Burn Into Me (10 page)

No, I shouldn’t. She’ll blow me off, I’m sure of it. And frankly, I don’t blame her. I know I’ve been an asshole not being open with her about who I am. But if I’d told her, I wouldn’t have had those two nights with her—nights that are burned into my brain. Nights I’ll never have with her again. Without looking, I open my desk drawer, dump in my cell phone, and close it, pressing my hand over the drawer front momentarily. I should
not
call her.

I pick up my pen and force myself to resume work—reviewing the company’s annual report. As CEO of my own fund management firm, my working life revolves around financial projections, endless meetings, and boring lunches and dinners. Of course I love the money and power that goes along with business success, but some part of me is nostalgic for my early days of trading futures on the floor, especially the adrenaline high that accompanies a big win.
 

Nowadays, all my trading is done electronically. With the computerized trading systems I’ve devised, money comes rolling in at the press of a button. All I have to do is monitor the systems while concentrating on other aspects of my business like PR, marketing, and client acquisition. For someone who lives for the thrill, work has become rather tedious, so I’ve been thinking up new projects to keep me on the ball.
 

The phone on my desk rings, and I perk up.

“Ryder. I knew I’d find you in the office on a Sunday.”

“Hey, Martin. What’s up?”
 

It’s Martin Rosenberg, my client and the banker I had the breakfast meeting with that was so rudely disturbed.

“I met Annette Delaware, the director of the Department of City Planning at a function last night. When I talked to her about our project, she was keen to meet up with you. I told her you’d be at our fundraiser in two weeks, and she agreed to come.”

“That’s great news. Thanks, Martin.”

“If you play this right, it’s in the bag. The Bank of the USA will take major sponsorship. It’s going to be great PR for us.”

Martin and I are working together on our latest project: the building of affordable family housing in West Chelsea, smack in the middle of Manhattan. Although this is more of a favor to him than anything else, I try to do my share of charity work and don’t mind providing most of the funding. But I leave the corporate sponsors to deal with the marketing and publicity as I like to stay low profile. Not only do I feel uncomfortable in the limelight, it is too painful for me to get personally involved in charitable projects, especially if they have to do with homelessness. I just don’t want to be reminded of my past. As long as I support them financially, I tell myself.

Martin Rosenberg is more than happy to make the Bank of the USA the face of the project. Undoubtedly he’ll open a branch in the complex, providing a whole range of banking services, including cheap home loans. It’s going to be great publicity for him without the bank putting up a lot of capital. It makes good business sense.

I tell him, “I’d like to finalize the plans as soon as possible so we can start construction at the beginning of next year. We should get some big names involved, like actors and sports figures. I’ve already contacted Make It Right, the foundation started by Brad Pitt to build homes for the victims of Katrina. He’s agreed to work with us and give us advice.”

We’ll need all the advice we can get—it’s proving an uphill battle to go through the red tape involved in such a big development. We haven’t even acquired the land, which is up for tender in about a month. But I don’t think it’s going to be a problem, especially with the connections Martin and I have.
 

While I’m on the phone, I hear a knock on the door and wave Alex in. He and I are often the only ones in the office on Sundays. As my legal compliance director, Alex is my right-hand man, in and out of the office. We’ve gone through a lot together, and I’d normally tell him if there’s anything bothering me. But for some reason, I haven’t told him what happened with Elle; I’m not sure if I want to hear what he has to say.

After I’ve hung up the phone, I tell Alex all the news about the West Chelsea project and show him the latest plans. His eyes lighting up with enthusiasm, he rattles off tons of new ideas. The project was his idea in the first place, and once I’ve got it rolling, I’ll get him to take over and head the project while I’ll move on to the next.
 

I make notes on my legal pad, but I soon start doodling in the margins: a row of dots and an assortment of Pacman figures. Has Elle truly reached Level 150? I wouldn’t be surprised—she’s a pro at that game. I smile to myself at the memory.
 

“Ryder?”
 

