The response to her Ponzi scheme exposé had gone beyond anything she’d imagined. The arrest of Joseph Kimble at his Long Island residence that morning continued to run as the lead story on every major news station in the country. As soon as that footage had gone live of Kimble’s walk of shame, news agencies had begun scrambling to find the next biggest scoop. Namely her. The upstart financial journalist who, while respected in the journalism community, hadn’t quite made a name for herself yet. Until today.
Coupled with Preston’s front-page announcement that their renowned financial publication would be transforming into a magazine dedicated to walking on the wild side, the media had sat up and paid attention. For hours, her cell and office phones had been ringing off the hook. Several interview requests and one oddly endearing marriage proposal later, she’d turned off her phone just to keep her sanity. Perhaps tomorrow, when the dust settled, she could consider the offers with an eye as to how the publicity could jump-start the new Preston’s. But not today. Not when any kind of future with Jonah was up in the air.
Oliver had thought her insane for leaving the office this evening, walking straight into the throng of question-hurling reporters, but she’d had no choice. The abhorrent thought of going another day without seeing Jonah had propelled her out the door, speed-walking along the sidewalk from the Financial District toward Tribeca. She’d taken down one of the country’s most influential money moguls in the business, but her nerves had remained intact until now.
Caroline planned to walk into Serve and get her man. On live television, if necessary. Getting him back was the plan, anyway. Said man had to be willing to be gotten. For all she knew, he’d turn away from her, having already moved on to someone who wouldn’t treat him unfairly. Granted, the cameras were annoying, but maybe her walking into Serve with them filming her every step would help Jonah get the message. I’m not ashamed of you. I not only accept everything about you, I celebrate it.
Forcing a smile onto her face, Caroline approached the bouncer. He raised an eyebrow at the camera crew chasing her down the street, shrugged, and lifted the velvet rope. She murmured her thanks as she passed, having expected that very response. After all, this was New York. She wasn’t the first, nor would she be the last woman chased into a club by cameras in this town.
All three times she’d come to Serve before today, her initial feelings upon arrival had been ambiguous. Concerned about being seen, confusion over the anticipation in her belly, a touch of intimidation. Now, as the shouts outside were cut off, darkness enfolded her like a soft blanket. This was where Jonah would be. There was simply no name for the feeling the possibility of his presence invoked. Portishead played from a hidden speaker, layered over the hum of conversation, mated with the dim lighting to give her the feeling she’d been transported into a dream. Just that single step inside the door and she already felt closer to him.
Garnering her courage, Caroline sat down at the bar, crossed her legs carefully, and waited. Jonah had seen her once through his video cameras and come downstairs for her. Unless he’d been living under a rock for the last ten hours, he would have heard about her article. He’d know about the decision she’d made regarding the future of Preston’s. Yes, she’d made those decisions because she firmly believed they would benefit her family, but they’d also been messages to Jonah. He just had to receive them.
“Drink?”
Caroline glanced up at the semi-familiar-looking bartender. “Something strong, please.”
“Got it.” He poured three different liquids into a cocktail shaker and shook it before pouring the red drink into a martini glass.
When he pushed it toward her on a square napkin, Caroline gave him a questioning look. “What happened to the lollipops?”
The bartender shrugged. “Boss didn’t want to use them anymore.”
“Oh,” she responded, trying to ignore the rising tide of grief. “Is, um, Mr. Briggs…here?”
He regarded her curiously. “As far as I know, he’s upstairs as usual. Did you want me to tell him you’re here?”
Was she projecting or did she see a hint of sympathy on his face? He must know what she’d already guessed. If he were upstairs monitoring the club, he would have seen her arrive. If he wanted to see her, he’d be downstairs by now.
“No, no.” She waved away the offer. “I-it’s fine. Don’t bother him.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but another customer demanded his attention. Caroline stared into her drink for an interminable length of time, the music getting louder around her, people packing close at the bar, until it became devastatingly obvious that Jonah wouldn’t come. She’d failed. Her final option would be taking the elevator to the upper floors, but she didn’t know where he’d be and wouldn’t embarrass herself by searching.