Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I arrived at Le Maison fifteen minutes late on purpose.

Weston stood as I approached the table. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”

I took my seat and folded a napkin across my lap. “I said I would, so I’m here. Though, why couldn’t we just have dinner in one of the restaurants at The Countess?”

“This one has dancing. I thought you might enjoy feeling my body pressed up against yours when we’re in public. I mean, we know how much you like it in private.”

“I’m not dancing with you.”

Instead of my refusal annoying him, Weston flashed his million-dollar smile. He really had a fantastic smile…which was irritating beyond belief. But I was hellbent on maintaining my composure this evening.

A waiter came over and asked if we’d like to see the wine menu. I took it and gave it a quick once-over, but decided rather than having hundreds of calories of wine to relax, I’d nurse one low-cal drink instead. I handed my menu back to the waiter. “I’ll have a vodka and cranberry with lime, please. If you have diet cranberry, that would be even better.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have diet. Would you like regular?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

The waiter nodded and turned to Weston. “And for you, sir?”

“I’ll take a Diet Coke, please.”

This was the third time we’d been together and I’d ordered an alcoholic drink, yet Weston hadn’t. I considered questioning it, but thought that might just shine a light on my drinking on a weeknight, so I kept my mouth shut.

After the waiter disappeared, Weston looked me over. “Don’t forget about number two of our deal.”

It took me a few seconds to recall what the terms of our dumb deal even were. We’d agreed to me calling him Weston, dinner once a week, and me…wearing my hair up twice a week.

“Why do you care how I wear my hair, anyway?”

“Because I like to look at the skin on your neck. It’s creamy.”

I opened my mouth to respond, then shut it. His comment seemed sincere. I knew how to fight with this man. I knew how to discuss business with him, even civilly. But I had no idea how to take a compliment when he was being nice.

“Don’t say things like that,” I finally grumbled.

“Why not?”

“Just don’t.”

Since business was a safe topic of conversation, I folded my hands on top of the table. “I made an appointment for a second contractor to come tomorrow at nine AM.”

“I have Brighton Contractors coming tomorrow at eight. I’m sure we can cancel your appointment after we meet with Jim Brighton.”

“I think I’ll refrain from making that decision until after we meet with both. Unlike you, I have an open mind and have no problem considering all competent contractors, regardless of who brings them in.”

Weston dropped his napkin on the table and stood. He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

“I told you, I’m not dancing.”

“Just one dance.”

“No.”

“Give me one good reason why not, and I’ll sit back down.”

“Because it’s unprofessional. This is a business dinner, not a date.”

“So is fingering you while my belt is tied around your wrists. And you didn’t seem to object to that as unprofessional. Though, if you ask me, leaving me in the state you did the other night wasn’t your most professional moment.”

The waiter arrived to deliver our drinks. Weston continued to stand and wait for me to agree.

When we were alone again, I said, “I’ve clearly had a few moments of insanity. But those are in the past, and I intend to keep things between us professional from now on.”

Weston studied me for a moment. I was surprised when he took his seat again without more of an argument. His thumb rubbed back and forth over his lower lip as he continued to consider me from across the table. After a minute, his face lit up. The only thing missing was a light bulb in a bubble above his head.

He grinned. “You think if we play nice, you won’t wind up with my cock inside you anymore.”

I shifted in my seat. “Must you be so vulgar?”

“What did I say?” He seemed genuinely confused.

I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Cock. Do you have to say it like that?”

He grinned. “I’m sorry. Can you say that again? I didn’t hear you.”

I squinted. “You heard me. I know you did.”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Maybe. But I really liked hearing you say cock.”

A busboy walked by our table just as Weston spoke. The guy looked our way and smirked, but kept going.

“Keep your voice down.”

Needless to say, he didn’t. “Is it just my cock you don’t like talking about? Or is it all cocks in general?”

I rolled my eyes. “God, you’re such a twelve-year-old boy.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But I know what game you’re playing now. You think no fighting equals no fucking.”

“I do not,” I lied. “I’m merely trying to maintain a professional relationship that started out on the wrong foot.”

Weston plucked a breadstick from the middle of the table. “I like the foot it started out on.”

“Regardless, we’re going to do things my way.”

He bit off a piece of the breadstick and waved it at me. “We’ll see.”

Over dinner, I somehow managed to steer our conversation back to business. While we were waiting for the check, I said, “I had Len, the head of maintenance, join me to show the contractor around this afternoon. He was gone before you got there, but I was glad I’d invited him. He was able to walk Sam and Travis through where things were left off with the electric and sprinkler systems that I wouldn’t have known. I asked him to join us tomorrow for the other contractor I have coming in. Perhaps you should invite him to the eight-AM meeting with your guys.”

“Alright, I’ll do that.”

Talking about this afternoon reminded me just how late Weston had been to the meeting. Since we were getting along and doing so well at sharing information, I figured I’d press.

“By the way, why were you so late this afternoon? You never mentioned what your appointment was for.”

Weston’s eyes jumped back and forth between mine before he looked away. “You’re right. I didn’t.”

I sighed. “Whatever. I just hope you’re not playing games, like when you went to the union behind my back.”

“It won’t be a problem.”