I look up. Alex is leaning over my desk.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“What’s going on, man? It seems you haven’t been yourself lately, you’re so distracted. I’m starting to worry about you.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Did you get any action last night?”

“No, I wasn’t in the mood.”
 

Feeling gloomy and dispirited, I’ve been trying to keep myself busy in the past few days. On Friday night Alex and I grabbed a quick dinner before dropping into The Rock, an indoor climbing gym, for a climb on its 50-foot wall. The next day was a beautiful fall day, so we drove up to the Gunks for a day of steep and challenging climbs. At night Alex insisted on visiting an exclusive club, where I soon lost him to some buxom redhead. When an attractive blond sidled her body up against me on the dance floor, I tried hard, but obviously not hard enough because for inexplicable reasons, I couldn’t go through with it. I hated myself for it—I wanted to forget.
 

Alex furrows his brow. “This is so not you, bro. What’s bothering—hey, it’s not that racing chick, is it? GSX?”

How the hell does Alex know? I’ve told him about me helping Elle when her bike broke down, but he doesn't know about our date. Am I that transparent?

“There’s nothing going on between us. She didn’t want to have anything to do with me once she found out who I am.”

Laughing, he slams his hand on my desk. “No way! Isn’t that usually how you get them into bed in the first place?”

“I know, it’s weird, right? You’re not going to believe it, but she has moral objections against having money.”

I tell him about the incident in the diner and how Elle is involved.
 

He nods his head. “Yeah, I think I saw that protest on TV. Bankers are the real looters? Haha. Come to think of it, it’s actually quite funny. Isn't it just your luck to find the one girl in the world who you’re interested in, but who hates you for your money?”

“Shit, man, it’s not funny. Now she doesn’t want to see me anymore. And there’s nothing I can do to change her mind.” Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose.
 

“Hey, I haven’t seen you so miserable in a long time. Maybe the last time was when you lost big in the stock market. Remember when you were long S&P at the time that Lehman Brothers fell? And you lost ten million within a few hours? Well, that’s how you look right now.”

I rub the back of my neck. “She said she’s not my type. And I’ve been thinking, I don’t even know what my type is.”

If anyone should know it’s Alex. God knows how many women we’ve gone through over the years.
 

“Let me see. Blond, sexy, curvy, well-dressed. That’s what you go usually for. But I don’t know, man. You’ve never shown an interest in any of them for more than an hour, at most a night. But I can tell you one thing. You’ve never been remotely interested in a girl like that racing chick. Ever.”

“No, I haven’t, have I?”

“Let me ask you this. Do you just want to sleep with her or is this more? How much do you like her?”

I shrug. “I have no idea why, but I like her. A lot.”

“In that case, I say: go for it.”

“What do you mean? I already told you, she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Come on now. The Ryder I know is as tenacious as a bulldog. Once there's something he wants, he figures out a way and won't let anything or anyone stop him.”

“But what if she really doesn't want me? Wouldn’t I just be wasting my time?”

God, I can’t believe how whiny, how
needy
I sound. But I’ve never been rejected by a girl before. I feel miserable; it’s like she has ripped out a chunk out of my body, leaving me hollow inside. I don’t want her to make me feel any worse.

“Hey, I’m probably not the best person to give you relationship advice. The only girl I’ve ever loved left me for a rich, bald guy. Can you believe it, leaving hunky me?” Alex flexes his biceps, and I can’t suppress a chuckle.
 

“But bro, I do know this: if you think she’s worth it, you can’t just let her go without a fight. And if anyone can do the impossible, it’s you.”

Before talking to Alex, I had all but given up on Elle. Now that he’s giving me a little sprinkle of hope, I’m seriously considering if I should go after her. I have never pursued a girl in my life. I’ve never had to; they’ve always come willingly to me. If I decide to do this, I will find myself in uncharted territory, and I can’t deny I find it somewhat daunting.

Alex slaps his stomach. “And now, my friend, it’s time for dinner.”

“Great idea.”

