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Chapter 9
Albin
“Your whiskey, sir.”
I gave the flight attendant a quick smile before taking my drink and turning my attention back to the in-flight magazine sprawled across my lap. The warm liquid went down smoothly, and I grinned to myself. I was one of only three passengers in first class, and the solitude felt nice. Of course, it was nothing compared to my private jet, but sometimes it felt good to mix with other people. You never know who you might meet.
Normally, I would have jumped at the opportunity to ride business or economy, but I wanted to sit alone with my thoughts, especially on this trip.
I looked at my watch. Two in the afternoon.
I took another sip and continued to flip through the magazine. My mind wandered, thinking about the most recent investment opportunity that had been put on my desk. Publishing. Magazines, specifically. And for the life of me, I had no idea why I was even considering it.
Print was dead. Most of the research said that, and even though there was a steady return to it, the fact that people were becoming more “green” made me wonder how long a spike like this would last. Of course, the online options were endless, and I knew that if I were to invest in a publication, that would be the definite area I’d want to see growth in.
Even though it wasn’t sitting all too well with me, it didn’t stop me from flying across the country to scope out a possible investment opportunity.
I flipped the pages, past a Jack Daniels advertisement and an article on the most recent archaeological discovery somewhere in Africa, and then stopped.
Snowy Mountain Retreat. The perfect getaway for the nature lover in you.
The advertisement screamed out from the pages, and almost instantly, my mind started a montage of the past. Bleeding leg, wolves howling, snowstorm, empty cabin, a fireplace.
And her.
Martha.
I remembered it like it was just yesterday, and I closed my eyes against the onslaught of images that started popping up in my head. A beauty that was mesmerizing, a touch that sent shivers up and down my spine, and skin so soft I could melt in it. It had been one of the most incredible nights of my life, and no matter how hard I tried, I could never forget it.
Every woman I met after that was subconsciously compared to Martha. Every sexual encounter was unfairly put side by side with that one night. And to this day, nothing ever came close to competing.
I had spent a few months looking for her, but in the end, nothing. Not that I had a lot to go by. I couldn’t remember her last name or even if she had given it to me. I had no license plate number, and I didn’t even remember where she was from. All I had was that night, and it had stayed with me for years.
Martha.
I closed the magazine and took another sip of my whiskey. Emotions raced through me that I had thought I had been able to push away, but the rush overwhelmed me, and my hand began to shake just a little. I cursed the snowy mountain advertisement for the cruelty of what I was going through, remembering a night with a person I would probably never see again.
I shook my head and quickly pushed the memories away.
Not now. It was not the time to swell on the past. After all, in a way, Martha had actually done me a favor. The fact that no one I met came even close to making me feel the same way had pushed me to focus on the company more. Long nights that could have been spent with her in my arms had been replaced with endless meetings, long hours burning the midnight oil, and a zeal to jump into one project after another just to keep myself busy.
Just to keep my mind off her.
And look at me now. Richer, more successful, and commanding a lot more respect from a company that had once thought I could never replace my father.
But are you happy?
The question burned through my mind, and I decided the best course of action would be to ignore it. Did it matter if I was happy? Did it add anything to the life I had built for myself? I was successful, and that trumped everything else. At least, that was what I kept telling myself.
Happiness would come. Eventually.
When the fasten seat belt sign came on, I sighed in relief. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts anymore.
It took me about an hour to get through baggage claim and I was a little irked at how crowded JFK was, but luckily, my driver was waiting as soon as I was out the door. I had rented the limousine myself, even though the magazine had promised to send me a car. I had a strong feeling I wasn’t going to like the ride if I wasn’t taking care of these details myself, and I wanted to make sure my first impression would be reserved for when I met the team.
In less than an hour, I was checking in and following the bell boy to my suite. I gave him a generous tip, took off my Gucci suit jacket and draped it over the couch, then took in the scenic view of Central Park through the wall of windows. It was a spectacular view, and watching the people go about their business without a care in the world worked to calm me down a bit.
I spotted several couples enjoying what remained of the afternoon and suddenly began to imagine what it would be like to stroll through Central Park with Martha. Holding her hand, pulling her close, enjoying a busker or any other street performer, maybe even indulging in a famous NYC hotdog.
