Last Call Page 15
Qasim tosses his empty wrapper into the garbage next to my desk.
“No, because from everything I’ve heard about him, the guy’s a first-class douche. He’s old money, and acts like it.”
I’m embarrassed to admit I thought so too. And yes, Hayden does enjoy some of the finer things in life. But I wouldn’t call him a snob. Not at all.
“He’s not,” I explain. “I mean, sure, the fitted suits and the way he tosses money around to get the best tables . . .” I stop. “But there’s so much more to him than that.”
Qasim looks at his phone, presumably for the time, and sits back.
“Such as?”
For one, he’s beyond amazing in bed. But I keep that bit to myself.
“He’s charming, of course. But also extremely loyal. And honest. There’s a soft side to him that is really surprising. And—” How do I put this? “—he gets me. Like really wants to know me so he can . . .”
I realize how corny I’m sounding, but the words keep coming.
“Lift me up. Or something.”
I expected Qasim to laugh at that. I sound lame. But he hasn’t even quirked a smile. In fact, he looks deadly serious.
“What?” I ask.
He’s giving me a funny look. “Holy shit.”
“What? You’re freaking me out.”
“Oh, Ada, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry? For what? What the hell, Qasim, you’re killing me here.”
Qasim leans forward, his caring brown eyes trained right on me, kind of like Hayden does all the time. Unwavering. And super serious, which is unlike him.
“You’ve had the misfortune to fall in love with your damn sponsor.”
“People don’t fall in love in a weekend.”
“OK.”
“I hardly know him.”
“Doesn’t sound like the case to me.”
I stop arguing, recognizing that even I don’t believe what I’m saying. I’m mostly parroting those things because they sound right. As if they should be.
“I tried, really hard, not to give in to this.”
OK, maybe I didn’t try that hard.
“After last time—”
“You screwed another one of your sponsors?”
“God, no.”
Qasim is being deliberately obtuse. But I know he’s teasing now.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I do. And I know you’ve beaten yourself up over it for too long.” Qasim stands. “Don’t beat yourself up over this too. The heart wants what the heart wants.”
A bubble of hope wells up inside me.
“You don’t think I’m making the worst mistake of my life?”
Qasim grabs his phone from my desk and gives me a look of pity. “I didn’t say that.”
The bubble bursts.
“But I don’t think that matters now. You’ve set your sails. Now it’s time to navigate the course, my friend.”
He starts to leave, but I realize we talked about me, about Hayden, the whole time.
“I didn’t even get to ask about your weekend.”
Qasim gives me a secret smile. “It was good, but not that good. No worries. Gotta get back to work. Catch you later.”
“OK, and about all of this . . .”
“You don’t have to ask. It’s in the vault.”
He pretends to zip his lips and leaves.
His words still ring in my ears. He’s right, about all of it. This whole situation may be hazardous to my professional health, but the heart wants what the heart wants.
And mine wants Hayden Tanner.
28
Hayden
I’m nervous as hell.
There’s not a pretentious bone in Ada’s body. I know she’d be just as happy hanging out with a sandwich from Corner Deli in my apartment, but I don’t want her to feel like we need to stay hidden forever. Or that being cautious needs to be boring.
The car speaker hums.
“Shall I pull over, sir? Or loop around?”
Ada’s waiting outside of her apartment for us to pick her up. Normally, I’d get out and have Henry loop around so I could escort her to the car. But if it’s discretion she wants, it’s discretion she’ll get.
“She’s already waiting outside. You can pull over.”
“Yes, sir.”
As we turn onto her street, I can see her standing in front of her building. I told her to dress for dinner. From here, all I can see is bright yellow, but as we approach, Ada comes into view.
Absolutely stunning.
She’s wearing a sleeveless, drapey dress with a turtleneck collar. Waves of material kiss her legs. As I follow them down to her nude, strappy heels, I find myself fantasizing about unwrapping her like a present.
The Alps have nothing on this woman.
Hair loose, a cross between boho and sexy elegance, she slides into the back seat as her doorman closes the door behind her.
“I’d have come out for you, but . . .”
I don’t want to talk. I want to kiss her senseless. But this is still new for us, and I don’t want to overwhelm her. So I take her hands, closing the distance between us, and lean over and kiss her on the cheek.
Not enough.
Without words, I kiss her again, this time just behind the ear. Then once more on her neck as Ada gives me better access.
“Mmm, I could do this all night,” she murmurs.
Finally, I sit up straight.
“Hi.”
“That’s quite a hello.” She says it with a smile that I hope to see all evening.
I run my thumb against her palm. “I’d give you more if I could.”
She’s about to say something when Henry slams on the brakes. A few seconds later, he buzzes back. “Sorry about that.”
I know he’s curious about her. He’ll tell my father eventually, but Dad doesn’t know our RPM by name. Besides, part of me wants to introduce them. I press a button, and the privacy screen comes down.
