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He gave her a distracted look. “Sorry?”
“Did you want some coffee?”
“Oh...yes. Stronger the better, thanks.”
She decided that might not be a good idea. She made the cup half strength and carried it into him.
He took a sip. Frowned. “It doesn’t taste strong.”
“It’s strong.” She gave the bags under his eyes a critical look. The man didn’t sleep. But she was not his mother.
“Tom Dennison called a few minutes ago. He says you haven’t responded about the fund-raiser.”
Harrison scowled, fatigue creasing the lines of his face. “Tell him I’m in China.”
She gave him an even look. Tom Dennison was one of the most powerful businessmen in America, the CEO of a consumer packaged-goods company as well as a highly political animal who liked to shake things up.
“I’ll tell him you’re occupied with the shareholder meetings,” she suggested instead. “And ask him to please send over the details again so you can get back to him tomorrow.”
“Brilliant.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.
Leonid better sign tonight. It was her only hope. She took a deep breath. “Have you eaten breakfast?”
“No, thanks.”
“I’ll get you some granola and yogurt at the deli.”
“Francesca,” he growled but she was already out the door.
Things went from bad to worse. Leonid’s meeting with the penthouse developers was delayed by three hours while he waited to get the paperwork done to buy. Harrison fumed that the Russian clearly didn’t have his priorities in order if a penthouse was more important than a forty-million-dollar deal. “Everything is always more important than a forty-million-dollar deal.”
Now Aristov and Kaminski weren’t going to be available until after six and Leonid had suggested they meet at the vodka club he frequented for drinks instead.
“How are we supposed to finalize a deal at a vodka club?” Harrison snapped.
“Sealing a deal over a meal or drinks is becoming more commonplace in Russian culture,” Frankie soothed. “Take a deep breath.”
He glared at her from across the desk. “I am not six, Francesca.”
Right now you are. Her eyes must have said what her lips wouldn’t because his stare turned positively lethal. I would prove it to you, he threw back, if we didn’t have a moratorium in place. But since we do, you are out of luck.
The electricity simmered and crackled between them. Francesca sucked in a deep breath of her own before it exploded. “I will print copies of the plan to take with us. Anything else we need?”
Closure, his gaze fizzled.
She turned and walked out of his office, heart slamming in her chest.
* * *
Leonid’s vodka bar was in the heart of Manhattan at Broadway and West Fifty-Second Street. The VIP room the owner directed them to was one of the most unique spaces Frankie had ever seen. A huge cathedral-shaped stained-glass window glowing with a rainbow array of colors that graduated from blue to pink to yellow was the focal point of the room. Green-and-gold wainscoted walls were accented by a vibrant patterned wallpaper in the same colors that climbed up and over the ceiling. A rich, ornate carpet in complementary tones claimed the floor while two stunning chandeliers bookended the room.
She couldn’t decide if she loved it or if it was just much too much. “Certainly more interesting than a conference room,” she told Leonid as he gave her a kiss on both cheeks.
“I thought so.”
Having obtained two of the penthouses he’d had his eye on under fierce competition, Leonid insisted they begin with a celebratory drink. They toasted the deal with vodka that surprisingly didn’t taste like rubbing alcohol, but like absolutely nothing instead. Thus the potency, she warned herself.
After a few minutes of real-estate chatter, Harrison went through the plan, his jaw set, expression intent. Leonid stalled at the piece about an operational study of Siberius determining its internal and external positioning within Grant Industries. “You told me Siberius will remain a distinct brand. This makes it sound like it’s up in the air.”
Harrison regarded him evenly. “I cannot promise you the board will allow me to preserve Siberius’s separate identity, Leonid. You know as well as I do these decisions are made with the numbers in mind. I will, however, influence the process as much as I can. But I cannot lead you on and say it’s a given.”
The room went so silent, so fast, Frankie could hear the ultraquiet fans in the ceiling whirling. Harrison’s face was utterly expressionless. Leonid sat watching him, his shrewd eyes assessing. The Russian’s fingers ceased their tapping on the table. Frankie’s heart stopped in her chest as he placed both palms on the edge. Was he going to leave?
