The Beginning of Always (9 page)

Alistair was talking to a pair of men, one sitting in a dining chair by a near-empty table and the other standing. The conversation didn’t seem vexing, but Alistair had, like always, that intense expression on his face. As if nothing was more important than what he was talking about and he was invested in nothing else. He leaned one hand on the back of a chair and nodded occasionally at whatever the sitting man was saying.

Thomas and I got closer. My heartbeat drummed into a solid whirl. Alistair’s back grew larger and larger and I could just make out the subtle pinstripe pattern on his dark navy suit. My hands grew sweaty with nerves.

Thomas went a bit beyond me, coming up behind Alistair and tapping him on the shoulder. Alistair paused, then canted his head slightly towards Thomas. Thomas whispered low in his ear and Alistair nodded, then turned to his conversation partners, said a few words, and shook both of the men’s hands. The man on his feet walked away and Alistair lifted his gaze in my direction.

In the span of that second when his sharp eyes shot up and locked onto mine, a crackle of energy sparkled. As we made contact, the baby hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

The pressure in my chest was becoming unbearable.

“Alistair …” His name escaped my lips before I could stop myself.

My heart shuddered in … fear? Shock?

Wonderment.

Closer, I could make out those subtle details I missed on the stage. His face, if possible, was sharper than before. His high cheekbones were more prominent and his jawline cut steep angles to his powerful neck. If I had softened, he had hardened. The face that I knew so well looked back at me, its features similar but appearing to be forged from granite. Alistair’s shoulders were wider, and unless his impeccably tailored suit lied, he had gained quite a bit of muscle and girth since our teenage years.

Alistair held my gaze for a moment, then tore it away to say something to Thomas. He nodded, and now both Thomas and Alistair were looming towards me and I desperately needed to control my breathing. I worked to appear nonplussed and licked my lips before forcing a neutral yet friendly expression.

Thomas and Alistair approached and then halted in front of me, the pair of them almost laughable at the contrast. Alistair gave no emotion, simply held his pose with his hands in his pockets.

Thomas quickly gestured towards me with an open palm. “Mr. Blair, this is Ms. Florence Reynolds. She’ll be shadowing you and writing the profile piece on you for in the
New York Journal
.”

Alistair slid his gaze up my neck and lingered over my lips. His eyes flickered and the corner of his lips curled upwards in the barest of smiles. “Ms. Reynolds.” My name came from his lips without inflection, accompanied with a nod of his head.

I didn’t answer. We held eye contact for several moments, and one edge of his smile turned into a smirk, as if he felt using my surname was amusing. His dimples barely peeked out, but they weren’t friendly, nor did they thaw his face. Instead they added to the dark expression spreading across.

Those dimples had always driven me crazy.

Then Alistair extended his right hand between us for a handshake, and after hesitating for a split second, I reached over and gripped it. His palm was callused. It was cool to the touch and radiated strength. A shot of heat burst in between my legs just as Alistair squeezed my hand tightly in something that didn’t feel wholly professional.

“So, Ms. Reynolds.” I jerked my hand out of Alistair’s grip and whipped my head towards Thomas, his voice yanking me back into reality. He was studying his boss with a strange expression, but then turned to speak to me. “Let’s talk logistics. You were informed that at the end of next week, we’ll be traveling to California to investigate a downtown Los Angeles deal, correct?”

“Yes, Gertrude did inform me of that possibility.”
Curtly and begrudgingly
, I silently added.

“We’ll email you the dates so you can be present for those meetings. You must know, there will be restrictions of access, of course, as the deal is in the throes of competition and we must keep things under wra—”

“No,” Alistair interrupted. Both Thomas and I whipped our heads towards him, but Alistair continued to keep his eyes on me, his hands now back in his suit pockets.

“No?” Thomas repeated with a crease lining his forehead.

“No limits. You said yourself, Thomas, we need as honest of a profile as possible. We mustn’t stifle Ms. Reynolds’s work.”

“But, but—” Thomas sputtered. “The deal.”

“By the time this prints, the deal will be done and public. No harm, no foul. Ms. Reynolds won’t do anything to jeopardize our conversations.”

