Fifth Ave 02 - Running of the Bulls (63 page)

Leana was taken aback.
 
The man was holstering his gun, seemingly oblivious to her fear.
 
“I asked who you are!”

“Antonio Benedetti,” he said.
 
“A member of security.”
 
He stepped forward and she could see now that he was not the man who had followed her earlier, but one who resembled him.
 
Her heart was pounding.
 
“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” he said. “You’re late for the party.
 
Your parents told me to come and find you.”

“And you needed a gun for that?”

“Miss Redman,” he said, “after what happened here this morning, every member of security is carrying a gun.”

She studied him.
 
He was tall and dark, his features sharp and attractive.
 
There was a coolness about him that she found appealing.
 
She took a breath as he stepped over to the door and held it open for her.
 
“Your mother’s furious,” he said.
 
“If you’re not in the lobby soon, she’ll probably have me fired.
 
Are you coming?”

Leana hesitated, then started toward the open door.
 
As she walked past the man, she said, “My sister saved a life today. The least I can do is save a job.
 
Let’s go.”

*
 
*
 
*

The elevator dropped like a stone.

As they neared the lobby, Leana looked up at the elevator’s lighted dial and watched the floors race by.
 
She heard the crowd’s rising din, felt beneath her feet the driving beat of the band and became nervous.
 
She never fit into these situations.
 
She would know few people here.
 
This was her parents’ and sister’s world, not hers.
 
So, why had she been asked to come?

She looked at the man standing beside her and saw that he was looking at her. Again she thought how handsome he was.
 
She glanced at his left hand and saw no ring.
 
Promising, but life had taught her that no ring meant nothing.
 
“What do you think the chances are of this place blowing up tonight?” she asked.

Her question didn't faze him.
 
“Less than zero.”

“Oh, come on,” Leana said.
 
“Don’t you think my father has something else planned to capture the world’s attention?
 
Like a sniper, perhaps?
 
Or maybe a fire?”

He cocked his head at her.
 
“You think your father rigged those spotlights with explosives?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“But people were hurt, your sister nearly killed.”

“Quelle domage.”

“I still don’t see your point.
 
Why would your father want to do something as ridiculous as that?
  
It makes no sense.”

“Free publicity, Mr. Benedetti, makes a lot of sense.”

He leaned against the wall and studied her.
 
“You don’t believe what you’re saying, do you?”

Leana’s eyes flashed.
 
“That doesn’t matter,” she said.
 
“It’s always interesting to see what other people will believe.”

The car slowed to a stop.
 
With the parting of doors came a sudden blast of cool air, music and noise.
 
Leana stood there a moment, undetected, and looked around the crowded room.
 
While she saw no friends of hers, it seemed that wherever she looked, she was reminded of her sister.
 
From the waterfall to her right to the Lalique crystal chandeliers that shined above her head, Celina’s influence was clear.

Once, when Redman International was nearing completion, Leana asked her father if she could help decorate the lobby.
 
George dismissed her and said it was a job for professionals.
 
He would never know the hurt Leana felt when it was decided that Celina would decorate the lobby. George would only sense Leana’s anger afterwards and pass it off as one of her moods.

They left the elevator.
 
“Well,” Benedetti said, “it was nice talking to you.”

“And to you,” Leana said.
 
“Keep your eye out for any snipers.
 
You never know when one will pop up.”

Leana watched him move into the crowd, where this time she saw a few familiar faces in the endless sea of heads.
 
Looking over at her parents and sister, she saw that they were still greeting guests--George laughing, Elizabeth chatting, Celina hugging.
 

Leana wanted to hurl.
 

She started toward them, her gaze shifting from George to Elizabeth to Celina.
 
One of these days, they’ll respect me as much as they respect her.
 
But even as she thought this, she wondered how she’d pull it off.
 
As she took her position next to Celina in the reception line, disappointment, frustration and anger were all clearly expressed by George and Elizabeth--and yet neither said a word.

Leana supposed she should be happy for the way her presence--or lack thereof--had affected them, but she wasn’t.
 
Instead, a part of her felt guilty for coming late.

Outside, the paparazzi went suddenly wild as Michael Archer alighted from his limousine and stepped into the lobby.
 
Cameras flashed.
 
The crowd of onlookers cheered.
 
Leana recognized him immediately.
 
“I didn’t know Mom sent him an invitation,” she said to Celina.
 
