks for the tip about the tides.” She slips those high heels back on and makes a big show of getting in the plane and crossing her legs.
I get in the back and pretend that the blatant flirting going on up front isn’t pissing me off. She’s doing it on purpose. In fact, I think he’s doing it on purpose too.
It’s one day, Conrad. One day and then you’ll get the contract signed and never have to see Victoria Arias again.
“Are we stopping at customs?” I yell once we are taxiing on the water.