I frowned. Of course I wouldn’t purposefully try to steamroll his business deals, but the way he stated that with such confidence irritated me. We hadn’t seen each other in years; he didn’t know me or the way I’d present his case. I straightened my back and brushed my hair off my face.

“In actuality, I can’t guarantee that,” I said in as firm of a voice as I could force out. “I will write with the journalistic integrity I’m sure you understand my profession demands. That’s the only point I can guarantee. Blair Properties will simply have to understand that.”

Thomas reared back in shock just as Alistair gave a low chuckle. It was dark and dripping with sardonic humor.

I suppose he saw the ludicrous situation we both were in.

“Well, you heard Ms. Reynolds.” Alistair clasped a heavy hand on Thomas’s thin shoulders. I was impressed that the COO’s knees didn’t buckle under the weight. Instead, Thomas gawked at Alistair with a disbelieving expression, his mouth slightly agape. “Besides, you were the one who came up with the idea for a profile anyway.”

Thomas’s mouth opened and closed as if it was struggling with itself. His face went a bit pinker than his natural skin tone and he snapped his head between Alistair and me. His eyes fired an almost accusing glare in my direction.

I raised an eyebrow slightly in response.

“Go find Gertrude and let’s figure out a swift yet graceful exit from this,” Alistair said. “I’d like to leave after this conversation.”

“I’m on it,” Thomas answered with his previous posh conviction seeping back in. But as Thomas walked away, I imagined I heard him faintly cursing under his breath.

I watched Thomas go, even after he had melted back into the crowd, now just a sea of faceless unknowns. My heart was sucking the breath out of my lungs and I needed time to reorient myself.

Alistair’s attention continued to linger upon the side of my face, and very slowly, my cheeks began to heat under his scrutiny.

Finally, I met his eyes.

“Hello, Alistair,” I said in an even monotone.

Up close, I could read those familiar eyes, a little older, a little wearier, but still nostalgic in a terrifying way.

The corners of Alistair’s lips twitched up slightly.

“Hello, Florence,” he answered.

Silence stretched.

“How have you been?” I asked with a slight raise of my chin. I was not cowed. I was not frightened.

We watched each other. He just stood there, the angle of his head slightly crooked, his entire self completely still except for his eyes. His eyes were active; they were deep and they roamed to flicker their gaze over me, reading me.

I waited for his answer, which didn’t seem to be forthcoming.

So when he finally opened his mouth, I didn’t expect the next phrase that came out.

“Come on, dance with me.”

Before I could voice a protest, Alistair grasped a strong cool palm around my right wrist and wound his other arm around my waist. A gentle but insistent cajoling pressure prompted me towards the shimmering crystal center floor filled with swirling chiffon and tuxedos.

Alistair spun me lightly and before I could right myself, he slipped one hand into mine, intertwining our fingers together.

I steadied myself and immediately worked to push Alistair away. But as I began to muster the force to shove him with my elbow, I noticed that some guests standing at the fringes of the dance floor pointed at us, gesturing bluntly.

I froze.

“People are watching.”

“So let them watch.”

I gave Alistair a pointed look of annoyance, but the more agitated I got, the greater the response I received. His eyes smoldered with amused challenge and those dimples made their return.

“They’ll take pictures for the tabloids tomorrow. You’re a pretty popular media draw.”

“This is a closed event. No cameras, no press inside the building.” Alistair peered down at me. “Well, I mean besides you.”

I opened my mouth to throw a scathing retort, but Alistair let me go and spun me around while holding one of my hands aloft over my head. With the twirling action, my dress flared out around my ankles and before I knew it, he had wound me back and crushed me against his hard body.

My nerves screamed at the contact. I quickly backed away.

“Just some fun.” Alistair’s eyes twinkled in mischief.

I scoffed loudly. “Since when did you have fun? Or dance, for that matter?”

“Since when? Right now, that’s when.”

“How coincidental,” I intoned flatly. I was treated to a fleeting glimpse of those dimples.

The tune was soft and light, so there was no urgency in our steps. My mind warred with my heart as I worked through the logic and the emotion behind this.

