“You’re one of the four most important people in my life other than my family. I value your opinion.” Though I’m grateful that she’s dropping this issue, I usually do appreciate her input.
“Really?” She leans forward, her elbows braced on her desk. “Who are the other three?”
I reply without missing a beat. “My secretary, my assistant, and my unofficial head of security.” That’s as good a title for Jordan as anything.
Norma frowns. “Isn’t it sad that they’re all on your payroll?”
“It’s not sad. It’s the way I like it.” I brush invisible lint from my pant leg, not meeting her eyes. I don’t find my relationships sad. I’m content. But is that how I want to live the rest of my days? Merely content?
Her frown remains. “Did I see Celia Werner here the other day?”
I don’t like Norma’s concern about my social life or lack thereof. It gives her an excuse to play matchmaker and I’m not interested in that at all. So I let her believe what she wants about Celia. It’s easier. “Yes, she was here.”
“You’re not redecorating anything right now, are you?”
I don’t answer, but my expression tells her that I’m not. It’s the only work-related reason that Celia would be around—if she were handling a redesign of one of the offices.
Norma assumes as I guessed she would. “As much as I’m happy to see you with a woman in your life, I really wish it wasn’t her.”
Now that’s what’s sad—that Celia is the woman in my life. That my past has tied me to the person who I despise and look down on more than anyone…other than myself.
I stand, unwilling to continue the conversation. “Thank you for your help, Norma.”
I leave quickly, as if by escaping the discussion I could escape the reality that the discussion centered on. But there’s no escape from this reality. I’ve made my bed. Time to lie.
***
It’s near ten that evening when I pull my car into the lot at Columbus Circle. My grip tightens around the steering wheel. I clutch on, pouring all my aggression into my grasp. Then I let go. The action helps center me. I’m anxious and I need to burn off some tension.
Really what I need is to go home and run a few miles on the treadmill. But I’m here already. So I get out of my Maybach and head toward the front doors of the club.
I’ve been to The Sky Launch twice before now. Both times were during the day, once with the seller and another time with my appraiser. I’ve never seen it in operation nor have I met any of the employees. Before I do, I want the opportunity to observe them in their environment.
That’s my excuse for this visit. It’s bullshit. I want to observe Alayna in her environment. I don’t give a f**k about anyone else. The schedule posted to the wall in the staff room indicated that she was taking the next week off. Tomorrow is her graduation, so I assume she’s using the time to celebrate. Tonight is my only chance to see her at work. When she returns, the transfer of ownership will be complete, and I will be her boss.
It’s a weeknight and not yet summer, but there’s a line outside the club. I manage to get in quickly—an expensive Armani suit is an automatic ticket into most anywhere. Inside, I spend a few minutes surveying the dance floor. The DJ is good and the layout works well. I glance up at the bubble rooms that circle the second floor. They’re the highlight of the club. With a little emphasis, they’d draw an even bigger crowd. In fact, it’s not hard to imagine how well the place could do with a few tweaks.
I catch myself brainstorming and stop. That’s for Alayna. Marketing was her area of interest at school. After her presentation, I have a feeling her ideas for the club would blow mine out of the water.
Thinking about Alayna and her ideas, I can’t wait any longer. I have to find her. The schedule I saw indicated she was to be tending the first floor bar. I make my way through the crowd that thickens as I close in toward the counter.
I spot her when I’m still twenty feet away.
In the days that followed the symposium—weeks now, three to be exact—I’d often wondered if I’d imagined the effect that Alayna Withers had on me. My sanity isn’t exactly indisputable, after all, and the way I’ve obsessed over and transfixed myself on this stranger is indeed crazy.
But even across this distance, with the music blaring so loud that I can’t hear her voice and the lights so dim I can’t make out the details of her features—even now, she pulls at me with a magnetic force that is neither explainable nor rational. My eyes cling to her as though she were the only glow in a dark room. And isn’t she?
She’s swept away in her work. The way she shuffles around her fellow staff members to serve her customers—it’s a dance, beautiful and mesmerizing. The smiles and nods she shares with those around her are so engaging that I’m instantly jealous of every recipient. I want her smiles. I want her nods. I want to engage her.
It’s more than my competitive nature at hand here. It has nothing to do with my past games or experiments, though the feeling of exhilaration is identical. It’s perplexing and I’m not a man who’s easily confused.
I tear my focus away long enough to make it to an empty seat at the far end of the bar. Then my gaze returns to her. My constant staring will likely be attributed to a thirsty customer trying to signal the wait staff, but frankly I don’t care what Alayna thinks of me just as long as she thinks of me at all. I yearn for her attention with such a deep ache. Yearn for the instant that she looks at me, connects with me. I’ll turn down any service that isn’t from her. I need to know if I have any of the effect on her that she has on me.
As I watch her, one of the other bartenders—a man that I imagine is David Lindt, the manager of the bar—gathers the staff around him. Soon he’s distributed shots and all are partaking.
If I were really here to spy on my staff, this would be the episode that might grab my attention. Drinking behind the bar is not an acceptable way to run a club. However, though I can’t hear exactly what’s being said from my side of the counter, the cheers and hoots seem to indicate a special occasion.
From the way everyone’s focused on Alayna, I gather it’s about her.
“Woo hoo!” she screams, as if to confirm my thoughts. “Goddamn, that’s nice!”
She’s fun, I realize. Besides being smart and responsible, she knows how to enjoy herself. It’s so different from me, so foreign that it should be a complete turn-off. Instead, it intrigues me more. As if that were possible.