01 No Sex
“No sex?” she replied.
“No sex.” he said. “Just dinner.”
“And if you’re wrong?” she said, crossing her arms across her chest.
He shrugged. “I’ll waive my fee.”
She raised a sculpted eyebrow. His fee had added a considerable sum to her budget and a considerable dent in her potential bonus. “So if your solutions are wrong, you’ll stay until they’re right?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets with a hint of a smirk. But he nodded. “Agreed,” he said. “On the condition that if I’m right, dinner includes a basic black dress.”
“I’m not sure you have the legs for a dress like that,” she fired back automatically.
“You haven’t seen my legs.”
She took a half step forward. “And I won’t if it’s just dinner. Or if you lose.”
He just smiled. And she caught herself smiling back.
She was flirting. She was actually playing his game. This was so impossibly dangerous.
Susan glanced through the large glass windows of the office and into the neighboring boardroom where VP’s circled like sharks. This wasn’t the time for games, especially dangerous ones. However, if he was right, then the project was back on schedule and maybe even ahead. He would have his money and be gone tomorrow. If he was wrong then she shaved money off the budget and into her bank account and he still had to help. The schedule would be in jeopardy but, thinking over his resume, even if he was wrong he was probably closer to a solution than anyone on her team. So she wasn’t going to lose. But she didn’t want him to win either.
Or did she? He waited for her decision with a smoldering confidence that was undeniably attractive if a bit annoying. And he was built. He dressed on the upper end of business casual and that hid it well but she could see it when he moved. He had the bearing of a soldier and the grace of a hunting animal.
“No sex,” she repeated even as a scenario or two flashed through her mind. “Just dinner.”
He nodded. “Just dinner.”
Should she feel objectified? Professionally threatened?
Maybe.
Or she could just play his game and enjoy it, win or lose.
“You know,” she said, taking a step closer. She wanted him to smell her perfume. “You could have just asked me out. If you just fixed my little problem, per your contract, I would have probably taken you out. Just to show my appreciation.”
He stepped closer and softly inhaled. It almost seemed primal in a way that set off a primal tingle in response. She tensed only slightly as she suppressed the tingle but she was sure he noticed and very sure he would notice a blush rising.
“I could have,” he said on a slow exhale. “But this is more interesting.”
“And do you do this with every client?”
He shook his head. “I normally work remotely. You paid extra to have me on site.”
“Yes, I did,” she said.
She pretended to think a while longer before she nodded. “Fine,” she said, feigning a measure of resignation. “If you’re right, dinner. No sex. And if you are wrong, then you waive your fee and I get you until I’m done.”
He gave a slight smile and nodded.
She waved to the computer and he stepped up beside her, punched in something cryptic into the command line and hit enter.
•
He drove with confidence. The car, a german something-or-other, purred and roared and owned the road beneath the orange sodium lights that flashed by overhead. He wasn’t speeding but he weaved through traffic instead of following the light flow. The top was down and music droned on about 1979. The crisp night air held just enough of a chill to make her appreciate the warm leather seats under her thighs. Her senses felt slightly assaulted by the moment but she found herself relaxing to the music as she kicked off her strappy heels and tucked one leg under another. She tilted her face up, closed her eyes and let the air caress her skin.
This was a memory in the making. Something she would think back to later with a particular fondness and she wasn’t entirely sure why. Nice cars did little to impress her. She preferred her truck. This song was a regular on her playlist. Maybe that had something to do with it.
She lowered her chin and let her head roll to the left to study him. He radiated focus and calm and she instantly decided that she felt safe. Between the confidence of the man and the performance of his machine, she found herself in a very safe place. She couldn’t remember a time when she could nestle in someone else’s confidence. It just didn’t happen. People needed her and that was fine but she so rarely found a place where she could just be safe and not think.
However.
“This isn’t your car, is it?” she asked.
He smiled and shook his head. “A loaner from friends here in town.”
