Like me, the man lives and breathes work. I’m used to seeing him in a suit and tie with his steel gray hair combed back and a razor-sharp expression on his thick face. Tonight, however, he’s dressed in a navy tuxedo, complete with a bow tie that matches his wife’s gown. A faint smile lingers at the corners of his mouth. He looks relaxed. Almost happy.
Which is exactly where I need him if I’m going to sell him on my latest proposal for his portfolio. After I grew his portfolio by 42 percent the first year, Randolph has replied “Yes” to every recommendation I’ve made.
But not my last one. Not the most important advice I’ve ever given.
“Better than last year’s performers,” Randolph says with a nod to the burning ring. “Opera singers.” He shudders. “Torture.”
My lips twitch. “I’m surprised, given your wife’s patronage of the New York City Opera.”
Randolph’s bushy eyebrows shoot up. “Surprised you remember.”
I don’t take it as an insult. Anyone who knows me, even on a cursory level, would not describe me as personable. I recall personal details easily thanks to Seraphina. The woman has a steel-trap for a mind, one that captures the kind of details I don’t always pay attention to. I prefer facts, numbers, figures. Things I can predict, control. Seraphina isn’t just good with finances, but with people, too. She maintains dossiers on all of my clients and updates them with stunning efficiency. If someone gets married, has a child, earns a promotion, loses a loved one, or experiences some other milestone, it goes in their file. Details like how Randolph’s logging days working alongside prisoners formed his views on prison reform, including a strong distaste for for-profit prison.
I take a long sip of my gin and tonic. The crisp floral notes of the gin, tempered by the bubbling tonic water, keeps my anger banked every time I think of New Field Penitentiary. Achieving a hostile takeover of the private jail would give Randolph a strong foundation for his stance on prison reform if he’s elected as senator this fall. And the polls are favorable.
The deal, however, isn’t just for my client. It will give me great satisfaction orchestrating the downfall of the current sadistic owner of New Field. Victor Hale, man who prioritizes profit over the people under his care. A man who looked the other way as my biological brother, David, was kept in solitary confinement for days without food or medical treatment for the broken leg he’d sustained during a prison riot. Who threatened to trot David’s record out for public viewing and ruin his life if I went to the press.
I wait until the anger and guilt bleed out before releasing a pent-up breath. David’s safe now. He’s doing better. If I’m going to do this for him, for us, I need to stay sharp, focused. It’s not just enough to punish Hale. New Field needs to be taken over by someone who will turn it around and make sure it’s run ethically. Someone who believes in prison reform.
Someone like George Randolph.
“I proposed to Martine here. It’s been years since we’ve been back.” Randolph glances around, that same faint smile on his face. “When are you going to settle down?”
One long sip of my drink gives me time to prepare my answer. My last relationship ended in a messier fashion than I’m accustomed to. But it’s not just that, I grudgingly admit. My interest in dating has waned. I’m not wanting marriage or anything binding. But the quick, intense flings are no longer satisfying.
“I’m not looking to settle at this time.”
Randolph huffs. “After that debacle with your actress, I’d think you’d be looking for something more…solid.”
I keep my face smooth even though I want to scowl. Ever since Randolph decided to run for Senate, he’s been mentioning my dating life more and more.
“We’ll see.”
Randolph runs a hand over his mouth. “Look, Hawke, part of the reason I asked you here tonight was to tell you I’m seriously considering the New Field deal.”
Triumph surges in my chest, but I tamp it down. This is the closest I’ve gotten so far, but we’re nowhere close to signing.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“However,” he continues in a tone that has me mentally prepping for whatever bomb he’s about to drop, “my public relations team has concerns about my continuing to work with Hawke Financial.”
I still. “Oh?”
“I’m running against a popular candidate. If you were to have another incident like in October—”
I frown. “Kacey Delamare and I broke up. That’s it.”
“And she referenced you in interviews for months,” Randolph replies. “Spilled private details. Every time you’re seen with a woman, it turns into a media frenzy.”
I stare at him. I’ve made this man millions of dollars, supported his candidacy. Now he’s going to cut me loose because I like to date?
If I didn’t need him, I’d tell him to go to hell.
“What do you want from me, Randolph? I haven’t dated anyone in nearly a year,” I add.
“No, but the reputation lingers. If you were to date a woman longer than two months, that would be a step in the right direction. Something more permanent would be preferable.” Randolph stands. “I’m going to grab one of those tiny things they call a plate and fill it with as much food as I can, and then track down my wife. Would you like to join me?”
No.I have zero interest in being anywhere near George Randolph right now. Not with the wordpermanentringing in my ears. I gesture toward the stage by the lake. “I’m going to watch a few more of the performances.”
