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An hour later, they mingled in the impressive triplex in one of the most coveted buildings facing Central Park. He’d spotted a few celebrities and artists, but the main person he wanted—Mrs. Samantha Fraser, the widow he’d like to talk to about the merger—hadn’t appeared. Or perhaps she had, but the sea of people, waitstaff, and performers made it impossible to successfully find someone.
“Are you looking for something?” Kira asked, her eyes searching his.
“No, why?”
“You just seem… anxious.”
He laughed it off. “Me? No. I hate crowds,” he lied.
A small smile curled her lips. Then, she let out a sigh, and loosened her shoulders like he’d removed a weighty backpack from her. “Me too.”
A twinge of guilt stabbed at him. He should rejoice in earning her trust, in having her show a truce and for a moment, a glimmer of a connection with him. But he knew he didn’t earn it. That he’d lied to her. Over a small thing, sure… but also the one thing she seemed to admire about him. Their joint dislike of crowds. “Oui.” He skimmed the area around them, thinking fast. Getting Samantha alone would be harder with his wife next to him. What if Kira suspected anything? He couldn’t risk it. She still worked for his father—even though she married him. He cleared his throat, feeling unease. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”
“Sure,” she said.
He flashed her a neutral glance, and meandered toward the crowd in the middle of the party, hoping to get lost amongst the many impeccably dressed men and women. Without looking back, he continued. He approached a waiter, and slipped him a one hundred-dollar bill, asking about Mrs. Fraser’s whereabouts. The staff usually knew these things, either from seeing the key players, or hearing about them as they served the entitled guests.
He knew it because he worked at banquets and weddings as a teen on weekends. He’d done all kinds of odd jobs to save money to buy better computer equipment and apply himself to learning technology, which ended up being his saving grace.
“Upstairs,” the waiter said.
Moving quickly, he went up the intricate flight of stairs, and on the second floor, he found a mix of magnificent paintings on the walls, fewer people and a waiter or two. The ambience was a touch more intimate, and he almost expected someone to check what he was doing there.
The spacious hallways led to several doors. Where could she be? He couldn’t just barge in, and he shouldn’t—
“Looking for something?” said a female voice behind him.
He turned around to face her, and a beat or two later, he recognized her. Samantha Fraser. She’d become a young widow at fifty, and according to gossip, had been the target for many bachelors—young and old. But the smart look in her face told him she wouldn’t be the type to fall for flattery.
“Mais oui… the restroom.”
Her blue gaze didn’t leave his. “Didn’t any of the ones downstairs work for you?”
“You caught me. I’ve wanted to say hi to you,” he said, keeping his voice casual.
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because I’m interested in buying your duplex at Central Park. I’ve just moved to the US and you have a gem there,” he said, using the excuse he’d practiced. He knew if he talked trash about his father, it’d come across lazy and immature. She didn’t trust him and wouldn’t listen to him. He needed to gain her trust to get more of her time—and show her his plan. The team he’d put together on paper, the minds who would love to partner with her and take over France Air.
“It’s not for sale, Luc.”
“You know who I am?” he asked for the sake of asking.
“I have a smartphone,” she said with a tight smile.
“So you’re not selling your home, but you’re selling the airline. Interesting,” he said, looking at her square in the eye, but hoping his neutral expression would soften his delivery. Merde. A hint about the merger was one thing, but he shouldn’t have nearly accused her of it.
“Maybe,” she said, unfazed. “Shouldn’t you be asking your father about this?”
“Now that’s something I don’t hear every day at my age.”
A chuckle fled from her lips. “Do you really think you’ll change my mind about the duplex?”
“One can hope.” He removed his business card and handed it to her. “If you change your mind, or want to discuss other assets, let me know.”
She offered him a long glance. “Will do.” Then she strolled away from him and in the direction of a small group of three people by a painting.
A small smile curled his lips. Not a bad first interaction. If he could gain her trust, that could be an advantage for him. She could still back out from the merger with his father. He scanned the crowd, hope fortifying within him. When his eyes found Kira, his heart stopped beating. She was looking at him with a trace of resentment.
A cool sensation spread through his chest.
Shit. She’d seen him talking to Samantha.