I shouldn’t make a scene; I should just play nice. But the close contact was intensifying the strange storm inside.

“So. You will be writing the piece on me,” Alistair stated. The cool palm of his hand slid subtly from the curve of my waist over the exposed area at the small of my back, leaving a path of fire in its wake. I had the reflexive urge to curve my body into his grip, but I kept my posture tense and froze.

“Yes, I will be,” I said, fighting hard to keep my words neutral.

Alistair gave an ironic chuckle as we slowly wound around the dance floor. “I suppose if there was anyone to write something about me, it would be you.” His eyes bored into mine, reading my soul with a single unwavering intention.

It was getting really hard to breathe now, impossible, even. I quickly glanced away to train my eyes on the corner of his suit lapel.

I didn’t want to see his face; I didn’t want to be drawn in.

I didn’t want to feel this helpless longing and confusion assailing my entire sense of self.

The music continued its beat. Alistair navigated me slowly across the glossy wooden dance floor, away from the other couples closer to the edges. His hand rested heavily on my skin and I had this strange feeling that we were drifting closer. My heart thudded painfully and I wracked my brain for something to say.

Hey, long time no see! Remember the last time I saw you, when you broke up with me? Crushed my heart when I needed you the most? That was amazing, good times. Fond memories. So, how have you been for the last decade, now that you’re one of the richest young bachelors along the East Coast?

I decided to go towards the awkward yet obvious.

“So, your speech was interesting.”

His face demonstrated no hint of remorse for hanging out my family’s dirty laundry. Instead, Alistair just asked, “How is your dad?”

Typical sidestepping. I huffed a small internal sigh. This was going to be a difficult job and an even longer month.

I answered, irritated. “Good, the same.” My tone softened. “The same since Mom died.” My heart clenched at the thought of her.

Alistair nodded and then he tightened his arms slightly to bring me closer. I wanted to resist, but somehow in this moment, reality was beginning to melt away and it was just him and me.

Old emotions stirred.

Memories scratched at the walls of my soul, threatening, crying out for release from their bonds.

I had to regain control.

“How have you been?” I asked.

“Off the record?”

“Yes, off the record.”

Alistair’s face grew tense. “Difficult. Life has been difficult.”

I nodded. “I can imagine; you have a lot of responsibilities right now. Big business, Blair Properties.”

“No, not responsibilities. Difficult for other reasons.”

Before I could respond, a booming voice rang out. “Mr. Blair!”

Alistair’s fingers twitched slightly again my skin. In response, I stopped dancing and started to take a step back, just as a very large shadow suddenly fell over the two of us.

A beefy man with stocky, square shoulders and a shaved head towered over us. He had thick black eyebrows framing small black eyes, a crooked nose, and a large bushy beard that covered the bottom half of his face. In contrast, round, rosy cheeks dominated the beard-free section of his face.

Alistair sighed and pulled away, the sudden flood of cool air that came with the disconnect alarmingly painful.

“This is Mr. Villa.” Alistair gestured towards the small building of a man. “Mr. Villa, this is Ms. Florence Reynolds. She’s the journalist that will be profiling the company for the next month.”

The man broke into a wide grin.

“Hey, there!” Mr. Villa said in a boisterous voice. His words held a New York City drawl. His face relaxed and despite his intimidating mass, his beaming expression put me strangely at ease.

“Hello,” I said with a small smile.

Mr. Villa winked at me and then turned to Alistair. “G is looking for you, says it’s important. I think she’s planning on bouncing soon.”

Alistair nodded. “Noted.”

Suddenly, Alistair reached over and grasped both of my hands in his. I gave a small twitch of surprise.

“I have to go,” he said.

“So go.”

Alistair didn’t respond, simply held on to my hands and then raised my knuckles to his lips. He grazed his mouth over the mountains and valleys and very lightly planted a single kiss upon them. The feel of his lips on my skin numbed me.

“Pleasure, it was all mine.”

My mouth broke into a strangled smile, my heart pounding in my chest. “Well, haven’t we learned the art of how to be charming?”

“Business is all about the bullshit. You must know that.”

“Well, then, thank you for the bullshit, I suppose.”