The thumping bass resonated in my chest as I stood across from Apex, Tony Marvin's flagship club in the middle of Manhattan's Meatpacking District. At 9pm on a Wednesday, a line of gorgeous people queued around the block in anticipation of getting into this cathedral of luxury and power.
I smoothed my hands over my black bodycon dress, the one Susan had practically forced me into buying last month. "It's flaunting your curves without being slutty," she'd said. Now, standing in front of these glass doors that probably cost more than my one-month rent, I couldn't help but think if I looked desperate or sophisticated.
The dress clung to every inch of my size-fourteen body, even though I'd lost sixty pounds since college, and I found myself adjusting the hem. Old habits hardly die, especially when you're about to step into a room full of women who appear to breathe on air and designer water.
"Name?" The bouncer was massive, his eyes sweeping over me with professional calmness.
"Katherine Blaire. I'm here to see Mr. Marvin."
He glanced at his tablet, grunted, and spoke into his earpiece. After what seemed like forever, he stepped aside. "Top elevator. Someone will meet you."
The elevator climb had given me exactly forty-three seconds to second-guess all my choices that had led me here. The mirrors reflected back at me a woman I barely recognized – square shoulders, bright red lipstick, hair waved loosely and dangling below my shoulders. I had learned how to project authority in corporate boardrooms, but this was quite a different sort of territory.
The doors opened to reveal a space that redefined the concept of luxury. Apex's VIP level was a study in masculine elegance – dark wood, leather, and crystal that caught the light from the city far below. The main floor pulsed with music and bodies, but up here, conversations were conducted in hushed tones over expensive whiskey.
"Miss Blaire?" A woman in her early forties approached, her smile polished to corporate gloss. "I'm Sarah, Mr. Marvin's assistant. He's wrapping up a meeting, but he'll see you in about a minute. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Whiskey, neat." If I were going to do this, I might as well be committed.
She led me to a quiet corner booth with a perfect view of the club below. The whiskey burned pleasantly as I watched the carefully choreographed chaos of New York's elite at play. These people moved with the kind of confidence that came from never doubting their place in the world.
"Impressive, isn't it?
The voice was deep, smooth, with only the faintest trace of an accent I couldn't quite place. I turned around, and all rational thought was gone from my brain.
Anthony Marvin, in real life, was devastating in ways his photo hadn't quite prepared me for. Tall and broad-shouldered, he filled out his black suit like it had been tailored specially to his frame – which it likely had. It was his eyes that caught my breath, though. Green as emeralds and twice as treacherous, they appeared to see right through every wall I'd carefully built.
"Mr. Marvin." I stood, relieved that my voice was steady. "Thank you for seeing me."
"I haven't made up my mind if I'm seeing you yet." He glided into the booth opposite me with effortless ease, and I smelled expensive after-shave blended with something richer, more primal. "I'm informed you've been quite persistent in attempting to contact me."
"Persistence is a virtue in banking." My gaze met his straight on, and I didn't flinch despite the way my heart was pounding. "Especially when dealing with a high-net-worth client."
There was a flicker of a smile at the edges of his mouth. "High-net-worth. Is that what I am?"
"Among other things."
"And what other things would they be, Miss Blaire?"
The way that he said my name made something stir in my stomach. Focus, Katherine. This is business, not a date.
"A successful businessman who understands the value of discretion and personalized service." I leaned forward slightly, allowing my professional self to take control. "Premier Financial specializes in clients who require... unconventional approaches to wealth management."
"Unconventional." He motioned for a waitress, who arrived instantly with a glass of something that looked like an expensive Scotch. "I like that word. It suggests the usual bank constraints do not restrict you."
I drank some of my whiskey, taking advantage of the time to observe him. There was something intense about Tony Marvin that charged the air near him. He was not only handsome, he was magnetic in a way that bordered on being unsafe.
"Discretion rules and professional practice bind me," I said carefully. "But within those parameters, I feel our services would ideally be individually suited to our customers' specific needs."
"Specific needs." His eyes never left mine as he raised his glass. "And what do you imagine my specific needs might be?"
The question loomed between us, weighted with undertones of something completely unrelated to money. Sweat erupted up my neck, and I found myself straightening my dress's collar before I could stop myself.
"Multiple revenue streams require a good cashflow management system," I said, surprised by how firm my voice remained. "Foreign investments need currency hedging strategies. And discretion is always important for someone in your position."
"My position." He sat back, looking at me with obvious amusement. "You're remarkably diplomatic, Miss Blaire. Most people are either too afraid of me or too eager to impress me to speak so directly."
"I am not most people."
"No," he said softly, "you're not at all."
The way he was looking at me had my whole face warm and stiff. I'd had my good share of glares from men throughout my years, but never once such as this one, as if seeing something in me that I was not aware I possessed.
"Well," I pressed, trying to regain control of the discussion, "are you interested in hearing Premier Financials' offer?"
"I'm interested in several things at once". His hands swept along the rim of his glass, and I caught myself studying the motion in morbid fascination. "Your proposal among them."
A woman in a nearly transparent silver dress came over to our table, her smile predatory as she zeroed in on Tony. "Tony, love, you vanished. Victoria's looking for you."
My stomach tensed. There was going to be a Victoria. Of course, there were probably dozens of Victorias.
"Let Victoria know I'm at a business conference," Tony said without looking away from me. "She will understand."
Her eyes zeroed in on mine, studying my curves with the intensity that would leave me feeling as if I'd like to curl myself into the booth upholstery. Her smile was hidden. "Of course, business."
When she stood up to leave, Tony's attention zeroed in on me once more. "Where was I?"
"We were discussing whether or not you would have use for Premier Financial's services." I tensed my shoulders, channeling every confidence from the boardroom.
"Miss Blaire – Katherine – could I call you Katherine?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Katherine, I've been in business long enough. I learned how to read people quickly. It's a survival skill." He moved closer, and the distance between me and him appeared to dissipate immensely. "You came into my club tonight with a dress that must have cost more than what most people earn in a week, ordering top-shelf whiskey as if you belong here, talking to me like we're equals."
My face was ablaze. Did he really think I was out to impress him?
"But here's what interests me most," he continued. "You're nervous as hell, but you're not backing down. That tells me you want something badly enough to walk into a world where you don't belong and pretend you do."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"I..."
"The question is," he whispered, his voice dropping low, "just how badly do you want it?"