11

It was surprisingly easy to persuade Jessica to wait for him in the hotel suite—as far away from the penthouse as he could get—while he went to meet Chrissy. Nick hoped that was a good sign. Maybe she felt the same way he did. His pulse quickened. He loved her with an overpowering urgency and it scared him. He’d given himself over to a lot of women, but he’d always been guarded with his heart—until Jessica. Something about her honesty, bordering on brutality, was irresistible. They’d only been together a month, and that was two years ago, but his feelings for her hadn’t waivered. He’d known then that he loved her. He was even more certain of it now.

His plan to propose to her tonight was insane, but now he was obsessed. It just felt right. Since he’d hatched the plan a few hours ago, he’d felt happier than he had in a long, long time. She’d probably say no. But that was a chance he’d have to take. He knew he would never meet anyone else like her. She was so smart, and pretty, and real. He wanted her, yes. But he also wanted to share his life with her. Spending time with her again after two years apart had convinced him his life was meaningless without her. He was serious about quitting the university. He could devote himself to the Center. To making Jessica happy.

He glanced at his watch. He’d have to hustle to prepare for the dreaded meeting with Chrissy. First stop, the Cartier store in the hotel’s mezzanine. He was rushing it, but his father’s death made him realize you had to seize life while you could.

I’m thirty years old, he thought. It’s time. He’d never wanted to get married. In fact, he’d sworn off the institution. So why did he want it so much now with Jessica? Something about her had changed him. He quickened his pace. He had to get to the store before it closed.

The jewelry store had low lights, just enough to show off the sparkling gems in its sparsely populated cases. Like predatory animals, each precious piece seemed to require its own territory.

“I’m looking for an engagement ring,” he told the clerk. “Something unique.”

He figured Jessica wouldn’t like your usual giant diamonds in gaudy gold settings. Come to think of it, he’d never seen her wear a ring . . . or any jewelry, for that matter. Maybe she wouldn’t like a ring. He considered getting her something else, but what? A necklace, a bracelet? A pin? He paced around the store, bending over case after case. Whatever he got, it had to be perfect.

The clerk brought out three rings to choose from. One was a large diamond in a simple setting, elegant but bold. The second had a diamond surrounded by rubies in a silver setting, pretty and different. The third was a jade ring with tiny diamonds all around the band. None of them looked like Jessica. He threaded his hand through his hair. He was running out of time. He had to find something and fast.

Still fingering the jade ring, he glanced around until a case of pocket watches caught his eye. He handed the ring back to the clerk and headed to the case. There—a gold watch with an onyx stem and diamond-studded hands. It wasn’t a traditional engagement ring, but Jessica wasn’t a traditional girl. “I’ll take that,” he said, greatly relieved. “And the ring.”

The clerk stepped away, then returned with two small red velvet boxes, one smaller than the other.

Nick slipped them into his jacket pocket. On the way out the door, he spotted Sally Marshall peeking around the corner of the hallway. What in the hell is she doing here? If she weren’t the daughter of the most important trustee, he just might fire her. But then, maybe Sally had her own assignation at the Parker. Maybe it’s just a coincidence she’s here. He’d worry about her later.

Nick set out for the registration desk, where he ordered champagne and roses to be delivered to his suite at eight. He’d give Chrissy exactly thirty minutes, then rejoin Jessica. His heart skipped. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face. Even if she said no, it would be worth it. His plan was coming together. He’d managed to get a nice suite at the last minute, then a ring, and now roses. Everything had to be perfect.

He was tempted to blow off Chrissy and go straight back to Jessica. But he was a man of his word, and he’d promised to meet her. Just one drink. Then he’d be free. On the way to her room, he rehearsed his proposal.

Room 817. He knocked on the door. Chrissy answered, wearing a slinky red satin dress . . . or was it a slip? Whatever it was barely covered her Victoria’s Secret assets. Is my father’s newly widowed wife coming on to me? He had to get this over with and get back to Jessica before things got more awkward.