“Henry, this is Ada. Ada, my driver, Henry.”
Ever the professional, he gives Ada a cursory glance.
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. . . .”
“Ada will do,” I interject. I’m not taking any chances with Henry’s sleuthing skills, just in case.
“Pleased to meet you, Henry. I like your visor clip,” she says about his silver guardian angel.
“Thank you. It was a gift from my daughter.”
“I have one too.”
Come to think of it, she does.
“A gift from my mother.” She smiles warmly through the divide. “How old is your daughter?”
I listen, content, as she and Henry exchange pleasantries. When they finish, I put the barrier back up. Ada eyes it curiously.
“I’ve never seen anything like that before. I mean, maybe a see-through screen or something, but nothing so intense.”
We’re still holding hands, and it feels so damn good after two days apart.
“It’s a mirror tint. He can’t see back here.”
Ada’s eyes flash.
“Dirty girl.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“I was hoping,” I admit. “But now that you’ve confirmed it, I’m really looking forward to the ride back.”
For once, there’s not much traffic, and we’re too close to our destination to take advantage of the privacy now. But I’m turned on enough that the rest of the ride is going to be very uncomfortable.
“I like it when you look at me like that,” she says.
“Good. Because I like the way you look back.”
My arousal almost painful, I decide a change in topic might help me get to the restaurant a bit easier.
“How was your day?”
She accepts the change easily. “Good, I spent most of it reading reports . . .”
She trails off, and I instantly know why. She must have been reading reports about our drug. And since we’ve decided not to discuss our applicat
ion in any way, Ada shrugs her shoulders instead.
“Sorry.”
I continue rubbing her palm.
“Don’t apologize. I have to learn to ask different questions.”
Thankfully, I’m somehow able to get my boner in check by the time Henry buzzes us to say we’re close.
“Where the heck are we going, anyway?” Ada asks, her eyes shining. “I mean, I know we’re in Brooklyn, but what is this place?”
Following my instructions, Henry pulls through the alley, stopping in front of a door that opens as if on cue. Or as if Henry told Trina we were almost here.
“You’ll see.”
When we get out, she’s waiting for us at the door.
“Hayden Tanner.”
The owner of the hotel, a handsome woman in her early seventies, greets me by kissing both of my cheeks. She looks at Ada, so I introduce them.
“Ada”—I don’t use her last name—“this is Trina Palucci, an old friend of my mother’s. Trina, Ada is obviously the special guest I told you about.”
“Welcome, welcome,” she says as she ushers us into the kitchen. Once we’re off the street, Trina takes Ada’s measure, although she does it politely. Discreetly. And then she starts guiding us through the controlled chaos of a restaurant during dinner service.
She doesn’t ask why we’ve come in through the back door or why there’s a need for secrecy. Given the amount of money I’m paying her for our visit, she won’t even mention this to my mother. We never spoke of it, but my request for discretion was quite clear.
“This way.”
We get to an elevator, and Trina puts in her key.
“I hope you have a lovely evening,” she says as the elevator opens. “Do give your mother my regards when you speak to her next.”
I won’t be doing that, at least not until I’m comfortable with my mother asking questions, but I agree. And I thank her as Ada says goodbye.
Once we’re alone in the elevator, Ada gives me a curious glance.
“You’ll see.”
I take her hand again, cursing the quick ride, and wait for the door to open.
Rooftop 40 is one of the most exclusive rooftop restaurants in the city.
“Oh my . . .”
Her exclamation trails off, and she releases my hand so she can stroll around the empty space. Empty because the whole thing is reserved for us.
Clear globe lights are everywhere. An infinity pool off to the side makes it look as if the water flows right over the roof, into the Manhattan skyline. I watch as she takes in the tables, though just one of them is set, right at the edge of the pool.
“I wonder how much there is of the city that I never knew existed?” she asks in wonder.
I’m about to pull her toward me when a waiter appears.
Two sangrias—Ada convinced me—and a shared lobster roll and steak dinner later, I’m full. And blissfully content. Part of me wishes we could stay up here forever.
“I wish I didn’t have to work tomorrow,” she says, echoing my thoughts. “I can’t believe you did this, on a Tuesday.”
“I worried it would be a little over the top,” I admit.
Ada splays out her hands. “Over the top? This? I mean, if it were filled with people, it would be spectacular. But the fact that you rented out the entire restaurant? I can’t imagine why you’d think it was over the top.”
She’s joking, of course, but it’s obvious she’s pleased. I’m more relieved than she realizes.
“Hayden, you told me to ask for what I wanted, right?”
I nod. “I did.”
“Will you do the same?”
“Of course.”
“I mean really. If you’re worried about offending me with your ridiculous lavishness, then just say, ‘Ada, I want you to tell me if it’s too much.’ If you want to know what I’m thinking, ask. If you want anything, need anything, wish for anything, ask.”
She sees right through me, down to my very soul.
