Valentin Jealous Read online

  When I first came to this country, I had to start almost from scratch. Finding ways to make a little capital, finding premises, building clientele and a reputation—it took all my time and energy making the business opportunities and the contacts that I needed.

  Getting to know the right people, finding the important pressure points was work that took me from the time I rose until the moment I slept. Soon I was absorbed in the business of building an empire, and I had no time to think about anything else.

  I know, though, if that special woman had crossed my path at any time along the way, that I would have found a way to make it happen. So, in time, I almost forgot about it. It became a ‘back-burner’ thing and never got any attention. Sometimes someone would suggest a match-making service, internet dating, something like that. But that’s not me.

  For me, a thing has to be right in every way. It has to be real. Authentic. Natural and organic.

  I never thought that I would find a woman like her. I didn’t know there ever was a woman like her, or I would have been looking much harder. I gave up on thoughts of love, marriage, that kind of companionship a long time ago. Before I even came to this country. Before I started to build my businesses.

  The desire, the need for children never left me, but without the perfect woman, I never saw a way for it to happen.

  My beloved grandmother used to tell me, ‘All good things come to those who wait.’ Even when I was young, I could see that it wasn’t always true. But it still seemed a good motto.

  When I found Eva’s bracelet on her chair in the classroom, I felt it straight away. She was what I had been waiting for all this time.

  Chapter 5

  Him

  I WAIT DOWNSTAIRS FOR her, on the street at the entrance to the building.

  While I wait, I wonder how she will be dressed. What will she wear?

  Her red dress, long, flowing and asymmetrical, is off one shoulder. She is spectacular. The wave of red makes a fantastic display of her stunning figure. A whole lot of woman in her little bouncy frame, she has the kind of figure that too many American women would try to hide. Hunching over or wearing great billowing tents of clothes.

  She has curves to be proud of. Womanly softness that artists of the ancient world and the Renaissance idolized. Rightly so. The nurturing, maternal form is the most divine expression of humanity. I feel like I’ve known this forever, and yet I’m only seeing it now for the first time.

  Eva is luscious and voluptuous. Her soft, sensual curves make the most of the waves of fabric.

  She moves in a way that’s still conservative. Shy. She walks with her hands and arms almost still. Small movements for the woman who is not drawing attention to her body. As if it could be in the way.

  And she wears heels. Red pumps. Not too high, but enough to show that she is proud. She may not move her hands much as she walks, but her hips and her legs, the sway of her ass, I could take her right now, out in the wet street.

  It makes me so hard to see her display herself this way. Proud, still a little shy, but determined to assert herself anyway. My Eva is a very exciting woman, and she carries contradictions and secrets, kept hidden inside her.

  I am so glad that I have found her. Now I have to make everything perfect for her. And I have to make her mine. Completely.

  Her smart red heels click on the sidewalk as she approaches and her small, contained smile is enough to set me on fire.

  Chapter 6

  Her

  THE RESTAURANT IS HIGH up in the tall, uptown building. Floor to ceiling windows wrap around, giving views out over the Financial Center and South Street Seaport. With heavy white linen, silver flatware and dark wood paneling, it has all the trappings of a top-table dining room.

  Discreet wait staff, all in formal black vests with starched white shirts and bow ties, move silently between the large, wide-spaced tables.

  Very hip music, just in the background, gives the room a lively, edgy ambience. A contrast to the maître d’, who wears tails. As we arrive and he approaches, his downward glance in front of Valentin makes me understand.

  I wonder if Valentin thinks I’ll be intimidated. Daddy’s catering business is a full-service operation. We supply pizza outlets that sell by the slice on street-corners, but we go all the way up to the very best tables in restaurants and five-star hotels.

  Daddy says that he could serve a banquet in Buckingham Palace, seat me at the top table and I wouldn’t be fazed. And he’s probably right. He could handle the banquet and maybe I could hold my own at the table.

  Valentin is surprised when I order steak hache with sauce au poivre and French fries.

  “Hamburger?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

  I shrug. “It’s what I feel like having.”

  I definitely have the impression that he’s about to tell me I should order something else, but then he looks at me, and he decides against it. When he raises a hand, the head waiter and the wine waiter come from opposite sides of the restaurant in seconds. He instructs them in clipped tones.