“Thanks for coming.” She batted her eyelashes as she led him to a small sitting area. “I hope you don’t mind—I ordered us some martinis. Dirty, just the way you like them.” The way she said “dirty” turned his stomach. He knew it. She’d never loved his father. It had always been the money.

“Kind of you to remember,” he said, doing his best to be polite. He took a seat across from her. “I can’t stay long. Why did you want to see me?” Maybe if he was nice, he could get out sooner.

Chrissy dropped a toothpick loaded with olives into a martini glass and handed it to him. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Get your father to change his will.” She smoothed her dress.

“What do you mean?” Nick grimaced at the taste of his martini. He wasn’t a fan of gin. She’d gotten the dirty part right, but not the alcohol. He always drank vodka martinis.

“You manipulated him into donating to your precious Center.” She took a sip of her drink. “And leaving the rest to you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re mistaken. I’d barely spoken to my father in years.” He was confused. Was Chrissy playing some game with him? If she was telling the truth, his father must have had a huge con planned . . . but for after his death? It didn’t make sense.

“Thanks to your conniving, I’m left out in the cold.” She glared at him.

“Excuse me? I’m sure that’s not true.” She had some nerve accusing him of scheming. “Anyway, you have your modeling career.”

“Victoria’s Secret dropped me,” she scoffed, waving a manicured hand. “Apparently, I’m too fat and too old.”

Now he scoffed. “That’s absurd. You’re twenty-eight and gorgeous and you know it.” What is she up to? He eyed her suspiciously.

“It’s a cutthroat world.” She wiped her eyes on the back of her hands, careful not to smear her makeup. “I’ve lost my husband. I’ve lost my job. I’ve lost everything,” she moaned.

Nick almost felt sorry for her. He took another sip, wondering what to do. Was this a trick, or had she really lost her job? He sat his drink on the coffee table and moved to sit beside her on the couch. “You’ll be okay.” He glanced at his watch. He had to calm her down and get back to Jessica.

When he patted Chrissy’s hand, she leaned her head against his shoulder. Her proximity made him nauseous. He was sweating and dizzy. A searing pain shot through his chest.

“Not feeling well?” Chrissy asked, biting her lip.

He shook his head.

“Now, why don’t you tell me what you did with the jewels?” She started unbuttoning his shirt, and he was helpless to stop her. He clutched his chest and whispered, “Dolce.”

Jessica’s cowboy boots clicked on the marble floor as she paced back and forth in the suite. Nick had said he’d be back by seven thirty, and it was already nine. Obviously, he’d underestimated Chrissy’s charms. She checked her phone. No messages. And it was only five minutes later than the last time she checked.

She flopped onto the couch and flipped on the television, forcefully ignoring her dissertation. After a couple of cocktails and an afternoon with Nick, she was hardly in the mood for dead philosophers. She studied the room service menu and considered ordering a cheese plate or some cookies. She wasn’t really hungry, just impatient. Her appetite wasn’t for food. She tapped her phone awake and texted Nick.

A knock at the door startled her. She jumped up and opened it, but her heart sank—no Nick, just room service. But wait . . . I didn’t order anything.

“Roses and champagne,” the porter said. “Should I put them on the table?”

She nodded. Nick must have ordered them when he realized he’d be late. How sweet. When the porter left, she texted Nick a thank-you. She inhaled the sweet smell of two dozen red roses and twirled the champagne bottle around in the bucket of ice.

There was another knock. Room service again? She opened the door. What the . . . Nick’s intern, Sally what’s-her-name, was standing in the doorway, arms akimbo. She looked like she’d stepped out of a Grace Kelly movie, wearing tight capri pants and a pressed linen blouse, dripping with diamonds.

“So, you and Nick are having a fling?” Sally pushed past her and marched into the room. “Not very professional, are you?”

“What are you doing here?” Jessica followed her into the suite. “What do you want?”

“I want you to stay away from Nick.” Sally’s glare seethed with privilege. “He’s mine and so is the job as assistant director.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve worked my ass off for that position.”

