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It’s a thoughtful gesture and I decide then that perhaps I’ve been hard on him. “Thank you,” I say ever so politely, shoving aside a memory of Kace. Again. I can’t get him out of my mind.
“Of course,” Alexander says, motioning me into action and I follow him around the counter to another private seating area of at least another half-dozen filled tables.
We settle into our chairs across from each other and he hands me the coffee he’s ordered for me. “It’s their house vanilla latte. I hope that works. In hindsight, I should have sent you a text and asked what you liked.”
“This is perfect,” I say, sipping the sweet, warm beverage. “Thanks for the coffee and for meeting me.”
“My second chance,” he comments and when I might fidget a bit, I don’t get the chance. He moves on. “And I get it. Auction remorse is common. I feel for you. How pissed was your client?”
“He’s too nice to be angry and I pushed him for his max right before the auction. He’ll go to four hundred and twenty-five thousand today if you’ll sell the bottle.”
He thrums fingers on the table, his Rolex glinting in the overhead light. “Here’s the thing,” he says. “I can’t sell this bottle.”
My spine slowly straightens, the idea that he’s playing me setting me on edge. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t. I bought it for a client that does tens of millions with our company. I teased him with it. I promised him I’d get it for him. And he’s paying me.”
Feelings I try to avoid and dislike—anger and desperation—rip through me. “Why did you bring me out here for this then, Alexander?”
“Because I’d like to be your friend and—”
I stand up.
“Wait,” he says. “I have a proposition. Please.” He pats the table. “Sit. Hear me out.”
I’m torn. I feel played, but I remind myself of my reasons for being here, and they all come back to Gio. I breathe in a calming breath and settle back into my chair across from Alexander.
He studies me a moment. “You really don’t want to like me, do you?”
“It’s not that—”
“Then what is it?”
It’s a complicated question. He’s a good-looking man. He’s wealthy. Most women would be flattered by his attention but I know my problem with him. Powerful men, collectors of rare items at that, stir unease in me. He reminds me of the powerful men my mother said my father did business with before he disappeared. But the truth is, I’m not being fair. I judged him before he ever opened his mouth.
“I’m sorry. I’m on edge over this client. And I’m confused about what we’re doing here.”
“I’m trying to help. I really am. I have a large rare wine collection. I’m willing to part with a bottle to make this up to you. You can come over and see what catches your fancy and we’ll negotiate.”
Unbidden, suspicion spins round and round in my mind all over again. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”
“But I want to know you. And I find it’s good to make friends. I help you. You help me one day.”
A violin screeches a wrong note in my mind. “I don’t like owing favors. And I don’t know you.”
He leans closer. “I want to know you, Aria. Come on. Give me the chance. Don’t let this wine get in the way. I had a job to do last night. So did you.”
“You’re right. You did and that’s why you don’t owe me this. It’s fine.”
His cellphone buzzes and he grabs it, reads the message, and presses his lips together. “I’m meeting that client to give him his bottle. You won’t owe me. I’ll text you a list of some bottles I’ll consider letting go for the right price. Call me when you look it over. We’ll make this work.” He stands up, grabs the cookies, and just that quickly, he’s gone.
I blink, confused. I don’t know why I’m being so hard on Alexander. He’s trying to help. Or not. I don’t know. Kace is just as rich and powerful, also a collector, and of violins, of all things, and he doesn’t stir unease in me the way Alexander does. Which, in truth, probably makes him more dangerous than Alexander.
I stand up. I can’t sit here in Tribeca. I need to be at home, trying to figure out how to make money to hire that private detective. I walk to the trashcan, toss my coffee, and head for the door. I didn’t even get a cookie, but I’m not standing in that line today. I pass through the seating area and exit to the sidewalk, cutting right to run smack into a hard body. The man catches my arms and I twist fingers around his burnt orange T-shirt to try to right my footing.