It didn’t matter. How often in the chaos of her life did she get to feel safe? Even if it was a temporary illusion. She returned her gaze to the dim stars of the sky beyond the rhythmic pulse of orange sodium and fell back into her moment. Soon he exited the highway and took to the twisting roads and hairpin turns of the hills south of the city. Structures became more rare and the stars overhead more numerous. Who would put a restaurant out here?
“Where are we going?”
“It doesn’t really have a name but it’s sort of like a pop-up. It’s a private restaurant that hosts visiting chefs. There is usually a very long waiting list or you may get a special invitation.”
“A private restaurant?”
He nodded.
Conspiracy theories raced through her head.
“So it’s not some weird sex club thing, is it?” she asked.
He laughed a deep and rich laugh that warmed her and he shook his head.
“Some sort of human trafficking trap?”
“Nope.”
“Timeshare.”
“Gods, no.”
The car slowed and he turned into a gated driveway.
“Unlicensed boxing with British gypsies.”
“Not this time.”
The driveway twisted like the road through the hills and finished in front of valets ready to take the car. She looked up at a mansion that towered above them made mostly of glass and balconies all lit with pastel colored lights.
“Cannibalism,” she said, still trying to take in the angles and curves and intentional shadows. “We have to eat people.”
“Well, we don’t have to.”
Her head snapped around but he was smiling.
“It’s just dinner,” he said and got out of the car. “But I like your mind.”
A valet opened her door and then she suddenly remembered her shoes and that led to a bit of awkwardness as she struggled with the straps. The valet took his key fob and he waited patiently while she finished and then held out his hand.
Next problem: The car rode low and she wore her granny panties as insurance and now she regretted it since the basic black dress offered nothing in terms of coverage while exiting low riding vehicles.
Although she rarely ever found herself in a slick car in front of a private restaurant with a man whom she would like to impress at least a little bit looking down at her. There was little she could do about it now so she put her knees together and swung her legs out. She glanced at the spots on her legs where she had used makeup to cover her scars. Tucking her legs up in her moment could have rubbed a spot or two.
Dammit!
She looked up to follow his eyes but his eyes locked with hers and stayed there as he pulled her out of the car.
He pushed the door shut behind her and the car pulled away. He put his hand in the small of her back and guided her to the steps.
“Is my hair a mess?” she asked. She had pinned it up and she hadn’t anticipated a convertible.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
The shallow, wide steps twisted up the hill to the entrance. She could see couples on the balconies, some sitting at tables, others leaning against the rail.
She had never heard of this place. Not even a rumor.
“It’s really a restaurant?” she asked.
“It really is just a fancy place to eat creative food. Nothing too exotic, I promise.”
They arrived at the open door where a woman waited in a white shirt, black skirt and apron. He opened his phone and punched an app on the home screen and held it out. She scanned the barcode on his screen with her phone and read the results.
“You are so very welcome, Mr. Trajan,” she said with a glowing smile. “Your table is on the third floor. The room is called North View.”
He nodded and they passed through the door.
“Room?” she inquired.
“Each table is in its own room.” He stopped and turned to face her. She became very aware that his hand had slid to her hip when they turned.
“Susan, what can I do to make you at ease?” he asked. His expression held some amusement which was annoying although she didn’t move away from his hand. But she didn’t have an answer for him.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m okay, really. You have to admit that this situation is a bit strange.”
He chuckled. And then a waiter arrived sporting a silver tray atop spread fingers. He lowered the tray to reveal a face down, metallic business card which Adam quickly retrieved and tucked away in a pocket. The waiter actually clicked his heels and retreated into the multitude of shadows that permeated the place with the effects of creative lighting.
“As I was saying,” she said. “A bit strange.”
He shrugged. “My next job.” Adam shifted his hand to the small of her back again and directed her to the elevators.
“So this was business,” she said.
“And business is concluded. Now we can eat.”
Elevators. Who would need a house so big that it had to have elevators?
“Did anyone ever live here?”
He shook his head. “As far as I know, it was abandoned by the original owners when it was almost complete. Investors picked it up and finished it.”
She nodded as the elevator arrived. The doors opened. They stepped in. The doors closed and a soft tone sounded.
“Third floor,” he said.
The elevator eased up.