“I bet you have.” Is there something between Nick and this spoiled brat? Jessica swallowed hard. She felt like kicking the nasty little weasel in the shin.

“Daddy promised—” Sally yanked a rose out of the vase. “Never mind.” And with that, she stormed out of the room.

Jessica’s chest was buzzing as she sat on the couch, staring at the flowers. Waiting. The intern’s visit had set her on edge. None of this seemed right. Why was she waiting in this hotel room for a man she could never have?

She texted Nick again and kept her phone in hand, waiting for his reply. Fifteen minutes and still nothing. She texted him again. Another fifteen minutes went by. She grabbed the remote and switched the channel on the TV. After channel surfing for another half hour, she picked up the hotel telephone, her finger hovering over the button for reception. She chickened out and dropped the receiver back in its cradle. Then she hopped off the couch and went to the minibar.

The little bottles reminded her of her first time on an airplane, back when she left Montana for grad school. So much had changed since then.

When she first got to Chicago, she’d never been in a big city, never seen a foreign film, never eaten Thai food, and never been in love. Over the last four years, she’d learned a lot, most of it outside of the classroom. As one of only two girls studying philosophy in the entire PhD program, and probably the only student from a Montana trailer park, Jessica felt out of place. Her fellow grad students came from Ivy League schools and grew up eating Brie and water crackers. They thought SPAM was what you found in your junk mail folder, not breakfast. Given her background, Jessica felt lucky just to speak proper English, let alone French or German.

Her phone buzzed and she leapt for it. Finally!

“Cowgirl! I’m glad you answered.” The familiar smoky voice surprised her.

“Jack.” She tried not to sound disappointed.

“Why didn’t you visit last weekend? I miss you.”

“Things have been crazy. The department has given me until the end of the semester to finish my dissertation or I’ll get kicked out.”

“Harsh.”

“Yeah.” She should be working on it now instead of waiting for Nick to come back from the supermodel’s room. Why couldn’t she focus? Duh. Because the hottest man on the planet wanted to spend the night with her . . . if Chrissy didn’t seduce him first.

“Good news!” Jack chuckled. “Looks like I’m getting out for good behavior. Could be as early as next week. I just found out, and I’m friendly with the warden—that’s how I got to make this call.”

“That’s wonderful.” What a relief. She’d felt so guilty about his prison sentence. “Let me know when and I’ll be there.” A tingling sensation in her stomach confused her.

“You’ll be the first person I call. Gotta go. My time’s up.” Jack sighed. “I love you.”

She blew at her bangs. “I know. Me too.” She did love him as a friend, and she’d missed him terribly. Anyway, what was she going to say to the guy stuck in a prison cell?

She needed a drink. She grabbed a couple tiny bottles of Jack Daniels and a Coke from the minibar. She popped the soda tab, pouring the whiskey straight into the can.

The carbonation hit her tongue first, followed by the sweet caramel combo of whiskey and coke. She dropped back onto the couch, threw her legs over its arm, and checked her phone. Still no word from Nick. After another few gulps, she unscrewed the second little bottle and added it to the can. Just to calm my nerves. It was absurd, but the thought of Nick with supermodel Chrissy made it hard to breathe.

She glanced at the time. It was almost eleven. Damn it to hell! Where is he? She went back to the desk and picked up the telephone receiver again. Before she had time to think about it, she punched the button for reception.

“Can I help you, Mrs. Schilling?” asked the woman on the other end.

Being called “Mrs. Schilling” gave Jessica a start. She almost hung up. She took a deep breath and asked, “Can you connect me to Chrissy Schilling’s room, please?”

She heard typing on the other end. “What was the name? Can you spell it?”

“Schilling,” she repeated. “S-C-H-I-L-L-I-N-G.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Schilling, but we don’t have another room under that name.”

WTF? What was going on? “Check again.”

“I’m sorry. There’s no guest by that name.”

So, the flowers were just a consolation prize?

