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Looks like Frankie knew a thing or two about strategy too.
Carson stopped a block away from the designated corner and watched. No one. Carson sighed deeply and calmed his anger. He turned toward the river front.
His river front. Almost his. If things went well with Frankie the Man, that would change. It would finally be all his.
When Carson Warner arrived in the city several years ago, he'd found the river front to be prime hunting territory. Over run with small timers -- mostly pigeons and rats. But then, what other animals had adapted so perfectly to city life among humans?
He had claimed the territory for himself and before long he had eliminated most of the worst elements. Word got out that the water front had a new apex predator and those that hadn't been done in by his hunting had scurried off to find new space.
Combined with the efforts by his fox, Carson's company soon began accumulating the property along the river. The city had kicked in millions of dollars to contribute to the restoration of the area. A new pedestrian path running along the west bank had enticed trendy restaurants and new hotels and shops.
The new marina was owned by Warner holdings and Carson approved of the luxury yachts slipped along the docks.
Even the east bank's industrial area had been spruced up, providing a pleasing view for the diners and shoppers across the river with newly refurbished loft condos set among the still operating docks with their cranes and shipping crates and the big ships coming and going daily.
Carson frowned at the big crane that was busy loading shipping containers onto a large ship.
East Shore Shipping.
It was the last piece of the puzzle. The last remaining piece of the waterfront that was not owned, at least in part, by Warner Holdings.
Carson glanced at the watch again, then back at the corner. He stopped a few hundred yards from his destination and decided to wait and see if Frankie showed up.
After 7 months of relentless requests for a meeting with the owner of The East Shore Shipping Company, Carson Warner was not about to miss his opportunity to present his offer to Frankie "the Man" Mansfield, even if the venue Frankie had insisted on was less than the ideal location for a business meeting to discuss a multi-million dollar deal.
1:59 pm. Carson's nerves twitched. From his vantage point, he could see a blonde approaching the corner. A tall, shapely woman in an expensive suit; white blazer, matching pencil skirt hemmed just above her knees, silk blouse, bright blue scarf worn neck-tie style, knotted loosely at the collar. An impossibly attractive woman that reminded Carson of a classic Hollywood femme fatale.
She was a beauty, that was sure but Carson was here on business, not pleasure. He watched the woman walk confidently across the street before he turned back toward the docks.
2:01 pm.
Carson was irritated. He'd been told to be on that corner at precisely 2 o'clock in the afternoon to meet with Frankie "The Man." Looked like he'd been played. He walked down the docks on the look out for the man he had come to meet. They were, after all, Frankie's docks. For the time being.
Carson walked among the towering stacks of shipping containers, paused briefly to watch the cranes working, before turning and walking back up toward the city streets.
As he passed a stack of wooden crates, he found himself face to face with the stoic blonde.
Up close he was able to take in her beauty in far greater detail, the pale perfect texture of her skin, the blue of her eyes set off by the scarf. Her hair was near platinum, no trace of dark roots near her scalp where her hair was pulled back from her forehead into a tight French twist.
The woman stepped out and stood purposefully before him. She was standing very close, invading his personal space and staring at him cooly with clear azure eyes lined with soft dusty blond lashes.
"You're late." The blonde's voice was ice.
Carson found himself at an unusual loss for words. No one ever challenged him like this. Certainly not women.
He inhaled her scent deeply-- easy at this close range-- she was human. No trace of animal about her. Making the confidence of her proximity even more confusing.
"I believe you were informed that you were to be on the corner of Pier and Avalon at precisely 2 pm." Her eye contact was deliberate... and unnerving. "It is now 2:04, Mr. Warner. This meeting is moot."
Carson was silent. He studied her intently as she spoke. Most females this close to him smelled of fear-- or arousal-- or a combination of both. This woman smelled of power. Strong, confident, unwavering. Her scent matched her demeanor perfectly. Power and...something else. Something Carson couldn't place. Something that curled around inside him, teasing at the corners of his consciousness, distracting him. Something that made him want to wrap the blonde woman tightly in his arms and kiss her hard.
She didn't wait for his reply. She turned and walked away. Carson watched her purposeful stride as she made her way to the white Bentley waiting across the street from the intended meeting spot, her long legs disappearing inside before her slender arm reached out to pull the door closed.
He'd been dismissed.
Carson Warner was not used to being dismissed. Carson Warner did the dismissing. He stood where she had left him, watching the car disappear into city traffic, leaving him to wrestle with the details of their encounter on his own.
