His Heart's Revenge (49th Floor Novels) (5 page)

Chapter Six

When Alexander got home late Monday night, he found David shooting the breeze with Monty, the night concierge.

“Hello,” he said, drawing both men’s attention.

David turned and smiled. “Hey.”

“Did we have plans?” Alexander asked, hoping he hadn’t messed up. Usually Derek reminded him about social obligations, especially if he knew Alexander was digging in for a long night at the office, as he had been that evening.

“Nope,” said David. “Just thought I’d pop by. Did you not get my texts?”

David was, generally speaking, the perfect non-boyfriend. He was gorgeous, but more importantly, he was undemanding. They had fun together when they were both in town. They kept things casual.

Or so Alexander had thought. But “popping by” unannounced wasn’t casual. It felt a little too much like boyfriend behavior.

Alexander pulled out his personal phone. Though there was nothing in bank policy mandating that personal business be kept off company phones—especially among senior execs who pretty much worked around the clock—he scrupulously kept his non-bank affairs confined to a separate phone. There were a bunch of texts from David, as well as a missed call from his mother. He
hated
missing calls from his mom. She’d had a bout of breast cancer fifteen years ago, and though it hadn’t been invasive, and seemed to have been conquered with a lumpectomy and radiation, he couldn’t help feeling like every sneeze portended doom, every call bad news.

And worse than missing his mom’s call, he had also missed one from Johan Petrusic.

It wasn’t like him to just forget to look at his phone for an entire day. And how the hell had he forgotten he’d left a message for Johan this morning? He’d been on edge lately, which was stupid because everything was going swimmingly at the bank.

Which meant he was on edge because of Cary Bell.

Which was not acceptable.

“I brought take-out,” David said, holding up bags from McEwan’s, a high-end grocery store not far from Alexander’s building.

Which also felt a little too presumptuous. “What if I hadn’t come home?” Alexander asked.

David shrugged. “More for me.”

Well, shit. It was possible he was overthinking this. He had a goddamned model holding a bag of what was almost certainly his favorite braised short ribs that would be consumed before—or maybe even after—said model blew him.

“Good-night, Monty,” Alexander said as he and David headed for his elevator—as the only occupant of the top floor of the building, he had his own. He should just give David a key. Or give Monty the authority to take him up. It would make things much easier logistically. But if he was being honest, he didn’t want to give David a key. He wasn’t the sort of person who gave guys keys to his place, and, frankly, he was getting that itchy feeling of being boxed in.

But what was he going to do about it? Nothing at the moment. Because Alexander had performed a cost-benefit analysis, as he did with pretty much every scenario he encountered. Yes, he could have claimed other plans this evening, and his non-boyfriend would have gotten the message. But that would have meant no braised short ribs. No blow jobs.

And, worse, it would have meant being alone with his thoughts.

David made for the kitchen as soon as they entered the condo. Alexander stood in the darkened entryway and listened to the sound of take-out being unwrapped and plates and cutlery being fetched from cupboards and drawers. He’d been thinking of David as a distraction from his out-of-control mind, but there were ways to achieve oblivion that didn’t involve other people, and suddenly, he just wanted to have a drink or several and go to bed. For the purposes of sleeping. In the dark, alone. But even if he could dispense with David, he still had to call Johan back. “I need to make a quick call,” he said, heading for his bedroom on the other end of the condo.

“Sure,” David called from the kitchen, ever agreeable. “Take your time.”

Alexander shut the door and turned on his white noise machine before scrolling back through his phone to locate the call from Haywood & Petrusic Investigations. Johan Petrusic was who you used when you needed someone to do some discreet poking around your company. Johan had conducted dozens of investigations inside the bank. He’d uncovered a bout of insider trading. He’d found a ring of white-collar thieves stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars of electronics. All the while, he had reported directly and solely to Alexander and had never breathed a word about his findings. He was paid well enough not to, of course, but beyond that, Alexander trusted him absolutely.

“Mr. Evangelista?” said Johan, who picked up after one ring even though it was nearly ten o’clock. That was part of why Johan was the best in the business.