I unlock my desk drawer to grab my cell. When I lift it up, my eye falls on something at the bottom of the drawer—it’s the strip of photos we took at the games arcade. I pick it up, and Elle’s darkly lined eyes are staring at me, her pink lips curled in a cautious, slightly anxious smile. On one photo she’s biting her lip, and it instantly brings back memories of the night we went out—the night we kissed.
 

A warm wave briefly surges into the emptiness inside me, but is soon followed by a slicing, lingering pain. Damn, I long to see her again; to crush my lips against hers; to feel her soft body against mine. After listening to Alex, it sounds so tempting to go after her. I can’t deny that the risk-taker in me craves the challenge—one of the biggest I’ve faced for a long time. Even so, I worry that even if I am successful to take her in my arms, I may get too deeply involved with her. If this rejection already feels so bad, I know she has the power to undo me; to break my heart; to destroy me.
 

I realize that all I need to do is figure out the answer to one question.
 

Is she worth fighting for?
 

Elle

The mouthwatering aroma of spices, coconut, and cooked rice fill my nostrils as I step into Curry Leaves, my sister’s favorite Malaysian restaurant in Flushing. When Rose spots me, her eyes dip to the helmet tucked under my arm, and she shakes her head. “You’re not still riding that motorcycle, are you? It’s dangerous. You could be killed one day.”

“Come on, sis, you’d probably be glad to get rid of me.”
 

I wink at her, but she responds with a scowl.

“Don’t joke about things like that, Elle. I’m worried about you. Promise me you’ll be careful, okay? Don’t go too fast.”

“Uh-huh.” I sit down, hiding my grin behind the menu that I’ve snatched off the table.
 

The waitress appears, and Rose asks me, “So, are we having the usual?”

I nod, and she rattles off our favorite dishes—laksa, Hainanese chicken rice, and beef satay—while I take a few sips of water. I look at my sister’s immaculate white blouse, which is buttoned up to the top. She’s actually very pretty, with her big eyes and delicate features that she hides behind glasses, and her slim but shapely body that she likes to cover up. Even though she is the complete opposite of me, both in appearance as in attitude, she’s always there when I need her.
 

“I almost forgot.” I pick up my backpack and pull out a plastic bag with the clothes I borrowed from her. “Thanks for this.”
 

“You’re welcome. So, how did it go?”

“It went really well. We managed to shoot a video of the CEO of the Bank of the USA while he was having breakfast.”

She scrunches up her nose. “Poor man. Was it just you or did one of your friends help you?”

“There were three of us.”

“What? That’s a bit unfair, don’t you think, three against one? When all he’s trying to do is enjoy his breakfast in peace.”

“He wasn’t by himself. He was having a meeting with his fund manager, this De Luca guy, undoubtedly to discuss how to make even more.”

Damn, I didn’t mean to mention his name. But it’s unlikely Rose has ever heard of him.
 

Wrinkling her forehead, she looks up to the ceiling. “De Luca, did you say? It wouldn’t be that fund manager billionaire, would it?”

“How would you know? We could hardly find any intel on him on the net.”

“Remember Alice Ho? My friend who got a perfect score on her SATs?”

Of course I know her—Rose always goes on about her straight-A genius friend who won full scholarships to three Ivy League schools.
 

“Yeah?”

“Well, she was an intern with his company. I still remember because she couldn’t stop harping on and on about it, even when we were supposed to have a fun day out shoe shopping. It used to drive me crazy.”

I take a big gulp of water. I can’t believe Rose actually knows of him; this is my chance to find out exactly how much.
 

My voice cracks a little even though I’m trying my hardest to contain my excitement. “So what did she say? What’s he like?”

“She couldn’t stop gushing about him.”

“Why, did she date him or something?”

I feel an irrational feeling of jealousy bubbling up. Ryder couldn’t possibly be interested in Alice Einstein. She’s not just smart, she’s pretty, too. Damn.

“No, I don’t think so. I’m sure she’s tried, judging from how she kept on raving on about how hot he is, and brilliant, too. But apparently he doesn’t date—
at all
. With the money he has, women are probably falling at his feet. He must be going through them one or two a night. Or he’s gay, who knows?”