Jessica hung up. With tears in her eyes, she downed the rest of the Coke, grabbed her jacket and book bag, and took off for home. As her mother would say, “Best to cut your losses while you still can.” She knew Nick was a player, but she’d never figured him for a liar. Then again, it wasn’t like they were really together.

Outside, the air was heavy with humidity. Even in the middle of the night, it was hot and sticky. Something about the darkness made it even worse. By the time she reached the train stop, she was sweating.

Friday night on the “L” was raucous with businessmen coming home late from extended happy hours and teens heading out to start their weekend parties. The crowded train made her feel lonelier. She texted Lolita: meet at Pavlov’s? A few seconds later her phone pinged.

@ poker game. Join us.

Usually, Lolita had to drag Jessica to those high-stakes games. Even though she was pretty darned good at poker, playing made her nervous—especially when the ante was as much as her yearly stipend. But tonight, she needed the distraction.

Where?

Parker Hotel. Presidential Suite.

Crapulence. She should have texted Lolita from the hotel. She’d have to get off at the next stop and turn back around. See u in 15.

Jessica retraced her steps to the Parker. Lolita sent a busty cocktail waitress down to the lobby to escort her up to the Presidential Suite . . . nothing but the best at the Poker Tsarina’s games. She cringed to think of Lolita’s usual spot, the Penthouse. It was probably still surrounded by yellow police tape.

The Parker Hotel was like a magnet, always drawing Jessica back. She hoped she wouldn’t run into Nick. She also knew that wasn’t true. She’d give anything to run into Nick, even if he had decided to spend the night with Chrissy.

As usual, Lolita had the suite set up with two poker tables, a full-top shelf bar, a side table laid out with fancy finger foods, and two gorgeous girls seeing to the needs of every high roller. The room stank of cigar smoke, expensive cologne, and money. Lots of money.

Jessica scanned the buffet for veggie options and loaded a plate with what she hoped were mushrooms in fancy puff pastry. In an attempt to look sophisticated, she sacrificed her usual Coke and poured herself a Gentleman Jack on the rocks. She sat on a couch, watching the games from afar, drowning her sorrow in the crunch of flaky pastry and the slow burn of whiskey.

She recognized some of the usual players: Vance Hamm, the skinny little actor who drank carrot juice and whined when he didn’t win; the Chicago Bulls player who was better on the court than at the table; and a businessman she thought she’d seen somewhere before . . . She couldn’t be sure, though. They all look alike.

There was one new guy, a bearded, craggy-faced chain-smoker. He seemed vaguely familiar—something about the slant of his sage-green eyes. If Jessica didn’t know better, she would have suspected he was mafia. But given Lolita’s history, the Poker Tsarina didn’t allow mobsters at her games, no matter how much money they dropped.

Jessica studied the new guy from afar. She just couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling she’d met him before. She’d seen those eyes. She watched as Lolita jumped every time the newcomer asked for something. He must be her latest high-rolling, high-tipping mark. But something about him gave Jessica chills. Who was he? And why’s he so important to Lolita?

When the players broke for a midnight snack, Lolita introduced Jessica to the gang.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Jessica said to the craggy-faced man.

“No. I’ve just arrived in Chicago,” he replied in a thick Russian accent.

“Are you one of Lolita’s second cousins?” She thought of Vanya, with his Italian lace-ups and designer lighter. “Or the mysterious uncle, returned from the dead?” She laughed at her own joke.

“That’s our little secret.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Sergei, Sergei Yudkovich.” He extended his hand. “But you can call me Sly.”

His grip was crushing, and she bit her lip to keep from yelping. “Jessica, Jessica James.” She glanced over at Lolita, who was pouring drinks and purring endearments to the other players. Her friend returned her gaze and gave a furtive nod. What was the Poker Tsarina up to? She was definitely working some angle.

“You’re Lolita’s uncle?” She narrowed her eyes and stared into his face, looking for a resemblance. Then it struck her. Those sage-green eyes staring back at her were the very same uncanny cat eyes as Lolita’s.