4
Cadence
Novi’s arm hangs heavy over my waist, his hand resting on the bed, trapping me in place.
The room is dark, save for the crease of light under the bathroom door, and smells like Novi.
It’s a good smell; not the usual old-man smell. I bought him the bottle of Guerlain Tobacco and Honey cologne years ago as a last-minute Christmas gift, and he still swears by it.
Novi lost his third wife six years ago and still misses someone to hold at night.
I can’t say no.
When he first suggested years ago that I stay with him so he could hold me, I balked because I’ve never laid in a bed with a man without some sort of physical activity happening. And that was the last thing I wanted with Novi. He’s a father figure to me. He’s like my grandfather.
But I agreed. And I was surprised when his holding me was all that happened.
There’s nothing sexual to it. There’s never been anything sexual between us. It’s still slightly awkward, but not as bad as I once feared. When we meet for dinner, we go back to his hotel room. Novi gets ready for bed and I stay with him until he falls asleep. At eighty-six, it doesn’t take long.
It comforts him, he says.
I’m not sure exactly what it does for me.
After I stopped to greet Marco, I led Novi to the private elevator in the back of the restaurant. I felt the stares and heard the judgments, but didn’t turn around. I can pretend those things don’t upset me, don’t make me uncomfortable, but it would be a lie. Over the years, I’ve put up the walls and grew the thick skin but certain things—usually when I least expect it—break through.
That woman in the restaurant was one of those things.
She was with another woman, both older, and well-dressed. Rich.
They had their champagne cocktails, laughing over their salads. Friends taking advantage of their husbands being away. I didn’t merit a glance from the one, but the other one…
The way her gaze swept up and down me said she knew where I’d come from, and didn’t think much of it. Even though I could buy and sell her before breakfast, she looked at me like I was something to be scraped off her shoe. Even with the dress and the hair and the jewelry…
I tell myself again that I don’t care what these people think of me. But I worry about Novi’s family. Preston. His younger brother David and his wife Penelope.
And not what they think—what they say.
Novi has seven children with three wives, and all of them resent the time he spends with me. He never mentions it, or maybe he doesn’t realize it. They think I’m a threat—probably to their inheritance. And like a threatened animal, they fight with tooth and claw.
I’ve lost out on deals because of them. My reputation will never recover from what they’ve said about me. Novi knows nothing about it, and I’ve never said a word, but I have people who are very good at finding out things.
I know it was Penelope who started the community group that targeted Pink Gardens which led to me selling it at a loss. I know it was David who was behind me not getting the property in Calgary. I also know it was David who threatened the dancers at three of the clubs, scaring most of them so much that they quit and left me with a workforce who couldn’t trust I would protect them.
And Preston is worse than the two of them together. I can’t believe Novi suggests I become involved with him. I tolerate him because he’s Novi’s son, but there’s no way I’d ever get into bed with him. And romantically?
I worry about what would happen if they knew I didn’t say goodbye after dinner. If they knew I tuck him into bed…
If Preston ever found out I was here with Novi, he might well go after control of the company. He would say being with me—because they would imply that it was dirty and tawdry and people would lick it up like a melting ice cream cone—proves he’s losing his facilities, and the others would back him up.
Novi loves his family, especially his grandchildren, and it’s impossible to tell him how bad his sons are. He’s so sharp that it’s almost impossible to think he isn’t aware of what they’re like.
They scare me. Not what they could do physically, but how they’re, inch by inch, using innuendos and gossip and outright lies, trying to destroy what I’ve built. Because their father gave me his attention and advice to get where I am.
They’re jealous, and I know that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.
To avoid thinking of worst-case scenarios, I let my mind drift back to dinner.
To Maximilian Stonee.
It doesn’t drift; it flies back to him at the speed of a bullet.
I’m sure he was the one I felt staring at me all evening.
I’ve had a lot of men look at me like they’re undressing me, but no one has ever looked at me quite like Max Stonee. There’s a hunger in his eyes, but not the angry frustration I often see. The man looks happy.
It makes me suspicious. I wonder if he knows I’m after Tingel Island as well, or if my precautions masked my interest; if he does know, he’s a darn good actor.
But I liked the way he looked at me. Dark eyes watching behind glasses—glasses. I’ve never been interested in a man with glasses. Or one with shaggy curls that need a cut, wearing black Chuck Taylors that have seen better days.
It wasn’t what I expected of the son of Dalton Stonee.
There was money there, but it’s not flaunted. I’ve seen men with zero in their bank account dress better than Maximilian, and I haven’t even looked at a man wearing sneakers in a very long time.
But something about him…
Not that I’m interested. Not at all. Just… I liked the way he looked at me. The hint of a smile on those full lips, how he was unaware the bite of his dinner fell off his fork. He looked… fun.
I don’t do fun. I never have. I’ve never had the inclination or the time.
I’ve met his father on a few occasions, and several more that a man of Dalton Stonee’s standing would never admit to. I’ve seen his name on the client list of E, not that I would ever share that information with his son.
Not that I’ll ever see him again.
He’s friends with Marco, though—not that I know Marco on a personal level. After focusing my real estate portfolio on nightclubs, I was interested in starting one from scratch rather than taking over an established one. I found a building for sale, but while I was readying my business plan, Marco and his partners swooped in and bought it.
I could have offered more, but Novi advised me to invest and learn from them instead of doing it myself.
I gave them money and in return, am getting knowledge of how to build a club from the bottom up so that next time I can do it on my own.
I’ve got plans for Tingel Island, so it’s been a good experience working with Coulter.
So while I’ll no doubt see Marco, there will be no plans to cross paths with Maximilian Stonee again.
Unless I want to.
Novi’s breathing deepens. He’s quite lovely to sleep with: doesn’t snore or make strange noises, doesn’t crowd me too much, and he smells good. And if I’m honest, it is nice to have a body beside me. But…
The man holding me would be happy with anyone. Yes, Novi cares for me, but it’s the love of a father, of a mentor. He’s a wolf who adopts a bird—happy to see them learn to fly but never really accepts them as one of their own.
I’ve had many men hold me while they sleep, but has there been anyone who really knew me? Who knew my dreams, what I ached for? And I have I known any of their dreams?
Loneliness is as dark as the room and heavier than Novi’s arm across me. It’s not a nice feeling.
I’m… lonely.
Heat pricks my eyes at the realization.
I don’t like feeling this way. Usually, work takes up all of my available bandwidth so I don’t have time to consider what may be missing in my life.
What’s missing is a life.
What are you doing for fun?
Nothing. I don’t do anything for fun. My life has become a series of precision moves and countermoves, with the sole purpose of increasing my business empire.
I have amassed an empire, but at what cost? There’s satisfaction from the deals and beating out men who underestimate me. I like the money, since it means security and safety. Other than that—I don’t have much.
Thankfully, my eyes begin to grow heavy, because I don’t want these thoughts to keep swirling. I’ll stay for another ten minutes and then head down to my room. Novi might like to fall asleep with me, but he gets up at an ungodly hour and is too much of a gentleman to force me to wake with him.
The routine is to make sure he’s asleep and then go home. Or to a hotel room, if Novi is here on business.
He never mentioned what business brought him into town this time.
That is my last thought before I fall asleep.