line every time he got a bagel, Carol always reacted. Flushed, flustered and yet she always hustled for him, which was the ultimate goal. He didn’t care for standing in line.
Quicker than it should have been possible, she returned with his order. “I put the bagel on the heat when I saw you two down,” she said, her voice just loud enough for him to hear.
“That’s what I love about you, Carol,” he said, handing her a ten, which included a generous tip. “You’re a treasure.”
She sniffed and touched her hair. “Thanks, Mr. Bennet.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
He was out of there in two minutes and into the building proper. He leased an entire floor of the high-rise. The lower floors were mostly concerned with banking, but the upper reaches had a number of offices that were unique to the area. Movie production companies, advertising firms that catered to the movie business, a casting office, two accounting firms that handled motion picture clients. It was showbiz all the way up here. His firm, for example, handled stars, film equipment firms, production companies, one of the smaller studios and three different commercial houses. They also had some sports clients, a few publishing companies and five, no six, authors.
He opened the doors to the front office, decorated to the nines by a leading Hollywood set designer. The artwork alone had cost him more than he’d earned his first two years in the business. The space smelled of the fresh flowers that were delivered weekly and that indescribable scent of money. Nothing about his business came cheap, which was the way he liked things.
He carried his bagel and coffee down the hall to his office. Here, on the twentieth floor, he was rewarded with a phenomenal view of the city. From Rodeo Drive to the Hollywood Hills, on a clear day it was the picture of fine living. Sadly, there weren’t all that many clear days.
He sat behind his desk and turned on his computer. As he ate, he scanned his e-mails. Several needed quick responses, but most of them could wait. He was careful about his response timing. His clients tended to get greedy if he jumped on their queries.
A few minutes later, fortified by his admittedly meager breakfast, he slipped on his Bluetooth and rang up Autumn’s cell phone. Three rings, then her lovely, soft, “Hello.”
“Hey, beautiful.”
“Paul,” she said, and in that single word, she said everything. She was glad to hear his voice, pleased he’d called her beautiful and a little too delighted that it had all been on her terms.
“How’s Rome?”
“Hot.”
“Poor thing.”
“It’s not so bad. There’s a pool in the hotel. I was about to get into my suit.”
“Suit? Isn’t that a bit of a stretch? That bikini of yours is no bigger than four Post-it notes.”
She laughed, and just as it always did, the sound made his dick twitch.
“I know exactly what you should do,” he said. “Use the video on your cell. Let me watch you strip.”
Autumn sighed. “I have to hand it to you, Paul. You don’t give up easily.”
“Damn right I don’t.”
“I like that. I do. But I need to change the subject.”
“Oh?”
“I have a favor to ask you.”
He hoped it involved lingerie and champagne. “Ask away.” He swung his chair around so he could view the city, the worker bees swarming to the hive. In New York, most everyone wore black. Dreary, even if the clothes themselves were daring. Not so in the City of Angels. It was warm today, and the colors on the people were as vibrant as the flowers lining Rodeo Drive.
“My parents are celebrating their fiftieth anniversary on Friday,” Autumn said. “Only I’m going to be here.”
“Okay,” he said, his attention back on the conversation.
“The thing is, my sister doesn’t have a date.”
“Your sister.”
“Uh-huh. Gwen. She says she doesn’t care about going solo, but I know it’s not true. I was wondering…”
“If she’s anything like you, I’d be honored to be her escort.”
Autumn laughed again. “No, not you. But you’ve got to know someone who wouldn’t mind.”
“Mind? Why would they mind?”
She sighed, one of those frustration deals complete with sound. “I don’t want to be mean or anything, but Gwen’s not exactly…She’s very smart.”
“Ah. She has a good personality.”
“Exactly.”
“How good?”
“She’s not a troll or anything, but, well, you know. On the plus side, people seem to think she’s interesting and funny.”
“Got it. Not a problem. I have just the guy in mind. What’s her number?”
“Don’t have him call. Tell him to show up at her apartment. I’ll let her know to expect him. Oh, and it’s formal.”
Autumn gave him the address and the rest of the details. He jotted it all down dutifully, even as he was busy counting the points he would earn for doing this little favor. He’d come through for her with shining colors. She’d have to say thanks. He could think of a hundred ways.
“You’re a sweetie pie, Paul. I mean it. The anniversary party is a big deal. Thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You will. You were the first person I thought of to help out.”
“Good. That’s the way it should be.”
She laughed, and somehow he knew the conversation was over, that there would be no video message sent to his phone, no more teasing on the international call. That was how Autumn did things.
“I’ve got to go if I’m going to catch that swim.”
“When are you coming back?”
“Sunday.”
“Can’t wait,” he said, and he knew that any other woman would have melted to those words, but not her. Not Autumn.
FOUR-FORTY ON FRIDAY afternoon and the office was shifting down to first gear. Paul had finished his last call ten minutes ago, and was now jotting down notes for the week to follow. He was looking forward to the evening. He had his monthly poker game, something he relished. No women were involved, only beer, fine cigars and the kind of raucous bullshit that could only come from a bunch of guys who’d known each other since college.
When Sam Ensler stepped inside his office, Paul’s happy buzz died a quick death.
“Don’t do this to me, Sam.”
“You know I wouldn’t if I had a choice.”
“The party is tonight.”
Sam, his go-to man in charge of literary PR, seemed miserable. He always looked kind of miserable, hence his nickname of Eeyore, but even Paul could see this was serious.
“I’ve got to go to Michigan,” Sam said. “My mother broke her hip. She’s having surgery in the morning.”
“Shit.”
Sam nodded. “There’s no one else. She’s eighty-five.”
“I understand. Go take care of her. Take the time you need.”
“I’m really sorry, Paul.”
“No problem. What time was Gwen expecting you?”
“Seven.”