“Arsen,” Gerard says sitting down and leaning back in his chair. “Something is bothering you about this entire situation. Ever since your father died the single goal you’ve had was to rid yourself of your father’s empire and start from scratch at something else. To cleanse yourself of his filth, as you put it. But the closer we get toward achieving that goal, the more you pull back.”
I’m silent as he continues. “You asked me to find out who Mr. Giannoni’s client was. Against my better judgment I pursued it. And I found out. You wanted to break the sale into pieces. We did that. Now at the last business, you hold everything up. Luca Giannoni and Mr. Mozorov have been patient,” he says in the voice filled with wisdom. “But if we are to continue, I need to know what your reasons for holding us back are. And I need to know now.”
Perhaps it's the way he's asking—questioning my sanity, or maybe it's because I feel as if I've been interrogated for nearly an hour straight, but just then, I lose it.
"I'm in love with a girl!" I snap, slamming my fist down on the conference table and flashing my snarled mouth at Gerard. "There, I've said it. Are you fucking happy? Is that good enough for you, Gerard?"#p#分页标题#e#
He’s taken aback, clearly not expecting this to fucking tumble from my mouth.
"Arsen, I don't understand. What does you being in love with a girl have anything to do with the sale of Simulated Pleasures LLC?"
"She's one of the phone sex operators."
He stops for a moment, and a pregnant silence fills the air. For a few awkward moments, neither of us says anything, and then I continue, "She doesn't know."
I see a wave of understanding come across his face and he finally speaks. "You should tell her."
"Who are you, my fucking therapist as well as my lawyer?"
"I mean it."
"What good would that do?"
"Well, for one, are things getting serious?"
I think about that question for a moment. Have things gotten more serious between Ashley and I? It feels like it certainly can, but am I imagining that? Where exactly do I want this to go? Where does she want this to go? I love her. That much I understand.
"I don't know," I say, and that's the truth. I grab the glass of water sitting on the conference table and take a sip. My face is pensive.
"If you think things will—or can—get serious, you should tell her," he says, noticing that my mind is pre-occupied.
I don't say anything, but I nod my head in agreement. Of course he's right, but that's easier said than done. It's one thing to sit here at this conference table and say these things—and even agree with them—than it is to approach the woman you know you love about a secret that you've been keeping from her. Things are working right now. We're fucking happy. I don't want to fuck it all up by coming clean. If she finds out that I've been masquerading as King Henry, there's no telling how she'll react.
"It's not something you want to hide forever," he says, breaking my train of thought.
"I don't know what I want."
"Oh come on now," he says, almost laughing. "Quit kidding yourself."
"Says the man who's strong arming me into selling the one business I'm adamant on keeping."
"It's just obvious to me that you want the girl, so do something about it."
I look at him and know he's right.
55
Ashley
If Arsen is going to keep feeding me like this, I’m going to have to start spending an extra hour at the gym. I mean, seriously. We’re sitting on his terrace balcony, overlooking Central Park. He has a massive table that’s laid out with breakfast. I have my choice of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, slices of white or wheat bread, fruit, yogurt, granola, and croissants.
Oh, there’s also pancakes. There’s coffee, tea, orange juice and cereal.
Apparently, the building concierge has been instructed to prepare a breakfast spread every day for Arsen since I’ve started spending more and more time with him.
Arsen however, is just eating some bacon and a croissant, with some coffee, and reading the New York Daily Journal. The sound of taxis and delivery trucks wafts over to our little terrace in the clouds and I look over at my handsome breakfast companion.
“You live very well, Arsen,” I tell him, smiling. He looks over at me and smiles. Last night he took me to the MOMA where we saw the unveiling of some new Frederick Hart sculptures that hadn’t been released to the public after the sculptor’s death. Variations on Three Goddesses and Cross of the Millennium on both bronze and acrylic resin. I look into the room. Arsen bought one of the pieces and it’s sitting in the living room, purchased and now forgotten. Which would be fine if it was a dress from Bloomingdales, except that this tiny sculpture costs around $150,000.#p#分页标题#e#