Nervous every call is about Gio, and not in a good way, my adrenaline spikes and I answer tentatively. “This is Aria.”
“Aria, this is Alexander.” Even his voice radiates arrogance. “You want to talk wine, I hear?”
“I do,” I say, and as much as I hate to invite his flirtations, I know this needs to happen in person. “Can we meet?”
“I tried to make sure I saw you again last night, but you blew me off.”
“And yet here we are talking.”
“Can you meet me at Jerry’s bakery in Tribeca in an hour? If I can’t win you over, their cookies will.”
Tribeca, home of the rich and famous like Kace, but that area is busy and a bakery feels simple and friendly. “I’ll be there.”
We say a quick goodbye and disconnect just as Crystal returns. “All set?” she asks, walking toward me.
I stand and turn to face her. “I am,” I say, “and thanks to you, Alexander called. I’m going to meet him.” I hand her the file filled with my paperwork. “You don’t happen to know of any other rare wines you might have coming up?”
“I do believe we’ll have one or two ready to be auctioned off in a few weeks. I’ll see what I can find out about them and let you know when I call to officially invite you to the VIP event.”
“Thank you so much, Crystal,” I say, and I’m probably saying thank you too much, but it’s out, it’s done. I just can’t stop myself. I’m very polite, as Kace had readily pointed out. And he’s not wrong. I say thank you. I say please. Please. That word reminds me of Kace all over again. Please has appropriate uses, he’d said, and just thinking about the raspy, sultry tone of his voice has me swallowing hard.
“We should have lunch,” Crystal suggests, drawing me out of my reverie. “It seems we live in a similar world. Maybe we can help each other out here or there.”
Friends are not a good idea, not in my world, but there’s something about Crystal that is hard to resist. She’s also a great connection to help our business. “I’d love that.”
“Terrific. I’ll call you Monday and we’ll work out all the details for the event and lunch.”
“Perfect. Now, I’m going to go wrestle for that wine.”
She laughs. “Good luck.”
I turn and then hesitate, rotating to face her again. “Is there a Sofia who works here or that you know?”
Her brows furrow. “No. That name is remotely familiar, but no bells are ringing. Why?”
“My brother’s traveling, but he’d gotten a tip from her about the violin. I just wanted to thank her. I thought he said she worked here, but I must have misunderstood. Anyway. Thank you again.”
A few minutes later, I exit to the street, and disappointment jabs at me. No one knows Sofia but Gio. And now he’s missing. What if Sofia isn’t even her real name?
I need to hire a PI and that means I need to buy this wine off Alexander.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jerry’s Bakery is smack in the most elite part of the rich and famous strip of Tribeca and near the Hudson River. After a packed subway ride, I arrive at the cute little spot, easy to identify by way of its baby blue wooden sign and two matching wooden benches out front. A line of people has formed and extends past the double open doors. I step past the crowd and enter the bakery, walking around the register. The scent of sweet treats is deliciously tempting, while the seating area I bring into view is a cute rainbow of colored wooden tables and chairs.
“Aria.”
I glance to my right and toward the back of the seating area to find Alexander standing just behind an order pick-up counter, motioning for me to join him. To my surprise, he’s not perfectly pressed and in a suit today. In fact, not only is he wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but as I close the space between us, I find his thick dark hair in wavy disarray. Somehow it all makes him a little more human and likable. Even more so when I stop in front of him and he announces, “I bought some cookies and a coffee for you, to spare you the line.”
It’s a thoughtful gesture and I decide then that perhaps I’ve been hard on him. “Thank you,” I say ever so politely, shoving aside a memory of Kace. Again. I can’t get him out of my mind.
“Of course,” Alexander says, motioning me into action and I follow him around the counter to another private seating area of at least another half-dozen filled tables.
We settle into our chairs across from each other and he hands me the coffee he’s ordered for me. “It’s their house vanilla latte. I hope that works. In hindsight, I should have sent you a text and asked what you liked.”
“This is perfect,” I say, sipping the sweet, warm beverage. “Thanks for the coffee and for meeting me.”
“My second chance,” he comments and when I might fidget a bit, I don’t get the chance. He moves on. “And I get it. Auction remorse is common. I feel for you. How pissed was your client?”
“He’s too nice to be angry and I pushed him for his max right before the auction. He’ll go to four hundred and twenty-five thousand today if you’ll sell the bottle.”
He thrums fingers on the table, his Rolex glinting in the overhead light. “Here’s the thing,” he says. “I can’t sell this bottle.”
My spine slowly straightens, the idea that he’s playing me setting me on edge. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t. I bought it for a client that does tens of millions with our company. I teased him with it. I promised him I’d get it for him. And he’s paying me.”
Feelings I try to avoid and dislike—anger and desperation—rip through me. “Why did you bring me out here for this then, Alexander?”
“Because I’d like to be your friend and—”
I stand up.
“Wait,” he says. “I have a proposition. Please.” He pats the table. “Sit. Hear me out.”
I’m torn. I feel played, but I remind myself of my reasons for being here, and they all come back to Gio. I breathe in a calming breath and settle back into my chair across from Alexander.
He studies me a moment. “You really don’t want to like me, do you?”
“It’s not that—”
“Then what is it?”
It’s a complicated question. He’s a good-looking man. He’s wealthy. Most women would be flattered by his attention but I know my problem with him. Powerful men, collectors of rare items at that, stir unease in me. He reminds me of the powerful men my mother said my father did business with before he disappeared. But the truth is, I’m not being fair. I judged him before he ever opened his mouth.
“I’m sorry. I’m on edge over this client. And I’m confused about what we’re doing here.”
“I’m trying to help. I really am. I have a large rare wine collection. I’m willing to part with a bottle to make this up to you. You can come over and see what catches your fancy and we’ll negotiate.”