“So you’ve been here before,” she stated.
“A few times.”
“But never alone.”
“Not alone.”
“Did she lose a bet?”
He looked at her, eyes smoldering with a subtle heat. “No, she was a friend.”
“Just a friend?”
“Just a friend.”
“So you can get a date without resorting to a loaded wager?”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Loaded?” he said. “You might consider the fact that your team missed a semicolon and misplaced three lines of code. That gave me the opportunity to challenge a very smart woman who would respond to nothing less than a challenge. But you might also consider that it is very obvious that someone on your team may not have your best interests in mind.”
“A semicolon?” she said, blinking. “A fucking semicolon?”
“And three lines of code commented out. The semicolon would be the distraction. I had to dig for the code.”
She was a project manager, not a programmer. And she wasn’t really even a project manager. How was she supposed to catch that?
But who would sabotage her? She ran through the list in her head. Or was her cover blown? No, this had to be the usual corporate politics. Someone wanted her to fail. She had been hired from the outside and she knew resentment brewed within the team among certain members,
The elevator slid to a smooth stop as she closed her eyes.
“Thomas,” she almost whispered. “Fucking Thomas “Don’t Call Me Tom” Brauthauer.”
Adam nodded. “He would be my best guess.”
The doors tried to shut again but he stepped into the gap. She stepped onto the floor even as she fought down a nauseous wave. A dozen variables clicked into place and suddenly all the delays and grief and slowdowns had a source. Fucking Thomas.
“How am I not going to kill him?” she muttered.
“Well,” he said as they walked. “I’m going to email you his actual dossier. Not the one he submitted to be hired, but the one that links him to two of your competitors. And then you can do what you will.”
“Oh, I know what I will do,” she said.
“But first,” he said, pulling her up and close before she realized it. “You owe me dinner.”
She could smell his cologne, simple but engaging and it pierced the cloud of anger that had pulled her out of the moment.
“Yes, I do.”
She didn’t mind being close and wouldn’t mind being closer. She felt his hips against hers as he turned her into the room and she saw a dark space that ended with a table for two on a balcony. The sparkling geometry of the city lay in the distance. As they approached, the lights slowly came up to reveal an immaculately set table. He pulled her chair out for her and she sat a bit awkwardly. No one had ever done that for her before.
He sat and waiters materialized from the darkness to fill water glasses and light candles. She looked at the splay of silverware around the plate and her anxiety spiked again. She was certain that she should start at the outside of the arrangement and work her way in but from which side should she start? Then she realized she could just mimic him. It would be fine.
She started a bit when one of the waiters draped a bit of silk linen across her lap. She glanced up and Adam looked reproachful, if not irritated.
“Sorry,” she said. “This is a bit much.”
He leaned forward, his gaze locked with hers. “Listen,” he said. “We are safe here. Probably more safe here than anywhere in the world for reasons that do not matter and that I cannot talk about. I promise that you can relax and just enjoy the experience. It’s just you and me. I’m not going to judge. I’m just going to enjoy the food and the company.” He looked down at silverware. “Although you may have to help with the utensils. I can never keep them straight.”
She smiled involuntarily. “I’m not sure myself,” she said. “But I’ve always heard you work from the outside, in.”
He relaxed into his chair. “That should work then. Let’s have a drink. If you order for me, I will order for you.”
“That’s interesting.”
“It’s meant to be.”
Waiters appeared.
“The lady will have a martini, gin, sweet vermouth, stirred for thirty seconds with two olives.”
She held his gaze.
“And the gentleman will have an old fashion, easy on the bitters.”
The waiters vanished.
“So what does that say?” she asked.
“For me or for you?”
She lifted her chin. “Why a martini?”
“Other than the fact that you need a stiff drink, it should suit you.”
“Oh, really?”
He nodded. “A well made martini is crisp and focused. All the flavors come to a point in the chill of the glass with just a hint of salt from the olives.”
“A bit salty?”
“But refreshing.”
Waiters returned and lingered in the shadows. She didn’t like that but it was part of the experience. And she was used to paying attention to things that lurked in the shadows.
