The Suite Life (5 page)

As we sampled Neapolitan and Venetian pastries and sipped espresso, the conversation flowed easily. Something felt really good about being with this total stranger, but I could not define
what that was. I hoped it was because Alec was being honest with me, and that was what felt so refreshing.

We talked and talked for almost an hour, and, as corny as it sounds, we never wavered from holding each other's gaze. When our conversation died down, I declined the grappa Alec had ordered for a “nightcap,” and which, he explained, came from the last press of wine grapes, and opted instead for some Mandarin orange tea.

“You're through and through Italian, aren't you?” I asked as he savored the last mouthful of his wine.

“Sicilian.” Alec grinned. “One hundred percent.”

“Not the same thing,” I said, and gave him a smile. “I know all about that. In fact, I even wrote a book about it.”

“No kidding?”

“Nope. A novel called
The Blessed Bridge
.”

“I knew there was more to you than met the eye, but I never figured you for a writer.”

“My ex Tony didn't, either, and he wanted no part of seeing it in print. He reached out from prison and derailed my writing career before it even got started. I shouldn't have been surprised; he had connections everywhere—most mafia men do. But for some reason I'd fooled myself into believing that publishing was too far outside of his sphere of influence to infiltrate. I was wrong. Turns out it was easy for him to get to my publishers and stop the deal from happening. That's what life with Tony was like: when he was with me he tried to destroy me and when we were apart he still tried.”

Alec let out a low whistle. “Well, Wall Street guys have connections too . . . I'd like to look this creep up.”

Please, no.

I didn't wonder what Alec was capable of. As far as I could see, he did pretty much whatever he wanted, and I didn't need him resurrecting Tony Kroon. But I did appreciate the fact that
he seemed so ready to defend my honor. “Last I heard he's in the witness protection program,” I said.

“So he's both a lowlife
and
a rat,” Alec said, draining his pretty cordial glass. “How did you survive that relationship?”

“My faith sustains me.”

Alec smiled. “I didn't figure the rosary you were clutching when I ran into you was some kind of new costume jewelry statement.”

Jason appeared and disappeared, refilling Alec's glass in the process.

“All kidding aside, Alec—
are
you an observer?”

Alec did justice to the healthy pour and looked me in the eyes.
There's that ear-to-ear smile!
“I could be.”

“What does that mean?”

“My dad is a devout Catholic, and Mom is right behind him, but it didn't exactly rub off on me. I guess I was more consumed by Dad's financial teachings. Still, they're both always after me to practice my faith more.”

“I don't belong to any congregation or go to church every Sunday, but I do find peace every time I go to Mass and every time I pray. Maybe your father knows what's good for you.”

Alec squeezed my hand. “As I said, I
could
be an observer.” My smile nearly matched his, as he drained his glass and leaned toward me. “You ready to leave?”

So that was brunch.
“I enjoyed it immensely, Alec. Thank you.”

“Maybe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Alec said, quoting that famous last line from
Casablanca
as he slid from the booth and took my hand, ushering me toward the exit.

Jason said good-bye to us and slipped a small shiny pink box with a sheer white lace bow into my free hand as we left. “Some chocolates for you, miss,” he said.

“Thanks.” I beamed, still tethered to Alec.

“What about a check?” I whispered, but he didn't slow down.

Oops. Faux pas?

“My AmEx card is on file,” Alec said as he we emerged into the late-afternoon sun.

I floated more than walked back to the parking garage, where an attendant stood beside the passenger door of Alec's Range Rover, already idling on the ramp.

How did Alec arrange that?

“Thanks, José,” he said as he slipped a folded bill into the attendant's hand.

The Sunday traffic was light and so was the conversation. Alec wanted to know what I'd liked most about our brunch, and he seemed pleased when I told him that getting to know each other better was the highlight for me.

We rolled onto the Brooklyn Bridge and I couldn't help thinking for the umpteenth time about living in Manhattan. The energy was different on this side of the river and I desperately wanted to be a part of it all the time.
When is that going to happen for me?

“Let me walk you to the door,” Alec said as he double-parked in front of my apartment house.

This time, enjoying the attention, I waited for him to come around and open my door. When he took my hand once more and escorted me to the front stoop, the tingly feeling I'd felt on the phone with him came back in force.

At the door, he placed his hands on my shoulders as he had done before, and he saw everything in my eyes. “I'm going to see you again, Samantha Bonti,” he breathed, giving me the gentlest kiss possible. His eyes lingered on mine for a moment as he released my hand. He smiled as he turned toward the curb.

I stood there for a long time after his Range Rover disappeared around the corner.

As soon as I got home, I curled up in bed with my little box of chocolates. Recollections of the food and the conversation I'd had with Alec played through my mind as I popped a hazelnut truffle into my mouth and let it melt on my tongue.

Not the only melting going on, that's for sure.

My humble surroundings seemed different somehow. The setting sun streaming through the double windows in the living area seemed to fill the empty vase on the kitchenette counter, and the colors of my shabby furniture seemed more vibrant than usual.
Maybe the present changes when the future does.

I was dying to share my day with someone who gave a damn about me, but there was no one to call. It would have been cruel to babble on about Alec with John, and Priti lived with her parents, who, I knew, wouldn't have appreciated her talking on the phone for as long as it would take for me to tell all. That conversation would just have to wait until lunch the next day.

I wish I could talk to Grandma about Alec.