“Johan. I need you to look into someone for me.”

“Of course. Who is it?”

Alexander paused. He was going to win Liu on his merits. On Dominion’s merits. He truly believed that. After spending the weekend reliving his confrontation with Cary in the parking garage after the awards gala, he’d called Johan first thing this morning, thinking that a little extra insurance might ease his mind. If there was any dirt to be had on Cary Bell, Johan would find it. But now he wondered what would happen if Johan actually turned anything up. Would it taint his victory somehow?

He took a deep breath.

“His name’s Cary Bell.”

“Which department?” Johan asked. “Can we get your in-house IT on board, or is this fully on the down low?”

Alexander hesitated before saying, “He doesn’t work at the bank.”

“Okay,” Johan said. “So what are you after?”

Alexander walked to the window and looked out over the sparkling high rises of downtown Toronto. He was literally at the top of the city. Did he want to stay that way or not?

“Anything. Anything that can be used against him.”

“Hey,” said David, as Alexander entered the kitchen. David smiled sheepishly from where he was kneeling and sweeping up broken glass. “I’m sorry. I’m sure this glass cost a fortune. I was just going to pour you some wine.”

“No problem.” He was actually glad the glass had broken and delayed David, because Alexander had a particular bottle of Barolo in mind to soothe his jangled nerves, whereas David would have just grabbed one at random. He pulled his desired bottle out of his under-counter wine cellar and put back the one David had selected.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about Paris?” David said, straightening.

“Were you in Paris?” How long had it been since he’d seen David? He couldn’t quite remember.

David looked at him quizzically. “No. But they’re booking now for Fashion Week in June.”

The sentence was delivered in such a way that Alexander surmised he had been told about this before. So he said, “Right. And? How’d you do?” Alexander appreciated clothing in the sense that it was powerful. It sent messages. You could use it to communicate things to people. To be crude about it, clothes could make money. So he dressed very carefully. He was well acquainted with the personal shopper at Holt Renfrew, a woman with impeccable taste who understood the messages he was trying to communicate and steered him accordingly. And though he understood in theory the notion of haute couture as an art form, he had a hard time keeping on top of David’s high-fashion adventures.

“I booked one show.”

“Congratulations.”

“One is not good. Dior isn’t having me back this year, nor is Saint Laurent. The only thing I’m booked for is Rick Owens.”

Alexander popped the cork on the wine and poured David a glass. Now they would have to talk about the fashion industry for a while. Even though he didn’t really do long-term boyfriends, he did try to make sure he was actually friends with guys he slept with on an ongoing basis. And sometimes that meant listening to shit you didn’t care about. Sighing, he poured himself a generous glass and took a large swallow before asking. “Who is Rick Owens?”

“Exactly.”

“So what happened?”

“Twenty-six happened. I’m getting too old. I
am
too old.”

“Well, it’s modeling. You had to know you were going to age out at some point.” He was being unnecessarily gruff. What David wanted right now was a sympathetic ear. He understood that, he just…didn’t want to be that ear. Which made him an asshole, he realized, but this was why he’d given David the “we’re not going to be boyfriends” speech at their second hook up—and why he’d been so pleased when David had whole-heartedly agreed with him.

“I guess there will always be catalogue work.” David struck an intentionally exaggerated pose. “LL Bean is full of gray-haired dudes putting up tents.” Huffing a self-deprecating laugh, he dished up a plate of food and slid it across the island to Alexander.

“Or you could do something else.”

“What? What else could I do, Alexander?”

Alexander looked up at David’s uncharacteristically sharp tone. He searched his mind for a suggestion. But he didn’t know. Had no idea, really, what David might do, what skills and interests he might be able to leverage into a new career. “I guess you’re lucky in that you don’t need to work.” David was rich. Not as rich as Alexander, but he was comfortable enough. He was smart about money. Not in the way Cary Bell was smart about money, but unlike many who came into riches in their youth, David didn’t live beyond his means, had socked away quite the nest egg, and had benefited from some strategic advice from Alexander.