“Your turn,” he said.
“An old fashioned. Complex and flavorful with a hint of sweet.”
He smiled slightly. “It’s a good call. Bourbon is my usual drink.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “Well, I’ve never had a martini.”
“I can’t believe that.”
She shook her head. “I even tended bar for a stretch. Granted they were mostly biker bars and dives so the opportunity for a martini was rare.”
A waiter approached, arms spread, stepping as graceful as a dancer.
“The chef would like to welcome you. Tonight’s country is Portugal. If you have any food allergies, please let me know and I will convey this to the chef.”
She shook her head and Adam looked to the waiter. “No allergies.”
The waiter bowed. “Please enjoy the experience.” He backed into the shadows still bowed as the other waiters arrived with the drinks. It almost seemed choreographed.
He sipped the old fashioned and then purposefully set his glass down and watched her expectantly. She looked down at the frosted martini glass, picked up as casually as possible and lifted to her nose and paused as the wave of juniper hit her. She sipped and the zing of the chill and the tang of the vermouth zipped to her center, leaving a bit of lemon as an afterthought. And there were the olives, bobbing gently at the bottom of the cone. She loved olives.
“Okay, I like it.”
He nodded. “A properly made martini is an experience. Almost an assault on the senses. It creates a moment. And you strike me as someone who seeks out special moments in time.”
She held the drink to her nose again and gently inhaled the juniper and then took another sip with her eyes closed. He was reading her like a cheap romance with the dirty parts highlighted.
It was so dangerous.
“I like it,” she said. “I didn’t say I loved it.”
It was her new favorite.
He nodded again. “Fair enough.”
The first course arrived in an efficient flourish. A small grilled piece of fish on a toasted rice cake with artistic garnish and white wine in a smaller than normal wine glass.
“How many courses are there,” she asked.
“The chef decides but each course leads to the next and they usually run small. This course will cleanse the palate and I bet the wine is very dry.”
She waited until he picked up the rice cake and popped it into his mouth. She mimicked him and then sipped the wine. Very dry indeed and it fit perfectly with the lightly spiced but very salty grilled fish.
‘Okay,” she said. “That was good too.”
He smiled. “So maybe you can relax and enjoy this?”
Susan glanced up at him over her wine glass and saw his eyes flash like a cat’s but more subtle. More white or blue. A reflection of the candle light?
Not possible. It appeared internal.
Music began to play. Soft but intense. Very Spanish with acoustic guitar and a bit of a beat. It fit the atmosphere perfectly.
“I wonder who turned on the music,” she said after she finished the wine.
He shrugged. “It fits. It’s a portuguese combo, a little jazzy but very traditional in a way.”
She nodded as the next course materialized.
Relax. Sure. Whatever.
•
After four courses, she excused herself to the bathroom to check makeup. A member of the wait staff had guided her and now she leaned on the marble counter over the sink and studied her face. No scars. She stepped back and put one heel on the counter and examined her legs. Right was good. She switched and found the spot she had been worried about on the side of her knee. Concealer and brush came out of her purse and a few strokes took care of it. Then she reapplied lipstick and studied her reflection.
She was burned. She was sure of it. He knew that she wasn’t who she said she was. He probably didn’t know much else but that was enough. He probed and feinted with his conversation, never pressing too hard but giving her room to screw up and contradict herself only to take her into harmless territory with trivia about Portugal or a cute quip that left her giggling like stupid school girl. He was that good.
What could she do? Run? She could steal clothes and maybe a car but wouldn’t that just exacerbate the situation?
She couldn’t run.
Could she come clean? She didn’t know his motivations. He was supposed to be a consultant. But he was more than that, she was sure of it. Did the company set her up? Was he paid to expose her?
She didn’t think so. But what was his game?
She could seduce him and the thought brought a slow smile to her face. Not her usual style but the attraction would make it easy. It could muddy the waters at least until she could figure out how bad it was.
Not her usual style at all but he was handsome and confident and she had never tried sophisticated before. Maybe it was what was missing from her men.