“I read one of his books a few months ago.”

Celina looked puzzled.
 
“Mom didn’t send him an invitation.
 
I went over the guest list twice with her.
 
Michael Archer’s name was nowhere on it."
 
She gave her sister a look.
 
"And where have you been?”

"Flossing."

Leana looked at Elizabeth, who was watching Michael Archer shake hands with her husband.
 
She knew her mother had no tolerance for those who crashed parties--especially her own.
 
She wondered how she would handle this.

“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said politely as Michael approached.
 
“But I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
 
Her voice was firm.
 
She ignored his hand. “This is a private party.”

In the silence that fell, George and Celina turned to listen.
 
Leana watched Michael.
 
“I apologize for intruding,” he said.
 
“But I understand you’re raising money this evening for children with HIV, and I wanted to do something to help.”
 
He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a slip of paper.
 
He handed it to Elizabeth. “I hope this will.”

Elizabeth looked at the check, then coolly back at Michael.
 
“$100,000 is very generous,” she said.

“I work in the entertainment industry,” he said.
 
“HIV is prevalent there.
 
It’s the least I could do.
 
It’s a cause I believe in.”

Although Leana doubted he knew it, Michael Archer had just handed her mother five million dollars.
 
Perhaps six.
 
Once word got around that he had given her a check for $100,000, the other guests would be scrambling for their checkbooks, desperate not to lose face.
 
Elizabeth knew it, but she didn’t show it.

“I apologize,” she said to him.
 
“This is very kind of you.
 
We would be pleased to have you stay.
 
Would you?”

The relief that crossed Michael Archer’s face was unmistakable.
 
Leana lifted her chin at the same moment he turned to look at her.
 
Their eyes met and Michael smiled.
 
“Mrs. Redman,” he said, “it would be my pleasure.”

CHAPTER SIX

The old Buick coughed, wheezed and shook for several moments before it jerked to a halt and died in the heart of Manhattan.

Jack Douglas sat there, numb, as steam rose from the engine and the headlights dimmed into darkness.
 
He knew what was wrong with the car without checking the engine.
 
For weeks now, he had been meaning to have a new radiator and alternator installed, but he was so busy with work, he had put it off.
 
Naturally, both failed him on the night of George Redman’s party.

He would have to catch a cab.

He opened the glove compartment, plucked the invitation from a mass of crumbled papers and broken pencils, and searched for his wallet.
 
It wasn’t there.
 
He looked on the seat beside him, on the floor, in the pockets of his black dinner jacket and pants, and then remembered leaving it back at his apartment, out in full-view on the kitchen table, just so he wouldn’t leave it behind.

He could help but laugh.
 
Now he would have to walk.

He left the car where it had died, on the corner of Fifth and 75th Street, and started for The Redman International Building, which was over a mile downtown.
 
He knew his car would get towed, but he didn’t care.
 
Tonight, Jack Douglas had more important things on his mind.
 

Tonight might just change the rest of his life.

He had just passed 61st Street when lightning flashed and thunder rippled across the sky.
 
Jack looked up, felt the rising breeze on his face and quickened his step.
 
It had better not rain
, he thought.

But it did.

When the rain became wind-swept sheets, panic rose in him and he broke into a run, the rain pelting his lowered head.
 
With each passing motorist, he was sprinkled with the spray that flew off their wheels.
 
He ran seven blocks before The Redman International Building came into sight, and when it did, Jack slowed.
 
If George Redman himself hadn’t sent him an invitation to tonight’s party, he would have passed on this and gone home.
 
But that wasn't happening.

Last week, when he sold an unprecedented $500 million dollars worth of bonds to a client in France, he had become the financial world’s most revered species--a Big Swinging Dick.
 
The following morning, when the Journal named him Wall Street’s latest financial whiz, every investment firm in Manhattan tried luring him away from Morgan Stanley--but to no avail.

Jack refused the offers, determined to remain loyal to the firm that gave him his start. And then came the invitation from George Redman, asking him to come to the grand opening of the new Redman International Building.
 
“Congratulations on the Journal article,” George wrote on the invitation.
 
“And I hope you’ll come to the party.
 
I’d like to discuss a few things with you.”

And that was all it took.
 
Redman International was the world’s leading conglomerate.
 
If Jack was offered a job there, his career would be set.
 
So much for loyalty
, he thought.