I switched the TV on and thumbed the
TV Guide
I'd palmed from my dentist's office. I knew Grandma would love hearing how attentive he'd been, but she'd also give me grief because he wasn't a “nice Jewish boy.”

As for Mom, I could never win with her no matter who the guy was, even if he were Richard Gere, who had just popped onto the cracked TV screen with Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
. I sank deeper into my pillows as Julia sank up to her neck in a luxurious bubble bath. The phone rang before I had a chance to give myself a pity party.

“Hi, Samantha Bonti,” Alec said, and I could see his grin.

I switched the TV off. “You
can't
be home yet, even if it is Sunday,” I said.

“Nah, I just couldn't wait to talk to you,” Alec said.

Having a guy call a day, or even two, after a date is exciting, a rather big deal. The significance of a call on the same day didn't escape me.

“Hell, I couldn't even wait till I got to the bridge.”

This is a HUGE deal, Samantha.
“You pulled over somewhere?”

“I'm in the Range Rover.”

I'd heard about car phones, but didn't know anyone who had one. “I didn't see a phone when I was in the car.”

“Tucked away in the console. Sure comes in handy sometimes.”

“I'll bet.”
The rich have a lot of handy things, like savings accounts and vacation homes.

“You a gambler, Sam?”

“Not really,” I said, without adding that I didn't have any discretionary income to spend on such frivolities.

“Well, just say the word and we'll be off to Vegas to find out for sure.”

“That's not high on my list of places to visit.”

“Where would . . . whoa!”

“What happened?” I screeched. “You all right?”

“The sunset . . . I just wish you were here with me on the bridge to see it.”

I wish I were, too.
“Funny . . . I noticed the light just a minute ago.”

“Just one of the many things we're going to share, Sam.”

“That's so sweet, Alec.”

“A mere bag of shells, as Ralph Kramden says.”

“I'm just a tad worried about you talking and driving, Alec.”

He chuckled. “Now look who's being sweet.”

“I mean it, Alec. I don't want to be responsible for a crash.”

“I'm in good hands with Allstate.”

“Why don't you just call me back when you get home?”

“I'm five minutes away. Don't go anywhere.”

As if.
“Take your time,” I said.

A full day had just gotten overstuffed, and there was more to come.
This calls for a celebration.
I popped another truffle into my mouth.
Julia's got nothing on me right now.

Pulling the set of rosary beads from under the pillow where I kept them handy, I called my blessings, past and present, to mind, and rattled off a Hail Mary and an Our Father, finishing just as the phone rang again.
Maybe Alec will “observe” with me someday.

“Miss me?” He chuckled.

“Counted the seconds.”

“Then count on being with me Tuesday after work, Sam. We'll see a show and have a late supper after.”

This guy certainly moves fast. He could teach the Flash a thing or two about speed.

“I won't take no for an answer.”

“What if I told you I already had a date?”

“I'd tell you to break it.”

“You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you, Mr. DeMarco?”

“Let me put it this way, Sam: if there's a guy out there you'd rather be with, then I want to meet him.”

“Is that so?”

“Yup.”

“To work him over, I suppose.”

“Nope,” Alec deadpanned. “I'd just want to tip my hat to him.”

I laughed. “You're a regular riot, Alec, to paraphrase your friend Ralph Kramden.”

“I'm crazy about you, Alice,” he parried, and we both laughed. “I've got plans for your Monday, too.”

“Oh? And what might those be?” I asked. I had to admit, his confidence was a big turn-on.

“Pop up to Saks right after work,” Alec directed. “Go to the eighth floor and ask for Evelyn. She'll help you pick out something nice.”

I paused, stunned. A smile spread across my face.

“That's also very sweet, Alec,” I managed, “but . . . but very unnecessary.” Unnecessary or not, it would certainly be a rare treat to be able to choose a new dress that came from a famous Fifth Avenue department store instead of a thrift shop. And I was too flattered, and too smitten, to think about the implications of allowing a guy I hardly knew to buy me such an expensive gift.

“I know it's not necessary,” he said, “but please indulge me.”

How could a girl refuse? Now I
really
feel like Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman. “I'm speechless right now, Alec.”

He laughed. “That's how I like my women all the time.”

“Been nice knowing you, then,” I cracked.

We talked for two hours that seemed like two minutes, sometimes joking and sometimes speaking seriously. I was more than content to let him do most of the talking, and, stallion that Alec was, he was pleased to show off a little.

He told me that he had done extremely well as a specialist on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, matching buyers with sellers as a market-maker to keep trades flowing smoothly.
He said that he seemed to have a great talent for handling tricky decisions on a daily basis and incredibly stressful initial public offerings (IPOs) every week or so. He had made a steady climb up the Wall Street ladder. Delivering lunches and coffees was a thing of the past. It was a fierce game of great wealth that only very few knew how to play well enough to survive, much less thrive. Alec knew when he would deliver his last lunch in much the same way that a mafia guy knows that after his first murder he will be “made.”

He had just become a managing director at Transglobal, an independent specialist firm, and was well on his way to becoming a partner. I knew he'd gotten his start as a result of his father's connections, as had many others on the Street, but by his own admission he was bound and determined to become a titan in his own right, and, based on fierce determination alone, I knew he'd accomplish whatever he set his mind to do. From where I sat, he was already wildly successful, and his presence, which I'd experienced up close and personal, seemed natural, too. I couldn't remember the last time I'd let my guard down with another person, much less with a man.