The Countess was five blocks from the restaurant, so we walked back together, side by side. On our way, we passed a bar called Caroline’s. I noticed, and immediately looked over to see if Weston had noticed it, too. I found him staring at the illuminated name above the bar. His eyes slanted to mine as they lowered. It felt odd not to say anything.

“I was very sorry to hear about your sister,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Caroline Lockwood was two years older than Weston, but only a year ahead of us in school because of how frequently she was absent. She’d suffered from leukemia from the time we were kids. I knew there were different subcategories of the disease, and wasn’t sure exactly which type she’d had, but she’d always looked tired and too thin when we were in school. When we were about eighteen, right after we graduated, I remembered hearing she’d had a kidney transplant. Her family and friends seemed very optimistic that things would get better from there. But about five years ago, while I was living in London, I’d heard she passed away.

Weston stopped when we arrived in front of The Countess. He looked up at the beautiful façade and smiled. “Caroline would have loved this place. She studied architecture at NYU and got a job at the New York City Historic Preservation Society. She thought it was her personal duty to protect the character of the City’s oldest buildings.”

“I didn’t know that.”

He nodded, still looking up. “She was also obsessed with Christmas—thought it was her job to sprinkle it on everything for two full months each year. If she were here, she’d have us both already in planning meetings about how we were going to decorate The Countess at the holidays.”

“I know a little trivia about Christmastime at The Countess, actually. And it involves our families. When I was researching the hotel, I came across some old pictures where there was an enormous Christmas tree in the lobby. I also read a few hundred of the hotel’s reviews on Tripadvisor so I could get a sense of what people thought about their recent stays, and I noticed there were quite a few reviews written during December where people noted that the hotel had no tree and very few holiday decorations. I asked Louis about it, and he said the first few years they were open, our grandfathers would go out in search of the biggest tree they could find, and the three of them would personally decorate the tree from top to bottom. It was one of Ms. Copeland’s favorite things to do. After everything happened between the three of them in 1962 and they parted ways, there was never another tree lit in the lobby. Grace loved having a big tree, but couldn’t bear to put one up because of the memories it brought. She always felt bad that she’d caused the destruction of our grandfathers’ friendship, and she hoped one day they’d bury the hatchet and a tree would again be lit in the lobby.”

“No shit?”

I nodded. “Yup. So there hasn’t been a tree or any real Christmas spirit here since before we were born.”

Weston was quiet for a while as he continued to look up. “I guess Grace and I have something in common, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t put up a tree or decorated since Caroline died either. When we were kids, she would make me spend hours helping her decorate the house. As she got older, she made me come over on her birthday, November 2nd, and spend the entire day helping her decorate. She did it on her birthday because it made it harder for me to say no.”

I smiled. “I love the relationship you two had. In high school, I remember seeing you guys walk home together all the time, or I’d see you laughing together in the hall at school. It used to make me wish I had a sibling.”

Weston looked at me with a warm smile. “What? Good old Spencer doesn’t count?”

I laughed. “Not a chance. Plus, even if we did get along, he grew up in Florida where my father stowed his second family. So I didn’t get to know him too well. And maybe he never had a chance with me because of how he came into my life.”

Weston seemed to consider something for a moment. “Would it help you to have some dirt on him?”

“Help? I’m not so sure. But would I enjoy it? Absolutely.”

He smiled and leaned in a bit, even though the sidewalk around us was empty.

“Your half-brother with the sweet, Southern fiancée and the engagement announced by her pastor father in The New York Times—well, he’s screwing a stripper in Vegas who’s a well-known dominatrix.”

My eyes widened. “I knew you had dirt on him the other day at lunch.”

“They stay at a small hotel-casino on the outskirts of town. I guess so nobody will notice them. Don’t think Spence knows I’m a silent partner at The Ace. Saw them together with my own eyes. Then I asked around. It’s been going on for a while.”

I shook my head. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Since Weston had shared, I thought I’d let him in on a secret of my own. “You want a little dirt most people don’t know?”

Weston smiled. “Absolutely.”

“Spencer and I are only six months apart. He’s a year younger in school, so people don’t realize that. My upstanding father had both his wife and his mistress pregnant at the same time.”

He shook his head. “I never liked your father. Even when we were kids, he struck me as shady. Your grandfather, on the other hand, always seems like a decent guy.”

I sighed. “Yeah. Grandpa Sterling is really special. I don’t see him often enough now that he moved down to Florida. After my dad left my mom, he really stepped up for us. He never missed a school recital or a tennis match. A few afternoons a week, I used to follow him around one of his hotels after school. Even back then, I saw the difference between how my grandfather and my father treated staff and how staff treated them. Grandpa Sterling’s employees revered him, much like Grace Copeland’s staff seems to have loved her. Whereas the staff feared my father more than respected him.”

“I guess every family has its black sheep.”

I nodded. “They sure do.” Realizing I’d shared a lot more about my screwed-up family than he had, I asked, “Who’s your family’s black sheep?”

Weston shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down. “Me.”

I almost laughed. “You? You’re the prince of the Lockwood family.”

Weston rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “You want to know a Lockwood secret?”

I smiled. “Absolutely.”

“I was never the prince of the Lockwood family. They only had me for spare parts.”

My smile faded. “What do you mean?”

Weston shook his head. “Nothing. Forget it.” He paused and then tilted his head toward the door. “I’m going to check on something in the office before I call it a night. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Umm… Yeah. Sure. Have a good night.”