“You don’t need to pretend with me. Or try to impress me. Or worry what I think. I can tell you’ve done that your whole life, probably with every single person you’ve ever met. But you don’t have to do it with me.”
Our eyes lock, the candlelight on the table flickering between us. I see gold specks. I see concern. I see compassion. I see desire.
I see love.
How the hell did this happen so quickly?
“OK.”
It’s about all I can manage. Too many words want to tumble out. Words I have no right to say. So I focus on the least confusing of the dozens of emotions I feel for this woman.
I look down at my watch. It’s almost ten o’clock.
“Do you have to get going?” Ada asks.
“No.”
I stand, reaching my hand out.
She takes it.
“At ten o’clock, instead of being turned into a pumpkin . . .” I spin her around. Pushing her hair to the side, I undo her dress, relishing the sound of the zipper as it announces my intentions.
“Hayden, what exactly are you doing?” she asks, somewhere between scandalized and turned on.
It’s a cool night, for July. So I’m not surprised by the goosebumps on her arms, unless those are for me. I’ll go with the latter.
“At ten o’clock”—I begin to push the material of her dress forward on both sides, letting it drop to the ground; her bra is next—“the waitstaff has been advised we no longer need them for the evening.”
Unclasped, her bra falls to the ground too.
Only her thong remains. That I think I’ll take off in a more creative way. Walking around her, I take in the sight of Ada with the full view of the skyline behind her. If only I were a photographer.
My hands trace her body, her breasts, her waist and hips, as I sink to the ground. Kneeling in front of her, I bite the lace of her panties and tug with one finger, pulling them down.
“Oh. My. God.”
She steps out of them, totally nude.
“I would fuck you right this second,” I tell her, “but I’m saving that for the ride home.”
Her mouth drops open.
“‘The sweet pain of anticipation tells us we’re alive,’” I quote. And then add, “But I’ll make it up to you.”
I’ve played this out in my mind since the first course. Ada’s chair, positioned perfectly, becomes a footstool as I guide her leg up. Now, with perfect access, I make Ada the last course, relishing the whimpers coming from her mouth.
“If someone comes up . . . ,” she manages.
I pause for a second, looking up. Despite my earlier words, I’m not sure I’ll make it to the car. Ada Flemming staring down at me, framed by Manhattan, is without a doubt the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“They won’t, I promise.”
I’ve made sure of it.
As always, Ada trusts me. I know this because she doesn’t hold back, her hands grasping my hair, guiding me, as if I need guidance.
And she certainly doesn’t hold back as her scream floats through the open air, telling all of Brooklyn that she’s well pleased.
Good.
This is just the beginning.
“Jesus Christ, Ada.”
One look at her face, and I’m undressing and dragging her to the pool, desperately needing to cool off.
“It’s like bathwater,” she says in wonder.
I reach up to guide her into the pool—and onto me.
“Come here.”
Two days.
It’s inconceivable, as she gives herself over to me so completely, that it’s been just two days since we were last together.
How can I possibly go another two days?
One day?
One hour?
I can’t.
Which is a big fucking problem.
29
Hayden
“I know we said no work,” Enzo says as he puts the menu back on the table, “but you need to try this.”
I look around the increasingly familiar restaurant. For a Wednesday, Faustini’s is still pretty crowded.
Enzo slides the wine across the table.
“Taste it.”
“People are going to think you’re trying to drug me,” I comment as I swirl the deep red liquid around a bit.
“I thought you said we were months away?”
While our beers are ready for market, as soon as we have approval, the wine isn’t supposed to be ready yet.
“Just taste it.”
“Yes, boss.”
I do. My jaw drops as I put the glass down.
“Holy shit.”
His smile says it all.
“I can hardly taste it.”
What he’s done with this formula, created specifically for wine, took triple the amount of time for the beer.
“I know. A few more tweaks and we’re golden.”
I calculate in my head how much more quickly we can get the wine to market.
“You’re a fucking genius.”
Although we have a team of scientists, Enzo is extremely hands-on in the process, spending more time in the lab than in the office. We’re this far because he brought us here.
“I thought we were close last week, but I didn’t want to show you until I was sure.”
I slide the wine back just as the waitress approaches. She gives Enzo a funny look when he orders another glass of wine.
“Is there something wrong with that one?”
His smile is devilish. “Just the opposite.”
The poor girl is seriously confused.
“Nothing is wrong with it. He’s just decided to switch to Pinot Noir.” I hand her the glass. “Charge us for both.”
“I’m actually in the mood for Cab,” Enzo says when she walks away.
“OK, well why don’t you tell her the reason you need a new glass is that you just contaminated your wine with an unregulated substance?”
“Speaking of regulations . . .”
Enzo’s spent most of his week at the lab, so this is the first time we’ve sat down for a one-on-one conversation.
“Spill it.”
Sometimes, my own words just don’t feel sufficient, so I say, “‘When a heart insists on its destiny, miracles of coincidence bring the inevitable to pass.’”