  He demands a bottle of 1982 Chateau Margaux, but I tell him, “That would be a little heavy for me. There’s a Brouilly on the menu that I’d love to try.”

  He scowls and his lips tighten. He nods to the wine waiter. “The Brouilly.”

  It’s a shame to miss out on the Margaux, but I wanted to know how he would react if I contradicted him. I felt his anger. It was raw and strong, but it passed. A wave like a current went through me. The shocking thing, what I didn’t expect was that I liked the sting.

  It gave me a dark thrill, like something bad, something that’s really wrong. I wanted to feel it again.

  He says, “You must tell me what you think of the restaurant. I want to know everything.”

  “I can tell you, but I won’t get a very fair impression.”

  “Why?”

  “They’ll put on a special effort because they’re serving the boss.”

  His look of surprise gives me a glow of satisfaction. He says, “How did you know?”

  “I knew the second when we arrived. I saw how all the wait staff straightened their necks. Lifted their heads up. And the maître d’ gave you a discreet but unmistakable bow.”

  “You are very perceptive.”

  “So, is this your business, or is it just one of your enterprises?”

  His eyes narrow, like a satisfied cat. “I have a few businesses.”

  “Are all of them like this?”

  “No, but they mostly are in hospitality.”

  “And are all of them upmarket?”

  “Mainly, yes.”

  “So, I’m curious. If you already have a business empire,” I try to keep my voice level. I don’t want him to think I don’t believe him. Plus, I’m trying not to sound like a gushing teenager. Which, to be honest, is a little like how I’m feeling. He sends my pulse into a fire-alarm panic. And there’s a fire in my panties. “Why are you taking an MBA class?”

  A thin edge of a smile, sharp enough to slice me open. “Smart question.” He runs his thumb over his chin. I don’t know whether I’m more fascinated by the deep cleft in his chin, or by the size of his perfectly manicured hand.

  “I signed up to the class, intending to use it to recruit.” His pale, watery blue eyes glide over my body, from the top down. And back. Slowly. “I wanted someone to help with financial management and planning.”

  “But not anymore?”

  “I discovered that I have a better head for it than I thought I did, and I enjoy what I learned so far.” He’s looking at me like his eyes could peel me open. Spread me out for his pleasure. “I love to explore new territory. Learn about new things. I like to delve into figures. Dive in deep. Push through details, keep on till I find treasure buried in the warm darkness.”

  I try to speak but my throat is thick, and the words jam up. I swallow.

  “So, do you like what you found?” My voice judders.

  The tip of his tongue traces the inside of h
is lower lip. “Oh, yes,” his voice rasps, low and deep. “I like what I’ve found. Very much indeed.”

  The lighter red wine goes well with the steak and fries. Valentin has a huge T-bone. As we eat, I’m thinking about him saying, ‘a few businesses,’ and wondering what it means. So I ask him, “Are you a gangster?”

  He looks up, surprised but not startled. “Everybody thinks if you’re Russian and successful, you must be a gangster or an oligarch. Which is only a very successful gangster.” His eyes gleam, “We’re not all bratva, you know.”

  I noticed that he didn’t say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’

  He insists that I have a dessert. I’m not too hard to persuade on that, and I accept his suggestion of the tarte tatin a la mode.

  “So,” I say brightly, “Hamburger and fries, followed by apple pie with ice-cream.”

  “Our tarte tatin is made with pear this week.”

  “This week?”

  “We change according to the fruits in the market. Or sometimes the mood of the pastry chef.”

  “I can’t believe that many people’s moods take priority over yours.”

  “No.” His steely look chills me. He’s not used to being skewered like that. I think he’s trying to figure out whether he likes it or not. After a moment, he says, “I make an exception for the pastry chef.”

  The dessert is phenomenal. And the ice-cream alone is to die for. I look up and see he’s watching, obviously enjoying seeing me tuck in. I’m tempted to ask for another one. As I’m considering it, he says, “If you want another, just say.”

  I shake my head. “You knew I was thinking about it, though.”

  “Like I knew you wanted to test me with the wine.”

  I’ve always heard about people who are close, reading each other’s minds. Getting to it this soon seems a little bit freaky, though.

  When the dishes are cleared away, he asks me, “So. Tell me. What’s wrong with this business?”

