I buried that woman in a garment bag.
* * *
BECAUSE I ARRIVE at the offices of Maned Wolf Security Systems fifteen minutes early, I can pause to admire the building that houses them. It should have been cold with its darkly mirrored exterior but here, in Santa Monica, it reflects the sun and the palm trees that surround it, adding warmth to its power.
And he had been warm when I had touched him. The kisses against my neck had been gentle even as he had pinned me up against the wall. Then there had been his fingers . . . when he had stroked me with them, pushed them inside me, playing me just so as if he was a master pianist bringing forth the aching notes of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata . . . warm, powerful. . . .
My purse vibrates as my phone jerks me back to reality.
“Hello?”
“Miss Fitzgerald? I’m Sonya, Mr. Dade’s executive assistant. There’s been a slight change of plans. Mr. Dade would like you to meet him at the bar Le Fête. It’s located one block south of our office building.”
“Any particular reason for the relocation?”
“Mr. Dade will of course cover the expense of anything you order and the valet.”
That hadn’t been my question but it seems unlikely that this woman would have been able to give me a satisfactory answer.
I look back up at the building and then down at the briefcase in my hand. “I’ll be there. . . . My firm will cover all additional expenses.”
“May I ask how far away you are?”
“I’m here,” I say, “at your building. One block away from Le Fête.”
I hang up and walk past the building, with its darkly tinted windows and reflected palm trees, to Mr. Dade.
* * *
HE LOOKS THE SAME. I stand by the host station so I can discreetly observe him. He sits alone at a small bar table while he reads something on his iPad. He’s wearing a light gray cotton shirt with black trousers. Still no tie, no blazer, nothing that demands deference from the world he controls.
Then again, Mr. Dade doesn’t need clothes to announce his authority. That statement is made in the way he holds himself. It’s in the intensity of his hazel eyes, the obvious strength of his body; it’s in the confidant smile he’s directing at me.
Oh yes, he’s spotted me all right, and under the intensity of his gaze I have to work harder to remember the little things: keep your head up, walk with purpose, breath, don’t forget who you are.
I walked through the maze of tables to his side. “Mr. Dade.” I keep my voice cool and professional as I offer him my hand.
“Kasie.” He gets to his feet and presses his palm against mine, demonstrating a firm grip and holding on for far too long. “I am so glad to see you again.”
He’s moving his thumb back and forth over my skin again. It’s such a small thing, something I should be able to easily brush off. But instead goose bumps pop up all over my arm.
He notices and his smile gets a little wider. “Last time I saw you this fell out of your purse.” He holds up my business card. “I found it on the floor of my suite.”
I yank away my hand and take a seat.
“I always conduct my meetings in offices, Mr. Dade.”
“Ah, but I’m afraid my office was ill-equipped for you today.”
“Ill-equipped?”
He nods and out of nowhere a waitress appears with two glasses balanced on a tray.
“Iced tea.” She puts the tall glass in front of Mr. Dade. “And scotch on the rocks.”
I feel myself heat up as she places the much shorter glass in front of me.
“I thought of ordering a glass for myself,” he explains, “but then I remembered your willingness to share.”
I stare down at the bobbing ice cubes in the light copper liquid.
I know what can be done with those ice cubes.
“I’m here for business, Mr. Dade.”
He smiles and leans forward, propping his elbows on the slightly unsteady table. “You know my first name now. You’re allowed to use it.”
“I think it’s better if we keep things professional.” There’s a slight quiver to my voice. Against my better judgment I reach for the drink.
“Very well. Continue to call me Mr. Dade and I’ll continue to call you Kasie.”
I take a long sip of the whiskey; the taste’s too familiar, the memories are too animated. “I’m here to talk to you about my ideas for Maned Wolf Security Systems.”
“For the sake of convenience, let’s just call it Maned Wolf.”
I nod. It’s the first nonloaded thing he’s said and I’m incredibly grateful for this small gift. “If you’re seriously considering taking Maned Wolf public, and the documents your staff e-mailed me suggest that you are, you need to grow your personal Internet security business. Everyone knows the government relies on you to keep its files safe. The average customer will want to feel like they’re buying in to that same level of protection.”