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It didn’t matter.
Charlie didn’t matter.
He had more important things that needed his full attention. Buenos Aires was a large city. The odds of them crossing paths once again while Charlie was here were astronomical. It wasn’t going to happen.
Will forcibly shoved thoughts of Charlie to the back of his mind and glanced around, taking in where he was. The Blue Wind art gallery had been located in Palermo Viejo, which wasn’t surprising considering the barrio contained some of the hottest and trendiest restaurants and shops in Buenos Aires. It looked as if the black sedan was headed south toward San Telmo. That meant Benicio was going to his steak-house restaurant rather than his ostentatious home in Recoleta. Will couldn’t decide if this was a good development or a bad one. A public place might make Benicio more willing to talk or at least keep the conversation civil.
But he was skeptical of even that. If he’d learned anything in the past few months, it was that Benicio Perez was all ego and hot temper—two things that made him utterly impossible to deal with.
As the black sedan parked in front of the parrilla, Will grabbed the seats in front of him and pulled himself upright. He directed the driver to continue past the restaurant and pull over to the next block. After thanking the driver and handing him another wad of pesos, Will stepped onto the sidewalk.
He gathered his peacoat a bit tighter around him as the wind slipped through the city and tugged at his clothes with an added bite. His hair fell in front of his eyes, and he shoved it back. Overdue for a haircut yet again, but life had been too busy for basic personal chores beyond food and sleep.
With his hands tucked into his pockets, he strolled down the block toward the parrilla that was ablaze with warm lights. As he pulled the door open, boisterous laughter and the rich scent of cooked meat assailed him. While the Perez family tried to position themselves among the elite within Argentine society, Benicio hadn’t attempted to create an exclusive posh dining experience. No, the place was warm and lively, welcoming both the monied and the middle-class families.
From what he’d heard, the food was damn good at Parrilla 1880. It was just unfortunate that he’d never intended to eat there.
At the hostess station, a tiny woman in a tight black dress and a flirtatious smile greeted him. “Do you have a reservation with us tonight?”
“I am here for my meeting with Señor Perez. My name is Dr. William Monroe. He is expecting me.”
The young woman seemed at a loss for words for a moment, her bright-red lips parting only to close without a sound escaping her.
Will flashed his most ingratiating grin. “I’ll wait at the bar. I know he arrived only minutes ago. I’m sure he needs to check a few things prior to meeting with me.”
Before she could argue with him, he slipped past the hostess station and wove his way through the tables and servers to the large bar situated to the left of the restaurant. He lucked into an open stool at the end and caught the bartender with the same friendly smile. A lovely Malbec appeared in front of him within seconds of the request.
That was going to be one of the things he missed about Buenos Aires when he moved on to his next temporary home—the wine. The intense dark-red wine had grown on him faster than the white Torrontés. He worried that it simply wasn’t going to be as good when he ordered it outside of Argentina.
It had taken years to start drinking wine again after leaving Paris. While he and Charlie hadn’t exactly downed casks of it, they’d emptied their fair share of bottles when Will had been able to cobble together some time off. The old memories had tainted the wine for too long.
Had Charlie tried the local Malbec since arriving in the city? He’d always preferred red over white.
What the fuck was he thinking?
It didn’t matter what Charlie had or hadn’t tried.
Will took a deep swallow of his wine and turned partially on his padded stool to stare out across the crowded restaurant. He needed to get Charlie out of his head and his thoughts focused on why he was trying to meet with Benicio in the first place.
The bastard had been dodging his calls, messages, emails, and letters for over a month now. He was trying to remain professional about this and stick to official channels, but time was running out. Allowing Benicio to avoid him and ignore him wasn’t going to work any longer.
Butterflies battered his stomach, and a bead of cold sweat trickled along his spine. He wasn’t the confrontational type. He didn’t have trouble standing up for himself or defending himself when someone was acting like a jackass, but this problem with Benicio was more complicated, and he was technically a bystander butting in where he didn’t belong.
