The Mistletoe Promise (14 page)

“I haven’t finished packing, but I’m very excited.” I looked at him. “May I ask you a delicate question?”

“Of course.”

“Are we sharing a room in New York?”

For a moment he just looked at me, and I had no idea how he was taking the question. Had I embarrassed him by implying that I didn’t want to be with him, or had I embarrassed myself by presuming that he would? “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”

“No, we’re not,” he said. “I booked you a separate room. It’s in the contract.” The moment settled into silence. Then he said, “It’s late. I better get you home.”

We were mostly quiet on the drive back to my apartment. He pulled up front and walked me to my door.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he said. “I’ve never enjoyed the partners’ party more.”

“Best partners’ party I’ve ever been to,” I said, smiling. “Thank you for letting me into your world.”

We just stood there looking at each other. I suppose that I was still afraid I had offended him with my question about rooms in New York. But even greater than my fear was my desire that he would kiss me—not just on the cheek as he did in public, but really kiss me, passionately. Finally he leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “Good night, Elise.”

“Good night, Nicholas,” I said softly, hiding my disappointment. “I’ll see you Monday morning.”

He turned and walked away. I walked alone into my dark apartment.
The night had been magical. Why didn’t he kiss me? Was I reading this all wrong?

CHAPTER

Twenty-three

I’m a long way from Montezuma Creek.

Elise Dutton’s Diary

Monday morning, Nicholas arrived at my apartment a little after eight-thirty. I came to the door dragging my suitcase, which he looked at in wonder. “That’s what you’re bringing?”

“Yes.”

“Did I tell you we’d be gone for five days or five weeks?”

“A woman needs more things.”

“Playing the gender card,” he said, smiling. “Let me get that.” He lugged my massive bag down the stairs, opened his car trunk by remote, and dropped it inside while I climbed into the passenger seat.

He turned to me and said, “Ready for an adventure?”

“I’m always ready for an adventure,” I said.

On the way to the airport Nicholas asked, “When was the last time you flew?”

“It’s been a while.”

“How long’s a while?”

“About eleven years. It was my honeymoon.”

“Where did you go?”

“Orange County. We went to Disneyland.”

The airport was thick with travelers. I didn’t know if it was busier than usual since I hadn’t flown for so long.

“I can’t believe all the people,” I said. “Is it always this crowded?”

“It’s the season. The airports are always crazy during the holidays.” He looked at me. “Are you afraid of flying?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m afraid of . . .
not
flying.”

“What do you mean?”

“As long as you’re in the air there’s no problem, right? It’s coming back to earth that’s the problem.”

He grinned. “I think you just said something profound about life.”

Our flight was direct from Salt Lake to JFK. Nicholas had booked two first-class tickets, which secretly thrilled me. I had never flown first-class before. We boarded first, before the throng of passengers that surrounded the gate.

“So this is how the other half lives,” I said, sitting back in the wide, padded seat.

“When you fly as much as I do, it’s more of a necessity than a luxury.”

“It’s still luxury,” I said.

I must have looked a little nervous as the plane took off because he reached over and took my hand. Or maybe he just wanted to hold my hand. I hoped for the latter.

“Is our hotel in the city?” I asked.

“We’re staying at the Parker Meridien on Fifty-Sixth,” he said. “It’s a nice hotel. French. And it’s close to things. It’s only six blocks from Rockefeller Center.”

“That’s where the big Christmas tree is,” I said.

He nodded. “And we’re only one block from Fifth Avenue.”

“What’s on Fifth Avenue?”

“Shopping,” he said.

The flight was just a little over four hours. Nicholas fell asleep shortly after they served us lunch. As hard as he worked, I wasn’t surprised. Even though I hadn’t slept well the night before, I couldn’t sleep on the plane. I was too excited. I felt like a girl on her first school field trip. Nicholas didn’t wake until we began our descent. He rubbed his eyes, looked around, then checked his watch. “I slept for two hours. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed the sleep,” I said.

After we had disembarked, Nicholas stopped in a terminal store for some melatonin, then I followed him through the labyrinth of JFK to get our luggage. Downstairs, next to the baggage carousel, was a man in a black suit and cap holding a sign with my name on it.

ELISE DUTTON

“Is that for me?” I asked, which I realized was a foolish question.

“Of course,” Nicholas said.

“I’ve never had someone holding a sign for me.”

The man took our bags, and we followed him out into the cold to a black Lincoln Town Car. The ride took us across the Triborough Bridge into Manhattan, which gave us a clear view of the city’s famous skyline. “Is that the Empire
State Building?” I asked, pointing at a tall building lit red and green.

Nicholas nodded. “They light it for the season. The last time I was here it was purple to honor our soldiers with the Purple Heart.”

The Parker Meridien was just off Sixth Avenue. The lobby was spacious with modern European design and a wry sense of humor. The elevators had televisions that played old Charlie Chaplin movies or Tom and Jerry cartoons, and the room’s Do Not Disturb sign was a long hanger that read
FUGGETABOUTIT,
congruent with the hotel’s slogan, “Uptown. Not Uptight.”

After Nicholas checked us in, a bellman brought our bags to our rooms on the eleventh floor, just two doors from each other.