  “Is something wrong? The service was better than perfect, but I’m dining with the owner.”

  He shrugs. “It was wildly successful when I opened it. Now, it seems to be on a genteel downhill slide.”

  “Ah. Restaurants go in and out of fashion. Maybe it’s that. Perhaps it’s missing the newness.”

  “Well, you’re right, of course.” I could say things about the ingredients, but I’m not interested in getting anyone into trouble. In any case, I’m not here to be a restaurant critic. I do love him asking me, though. The way that he asks, I feel like what I thought would really matter to him.

  He says, “Let’s not waste any more time here. I’ll take you somewhere else.”

  Before I can object, he stands, holding out a hand. “Downstairs is a club.”

  “And that’s one of your businesses also?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s late.”

  “I have a proposition for you.” I bet you do, Mr. Many Businesses but Totally Not a Gangster. My head tells me that it’s time to leave. My body wants to hear his proposition and consider it.

  I agree to let him take me downstairs.

  When I take his hand, my fingers touch his palm and his touch mine. A low thump lets such a charge inside me that, just for an instant, I’m almost unsteady.

  Chapter 7

  Her

  DOWN A WIDE SPIRAL staircase is a more subdued, plush room. On one wall, colored lighting displays a sumptuous bar. Scents of floral and alcoholic potions mix with leather and wood in the background to notes of expensive fragrances.

  The music here is more urgent. Insistent and seductive. I would love to head straight to the dance floor.

  But I won’t. Obviously.

  Tables and booths surround a sunken dance floor. His hand is on my back as he guides me. Strong, firm and steady, he feels so strong, like his one hand alone could scoop me up. Hold me and protect me. Keep me safe.

  He takes us to a dark table with a view of the room. We can see the other tables and we can see the dance floor. I don’t think anyone can see us, though.

  My shoulders move and the beat surges through me. The urge to dance is almost too much. With all these people here, though, even in the low light, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

  My heels pick up the beat. And my legs. My hands slide on my thighs, pull up the hem of my dress. I’m hoping he doesn’t see me moving. I act just like I’m listening to him.

  All the feelings that I experienced today bubble and bounce and tumble through me. Really, he could be saying anything right now.

  He followed me. He ran from the class after me. He pursued me, onto the subway platform. When I tricked him, he waited, waited like a pro. Then he came to my rescue. Did I need rescuing? No. But what girl doesn’t love being rescued?

  Now, all night long, he listened to me. Listened, really paying attention to everything I told him. He’s made it obvious that he’s really interested in me. Not only in the physical way, but in me. In who I am. What I think.

  Now, he could tell me he’s descended from Genghis Khan, Rasputin, and the Corleone dons. At this point, it could only make me want to climb him all the more.

  He asks if he can order a cocktail for me. I agree to let him. A pretty server appears at his elbow, and he tells her what to bring. His manner of giving orders makes me take a sharp breath.

  For me, he chooses a dark rum concoction. Not too sweet and even a little spicy. I like the cocktail, though I’m a little suspicious of it. I’m definitely liking the music, though.

  He says, “So. Would you like to be my businessperson?”

  That was not the kind of proposition I was expecting. But it’s so vague, I don’t think he’s completely serious. From the look in his eyes, it may not be the only proposition he has in his mind. I wonder if he’s testing me now.

  I smile and shake my head. “I don’t want to be your businessperson any more than I want to be Daddy’s businessperson. I don’t want to be in anybody’s catering business.”

  “No?” I don’t know whether he’s surprised by my answer or if he’s just not used to hearing anyone say No to him. I’m leaning toward the latter. He takes a sip of his cocktail. “Why are you taking the MBA, then?”

  “Because Daddy wants me to. He hopes that I will be his businessperson. And if I can’t think of anything else in time, he won’t give me any other choice, and I’ll have to do what he says. But I tell you,” I try the cocktail. It’s good. I take a second sip before I go on. “I’m determined that I will think of something else.”

  “Do you always do what Daddy says?”

  “That question is so loaded I think I can hear it ticking.”

  “All right.” He sits back. I don’t understand how a man who’s so much older can be so attractive. He must be old enough to be… well, he’s definitely old enough that I shouldn’t be feeling the way that I do right now.