The panties had to go. She hitched up her skirt and pushed them off just as the door to the bathroom opened and an impossible beauty walked in.
Susan immediately straightened and put her fists to her hips. “You fucking bitch!”
The woman hesitated, and touched her chest as if to take offense. She was an incredible mix of Japanese and Russian with jet black hair and ice blue eyes that held a constant spark of mischief. She smiled and cocked her head.
“I thought that was you,” she said. “You do my basic black dress very well, I must say. That is mine, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is, Do you think I own something like this? And, Honi, how could you?”
“You really do look fabulous,” Honi said, as she closed the distance and began pulling on seams, adjusting the fit. “And how could I do what?”
“How could you not tell me about this place?”
Honi shrugged. “I couldn’t.”
“What do you mean you couldn’t?”
“I can’t. Butt check,” Susan turned and Honi pulled on the hem to smooth out wrinkles. “There is a spell that prevents a person from talking about it when you are not on the grounds. Many people use it to have the most private of meetings.”
“A spell? To hide a whole restaurant? And how would that work?”
“No one knows who cast the spell but it’s very strong and very effective. Invitations are a form of currency so you don’t really have to talk about it out loud. Or you have to pay in advance with crypto through secure servers. I think you can also use telepathy if you have access to a telepath.”
“That’s insane,” Susan said, turning back. “How did you get in?”
“The Senator is in town.”
“Which one?”
“Not that one, the other one. I should be done by eleven.”
Susan nodded.
“Besides, how do you not know about this place?” Honi stepped back and gave another appraising inspection. “I’m assuming you are here with your consultant?”
“Yes, I am.”
Honi cackled and Susan winced. Honi was a stunning woman in every way but her laugh was piercing.
“I told you he was different,” Honi chortled. “And maybe a bit weird if he managed to make reservations.”
“Yeah, but how weird?”
Honi shrugged. “Don’t know. Come to think of it, he may not be weird at all. A lot of the patrons have no idea about the spell and think they are just following rules. The senator has no clue. But you do weird just fine. Are those your panties?”
Susan snatched them up and slammed them into the trash bin. “Not anymore.”
Honi’s eyes lit up. “You’re going to sleep with him.”
“I have to,” Susan said, sounding a bit more resigned to it than she felt.
Honi hopped up and down and clapped her hands, instantly transforming from high dollar date to an overly excited best friend. “Oh, I'm so happy,” she said smiling, stepping rapidly in place. “You so need to get laid.” Honi spontaneously grabbed her and pulled her into a hug. “I’m so happy for you!” Susan suffered the embrace for a second but then pushed her away.
“No, it’s not like that. I’m not doing this because I want to,” she said. “Well, I want to but I have to pull him in. I think he knows something or at least suspects something.”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Honi replied. “You’ve got this. You made this job work.”
“Up until now.”
“Up until always. You’ve done the job and you get paid. What’s wrong with that?”
“Possibly everything,” Susan said firmly. Honi gave a dismissive wave and a hiss.
“Whatever,” she said. “He doesn’t have anything.” Honi’s eyes widened. “But you still need to sleep with him. Like twice at least. Do it twice. I can give you one of the senator’s pills and you can put it in his food.”
“Okay, that’s enough-”
Honi stepped forward and touched her arm. “Sweetie. You really need this. You are just so angry all the time.”
Susan put her arms to her side and balled her fists. “That is not true.”
“Yes, it is.” Honi took Susan’s clutch off of the counter and pulled out the concealer and mascara. “Let’s check your make up and get you back out there. Don’t screw this up.”
“I’m not going to screw it up.”
Honi smiled woodenly as she loaded the mascara brush. “Of course you won’t. You’ve got this.”
“Yeah, sure. I got this.” Anxiety flowed from her chest to her gut again. This wasn’t her style. This wasn’t her way. Her way usually involved more violence and less silverware. But she had to try and Honi was right. She did weird just fine.
“But really?” Susan said as Honi worked on her face. “Secret restaurants? Spells? Telepaths to get reservations?”
Honi smiled. “Did you really think you had the market cornered on weird?”
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