For dinner we ate Thai food at a tiny restaurant near the hotel. We said goodnight to each other outside my hotel room.

“I need to do some prep work for tomorrow,” Nicholas said. “So I’ll see you in the morning. My meetings begin at nine. If you’d like to have breakfast together, there’s Norma’s on the main floor. Or, you can sleep in and order room service. Whatever you want.”

“I want to be with you,” I said.

He looked pleased with my reply. “I’ll knock on your door at seven-forty-five. Don’t forget to turn your watch ahead two hours. I’ll see you in the morning.” He kissed me on the cheek.

He started to go, but I stopped him. “Nicholas.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Elise. Sleep tight.”

I shut my door and lay down on top of the bed thinking about how happy I was. I had never had so much fun.

There was only one week left on our contract.

I didn’t fall asleep until after two, so I was tired when Nicholas knocked on my door at a quarter to eight. He looked sharp in his suit and tie.

“You look nice,” I said. “Very professional.” I didn’t. I had just pulled on some jeans and a sweater.

“Shall we go?”

Norma’s was a hip restaurant located in the hotel’s lobby. I looked over the orange and black menu. “So many choices. Everything looks good.”

“They’re famous for their breakfasts.”

“Oh my,” I said, laughing. “Look at this. The Zillion Dollar Lobster Frittata. It’s a thousand dollars.”

“That’s with ten ounces of sevruga caviar,” he said. “Read what it says underneath the price.”

“Norma dares you to expense this.” I looked up. “What would you do if I ordered that?”

“Cancel tonight’s dinner.”

“I’ll get something else,” I said quickly. “Who are you meeting with this morning?”

“It’s a software company called Revelar. They’re buying
up a competitor, and I’m here to make sure that they cross their
t
’s and dot their
i
’s. What are you going to do today?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Well, unfortunately, it’s New York, so there’s not much to do,” he said. “Especially at Christmastime.”

I grinned. “I thought I’d walk around and see the sights.”

“You could take the ferry to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Or you could take a tour of the Empire State Building. Also, you’re not far from Fifth Avenue, where all the good shopping is—Saks, Tiffany’s, Cartier, Prada, the good stuff.”

“The good expensive stuff,” I said.

“I’ll be done a little after four. I made reservations for six at Keens Steakhouse. Then I thought we’d take in a show.”

“What are we going to see?”

“That’s a surprise,” he said. He looked down at his watch. “I better go.” He downed his coffee, then stood. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Good luck,” I said.

He stopped and turned back. “I almost forgot.” He handed me his credit card. “Have fun.”

I just looked at it. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Use it.”

I watched him walk out. Then I put the card in my pocket and ordered another cup of hot chocolate.

I went back to my room to finish getting ready, then I took a taxi down to the Empire State Building and rode the el
evator one hundred two floors to the top observation deck. It was amazing to look out over the entire city. Afterward I walked just a few blocks over to Macy’s on Thirty-Fourth Street, joining the throngs of sightseers gathered in front of the store to see the famous animated holiday windows. The theme was the Magic of Christmas, which seemed appropriate for me this year.

I got into a taxi to go back to the hotel but, on a whim, asked the driver for a recommendation for a good place to eat lunch. He was from São Paulo and he took me to a café in Little Brazil just a block off Sixth Avenue. The stew my waiter recommended was different but good. To drink I had a sugarcane juice mixed with pineapple juice. I walked the ten blocks back to the hotel, undressed, and took a nap. I woke to my room phone ringing.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Nicholas said. “Our meetings went long.”

“What time is it?” I asked, sitting up.

“Did I wake you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s almost five. We should leave for dinner in a half hour.”

“I’ll be ready,” I yawned. I got out of bed, splashed water on my face, dressed in a nicer outfit, and fixed my hair. I was putting on fresh makeup when he knocked. I opened the door. He was still wearing his suit but with a fresh shirt and his collar open. He looked handsome. He always looked handsome.

Keens Steakhouse was in the Garment District between Fifth and Sixth Avenues, though, at the time of its founding, in 1885, the area was considered the Theater District and was frequented by those on both sides of the curtain.

The restaurant was crowded, and the inside was paneled in dark mahogany, covered with framed black-and-white pictures. The rooms were mostly lit by indirect lighting, creating the ambience of a nineteenth-century gentlemen’s club, which, in fact, it was. The tables were close together and skirted with white linen cloths. A large, gilt-framed picture of a nude hung above the bar, reminding me of an old western saloon.

Nicholas ordered a half dozen oysters on the shell, which I tried but didn’t care for. Then I had tomatoes and onions with blue Stilton cheese, and we shared a Chateaubriand steak for two. The food was incredible.

“What’s that on the ceiling?” I asked.

He looked up. “Pipes.”

“Pipes?”

“Clay smoking pipes. Every one of them is numbered. In the old days you would request your pipe, and they would find it by its number and bring it to your table. I’m not sure how many pipes are still up there, but I’ve heard more than eighty thousand. They belonged to people like Teddy Roosevelt, Babe Ruth, Albert Einstein, Buffalo Bill Cody, pretty much everybody who was famous came here. Except the women. It used to be that women weren’t allowed inside. It took a lawsuit from King Edward the Seventh’s paramour to open it to women.”