After a long moment, Leonid looked at Harrison, his mouth set in a grim line.
“Thank you for being honest with me.”
Harrison nodded. Frankie exhaled.
“Continue, please.”
Harrison went through the remainder of the plan. It was stripped down, basic and promised very little. When they got to the end, Leonid gave it a long look, flipped it over and threw it into the middle of the table. “Not much there to get excited about.”
Harrison eyed him with that deadly, combustive look he’d been carrying all day. “I would say forty million dollars is a great deal to get excited about. As far as a second coming, it’s a very nice start.”
The Russian was silent. He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back from the table. “Give me a few minutes. I need some air.”
Viktor Kaminski raised a brow as his boss walked out of the room. Harrison’s face grew so tight she thought it might snap in half. Since he was like a live bomb right now and she didn’t want to encourage Viktor further, she excused herself, saying she needed the ladies’ room.
The patio and some air beckoned instead. She stepped out onto it. No wonder Leonid had needed air. He and Harrison had been sucking the room dry since they’d stepped into it.
The patio was packed with people enjoying the steamy summer night. The smell of lilac came from the tree flowering in the garden. Lazy jazz floated on the air from the club next door. Francesca walked to the edge of the garden and stood drinking it in. She wasn’t sure when Leonid appeared beside her, tall, thin and contemplative as he smoked a cigarette.
“Don’t tell me it’s bad for my health.” He read her disapproval. “It’s one of my few real vices.”
“I won’t, then.”
His eyes glittered with amusement. “I like that about you. This honesty you have. If you don’t say it, you can read it in your eyes.”
“It’s a curse.” Her mouth twisted. “Ever since childhood. It got me in a lot of trouble.”
“So it is.”
He was silent, puffing elegantly on the cigarette. When he finished it he tossed it to the ground and snuffed it out under his foot. “Should I sign it?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Sign what?”
He turned that hard, whiskey-colored gaze on her. “The deal. Should I sign it? Is Grant the honorable man I think him to be?”
The world closed in around her, the chatter of the crowd, the croon of the music melding together to create a buzz in her ears that seemed deafening. She didn’t want to be any part of this. She’d never wanted to be any part of this. And maybe that was what Leonid had sensed.
If she balked now, she would ruin Harrison.
She pulled in a breath, conscious of the Russian’s gaze on her face. And said the only thing her conscience would allow. “He’s a good man. I wouldn’t work for him if I didn’t think so.”
He watched her. Evaluated her. It was like being inspected by a customs official, the intensity of it. Then he nodded, an expression she couldn’t read passing through those cat’s eyes of his.
“Harasho. Let’s go inside, then.”
* * *
Harrison watched Francesca and Leonid walk back into the room together. Her face was white and pinched, tension stitching her delicate features together. It made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight.
Leonid, on the other hand, looked focused and alert. He sat down at the table and signaled for another round of vodka. Harrison’s heart pounded in his chest, drowning out everything but what was about to happen. Seven years of waiting and planning could not end in anything but success.
He sat there in agony while Kaminski engaged in small talk with Francesca as they waited for the vodka. The server came back laden with a tray of four glasses. He passed them out. Leonid lifted his glass. “Right, then,” he said, looking at Harrison. “We have a deal.”
Relief slackened every muscle in Harrison’s body. His heart slowed its frantic pace. It was done. The last piece was in place. The crystal tumbler felt heavy in his hand as he raised it, eyes on Leonid. “We have a deal.”
The vodka slid down his throat and warmed his insides. He had expected a surge of victory. For everything to feel right for the first time since he’d started this quest. Instead he felt nothing. Nothing at all except a numbness, an absence of feeling that was almost frightening in its intensity.
He distracted himself by glancing at Francesca. Her long lashes swept down over her cheeks as she took a sip of the vodka then pushed the glass away. Whatever had gone on outside had rattled her. Even in his distracted state, the glitter in her gray eyes burrowed itself beneath his skin. What had gone on between her and Leonid?