“Right,” said David, obviously giving up on waiting for Alexander to answer him. “Let’s eat. I’m sorry I’m being pissy.”

“No worries,” Alexander said, glad to be done with the conversation.

David came around to Alexander’s side of the island and rubbed the back of Alexander’s neck. “Whoa. Your neck and shoulders are like rocks.” He increased the pressure. “Bad day?”

“You could say that.”

“What happened?”

Cary Bell happened.
He thought of the smell of Cary, of the mint-mixed-with-coffee that had filled his senses when he’d leaned over to speak into Cary’s ear at the awards dinner, or, more accurately, when he’d leaned over to
threaten
Cary Bell. Alexander shook off David’s hands. “Let’s just eat.”

“We could.” Undaunted, David put his mouth on the back of Alexander’s neck where his fingers had just been. “Or we could fuck first. Or if you insist on eating dinner, we could multitask.”

David started to fall to his knees, but Alexander put out a hand to prevent his descent. He planted a quick, dry peck on his lips. “I’m sorry. I’m horrible company tonight.” His earlier fantasy of a dark, silent room exerted itself again, stronger this time. “Can I take a rain check? I really just want to eat and go to sleep.”

David blinked. Probably because Alexander wasn’t in the habit of refusing sex. “Sure.” He picked up his plate and walked over to the informal den at the back of the kitchen. “I’m going to check on the game, then, if you don’t mind.”

Alexander did mind. That had been David’s cue to leave. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to be enough a jerk to actually kick him out. He watched David settle in at his sofa, click on the TV, and pull up a saved customized channel list called “David” that he’d created in order to drill down into the specific channels he liked. He looked very much at home.

All right. Alexander officially had a problem.

His phone rang. Sara. God. Would this day never end?

“What is it?” he said, not bothering with a greeting.

“I just came from drinks with Edwina Campbell.”

“And?” Alexander took a deep drink of his wine, trying to think if he was supposed to know Edwina Campbell.

“She’s on the board of Biodentics.” Alexander set down his drink. Biodentics was a Toronto-based startup that Don Liu had purchased a year or so ago, probably in anticipation of his move to town.

“She had dinner at the Lius’ new place last night, and she reports that Liu’s daughter Linda said her father was surprisingly impressed with Cary Bell.” Sara paused for a moment before continuing. “Those were her words—surprisingly impressed.”

“God
damn
it.”

David looked over from the sofa.

“What do we do now?” Sara asked.

We fight dirty, that’s what we do. We wait for Johan to work his magic.
“Nothing,” he said. “We keep doing what we’re doing, taking every opportunity to demonstrate to Liu that we’re the best place for him.”

“I have some new numbers I was going to run past you for the next meeting with Liu. You want me to email them over now?”

“No. Send them tomorrow.” Alexander was exhausted, and it was only Monday. “Right now I am going to bed.” He hung up and glanced at David, who was still looking at him instead of his basketball game. “To sleep,” Alexander clarified.

…

Cary should have been working. Word had gotten out that he’d met with Liu, and that alone had brought a bunch of new clients to his door. And speaking of the billionaire, he needed to do a shitload more prep in order to get a package of requested information to Liu.

So why, then, was he at Edward’s? Or, more to the point, why had he come here every night since the Women in Finance gala? He was smart enough to know he couldn’t drink his anxieties away. But he had to get out of his head, and nothing was working.

It was one thing to threaten war with Alex Evangelista, another to actually
be
in a war with Alex Evangelista. Cary had no clue what he was supposed to be doing. He hadn’t seen his nemesis since the Women in Finance awards gala a week ago. He could only assume that as one of the other people wooing Liu, Alex had another meeting with the billionaire coming up, too. But short of making himself as ready as possible for his, what could Cary do?

Nothing.

So why the hell was he so worked up?

“Hey.”

It was Marcus, and he was, uncharacteristically, alone. Cary forced himself from his thoughts of Alex and moved his briefcase so his cousin could sit at the stool next to him.

“What’s up?”

Cary shrugged because it was impossible to answer that question in a way that made sense.